- Chapter 12 -

  Previously...

The bite in Strides-Tall's shoulder was not deep, and healed within a day, all of its own accord. She could not fathom the meaning of it, but shortly after the wound had healed, the elf was made very much aware that the bite had not been to find out how she tasted.

It started as a prickling, a vague discomfort around where the teeth had sunk into her flesh, which gradually spread down her arm and across her back. The prickling then became a burning, a source of real pain, and the elf started to feel her insides squirming, as though something alien had come to life inside her...

Strides-Tall soon came to know what was happening to her, for the other prisoners of the dragon-like monsters began reporting the same symptoms, and more. With horror, she watched as the Reclamationist soldiers began to change, their skins turning dark and scaly, wings and tails starting to grow from their bodies...

The Murgand captives were lucky. The venom of the largest monster, the leader and a creature somewhat different to the others, was lethal to them, their bodies unable to stand the change. They, however, were then dragged away for food, and the prisoners could often hear their jailers feasting, crushing thick Murgand bones with their cruel, shark-like teeth.

The moment Strides-Tall realised what the horrible feeling inside her meant, she turned her psychic healing powers inward to combat the transformation. Some of her people could bring the newly-dead back to life, or even reshape the bodies of the living, but Strides-Tall's "magic" was nowhere near strong enough to do any of that. She could only delay what seemed to be inevitable.

The elf was not alone in her ordeal. Bjalser, cheerful, reliable Bjalser was always there, maintaining telepathic contact with her throughout her suffering. Something was not quite right, she gradually realised, for the young Shaelin psychic never once sounded tired, or inadvertently passed on psychic impressions of hunger, which the elf had come to expect from him after their many adventures together.

***Is...is something wrong?***, she eventually asked, when the pain subsided enough to allow her to concentrate on Sending a telepathic message.

***I'm not exactly sure***, he replied. ***I'm not certain that I'm actually conscious right now...***

***What do you mean?***

The elf could almost see the youth shrug. ***You remember me talking about conscious dreaming?***

***Yes***, she answered, recalling a conversation early on in their working relationship, when they compared their respective powers. ***You put yourself in a trance which allows you to assume control of your dreams. You're never truly asleep, and can bring yourself out of your dream at will.***

***That's it***, said Bjalser. ***I think that's where I am now, but I can't wake myself. I have the sneaking suspicion I'm unconscious, maybe in some kind of coma.***

***You're hurt? Maybe I can help you...***

Strides-Tall prepared to direct her healing "magic" along the psychic link between them, but Bjalser blocked her. ***No - keep your healing for yourself. I don't think I'm in any danger right now...but you are.***

The elf was desperate to help her friend, but reluctantly did as he told her. She could not face losing him, for he was the rock she was anchored to, the hand-hold that kept her from tumbling into the bottomless abyss that was already claiming the others. The more they changed, the more they lost of who they had been. With every passing hour, they became more monstrous in mind as well as form.

I can't let that happen to me, she told herself. If there's no hope left, I'd rather end it...

Strides-Tall did not think the monsters would let her take her own life. They watched over their brothers and sisters-to-be with great care, at their giant master's bidding, bringing chunks of raw meat for the bite-victims, and watching with feral glee as those who had once been human tore into pieces of Murgand - and human - like ravenous animals. No, not animals, thought the elf, turning away from such awful scenes. These...things are totally unnatural. I can't allow myself to sympathise with them for a moment, or I risk losing myself to them.

One of the monsters, distinguished from the rest by having more greenish eyes, took particular interest in the elf. "I smell something familiar about you", the creature snorted, curiously flexing its wings as it bent forward to sniff at the elf. "Not your scent, but someone else's. Someone I ate, perhaps...?"

"You've managed to eat plenty of the people I've been travelling with for the last few days", she snapped back, "so that's hardly surprising."

"No, it's not that", the monster continued, sounding as though its mind was starting to wander. "Something else - a scent that's more deeply ingrained into your skin, your hair...I know that scent..."

Strides-Tall spotted a chance to perhaps gain an ally - or at least make this particular monster reluctant to give chase, should she grasp and opportunity to escape. "Who are...were you?", she asked. "I might be able to help jog your memory. I came from Freeport..."

The dragon-man cocked his crocodile-snouted head to one side, in a rather comical fashion. "I...I don't remember...", he began absently, clearly trawling around inside his mind for scraps of memory, but his whole manner quickly hardened. "...and it doesn't matter", he snarled. "I am Dravwaeri now, and that is all I need to be. I am stronger than you, faster than you, more powerful than you..."

"...but your heart has withered", Strides-Tall replied, solemnly. "You may be all those things, but at least I have a soul, and I can feel sad for you. It is a shame you cannot mourn for what you once were."

The monster stormed away, but that was not the last time she saw that particular creature. Somehow, she had managed to get through to something that had not been destroyed, but was buried so deeply it was almost - but not quite - lost.

"I will fight these changed ones - these Dravwaeri - but not their creator", Sshraada declared out of the blue, before the start of one of the combat drills on the open upper deck of the Succubus. "I can do no more."

"A start, I suppose", said Mararen, his magnificent sword unsheathed. "I assume you will fight in self-defence...?"

"Only if the need arises", replied the Naagian, sliding her own two-handed sword from its scabbard. "I trust that the Spirit will recognise me as one of its own..."

Mararen shook his head, and sighed. "It's not my place to tell people what to believe, and I know your beliefs are widely held, but believe me when I tell you that the spirits of the great and glorious of your kind do not reside within the Dravwyrn. Some of their race, Bright and Dark, like to cultivate such beliefs to encourage followers to their side, but there is no truth to it."

"Typical", snorted Sshraada. "Just what I'd expect from a member of a race whose spirits are lost to the void when they die - just like all mammals..."

Mararen seemed quite unmoved by her words, and the two of them sparred without spite or any desire to wound and punish one another. Raven and Marishanna watched with great interest as the warriors mock-fought, each trying to get inside the other's defences, but neither actually succeeding, and the Salvandireen female grudgingly had to admit to being impressed.

"Better than I've seen with most warriors using two-handers", she said. "What do you think...milady?"

I think she's fixated on me, thought Raven, shrugging in response to the question. Her emotions may be closed to me, but you only need to look in her eyes - that's a look I've seen before, looking up at me as I dance...

Mararen then invited Raven to participate, saying "You have wings, so you present a target not unlike our opponents. Don't be afraid to try and batter me with them - that's a popular tactic with Dravwaeri, especially when they're in groups, and in superior numbers. If they can take down an opponent, and possibly make the odds better for their fellows, they'll risk sustaining a wing injury. They heal fast, and a good Master looks after his spawn..."

Raven called forth her wings, letting them grow to the largest size she could manage. Normally, the tips of the wing-bones went no lower than her hips, but this time, she let them grow down to the floor, as she had done during her feature dance, on the night when Bresquet the Reclamationist had come to meet Strides-Tall.

Thinking of the way Marishanna had approached Mararen when he came aboard, Raven started stalking around the Waeribane warrior, wings flexing calmly until she chose to lash out, snapping out a wing and trying to clip Mararen about the head with it. The swordsman dodged expertly, throwing himself almost to the floor but always ready to pull himself up, and gently slap Raven on the shoulder or hip.

"It may not be this easy", Mararen warned, "as most Dravwaeri are spawned from folk who aren't fighters. The creature may have lost all memory of who it once was, but it retains many of the original person's skills. If there are new spawn, freshly created, they'll have the instincts of warriors, and that will make them tougher to fight..."

Raven lunged forward, hoping to surprise Mararen, and repay him for his slaps, but the Waeribane pulled back at just the wrong moment, and the edge, not the flat of his blade caught the curl of the dancer's wing, slicing off a good third of it.

"Idiot!", spat Marishanna, drawing her small silver sword. "You'll pay for that!"

"I...I did not mean to wound you...", gasped the swordsman, his horrified gaze drawn to the piece of amputated wing, flapping on the deck. The sword slipped from his hands, and he turned alarmingly pale.

Raven, however, was puzzled. There was little pain, and no blood. She did feel a little unbalanced...

...and then the piece of wing melted, forming a small pool of inky darkness which then crawled across the deck to Raven, stretched up to touch her bare hip, and vanished into her body. A moment later, the wounded wing grew back, showing no signs of injury.

"There - no harm is done", she said, testing her wings and finding no flaw.

"There will be no more training today", said Mararen, his voice shaky.

"What? Afraid to try your steel against me?", hissed Marishanna.

"There will be no more!", the warrior cried out and, picking up his sword, he hurried below, back to his cabin.

"A wise move", Marishanna snarled, returning Silver Death to its sheath. "I doubt your head will grow back..."

Raven would have chastised the adventuress, but her thoughts were for Mararen. The incident had called forth such intense feelings within him - fear, and soul-crushing anguish - that she had felt them without having to reach out for them. Without a word of excuse or explanation, she went after him.

Yet again, Brossganth Cinderbeard banged his head on the ceiling of the tiny natural cave, yet he did not cry out, or curse. He welcomed the brief flash of pain, for it reminded him that, against all the odds, he was alive.

"Am I glad I got Tollen to show me everything", he said, forcing a smile for Broxka Brightstone's benefit. "Wouldn't have noticed this old prayer-hole if he hadn't."

"Praying sounds like a good idea 'bout now", muttered Broxka. "We'll need all the gods and all the ancestors on our side if we're to get out of this alive, Young Lord."

Brossganth silently agrees with the sentiment. He had lost count of how many men, Murgand and Hu'Man, he had seen die, and time had lost all meaning in the panic to escape the snapping jaws and slashing talons. Hours, days - it no longer mattered.

He had gone on this adventure seeking to test himself in battle...but that had not been a battle. It was more of a slaughter...

Prayer-holes were just about the safety places in all of Jaglundar's Rock. Small chambers at the end of winding crawlways, they were intended for priests who wished to commune with the living rock itself, the holy men often carving the tunnels and chambers themselves, unaided, as an act of devotion, and Brossganth offered a prayer of thanks to the spirit of the priest who had fashioned this little refuge with his own meagre tools.

"So, what do we do now?", asked Broxka, struggling to sit up and leaving herself fighting for breath as a result, thanks to the fractured ribs she had sustained, and most likely aggravated during the torturous scramble through the tunnel.

That was the question Brossganth had been dreading most. "I don't know", he murmured, even though he was effectively war-chief for what remained of the Murgand forces of Jaglundar's Rock. "I just don't know..."

"Huh", grunted the warrior-woman. "Never send a child to do a man's job."

As the closest thing Murgands had to royalty, Brossganth should have been deeply offended by Broxka's outburst, but he knew she was right, and only now was he beginning to appreciate his father's words.

Raven was left standing outside Mararen's cabin for some minutes, her gentle knocks and pleas going unanswered, until the warrior finally relented, and let her in. "I'm sorry if that wing-business upset you", she said softly as she crept inside. "Even I didn't know it was going to do that..."

"I have seen things that would make even the strongest man give up the contents of his stomach", said Mararen emptily. "Such is the trail of horror the Dark Breed leave behind them."

"Yet you still felt you had to get away", Raven continued. "I could feel how you felt."

"Maybe, but you could not possibly understand", he responded, sitting on his narrow bunk.

"Not unless someone enlightens me", she replied, and walked over to sit next to him.

The warrior turned away, and Raven reached out with a comforting hand, which came to rest on his shoulder-blade, just where the lower point protruded. Her first instinct was to recoil when she felt lumpy, tough skin, through his shirt and her glove, but something deeper than instinct prevented her. "What...what happened to you?", she asked, almost whispering. "What happened to your back? Did the Dravwaeri...?"

"No, not the Dravwaeri - Dyals", said Mararen, his voice as emotionless as it could possibly be. "My own people..."

Raven suddenly saw it all, and it horrified her. "They...they cut off your wings?"

Mararen shuddered, as though a great sob was about to erupt from within him. "Yes", he murmured, somehow retaining his composure. "Don't...don't ask me to explain - I...I can't. I can barely stand to live with it. I became a Waeribane in the hope that I would one day face a foe strong enough to defeat me...and grant me the release of death. Hah! I can't even manage that - I'm too good at my job to get myself killed..."

Raven sat down beside him, stripped off her gloves, and took his hand in hers. The first thing she noticed was a silver ring - the exact duplicate of the one Tysandiel had given her - and she was about to ask him about it when he saw the ring she wore.

"You have one of our rings", he said, surprised. "Where did you get it?"

"A friend - Tysandiel, back in Freeport", she replied.

Mararen smiled - something Raven had expected never to see him do again. "I wish I'd known, or I would have paid my respects", said the warrior. "The Lady Tysandiel is - was - one of the founding members of the Waeribane."

"I seem to have a habit of running into the famous", remarked Raven, smiling too. "Royalty, feared pirates - now a mighty warrior..."

"Don't spread it around", advised Mararen. "We Waeribane try not to draw too much attention to ourselves. The Dark Breed have many followers, and each of those would be glad to put a knife in our backs."

"And would you welcome such a knife?"

Mararen looked up, and gazed into Raven's eyes. "Perhaps", he replied. "It would be a pretty hollow death, though. I would much rather die facing my opponent."

Raven did not like the way Mararen seemed so at ease when it came to talking about his own death, but he was quick to reassure her. "My wishes are set aside when lives are at stake, dear lady", he told her. "So long as one threat remains, I'll give my all in the defence of those whom the Dark Breed seek to subjugate and enslave."

"Perhaps your task would be easier to handle if you shared your knowledge", she said. "Come with me, and talk to the others. Tell them everything you know about these Dravwyrn, and their servants. Four pairs of eyes that know what to watch out for are surely better than one."

"What, and have you stop me before I march straight into the jaws of death?", he asked, and there was an air of brevity in his words that told Raven that, for now, she had pulled this brave, wounded soul back from the brink of self-destruction.

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