It took him only forty paces to traverse the long corridor. Forty down,
forty back. A wide, stone-slab staircase swept the hallway to a shadowy
finish at one end, climbing to higher levels of the great fortress. His
own suite was back in that direction. For now, his attention was focused
on the massive oak doors that barred his entry to one of Medivh Savar's
cozy little council-chambers. Another forty paces had brought him to
within a meter of the door again, and it still showed no sign of opening.
Thorn detested waiting.
He turned and paced the length of the hall again, his charcoal claws
sounding against the polished marble floor with a circumspect _tak_ at
each step. Thorn was a large dragon, for one only fifteen cycles old, and
his full wingspan was easily twice what the hallway allowed. For now, the
shadowy sails were carefully tucked to his back, protected by a full adult
armory of spade-shaped primary scales, each the size of a man's hand.
Pushing back impatience, he resisted the urge to shred the intricate
tapestries and decorations on the walls. Savar was a creature of games,
and Thorn suspected that keeping his audiences waiting was just one of the
man's many strategies of control.
_tak....tak....tak....tak...._
Thorn paused in his pacing as his claw slipped into a rough spot in the
floor. He grinned toothily in spite of his irritation, and watched his
own dark foreclaw trace the path of the long, deep gouge. The mark was
slightly larger than his own claw, but its origin was clear enough.
Nirathei hated waiting as much as he did. Thorn continued his pacing
without looking back. He disliked the older, mind-sick dragon, and tried
to avoid Nirathei whenever possible - there was some sort of subtle power
struggle between the mage and Nirathei. Thorn had no idea what the mad
dragon wished to gain from the relationship with Savar, but he _was_
certain that the fireworks would be grand when their little game of Kings
and Castles finally came to an end.
Thorn kept his own goals and motives clearly in mind. Not a day passed
that he failed to remind himself why he had grudgingly made his home at
the Citadel of late, or why he suffered the indignity of bowing to Savar
and doing the mage's bidding. Only one thing mattered to Thorn at all.
Unfortunately, Savar had Thorn's prize securely in his grasp, and there it
would remain until Thorn could buy or trick it away from him.
The young black lashed his long tail against the floor with a severe
rattle of spines. The expression that darkened the shadow of his features
and colored the starkly beautiful silver-grey of his eyes was one of
brooding and silent discontent. He had never liked to be constrained by
walls of stone, and as little as he cared for Savar's usual 'tasks', he
would rather have been almost anywhere than this fortress of cold rock.
And then there was the ugly little part of himself that he would not even
privately acknowledge - the part that seethed with jealousy, that the mad
black dragon had been sent out in his stead. He was Thorn of the
SeaCliffs clan - unconquered champion of every challenge he attempted. No
one had ever dared suggest he was less than first choice for any endeavor.
Not until he fell in with the dark Adept, anyway. Medivh Savar
'suggested' it with charming regularity.
The doors opened slowly and soundlessly at the other end of the hall, and
he moved toward them, refusing to disgrace himself by hurrying. The mage
looked over at the dragon a long moment after Thorn entered, a cool
expression on his wholly contrived, exquisitely beautiful face. "Thorn,"
he offered in greeting, as if courtesy was an afterthought at best, and he
smiled lazily at the young black.
Thorn paused for a moment. The smile probably meant Savar was in either
an exceptionally good mood or an exceptionally bad one. In the dragon's
experience, either situation meant a rather painful death for some poor
underling or another. He tapped his hind-talons restlessly against the
floor. "You sent Nirathei out, Savar," he rumbled in the common speech of
dragons. He knew the Adept understood it, and he was damned if he'd stoop
to hissing and croaking out words in the pitiful language humans used.
"You sent him out instead of me. Why?"
Savar's charming smile grew more enchanting and less convincing. "Thorn,
Thorn. Such a trifling thing to worry about. Let Nirathei slaughter the
livestock - you were born for better things." The mage peered down at the
dragon from his seat, and Thorn once again realized the calculated design
that had gone into this room. A creature as small as a human would be
dwarfed by the raised stone dais and imposing chair, while one as large as
Thorn or Nirathei had to hunch over uncomfortably in the audience area
and look up from a crouch to speak with the Mage. Yes, Medivh Savar was a
creature of control.
"Speaking of livestock, shall I have the servants bring you something?"
the mage continued in a solicitous tone. "You're looking a little grey
about the muzzle these days, my boy... and I do know how you love the
freshly-killed lamb now and then..." The mage blinked in the slow,
innocent motion of a sleepy angel, the long lashes fanning over eyes blue
as a summer sea.
Thorn clenched all his talons against the floor, fighting back a wave of
anger. He ground his teeth at the sparkling amusement in the mage's eyes.
Savar knew well the sort of insult he carelessly tossed at the black
dragon. It was dangerously offensive, to imply that Thorn lacked the
skill to feed himself, and would humble himself to beg slain lambs from
some grinning fortress lackey. The insinuation angered the true predator
within Thorn's heart. The black dragon's silver eyes narrowed as he
thought for the thousandth time how much he would love to gut the wretched
mage right there.
Savar smiled sweetly and cocked his head to one side, like a child charmed
by his own cleverness. "Quietly, Thorn," he whispered. "Quietly. Do not
disturb your lady's rest."
Thorn clamped down on his anger with finality, managing to bow his head in
a nod of acquiescence. "Of course, Savar." he rumbled, his tone nearly
level. "I only wish to... render my services to you. I am... sheltered
by your walls, sustained by the bounty of your forests..." he spoke
haltingly but pleasantly, able to keep most of the sarcasm out of his
words. "I do not wish to unnecessarily burden or take advantage of
your... generosity... waiting to finish fulfilling my obligation." Every
word felt like downing red-hot nails. He was no frail lizardman or
mindless screylinh to be ordered about by this mage. He could have split
the creature before him from gullet to groin in the space of a heartbeat,
or roasted him alive with living dragonfire.
And yet...and yet....
"And yet, you must wait," Medivh Savar said, as if echoing his thoughts.
"Do not fret so, young Thorn," he murmured, and his voice would have
almost sounded kind if not for the mocking edge. "I will have tasks for
you soon enough. ...And your assistance will give me the time and energy
I need to devote to helping her."
"What tasks will they be?" Thorn asked, as if contritely. Inwardly he
seethed.
"You will know soon enough," the mage said, allowing a hint of sharpness
to color his tone. "Now leave me. The time I waste on you is but another
moment you have stolen from your love. _You_ have nearly an eternity to
be patient - or have you forgotten?" he tapped his breast once, lightly,
and Thorn's eyes widened just a touch in a co-mingling of fear, hatred,
and respect.
The dark dragon turned toward the door, casting one more poisonous glance
over his wing as he left. He had to crouch like some belly-crawling
lizard to fit through the opening, and that made him even angrier. "I
cannot forget, Savar," he said in a voice like distant thunder. "You have
given more than enough to remind me. But if she dies, Master, not even
ashes will remain to mark the place where great Savar stood. I promise
you that." He lashed his tail against the stone as he left - the harsh
crack echoing in an impotent display of bravado.
Savar's eyes narrowed as the black dragon left, but he smiled, and he
swirled his bloodwine idly about in his glass. Thorn's anger and
frustration, though irritating at times, were the surest sign that the
young black was still firmly under Savar's control... and he would remain
so. Nirathei's endeavor had seen to that. Savar smiled just a bit more
widely, thinking of the great difference between his creatures. Each had
their own use, but while Nirathei's native bloodlust made him amenable to
the most delightfully distasteful tasks, he was perverse, and given to
subtle disobedience. Thorn's outright rebellion, pride and arrogance made
him much easier to manipulate. The younger black simply required the
right sort of coercion.
_And so much can be done with a tiny bit of blood..._ the Adept thought,
toying with his glass. Nirathei had provided the information Savar needed
to select Thorn's goad. The adept considered himself quite an artist,
creating constructs and other creatures born of magic. For a creator of
his caliber, copying the patterns of an existing creature was hardly even
a challenge. A tiny bit of dragon's blood, bought long ago from that
pitiful excuse for a sorcerer Tor, provided just the sort of coercion that
Thorn needed. Given a few drops and a little time, it was simple to
create a construct that resembled the pattern the blood held: a small
dragon, with scales like oval flakes of teal agate and wingsails of a
soft, sky blue. He had aged his construct to the state Nirathei
remembered, and fashioned enough crude 'organs' that the breast rose and
fell as if with gentle breathing, and a steady rhythm like a heartbeat
pulsed in the hollow of its throat and at slender wrists. It appeared to
be sleeping, and it would always appear so. There was enough
almost-familiar flesh and blood to trick Thorn's senses, and enough magic
left in careful patterns to show the young black exactly what Savar wanted
him to see - nothing more.
Savar thought that _his_ version of the pesky dragon was considerably less
intractable and meddlesome. As far as Thorn knew, his dear Erelan slept
here, caught in a magic trance. Savar had rescued her from the clutches
of an evil mage, and had brought her here, to endure in charmed slumber
until he could find a way to undo the deadly harm Tor had done. Actually,
he fancied it was a rather good story - he had crafted it himself once,
when he first thought to snare the young and headstrong Thorn from the
maudlin quest to find his little lost love. Filling out the tale and
polishing the few rough edges in his lies with well-placed magic had
proved nearly as diverting as taunting the arrogant drake. With the real
little female gone, Thorn belonged to him for as long as he chose to
retain the dragon's services.
It was odd that Tor's dragon had chosen this time to come out of hiding
and join the ragtag army his former employees were leading, but surely no
more strange than some of the other creatures and characters banding
together against him. The adept sipped at his drink, pensively. They
bore thinking about, but they were hardly a threat to him, uncohesive as
they were. Secure inside the cold walls of the Citadel, Medivh Savar sank
back in his chair to ponder the unfolding of his empire.
Thorn, still fuming, made his way up the stairs to his rooms, his claws
grinding hard against the stonework. The archway to his quarters vaulted
nearly four meters above the ground, and provided more than enough room
for Thorn to enter. Inside, his spacious living area provided The mage's
words echoed mockingly in his ears,
_"You have nearly an eternity to be patient - or have you forgotten?_
Thorn had not forgotten. Under the best of circumstances, he would live
more than three or four thousand years. The mage would not, and unless
Thorn could free her, Erelan would not. In brooding silence, Thorn left
the main area of his rooms and ascended another set of wide steps to a
smaller alcove. There, in a wash of cool, blue light, she slept. Walls
of ever-shifting, sparkling blue sealed her off from the rest of the
world, suspended her little body in the air, protected her from all the
dangers that surrounded them. Except time.
He placed heavy black forepaws against the translucent magic wall and
peered at her. She was dying, as surely as the mage was dying. Savar
was the one sustaining Erelan - Thorn could sense the tendrils of power
that connected her to the mage. With all the magic in the world at his
disposal, the mage could not hope to thwart the effects of time forever,
and humans were so brief. Savar had said that should anything untoward
happen to him, including natural death caused by age, the little dragon
that hovered in silent, dreamless sleep would surely die. The mage was
right - Thorn had nearly an eternity to be patient. Erelan did not.
Everything that Thorn could see and Sense reinforced that thought, and the
black dragon was powerless to do anything about it...
_...Anything other than play Savar's game,_ Thorn thought, his anger
slowly being washed away by the distant, yet piercing sadness that always
overtook him when he saw her here. Resolve steeled him. He would do the
mage's bidding, and protect Savar's sun-blasted, thrice-damned life. He
would win this war for the mage, and he would demand the payment he had
been promised before ever agreeing to the service of Medivh Savar - her
life. Thorn cared nothing for humans, or their petty campaigns, or their
worthless little lives. No few had fallen to his fires already, and while
killing the little creatures brought him no honor, neither did he feel any
guilt at their deaths. They were nothing but rabbits and conies, fleeing
his shadow. If Thorn killed a thousand of them to buy her back... what
difference did it make, a few humans more or less?
_And when she is mine at last,_ Thorn thought darkly, gently tracing the
outline of her face against the magic barrier, _then our business is done,
Savar. These fires will turn on you and your kind, for every slight and
insult you have given me. No, Savar, I never forget._
Her back to a tree, Atalaya sat on the ground, quietly listening to
the discussion. Inwardly, she attempted to keep her mind off the
contemplation of murder-and didn't quite succeed. (How in /hell/ can he do
that?) she raged mentally. (Goes running off without so much as a note to
anyone, to do gods know what for years. I show up and it's, 'Oh, hi, how
are you? I've fallen in love with a /human/, what's new on your end?' And
the first time I suggest he do something /reasonable/, as opposed to
sitting around feeling sorry for himself, he shuts down the conversation
completely. 'You're wrong.' Well, thank you very much, Solarin the Perfect,
I'll just go repent my many sins-including the oh so unpardonable one of
respecting the standards of my-/our/-people. Please do forgive me for ever
opening my mouth.) Her hands clenched and for a brief moment, anger showed
itself on her face. Aware of the people nearby, however, she forced herself
to calm down in time to hear Muranog speak. Bringing a faint smile of
approval to her face, Atalya nodded. "While part of my training did
emphasize swiftness and silence, I do not know much of infiltration. I
would be pleased and honored to join the main assault."
Sofaltis smiled at the dragon, immensely greatful for her help in retriviving his sword that was found pointdown buried in the earth right where he remebered it.
:Thank you,: he thought with heartfelt sincerity at Etain, :This sword...means a lot to me.:
Etain nodded like the noble beast she was, still somewhat in a euphoric bliss from the help that Xenon provided to her, and helped Sofaltis back upon her, where he sat with trepadation, his gut still not quite used to this 'trusting of dragons' thing.
As Etain took off for the short flight, Sofaltis quickly learned that flying on a dragons back was not nearly the proposition it sounded, the winds buffeting him, even for this short hop as far as Etain was concerned. Leaning low to the dragon, he watched the terrain flash by beneath him, and feeling Etain's muscles beneath him gave him a new
respect for the creatures, an emphasis of just why Dragons where one of the oldest animals and deadliest predators alive.
Landing at the clearing, Sofaltis slid off Etain, giving her a wordless mindsent feeling of thanks and greatfulness, as he stood there, attempting to pay attention to the group of people discussing the fate of the group. He quickly decided where he wanted to be, which was part of the infiltration/scout group, figuring his skills as a ranger and scout could be useful. Since most of the tactics he knew, or knew of, involved himself, and one other person, and not a group of people. So he listened, and learnt, trying to keep his mind clear and open while inside he wanted to up and leave...
Sofaltis waited till a break in the general conversation, after the troll spoke, his bass voice rumbling down the scale, even past where he knew human hearing could hear it, and spoke into the general silence, realizing that until know he'd been mostly a spectre, and that _Etain_ had heard more of him than any of the other denizens that dotted the clearing. (Odd that that would be, maybe, finally, I'm becoming cross-cultured,) he thought with irony before he spoke, his melodic voice not quite able to keep the humor he felt out of it, a small grin and a sparkle of his eyes betraying him.
"I'd like to, if the leaders deem it so, accompany the infiltration group. I think this is best where I would go." He kept it brief, not really wanting to interrupt the group dynamic anymore than he had to, his blanket of silence falling back over him while he scanned the group waiting for some acknowledgement or reply...
Sand sighed as the last mournful notes of her flute faded out. She felt as if
she had been in this cave for hours, her playing becoming more introspective
and melancholy; and largely ignored except for the shining white unicorn who,
it must be admitted, gave little in the way of audience feedback. Feeling as
useless as she recognized herself to be, nonetheless she kept to her self-
appointed duty as "hostess" of the cave by rising to her feet and approaching
the only concious humans, the Princess and the one she address as "Jay". Sand
curtsied to the pair, unsure of his status as Rainbow had been treating him
with great familiarity. In fact, the two had seemed to alternate between
arguing and laughingly teasing each other in whispers so as not to disturb her
performance.
"Your pardon my Lady," Sand began, interrupting what looked to be another
argument between the two, "but it has been awhile since we entered, and I hear
no sounds of commotion outside. I believe I shall see what is happening. Our
unconscious friend should be safe enough here for a small while, and I must
admit I wouldn't know what to do for him if he did awake. Would you care to
come with me?" As the group proceeded out of the cave, Sand looked at Ynys.
(I'll swear that is a look of approval in those lovely eyes.) She almost
reached out to run her hand along the sleek flank of the animal, but found
herself a little intimidated by the intelligence she could almost swear was in
Ynys' eye. (You, my dear Sand, are _too_ conscious of physical sensation,)
she thought wrily to herself, (that has led to far too many complicated
situations. Try to restrain your desire to fill your senses.) She ended up
breezing past and out the cave enterance.
Those already in the clearing quickly explained their line of thought and the
fractioning into groups, startling the young bard.
"I admit I'm no combatant, in fact I would prefer to encounter nothing more
deadly than a bar brawl. Truthfully," Sand hesitated fractionally, (now is
the time to be brutally honest, it's no more than they all think anyway) "I
find no real qualities of mine useful to the group. However, when we started
out I said you would have to tell me to go away if you didn't want me along.
Is that what you are now saying?" Quickly she turned to FallenAngel before
anyone could answer. "You are being proposed as the leader of the group of
non-combatants, which I freely admit I am. But where are you leading us _to_?
Are we to return to the Inn? I admit I don't much care for that idea,
although I'll accept it if need be. Where exactly is it that your group is
heading?"
Sand forced herself to stop talking, realizing that she was emotionally
winding herself tighter. She kept herself from thinking of the fact that what
was really disturbing her was leaving Xenon. Only twice before in her life
had she ever cared what someone thought of her outside a performance, or felt
so connected to someone. Had he set some sort of magic hook into her so he
could use her later? She was sure he was not above that sort of thing, but
that really didn't feel right. _Everything_ had a tune, a harmony that
encompassed it's being, but this melody was more complex than she could
fathom.
Fallenangel glanced at Jonas [who still hadn't responded to her statement
about taking possestion of the sword Masumune], then smiled around the
circle and responded to Muranog's statements after everyone else had
completed speaking.
"My thanks, Lord Muranog, for your generous offer to watch over the Knight
Avare on my behalf. And it is not that I do not trust you that I must turn
you down - it is an issue of honor. The Sword is - or rather, _was_ - my
responibility, and after it was stolen from Loaghaire's Church because I
turned over guardianship to another, I cannot do so again. My reputation was
tarnished by that error - and I must recitfy it, if I can. I thank you again
for your kind offer, Sir Troll - but I must refuse." She bowed to the Troll
Adept, a mark of her respect, for Loaghaire's Angels did not often bow to
mortals; this mark of their respect was instead saved for the Great Ones,
Gods and their peers.
"I am afraid that if I am to lead the non-combatants, I do not have a
soulution to this situation other than taking the Sword with me, or having
Jonas perhaps accompany my group, which I doubt will be looked upon
favorily. If anyone has any suggestions, I would be glad to hear them."
The Bard Sand arrived then, and the attention of the circle was lifted from
Fallenangel's shoulders momentarily.
She glanced back at Jonas, noticing the blank look on his face.
(_Sheckla_, he's fallen into a trance again,) she thought disgustedly. (Wake
up, there _are_ some issues that have to be settled!!!) 'Angel kicked Jonas
unobtrusivly, certain that no one else would notice with Sand speaking, and
hoped that the slight physical shock would snap Avare back into full
consiness.
"I admit I'm no combatant, in fact I would prefer to encounter nothing more
deadly than a bar brawl. Truthfully," Sand hesitated fractionally, "I find
no real qualities of mine useful to the group. However, when we started out
I said you would have to tell me to go away if you didn't want me along. Is
that what you are now saying?" Quickly she turned to Fallenangel before
anyone could answer. "You are being proposed as the leader of the group of
non-combatants, which I freely admit I am. But where are you leading us
_to_? Are we to return to the Inn? I admit I don't much care for that idea,
although I'll accept it if need be. Where exactly is it that your group is
heading?"
'Angel sighed. "That is a very good question, Lady Bard, and one that I'm
not certain of the answer." Turning to the rest of the group, Fallenangel
raised a artistic eyebrow. "Could anyone here answer that for us? Have "we"
yet decided _whose_ allies the non-combatants are going to?"
She smiled at Sand, wondering how to put her at ease, and cursing her almost
complete lack of people skills. "I assure you, I have enjoyed the beautiful
music that you've been playing - or at least as much as I could hear outside
the cave here. You have the power to "put people at ease" - to relax them,
and to calm tempers surely, or there would have a more serious argument out
here. At least in my case, and maybe a few others. And, thankfully, you have
kept most of the non-combatants calmed until now, which is an asset; the
last thing we need is everyone in the group here panicking."
"But, to answer your question - I believe that the reason it was suggested
to split the group was to prevent injury - or worse - to those in the group
who are not fighters and perhaps do not want to risk their lives in this
quest. Not for any desire to get rid of you."
She smiled again, and turned back towards the rest of the group. "Now, have
we made any decisions as such?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside the clearing, twilight was beginning to creep over the forest
slowly, falling into the hollows beneath the trees gladly, exhausting in the
heavy foliage cover that made it seem almost night in the deepest corners of
the wood though the sun still shone. And in those dark corners, those who
stalked the night were beginning to awake - and hunger.
>From the shadows, a pair of faint blue lights shone briefly - followed soon
by a second, then a third. Before long, there were a large swarm of lights
which begin to drift out of the hollow, first singularly, then in pairs and
threes.
_:hunger:_
The lights changed from blue to red as that thought swept through them,
almost instantly. The wave of color was amazing, truly a sight to see - but
any knowledgeable dweller of the Kalhadith Forest would have looked upon the
sight as a warning, not a scenic vista.
Suddenly, one of the fore-runners sensed something on the wind. _:food:_ It
conveyed, a thought that traveled back throughout the swarm faster then the
first had. With a swiftness unsurpassed by any other creature currently
living in their territory, the Swarm's lights blinked out as they initiated
their camouflage, becoming nearly invisible, and moved toward their target.
>"And I have a concern with my nomination to lead the non-combatants. >I'm not
>sure how many of you were here when Knight Jonas showed up," >Fallenangel
>gestured to where he stood, "but I cannot let the sword he carries...
>disappear again. When we were keeping the group together, I had no >reason to
>object to his carrying it - but Masamune is to powerful to allow anyone >to
>carry it out of the... supervision of someone un-corruptible. I feel >that if
>the group splits up, I'm going to have to either go with the main force >-"
>she had to force herself to say the next few words - "or take the sword >with
>me."
(How _DARE_ she think of taking the Masamune away from me!?!? She must
know I won't give it up willingly, and she _knows_ that she doesn't have
better than fifty/fifty odds if she decides to take it by force...) As
he prepared to speak against FallenAngel's suggestion, a wave of pure,
white-hot rage, and ...a touch of fear?...overwhelmed Jonas' mind,
completely enveloping him. (The sword..?), he thought in the tiny corner
of his mind that had seemed to remain sane. He struggled to suppress it,
trying to regain control of his own body, but, although he had stopped
the advance of the madness, he couldn't drive it back...
Until the Angel kicked him.
(What?) He was still disoriented, mentally reeling from the assualt he
had just suffered. The Angel was looking at him expectantly, and while
he manged to retain the bland, expressionless face that he wore most of
the time, he could hear the sullenness when he replied.
"Bright One, you know that I would not willingly trust the Masamune with
anyone else, for any reason. If it is acceptable to you, I will remain
with the non-combatants." (Even though I think I'd like to kill
something right now...) He could still feel the aftermath of the
anger-attack he'd had, like the imprint of a lightning bolt on the eyes.
(Hah...if she thinks I would just _give up_ the Masamune, she certainly
_is_ God-Touched...) He managed to make a stiff bow to the Angel, and
stood waiting on whatever was supposed to happen next. As he idly
fingered the great sword's hilt, he sensed a subtle difference in the
blade, hardly noticable to anyone who had not worn it as long as he had.
"Bright One, you know that I would not willingly trust the Masamune with
anyone else, for any reason. If it is acceptable to you, I will remain
with the non-combatants." Jonas said, his voice sullen. When Fallenangel
glanced at him, he gave her a stiff bow, his face stony. She started to
reply, only to be interrupted.
:He's probably angry at being stuck with the non-combatants,: Isis sent.
:Oh look, the silent one speaks.: 'Angel sent back to her bond-mate
sarcastically. :Have you finally deigned to join the rest of us?:
Isis did not reply, instead giving her bond-mate a cool look. :That
statement does not become you, Fallenangel.:
'Angel looked at Isis quickly, stung by the winged panther's cool manner and
formal use of her name. The panther was still giving her that same cold
look.
:Maybe if you weren't so caught up in your thoughts, you would be more open
to the thoughts and feelings of those around you - after all, you are an
Angel and an Empath; you are supposed to be using those powers, not ignoring
them.: Without explaining her cryptic statement, the panther blocked
mindspeech.
Fallenangel gasped silently, momentarily shocked at the _complete_ mental
silence that caused. (I never realized how... different it felt to be
head-blind,) she thought, stunned. The intangible _presence_ that had
filled the back of her mind was gone - the presence that was Isis. 'Angel
blinked, and found herself looking at the panther as she stood, gave her
bond-mate an unreadable look, and walked to the edge of the clearing.
With a sigh, she wondered at the panther's strange behavior. (She'll be
back,) 'Angel thought, (we're bonded. She's just not... speaking to me.)
Glancing around, she hoped that no one of the assorted group would use
Mind-Speech. (Right now, I doubt that Isis will relay anything as she
usually does to me....)
At that moment, the mage Xenon spoke up, having apparently gathered his
thoughts and refined his argument while the others said their piece.
"To put a ranger in charge of an assault force seems unwise. Muranog would
be by far the better leader for that particular group if splitting up into
groups is what we intend to do. As for myself following the at best dubious
lead of our rush off and attack the Citadel by herself belligerent
_assassin_ Raven... not a snowflake's chance in the deepest hottest hell of
that ever happening. I am far better equipped and know far more of the
Citadel than she can pretend to as well as the Kaladh in between. She and
Solarin and Erelan and ShadowBlade should comprise the infiltration force
under my command, while Solfaltis remain to lead the assault force on to an
appropriate point to rendezvous." Xenon continued in a steady voice with
little pause.
With the ease of long practice, Fallenangel turned her mind from her own
problems and snorted at Xenon's obvious dislike of Raven and Solarin. (I
wonder what it _is_ between them anyway....)
"Danger comes, it's true, and we must leave. I am simply going to deal with
those of the non combatants for whom I am personally concerned, in a simple
manner. I am going to gate them to the outskirts of a fine small city not
so very far from here, where Dak can get them all to safety, and keep them
there, safe, with the money I will provide him until he can secure them
other protection and return to me. This will, quite likely engender a
storm, so we should be prepared to move out. Those others who do not believe
they would like to face mage controlled undead and demons, mad dragons, and,
quite likely much worse are welcome to transverse that gate to safety as
well. I do hope, Lady Sand, that you will take this offer and go on to
safety. I, for one, would not see you come to harm in the coming work, and
I would be happy to return and inform you of the relevant details as I
can...should we succeed or fail." He gave them all a measuring but
determined look, his dull adamant armour slightly lit by the fire's light.
'Angel raised a skeptical eyebrow at the mage's words, filing them away for
future reference, carefully ignoring the fact that her bond-mate had left
the clearing off to god-knows-where. In the back of her mind, she surpressed
the fear that the panther was leaving for good, although she couldn't help
an apprehensive glance after her bond-mate that she vainly hoped no one
noticed.
"An endeavor such as this is not a city council to be filled with debates
and lectures. Many fine people with excellent skills and talents in many
areas are gathered in this clearing. I give to you all my respect in your
various fields and talents, and hope we may one day meet under other
circumstances more favorable. Until then, on to the gate I will construct,
out of the clearing in the assault force, await me in the infiltration force
as you will or no, or off to the gypsies in Celi Ardi, decent sorts actually
but more fey and capricious than even the elves generally, as you each see
fit." He turned to look at Solarin directly.
Fallenangel listened to the rest of his speech with growing disgust. "If I
may comment, Xenon," she said clearly, "or are you not finished with Raven
and Solarin yet?"
She gave him a cool smile, daring him to deny her speech. "I admit, I do not
know you, or anyone else here very well - but, in _my personal opinion_, I
think that perhaps the last thing we should be doing at this point is
stirring up trouble with the others in this group." She turned to include
Raven/Solarin in her gaze, taking Xenon's word that Raven's soul was in the
golden-haired elf's body. "Frankly, I do not know what is between you two,
nor does it concern me; and as such, I would say nothing about the verbal
sparring that you two are doing if it were not for the fact that you, along
with milord Muranog, are the only truly command-experienced people we have
in this group. The problem that we have is that there are too many people
used to command in this group, and in any sort of war or potential battle
situation, that would cause trouble among a group of saints. However you
work this out, I strongly suggest that we either do it _now_, and get it
over with, or agree to work with one another and put the reckoning off until
later."
She shifted her gaze back to Xenon, dispensing with any sort of titles. "_I_
wish to leave; you yourself have said that there is danger approaching,
confirming the very feeling that _I've_ had for the past two hours. I will
go with whatever group most needs me; if that is still the non-combatants,
that would be fine, but Sir Dak seems to be more than qualified to lead
them, especially since he would assuredly know this area better than I. If I
am not needed, I may go back to Loaghaire's lands; there is a... matter...
that needs to be taken care of." 'Angel carefully keep her gaze off of
Masamune although she could still _feel_ the sword there, burning just
beyond her shields, seeming stronger than before.
(Now,) she thought with gallows humor, (let's see who tries to fry me with a
lightning bolt on the spot... and who decides to ignore me completely.)
While waiting for any reaction to her little speech, 'Angel narrowed her
eyes and glanced at Jonas Avare.
"Oh, and _Sir_ Jonas," she said very softly, but still loud enough for him
to hear, "you forget - that sword is not yours to 'trust' with whomever you
like. Perhaps you should remember that before you make careless
statements...."