Dagger and Crystal

A few moments went by then the magic stored in that liquid kicked in, healing the worst injuries first. Minutes later, I was much better. My rear end still thumped but at least I could move my legs without passing out. There still was a fierce itching and burning from my back which didn't subside even after licking up every single drop of that healing potion.

Eventually, I rolled off the altar and scouted the caves. Xandrith was nowhere to be seen. Near the altar, in a neat pile, were my clothes, armor and the gear she had magically created. I used the blade of my sword and a small mirror I found in the bathing chamber to look at my back. Near my right shoulder blade, an ugly cluster of scar tissue remained, red and swollen on my gray skin. It was vaguely octagonal. I recognized a brand when I saw it, but I didn't recognize the symbol, if it even was one. Xandrith wasn't satisfied with raping and humiliating me, no, she had to brand me too? It would take more than a healing potion to get rid of that. If it was at all possible, that is.

The pool was clear when I returned to it and I spent hours trying to wash myself, to somehow scrub the taint, the humiliation off me. Some traces of that horrible soap seemed to linger even after my skin was a wrinkled mess and I was shivering from the cold water.

I found a few trail rations stashed away in one of the chests. Staying here would be out of the question. I didn't fancy a meeting with a drow war band so I wolfed one of the rations down as quickly as possible and left. It was dawning outside, the sun a mere suggestion on the eastern horizon, its rays lighting up low-hanging, dark clouds.

What next? There were two options. I could try to forget this ever had happened, go north and find Krejula. Or I could go east, to Storm Harbour. Find my mother. Ask her why she left me to die. I understood what Xandrith had done. She had tried to whip me into a killing frenzy, probably hoping I would charge this Shilana woman and kill her in the name of the Chaos Queen. I was much too sore, too tired for that. But the curiosity still burned within me, the need to understand.

To the east I went.

* * * *

I reached Storm Harbour's Land Gate around the Wolf Hour, twelve days after I had woken up on the altar. At night, the City Watch kept the gates closed. Late or early arrivals had to spend the night outside. When I arrived, there were already a few people there, sitting around a small bonfire. Merchants, sell-swords, even some farmers with their wagons and livestock. Most of them seemed half-asleep, only a few were passing a bottle around, talking quietly. They nudged each other as I came closer, shooting curious looks my way.

"A pleasant night to you, good sirs," I said, nodding their way. "Mind if I join you?" I pulled down the hood of my cloak. Some eyebrows were raised, but no one complained. Some bulky warriors, wearing plate mail under dark cloaks, made room on one of the logs and I took a seat. The bottle they'd been passing around reached me. I sniffed. A strong, bitter stench assaulted my nostrils.

"Go on, it will keep ya warm," a gruff voice to my left said encouragingly. "'Tis a good stone water." A dwarf with missing teeth grinned at me, winking through the furry mess of his face. Between his unruly shock of blond locks and his equally shaggy beard, only the tip of his nose and his eyes, clear as a mountain lake, were visible beneath the helmet and cowl he wore.

I took a careful sip and fiery heat poured down my throat. "Thanks," I coughed, handing the bottle off to my neighbor.

"And what brings you to Storm Harbour?" an older trader across from me asked, not unkindly.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Huh, good luck with dat," the dwarf to my left said. "You have any idea how bloody big this place is?"

"Not really," I admitted. "It's my first time. I'm from the south-west."

"Oh, the old Elven kingdoms?" the trader asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Yes, thereabouts."

"I heard the place is overrun by orcs. My associates and I are planning a caravan there. Weapons, food and healing supplies should fetch a pretty penny."

"Don't. Unless you're bringing a small army," I said bitterly.

"Hmm. Good to know."

I pulled my dagger and looked at it. It was the only thing left from my mother. My foster parents had found it next to me, forgotten in the hay. I've had it since I could remember and it never had to be sharpened. The hilt was made of a strange metal with a golden sheen, now burnished dark with centuries of use. The pommel held a strange sigil, a leaf surrounded by golden rays of sunlight.

"A beautiful piece. May I see it?" the trader asked, extending a hand.

"Sure, go ahead." I passed him the dagger and he turned it in his hand.

"Adamantine and elven smithing. An interesting combination," he observed. "Daggers like that were only given to members of noble households. Yours?" He frowned at me.

"My mother's. House Elbharyl."

"Elbharyl?" the dwarf next to me said, perking up. "I know that name."

"You, Dorec?" the trader asked, handing the dagger back to me.

"Surprised, eh? Me cousin Zentam, he's always going on about that elven lass he's been out and about with. Says she's a mighty fine sorceress and easy on the eyes too. Has seen her all naked like already."

"Any idea where I could find her?" I asked Dorec. My heart was beating much faster now.

"Prob'ly around the Watch. Zentam says she works there when not out torchin' orcs an' drow."

* * * *

I didn't have to scour the city for her. When the Land Gate was opened by eight grunting Watchmen, pushing the immense metal-shod door wings open, she already waited for me. Most of my life, I had no clear idea who or what my mother could be, only the vague idea of a cruel, heartless monster. After Xandrith's tale, I had expected a broken woman with a haunted look in her eyes, guilt-ridden for leaving a newborn out to die. But she was none of these things.

Imperious she was, clad in simple white robes, her long, auburn hair unbound and moving as if buffeted by a strong breeze. There was no question if she was my mother, the resemblance was striking. I had inherited her cheeks and her eyes and Xandrith's mocking observation about my mouth was apt as well.

When she saw me, she hesitated in mid-step, a shadow of doubt, uncertainty, flickering across her delicate features. But the instant passed and, with a grim look of determination, she closed the distance until we were less than an arm's length apart. I was taller than her, not by much, but a fierce intensity radiated off her which made me feel quite a bit smaller. And I noticed her smell. Sure, she had anointed herself with some floral scents, but over it all was a strong note of ozone. A curious woman.

"You-" we both began, then stopped, listening to each other's voice.

"You first," she murmured, casting down her eyes. Guilt after all?

"Can we go somewhere else? I feel awfully exposed here."

"Yes, yes. Sure. Follow me." She briskly turned and strode off, not checking if I followed her. She hustled past the wagons and carts coming and going through the Land Gate, eventually stopping at a gatehouse door. "In here."

"I expected maybe an armchair and a drink, not the Watch arsenal," I quipped as I entered. The room was dimly lit by slanted shafts of light coming through an arrow slit high up. Weapon and armor racks lined the walls, chests and crates took up most of the remaining space. Shilana scoffed and sat down on a crate. I did likewise, looking her over again. She squirmed under my scrutiny and avoided eye contact.

"If it's any consolation, I'm not here to kill you," I said.

She actually laughed! Her eyes met mine for the first time and I saw something awaken in them, a tiny azure pinprick of light. A moment later, a bright azure radiance illuminated the room. It emanated from her hands and forehead. Two more glowing spots were visible through her robe, one on her sternum and the other in her pelvis area.

She smiled, a terrible harbinger of doom. "You would have found out I'm a hard woman to kill," she said. It wasn't a boast, no. A mere statement of her abilities. I raised my hands. The terrible smile remained but the glow dissipated. "If you're not here for vengeance, then what?"

"I have met an acquaintance of yours," I said, standing up again. I removed my weapon belts and the armor then off came the padded vest and shirt underneath. She gasped when I turned around, my ravaged back and sides on display. Despite the healing potion, the marks where Xandrith had jabbed her sharp talons into me were still painfully present, and the brand, if it had healed at all, was throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

Her fingertips touched my skin, right next to a claw mark and I flinched.

"How recent is this?" she whispered.

"Just a few days ago."

"What did she do to you?"

"At first, she rescued me from a murderous orc tribe. Then she took me to a cave, hallowed to the accursed Chaos Queen, where she told me about our wonderful family. Before and after, she raped me."

Shilana swore, spitting a foul dwarven curse not even Frida would have used. I turned around to face her. The glow was back. "We will find her. And then we will kill her. But first... I think I owe you at least two hundred years worth of explanations, right?"

* * * *

She took me to her home, a small, cluttered stone house not far from Temple Way she shared with her lover, a gigantic slab of a man named Leo. When we arrived, he was heading out on patrol, clad in an ornate suit of plate armor, the breast plate made to resemble a roaring lion's head. He shot me a curious look before putting on an emblazoned pot helm. Shilana shook her head, mouthing something I didn't quite get, but he only nodded, gently brushed his mailed hand over her shoulder and left. Shilana offered me a seat and ducked into the tiny kitchen, from which she got two goblets and a flask.

"I didn't even ask your name. You must think me awfully impolite," she said, putting the items on the table.

"And I thought, as a spell-caster, you'd already know," I said.

"Divination is not my strong suit, as you might have guessed by now." Shilana took a seat opposite me, blushing.

"My name is Declan, after my foster-father's father."

Again, she averted her eyes. She busied herself with uncorking the flask and pouring wine into the goblets. When she looked up, she seemed more composed. "I should have at least given you a proper name. But I was foolish back then. I know that now."

"What would be the proper Elven for something like me?" I asked her, surprised at the acidic bitterness in my mouth.

"Up until a few years ago, I'd probably have said Aethan. Not-Elf. Now? E'Sum. My son." This time, she didn't break eye contact. "You have every right in the world to hate me, for all the suffering I have caused. Directly or indirectly, I am responsible for it. All I ask is that you listen to my side of the story."

I took a sip from my wine. It was a very light white, fruity and fresh. Did I hate her? As a child, or maybe even a hundred years ago I might have. She had abandoned me after all.

But I would have been much angrier if my upbringing hadn't been what it was. My foster parents had been humans, simple folk, and they had cared for their adopted half-elven, half-drow son as if I had been their own flesh and blood. They taught me their values, showed me right from wrong and at the best of times, they made me forget what I was or how I came to be. Thanks to them, I was at home both on a farm and in the wilderness. I could earn my keep in a number of ways, even if I chose the way of the warrior in the end. After their deaths, the old wounds had opened up again and I had spent a decade doubting my place in this world until I happened upon Shannon, a human ministrel, during my travels. For a time, we wandered together. She was both an artist and a philosopher, able to rouse the patrons at a tavern into a rowdy song or contemplate the state of being with keen-tongued wizards. Shannon calmed my troubled mind and soothed my heart until our paths split. She married a minor noble and moved north, over the Frostguard Mountains where he held dominion over a fiefdom and I ended up going south again, where I eventually fell in with Lumea and the other mercenaries, too busy to really think about the woman who left me to die.

"In all honesty, I'm too tired and bruised for real hate or even mild anger," I said with a chuckle. "Tell me what happened."

We talked throughout the day and most of the night as well. Shilana's version of the events leading up to my birth matched with what Xandrith had told me, except one small detail. The Handmaiden had left out the parts where they placed charms and compulsions upon Shilana, to make her a willing, eager participant in the brutal torment they had put her through.

"I was disgusted with myself, with what I had done. What they made me do. Can you understand what it feels like, having a new life throb inside you, knowing it is the result of a night of utter madness and terror? At least you survived."

"Thanks to the good graces of the farmers who found me after you've left."

"Not only was I a coward, Declan, I was utterly stupid too." Shilana poured more wine into her goblet, drank deep and sighed. "I wanted vengeance. I wanted to kill each and every dark elf in existence."

"Quite a lofty goal."

"Selfish more likely." Another sip. And she told me how she had sought out the Cult of Desire, how she made a pact with their patron deity, to change her into a living engine of destruction. She got her wish but the price she had to pay was staggering. Shilana had lost the ability to bear children.

"Lady Desire also decreed that my past would not stop haunting me," Shilana said, a vicious grin on her lips. "That part... ended up being not quite as bad."

"You met Hael'quira again and killed her."

Her head shot up. "How do you know?"

"The Handmaiden told me, right before she tore into me again."

"I'm sorry," Shilana whispered, caressing my hand. Little jolts of electricity jumped from skin to skin, if from the unexpected tender gesture or her magical abilities, I didn't quite know. "Believe me, it was a grueling adventure, but I made it out stronger. And much, much wiser. Another?" She held up the wine bottle.

"Not much more and I'll end up drunk under your table." Nevertheless, I held out my goblet. And Shilana told me about Tear and Arach, about how those two dark elven priestesses went with Leo to slay a dragon while Shilana was too prejudiced to accept their help. She told me about their happy reunion weeks later and the adventure involving a medusa, how Leo got turned to stone and the events that eventually led to Shilana and Arach infiltrating Hael'quira's encampment where Shilana finally managed to kill that vile woman.

"The camp was ablaze, most of Hael'quira's henchmen were dead and the slaves had been freed. The last thing I saw before teleporting my friends away was a Handmaiden, clutching a dead Drow against her naked tit," Shilana said between clenched teeth.

"I bet my last few gold coins on this Handmaiden being Xandrith. Or whatever her true name may be." The brand on my shoulder itched infernally as I said her name.

"Very likely." Shilana yawned expansively. "How late is it anyway?"

Somewhere in the distance, a cockerel cried. "Ugh. And I have gate duty today. Let me show you where you can sleep for the time being. Unless you don't want to stay under the same roof as your monster mother," she quipped wryly.

"I wasn't lying in regards to my finances. Xandrith may have magicked some gear into existence when she rescued me, but I'm well and truly out of coin. Thank you for taking me in."

* * * *

Sleep came and with it a most curious dream. A small part of me wondered why I didn't dream about recent events, my nightmarish encounter with Xandrith or anything related with Shilana, because I dreamed of the past instead.

The inn was crowded to the beams. No wonder. One of the wildest autumn storms in recent memory battered the building. Icy drafts sliced through every tiny crack in the walls and under the front door, causing the torches mounted to the walls and the candles in the huge wheel candelabra to flicker erratically or even go out. Solid sheets of rain hammered against one wall as I shut the door behind me. People huddled together for warmth, despite the huge fireplace roaring behind the bar.

After traveling the Midlands for the last decade alongside the beautiful Shannon, this was my first journey alone, and a sobering one it was. I had planned to return to my foster parent's farm but found the buildings razed to the ground and the fields overgrown. The burgomaster in the nearby village told me of an orc raid of a few years past and how they had used the abandoned farm as a base of operations until some adventurers drove them out, leveling the place in the process. There was nothing left of my former home, so I had decided to put the experience I had earned on the twisted roads to good use and hire myself out as a mercenary.

And here I was. Tired, wet to the bone and stuck in the middle of a proper end-of-the-world storm. I made my way to the bar, where a bald, apron-wearing man gave me a once-over. His frown told me he didn't like my type. In my satchel, I found a handful of copper nibs and poured them out in front of him.

"What will this get me here, good sir?"

He squinted at the coins, dregs from previous purchases made in small towns and cities across the Western Continent, from the decaying elven cities to Valcrest to River's Crossing and beyond.

"A mug of ale and stoo, if that's what yer after," he said and swiped the coins off the bar top.

"Fair enough. I'll have both then."

He grunted and turned to fetch the food and drink. A few moments later I crab-walked across the tavern floor, a steaming bowl of unidentifiable stew in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, trying to find a place to sit. Half-elf, half-drow was a rather unique blend but there sadly was enough dark elf in me and enough seasoned travelers around that my chances of finding a place to sit were close to zero.

"Hey, sponge. Get yer wet ass over here," someone called, not unfriendly. I turned, bumped into one of the serving girls, nearly spilled my ale on her and then I saw her. She was a brunette dwarf, broad-shouldered, with a jaw you could sharpen a blade on but her green eyes glowed warmly and her smile seemed sincere. Next to her, on a bench, was some room.

"Stop dripping around and come over here already. I won't bite ya," the dwarf woman called, patting the empty seat invitingly. Opposite her, a blonde woman with a stern gaze sighed and rolled her eyes. She mouthed something I couldn't hear over the noise of the tavern and the raging storm but the dwarf only shook her head.

"Thank you kindly," I said, stepping over the bench and taking a seat.

"That's Frida for you," the blonde sighed. "Always taking in strays."

"Shut up, Lumea," Frida said. "Without me picking up strays, you would have run out of new recruits years ago." To me she said: "Don't mind her. She doesn't like strangers. Name's Frida, cleric of the Hearthmother. And by her bosom, you're one soggy feller." She dug around under the table. I heard the clinking of buckles and a moment later, she produced a blanket, probably from her backpack stashed under the table.

"Thank you, again," I said, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders.

"Don't mention it," she said, patting my shoulder. The wet clothes underneath the blanket made squishing sounds and cold wetness seeped over my back.

"You look like you can handle yourself," Lumea observed, nodding at my well-worn weapons. "Not too many scars, yet you move with a certain grace. That bump into the serving wench excluded," she said, a vicious grin tugging at her lips.