Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 14

Alan had been airborne at the time the keening beast landed, thus he hadn't been aware of the sheer weight of the beasts, save for how even the swift footed Windhawk stumbled back just from the thing's impact upon the ground. This gap in his experience was swiftly remedied, when the beast before him stomped upon the earth once more. It sent gravel and dust flying upward as it pawed the ground, even as Alan righted himself. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Alan swiftly drew his sword.

He couldn't immediately see either of the elven woman from his new position, just the imposing hybrids that had jumped down at them. Hulking creatures, they were obviously the creation of some demented mage. Although he was unsure that Miena had the skills to create such monstrosities, he couldn't rule that out either. At the very least, they were under the Stranger's control. Each one had the vague bulk and shape of a bear, with thick, brown fur. However, at their shoulders, arms, and heads, the fur gave way to a coat of brown and black banded feathers. Their upper paws ended in sharp, black, talon-like claws, while their heads resembled those of owls, with sharp, gleaming beaks. His movements apparently attracted the attention of the nearest of the owl-bear hybrid creatures, for it swiftly rotated its head nearly all the way around, to stare at him with murderously huge, red-rimmed eyes.

Immediately, chaos broke out. Near the tree, the one which had landed near to Daphne wrapped its paws about her, and hauled her in close. Its sharp talons and sharper beak rent into her undead frame, and she screamed. Not that the thing was able to do lasting damage to her flesh, but rather the dim sunlight, filtering across the horizon and through the trees, now threatened to contact flesh where the fabric she had donned was rent. For now, the tree behind her and the creature before her were enough to stave off any actual damage from the ever brightening sky.

The one nearer to Alan swiped one paw at Windhawk, who smashed it aside with her still held bow. Its other paw raked itself along her frame, but she danced back a step before it could render more than the most shallow of gashes across her shoulder. By the time its head snapped about toward her, its beak merely closed on empty air.

Alan thrust his sword forth into the back of the one between himself and Windhawk, and he slid the sharp point of his blade up into its thick hide. The thing let forth a piercing screech. Windhawk's own blade sprung forth from its sheathe, and she swiped at the thing once, continuing to step back and open some space as she did. The halfhearted blow merely swept along its thick furred hide.

With her mask on, Daphne couldn't bite at the thing holding her, with her skin so covered she couldn't even draw upon its life force through mere contact. Instead, she struggled to draw one of her daggers, and inserted it up into the bear-like torso of the one holding her. It let forth something between a bellowing roar and an enraged screech. All the while, above them, the half elf with the lute played a strange, haunting tune. The grass began to twist and writhe under their feet, as if stirred by some otherworldly force.

Across the field, Vick reached down to grab Faringalia, and lift her in an even, smooth motion. With gnome upon his shoulder, he began to charge anew. Alan could only hope that the fat Count didn't have a heart attack on the way toward them.

With a roar and a sudden lurch, the furred and feather creature Alan had just stabbed lunged forth off of his blade, and rushed to catch up with Windhawk. This afforded the old rogue another opportunity, which he took without hesitation. With a flash of steel, he stepped forward and plunged his blade through the beast's back. Its momentum yanked it out of his hand, and it swiped wildly at Windhawk, before teetering forward.

The ranger leaped upward as the chimeric monstrosity began to topple. One foot braced on its shoulder as it fell, and she stood upon its back. She dropped her own sword, which landed face down in the dirt, and notched an arrow. Quick as she could, she let the shaft fly. It zipped forward and planted itself in the second beast's back. Daphne twisted her own dagger, and dragged it up along the belly of the creature mauling her. Though talons and beak scored deeply into her flesh, the worst damage was to her clothing, which hung in tatters about her arms and shoulders. The dying monster staggered back from her, and fell crashing to the ground.

There was little time to celebrate, however, for the shrubs and grass in the area began to twist and grow. It bound about Alan and Windhawk, writhing upward along their limbs. Ankles and legs were the first to be caught, then longer vines began to rise and wrap about their arms, stilling their weapons. Laughter drifted down from above, and the scatter of falling back and tumbling twigs accompanied the bard's descent. He jumped from branch to branch, letting each catch his fall for only a moment, before continuing downward.

Daphne cursed and hastily begin to wrap her cloak more firmly about her arms, drawing the rent strips of black fabric about her own frame, to hide that pale, exposed flesh. By the time she finished, however, the half elven man was already jumping down from the last branch. With lute in one hand, he drew a broadsword in midair, his cloak fluttering in the wake of his movement. Landing in a crouch, the Stranger twisted on the ball of one foot, and charged Alan where the twisting tangle of plants held him.

As his eyes locked on that oncoming blade, Alan's struggles redoubled. It did no good. All his futile effort earned was the inexorable tightening of vines about his limbs. That sword sang as it streaked through the air toward his neck. Beside him, Windhawk shrieked and lunged forth against her own bonds, as helpless as he. Alan closed his eyes, prepared for the end.

It never came.

There was the sound of a fleshy impact, as two leather clad bodies connected. A low grunt followed, the crash of a wooden lute upon the ground along with a few stray notes as strings were inadvertently struck, then the clang of steel on steel. Alan dared to crack one eye open, and was rewarded with renewed hope. There, before his very eyes, Daphne had knocked the bard aside, and had one of her daggers hooked about his broadsword's blade. Her other dagger, dripping with poison, was mere inches from the Stranger's throat, though he'd managed to get a hold on her wrist. The man was strong, but visibly wavered under the relentless pressure of her unnatural power.

The bard's muscles strained under his dark leathers. He braced one foot against Daphne's to try to get more leverage, but it was of no use. Finally, he twisted away, disengaging. That venomous blade scratched along his cheek, but for the most part he ducked aside. His own sword fell to the ground as he rolled, and Daphne wasted no time stepping between him and his weapon.

"Vampire," he spat the word out, and glared up at her.

Daphne shifted her stance and stood ready to receive the fellow's next action, with her daggers still in hand. For a moment, Alan wondered just what was keeping her. But then, as the pale rays of the morning sun played patterns of gold across her tattered cloak and hood, he realized what she was doing. She was keeping her back to the sun, and her foe in her own shadow. If she turned into the light, she would be blinded, and much more vulnerable to an errant attack destroying her hastily repaired cover.

"Daphne! Let us handle this! Get into the shade!" Windhawk's cries were unexpected. The vehemence she had been heaping on the other elf was replaced with genuine concern.

Alan glanced back across the field. Vick and Faringalia were closing in, but it would still be some time before they fully caught up. But it seemed the dark bard noticed them as well.

"Damn it all. We'll have to end this quickly." He cursed, and shifted his hands before himself. A spark began to play along his outstretched palms, and then with a flashing flare, the spark grew into a stream of fire, which continued to burn even as it shaped roughly into the dimensions of a blade.

Daphne visibly flinched back at the appearance of the flame blade, but quickly steeled herself. "I've withstood flames hotter than that," she hissed out her challenge.

"Indeed, but I don't have to burn you, just your shroud." The Stranger grinned wickedly, then sprung forward, charging at Daphne.

"No!" Alan and Windhawk's cries rung out in unison, but the exchange was over in that moment.

The Stranger stood wide eyed a few paces behind Daphne, facing Alan and Windhawk. It was hard to see just where he was wounded, the strike had been so quick, so precise. Blood trickled down from his neck, and from under one armpit. It wasn't the depth and severity of the strikes that had stopped him, but rather the poison with which Daphne coated her blades. With a flickering sputter, his flame blade extinguished itself, and shrunk back into his palm. He toppled forward without another word.

Behind him, Daphne stood, facing away from the sun. Flames licked along her clothes and body, yet she did not move. As Alan studied her, it became clear why. Whatever she was wearing had already scorched through along the front from the enchanted flames. Cloth and leather had burned alike under the intense heat of that blade. She couldn't even drop and roll to extinguish herself, without revealing large portions of her bare form.

"Alan," her voice was pained, even as she tugged her goggles off. The flames continued to spread rapidly about her, scorching her undead flesh as readily as it consumed her clothing. Even the leathers were charred through in a large swath across her torso. The diffuse sunlight caused her flesh to smolder where it was exposed, even facing away from the light. "Take care of my cousin, please."

"Daphne!" Windhawk's tearful cry ended Alan's confusion. He looked back toward the ranger, only to see the anguish wrought across her features.

Helplessly, Alan tugged at those still writhing plants, but that spell, at least, still held. As those flames continued to consume Daphne's shrouds, he marveled that she was still standing. Tears rolled down his own cheeks as he watched her. "Daphne, I-"

Daphne slowly turned around, to gaze into the sunrise. Her skin immediately began to blacken and ignite. The sun turned what parts of her the fire didn't consume into a chalky ash, which immediately began to blow away in the stiff breeze. She didn't scream, although her last words were strained with the agony of her situation.

"It's as beautiful as I remembered."

And then she was gone. Just lingering black fabric and scraps of once enchanted leather fluttered down, still aflame. Her daggers fell to the ground, as well as a few vials of poison, and a few scraps of bone that turned to ash as they tumbled forth from what had protected them from the sun's rays up until that point.

Alan stared at where she had been, as a fire started amidst the grass where the embers had fallen. Next to him, still entangled, Windhawk just sobbed. It felt unreal, really. So long ago, Daphne had been his enemy. He would have slain her without a second thought. When she had surrendered, he had thought it a ploy, and her too troublesome to deal with.

Now, she had sacrificed her life to save his.

And Windhawk was bawling beside him. The stoic, practical ranger, who only ever really showed irritation or anger in the past, was in tears. He didn't know how to react. There was nothing he could do though, bound in those overgrown plants as he was.

It was just fortunate that the fire started by those embers of clothing quickly burned itself out. Some minutes later, Vick and Faringalia arrived, shortly before the entangling spell wore off. Vick lowered the gnome girl to the ground, then stared at the ash that had once been Daphne.

"Sweet gods, what happened?"

"The bard killed her," Alan's voice was hollow as he stated the short, simplified answer that he knew Vick would be able to grasp. He finally began to tug his way out of the receding vines and brush. "She saved my life."

Vick bobbed his head grimly, then turned his gaze to Windhawk uncertainly. Like Alan, he had never seen her cry. When she was able, the elven woman ran forth, and knelt by the spot where Daphne fell. None of the three remaining stopped her, and for a long moment, there was simply an uncomfortable silence broken only by the sniffling sobs of the ranger.

Alan didn't know what to say. Garthur had always been the one to commemorate fallen comrades, but he wasn't there. Windhawk obviously knew Daphne more than she had ever hinted at, Faringalia had only just met her, and Vick had little but contempt for their old enemy. Though, the old rogue noted, the fat count was conspicuously silent himself. Perhaps the vampire's last act had redeemed her somewhat in his eyes. It certainly had in Alan's.

He wiped at his eyes, rubbing the tears away on the backs of his hands, then strode forward, away from the group, and toward that tree. His gaze turned up to that sunrise, as the morning sun lifted ever higher in the sky, then back toward the distant spire of the Startower. A frown settled on his worn features, and a pit of hatred settled in his stomach.

Vick's heavy steps carried him up behind Alan, and he too gazed off toward that tower. One great hand clapped on the thief's shoulder, and Count Varonne just nodded slowly.

"So that's who we have to put down," He didn't need to say her name.

Alan let a heavy sigh escape, before he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, looks like." She had been their friend, once. A valued member of their team. Now, in whatever form she existed, the wizard woman had to be put down like a rabid dog. Good men and women had suffered and died, an organization that had been painstakingly retooled away from violence and mayhem had been reduced to base thuggery, then gutted and destroyed. And it was all because of her. They had to get to her before she caused any more damage.

Vick turned a serious look to Alan, but he didn't say anything. The Count looked haggard, the hardships of travel and rush of combat, not to mention the sprint across the field had all taken their tolls on a man who had grown use to soft living. Especially after a lifetime of gluttony and hard drinking. Alan just hoped the old warrior didn't keel over on them.

"Take a breather, Vick. From here on out we have to go slow and steady. We can't afford to rush anymore."

"Says the one who ran across the fields by his fool self."

Alan rubbed at his temples, and a pained look crossed his features. Vick was right. If he hadn't run up, he wouldn't have split the party. They would have been able to better face the Stranger and his creatures. Daphne might still be with them. As doubt began to creep into his mind, however, he remembered her words. Certainly, he had made a mistake. And it had cost them dearly, but now was not the time to wallow in self recrimination and second guesses. He simply had to take what had happened as a lesson, and proceed from there.

"That won't happen again," Alan's voice grew resolute. "When we're ready, we go slow and steady. We go into that tower, we march up to the top, we get my wife back and we kill Miena."

Vick laughed and clapped his hand at Alan's shoulder again, "Good to have you back." With a grin, the warrior then stepped past, and leaned back against the trunk of that great tree.

Content to his friend rest a moment, Alan turned away, and approached the kneeling form of Windhawk. By then, she had settled into quiet tears, as her hands worked to scrape together a pile of the chalky white ash that was all that remained of Daphne. Nearby, Faringalia crouched and stared at the elven woman. The little gnome lifted her gaze to Alan at his approach. Her own features were unreadable.

He lowered one hand toward the nape of her neck, but just before what he hoped would be a reassuring touch could actually connect, she spoke. Her voice arrested the movement of his hand, and he awkwardly held it out, mere inches from touching her as she began her tale. Only slowly did he let his arm fall to his side once more.

"Daphne and I knew each other long before we faced her in battle," The elven woman let that sink in for a moment, and took a deep breath. She did not look up to either Alan or Vick. "I never laid it out simply because it was a long, long time ago, and it was largely irrelevant. When she didn't bring it up either, I felt it was best to let such things remain secret. I am sorry that I deceived you both."

"Daphne was my cousin. The eldest daughter of my uncle, her name then was Daephraen. She was already such a beautiful lady when I was still young. I grew up in her shadow. Her mother was nobility, so she spent her time in court, dealing with those close to the Elven King, mingling with the movers and shakers, deftly maneuvering the intrigues that surrounded her. She was radiant, she was beautiful. I loved her from afar.

"When I was old enough to become a warrior, she was amongst the first to encourage me in my practice. She presented me with my first bow and sword. I think it was because of her that I was allowed to participate in the wild hunts at my young age. She must have pulled some strings, for certainly no one else of influence took any interest in me. I adored her so, but I knew that she simply saw me as her kid cousin. Where she was stately and elegant, I was clumsy, inexperienced, and base. But with each challenge, I overcame and persevered. I hoped, beyond any reason that I could genuinely muster, that she might see me as worthy by my actions.

"I don't know what I would have done without her encouragement. I joined the scout corps, which had me out in the field for sometimes months at a time. As my visits home became more infrequent, I saw less and less of her. Still, I strove to be the best I could be, so some day, some day I might greet her with my head held high."

Windhawk sniffled a bit, and her story faltered. Alan crouched beside her, and finally his warm hand found her back. He rubbed just gently between her shoulders, and waited for her to continue. It was certainly not something he'd ever had any idea about. After collecting herself, the elven woman picked up where she left off, though her tone was softer, her voice threatened to crack with tears at every moment.

"It was on one of those rare visits home that Lady Daephraen came to me in secrecy. She was always skilled at getting into places undetected. When she appeared in my chambers, long after sundown, I was confused. I was elated that she had sought me out specifically, but I was concerned as to the reasons why. There, away from the prying eyes and ears of court, she told me that she had uncovered hints of a plot against the Elven King. There was someone who was going to do great harm to the court, and that, although she would try to protect me, I should be careful.

"I told her that I would be the one watching over her, to repay her for all of her kindness, and that I would let no potential foe pass my patrols by. She smiled at me, and her smile was so radiant. She told me then, that she appreciated my willingness to take action, that she always enjoyed those that did, rather than simply talked about doing. It was the first time I genuinely felt worthy of her kindness, and I told her as much.

"She slipped her arms around me, and held me close. She was so soft, so warm. She smelled like the flowers from the royal gardens. It was probably because that was likely the route she took to get to my quarters, but I didn't care. In that moment, it was the best thing ever. My heart soared, and I fell in love all over again. I didn't simply wish to impress her to repay her for her kindness, I wanted her to feel the same about me, to want to hold me forever.