Mud and Magic Ch. 09

* * * *

Celeste awoke with a start. She wasn't in the infirmary any more but sleeping with a grinning elven druid cuddled against her was unfamiliar still. And she's so damn stubborn! Celeste thought. Elara had followed up on her threat, becoming a smiling, golden-locked, slightly plump elven shadow. Yet, despite her threat, she never even breathed a kiss or touched Celeste inappropriately. She's probably waiting for me to make the first move, Celeste grimly thought. Keep waiting, princess. She slid out of bed, wearing one of Elara's diaphanous nightshirts, and claimed her robe. Quietly, she left the room and padded through the corridors of the tower's fourth floor. The student quarters were exactly as she had left them almost a decade ago, simple stone corridors with a few pieces of art in alcoves, illuminated by perpetually glowing magical lamps. She turned a corner and bumped into Sen, the half-elven maid. To keep both of them from tumbling to the ground, Celeste hugged her close.

She sniffed. Sen smelled of sweat, her hair was a tousled mess and she had a large love bite on her neck. The fact her clothes had a "very-hastily-dressed" look left little to the imagination.

"Who was the lucky one?" Celeste asked. Sen looked at her apologetically, then cast down her gaze. The half-elf blushed furiously.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" Celeste asked. "I mean, you look like somebody tossed you out of bed."

"If you have to know... Hilgrun," Sen said, a bit contrite. "When I went to see her after dinner, I wanted nothing more but to train with her."

"Uh huh," Celeste said, caressing Sen's bruised neck. "Looks more like she tried to eat you out. On the wrong end."

"Well, one thing led to another. First we trained with staves then we ended up wrestling and then..." She shrugged. "What are you interrogating me for anyway? Has Rhys put you up to this?" Her eyes blazed with emotion.

Celeste breathed a kiss onto Sen's lips, shutting her up harder than any slap to the face might have. "Shhh. No need. I was just curious. I'm sorry if I hit a nerve."

"Uh... never mind. Rhys said I should try to keep calm." Sen sighed. "Was there something else you needed? I could use a few handfuls of fresh water and an hour of sleep or three before the bells start a-ringing."

"I'm fine, I think. Just taking a midnight stroll." Celeste released her. "One thing. Where's Rhys' room?"

"That way. Easy to find. Just look for the fancy double doors near the common room."

"He made double doors when he claimed his room? Thank you." Celeste pulled Sen close again for another kiss. This one was deliberate. An invitation.

When she withdrew, Sen inhaled sharply. "What was that for?"

"Just because. We girls need to stick together after all. Good night."

"Same to you." Sen bowed slightly and slipped past her. Celeste continued down the corridor, past the common room door which was wide open. The three magical windows filled the room with colorful light and dancing shadows. She passed the door and found Rhys' room not far off. She knew he was away on a mission - the whole tower knew - but that didn't stop her. Quietly, she placed her hands on the handles and pushed. The door wasn't locked. Few doors in the tower ever were, she knew from experience. Most students preferred it that way. Inside, a single oil lamp illuminated the room. Celeste closed the door and leaned against it, trying to let the room speak to her.

It was obvious that Rhys hadn't been here long. The room had few personal touches, unlike Elara's, with colorful banners hanging off the walls and numerous plants filling the air with fragrant smells. But even so, there were unmistakable signs it was his. On a sideboard, she spotted a tall, swan-necked pitcher made from dulled silver, the sides adorned with chased maple leaves and vines. The famous elven pitcher, Celeste thought. Why did you bring back that gaudy thing? She padded to the side board and let her fingers wander over the cool metal. Her fingertips tingled. A tiny bit of magic resided in the vessel, proclaiming it as genuine. Probably a cooling enchantment. Back at the village, the pitcher was never far from Padec's - Rhys' father - side, usually filled with the best ale Dara had for sale. Didn't think you'd ever want to be reminded of him. I'll ask you once you're back.

Celeste turned away and let her gaze wander again. The laundry basket was empty and the robes had been neatly placed on the bed's foot end. The desk was a mess of open books, charts and writing utensils. Celeste took a seat, lit one of the lamps and looked over the books. He had diligently prepared for his trip into the elven woods. She smiled. Even back at the village, despite the abuse his family had heaped upon him, Rhys had always been diligent to the point of stubbornness. When Gran had sent him to fetch tobacco or healing herbs, he knew the exact amounts and had the coin counted out. And even when his back had been torn to bloody shreds, he had always been courteous, with his "thank you, Mother." I told him so often he could simply call me by my name, she thought.

Celeste shifted her weight in the uncomfortable wooden chair. Her knee clipped one of the drawers. Something rattled within. She tried the drawer. It opened and something dark rolled into view.

She picked up the item. A cool, comforting shiver ran through her body. It was a small obsidian idol, fashioned to look like a pair of hands holding a bowl, bound together at the wrists by a slender golden chain.

What in the Pits is an idol of Desire doing here? Celeste thought. Suddenly, a sharp sensation lanced through her palm. She dropped the idol. A two-inch sliver of obsidian had stabbed her, drawing blood. Hissing, she picked up the item and threw it into the fireplace where it shattered into a thousand pieces. Her palm throbbed where the sliver had dug into her. A deep, bleeding gash, oozing crimson.

"You and I need to have a serious talk, Rhys," Celeste muttered. She checked the wardrobe. And like her own, so many years ago, this one held several sets of blue robes, loincloths, socks, sandals, washcloths and towels. She claimed a washcloth and wound it around her hand. Her other went for her holy symbol. The one you don't have anymore, she thought bitterly. Not that it meant anything. I never took the vows. My 'healing spells' were simple ether infusions, aiding the body's self-regenerative processes. She sighed. I should have honored Ilva's last wish and become a true cleric of Mercy. Maybe- Celeste gnashed her teeth.

"And again I am paralyzed by doubt," she muttered. Instead of dealing with her wound, she was contemplating her life choices. Irritated, she drew in a small amount of power, just enough to close the wound. Clerics were the true healers but even a sorcerer could manipulate ether to stem the flow of blood. A shiver ran through her and her limbs suddenly felt very heavy. That little spell already had badly drained her. No wonder the Teleport nearly killed me. I'm woefully out of practice. That needs to change. Celeste tossed the bloody wash cloth into the fireplace and ignited it with a quick flame blast. Her knees nearly buckled.

When the floor stopped tilting dangerously under her feet, she used Rhys' bathroom to wash away the last of the blood. Cleansed, she returned to Elara's chamber. If the elf had noticed her leaving, she hadn't done anything about it. Celeste slipped out of her robe and climbed back into bed. Maybe Elara's warm body could stem the shivers wracking her body. She hugged the sleeping beauty and pulled the covers over them both.

She was asleep in a matter of moments.

* * * *

Borna came to a halt under a large tree. Above her, rays of light pierced the canopy. It wasn't the golden light of eternal summer which - according to the songs her Grandma had sung to her - had always brightened the elven woods before the humans had come and destroyed it all. No, the light was cold and harsh, leaving little doubt that even the magical forest was gripped in the first days of winter. Groaning, the malformed being dropped to her knees and let Rhys' limp body slide from her blood-red, chitin-plated arms. For the last hour or so, she hadn't heard anyone behind her, no nervous horses, no agitated riders shouting for their heads.

Maybe I've truly lost them by now, she thought. Borna fiddled with the small sack around her neck, opening it wide enough to dip one of her claws in. The stone within drained the demonic energies suffusing her limbs, at least for a few hours. She had noticed the intervals growing shorter over the past few days, as if her body was adjusting to the strange power of the stone.

I should enjoy the reprieve for as long as it lasts. The thought was sobering. At long last she could touch others without fear of hurting them and even that little bit of comfort had an expiration date it seemed.

Sure, there were her claws but, after six years of living with them, she knew perfectly well how not to inadvertently carve up somebody. More or less. I can avoid a bloody mess when I go slow, at least, she thought. A rare grin tugged at her lips. Her fingertips found Rhys' neck. His pulse was quick and erratic, as it had been ever since Faedal beat the living snot out of him. Apart from a few pain-filled moments full of whimpers and wails, Rhys had been out cold ever since.

Borna looked at the swollen mess his knee had become. His patella must have shattered into dozens of pieces, each of them tearing through flesh and tendons. And then there was all the blood oozing from his eyes, mouth and nostrils, I wish I knew what had done that to him. Maybe some spellcasting mishap?

Since they had a little breathing room, Borna decided to help in what little ways she could. She upended the equipment bag and rifled through its contents. Lishaka had used one of her spells to cure several chunks of meat and wound them in one of the linen sheets from a bedroll. Tasty, but useless. The tents could be packed up into surprisingly tight packages. Nothing I could use in there. She took the bedroll already missing a sheet and tested its tear strength. The material was tough enough for what she had in mind. Using her claws, she tore the bedroll's outer cover into several long strips then she gathered a handful of long, firm branches. Careful so as not to damage Rhys any further, she took off his boot and sliced off the leg of his trousers above the knee. It barely budged when she tugged on it. Caked with mud and blood, I guess. Shrugging, she cut the useless tube of fabric apart and gingerly pulled it from the leg. In the grey light of dawn, the injury looked even worse, a black-and-blue clump of swollen ...something bigger than her fist. Snarling, Borna built a makeshift brace, tying the branches to the thigh and shin with tight loops of the torn-apart bedroll.

A wave of regret washed over her. Despite her best intentions, people tended to get hurt around her. Or worse. Her night with Galdor had left the dwarf more dead than alive, with most of his back torn apart by her claws. When she had saved Rhys from Faedal under Storm Harbor, she had probably also done more harm than good. And the broken and torn apart bodies in her wake, faces distorted into masks of unbridled terror, were hard to forget as well. At least this time, she could help, even if it was just a little.

When the brace was done, she used the Infinite Water Bottle to give Rhys' face a good wash. At least no new blood is flowing. Let's hope he has no internal head injuries. While at it, she checked his chest and arms for more damage. When she touched his left side, he whimpered. Something felt rather squishy under his vest. A broken rib?

"And never a cleric in sight when you need one," Borna muttered.

"Today is your lucky day, demon princess," a voice purred nearby. Borna came to her hooves in an instant, claws ready to slice and dice. Standing in the shadows underneath the canopy was a silver-haired dark elf. Borna sniffed and relaxed - a bit. She had scented that particular aroma before.

"You're Astra'il?" she hissed. Her tail curled up above her head, a none-too-subtle reminder she wasn't in a good mood.

"May I approach? I mean you no harm," Astra'il said, spreading her hands at hip height in the universal gesture of peace; palms forward, to indicate that she didn't hide anything. "Your friend needs help, and soon," the dark elf added unnecessarily.

"I know," Borna admitted, gnashing her teeth. "Can you help?"

"That's what I'm offering." Astra'il came closer. As she did, Borna could see that the dark elf must have had a pretty rough night herself. Her cloak hung in tatters off her shoulder, revealing a battered studded armor underneath. She limped slightly.

"Oh cleric, heal thyself." Borna said. "You look like you've had some fun yourself."

"I wouldn't call 'intercepting a raiding party from Below' fun," Astra'il muttered, going to a knee besides Rhys. "They were headed for a supply depot somewhere around here. Not anymore." She flashed Borna a grim smile before turning her attention to Rhys. She cursed.

"What exactly is that supposed to be?" the dark elf asked, pointing at the braced leg. She drew a dagger.

"A brace. Obvious, isn't it?"

Astra'il gnashed her teeth. "That's not a brace, that's a tourniquet. Five, six hours and he would have lost his leg from the thigh down." Agitated, she cut away the fabric ties holding the branches in place.

"And how are you going to heal him when you need healing yourself?"

Astra'il sighed. "Some of the abilities my Mistress grants only work on others." She moved her hands over Rhys' body, probing and checking for injuries. "What happened to him in the first place?"

"A fallen Paladin. Some spellcasting shenanigans. Rhys is still in training and bit off more than he could chew."

"Hm. Lucky for you both I happened upon you." Astra'il placed one hand on Rhys' knee and clasped a small silver disc hanging from her neck in a gesture Borna had seen before. The two sex slaves back at the camp. The dark elf hummed a beautiful melody. It tugged at Borna's heartstrings. Blinding sparks of silver and green erupted from the dark elf's hand, arcing all over Rhys' body.

"There. That should..." Astrail fell silent, staring in disbelief at the knee. There had been the spine-crawling crunch of bone reforming itself but the swelling had barely receded.

"That was my biggest Cure Others spell," the dark elf snarled. "He should be up and ready to dance!"

"I'm afraid it's not that easy. His opponent fed him a Disjunction Stone."

"He did what?" Astra'il nearly shrieked. Borna couldn't help but smirk at the look of utter outrage on the beautiful, dark-skinned face.

"He placed a Disjunction Stone between Rhys' teeth and-" Borna mimicked a slap against her chin.

"And I thought my kind was cruel. Did he swallow any of that stuff?"

Borna shrugged. "Not sure."

Astra'il made an annoyed sound. "That could ruin his spellcasting ability for years to come. And the ability to receive spells cast by others. You might have mentioned that before I cast my best remaining spell on him." Astra'il pulled off her pack and dug around in it. "Maybe I can help with that as well."

"Why would you do that? You hardly know us!"

"Do I need a reason? Both of you are hurt and I can help." She placed a small cup onto the ground. "Do you have water?"

Borna indicated the elaborately decorated decanter. "Help yourself."

Astra'il took the Infinite Water bottle, an appreciative smile on her lips. "He didn't touch it?"

"Of course not."

"Good." The dark elf poured water into the cup and dipped her silver disc into it, muttering something Borna couldn't understand. The water turned into liquid silver. "I can't do much but maybe a prayer and a bit of holy water will help." She sprinkled Rhys' forehead with a few silvery drops then she leaned in and touched him with her holy symbol.

Rhys' eyes opened. A heartbeat later, he clutched his knee, moaning.

"Shit," Astra'il hissed. "I hate to see people writhing in pain."

"I know the feeling," Borna muttered. She clasped Rhys' hand. "Any ideas? Because I'm fresh out."

"We can't carry him through the elven woods like that. He'll attract anything even remotely curious... or hungry." Astra'il closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. She snapped her fingers. "I know what to do. You go and fetch two sturdy branches, longer than he is tall. In the meantime, I'll see to his pain."

"I won't leave my friend with a stranger. Forget that," Borna growled, flexing her claws. "I'll be watching your every move."

"You fetching materials for a stretcher would insure we'd be gone in a hurry, but fine, suit yourself." Astra'il shrugged and produced a phial from under her cloak. She held up the black-and-purple vessel. A fat golden spider acted as a stopper and long, golden legs held onto the bottle. It looked menacing.

"This is a particular drug often used in punishment rituals back home," Astra'il explained. "It turns any sensation into pure ecstasy. Priestesses love to feed this to the poor sods scheduled to become sacrifices - or entertainment." She uncorked the phial and dripped a small measure of an oily liquid into Rhys' mouth. His moans subsided, replaced by a wondrous expression on his face. He suddenly blushed furiously.

Astra'il patted his head. "This should get your mind off your knee for the next few hours. Just let me know when the effect wears off, okay?"

"You... you fed him a pleasure drug?" Borna asked, her voice somewhere between exasperation and anger.

"He will feel no pain for the rest of the day. Would you have preferred me knocking him out?" Astra'il stowed the phial and rose. "Now, let's find those branches before something decides to eat him. Or us."

* * * *

Rhys came to slowly. It was very warm around him. Also, his stomach growled like a ravenous beast. He forced his eyes open. The room he was in was unfamiliar to him, lit only by a small oil lamp, the feeble orange glow barely enough to reach every corner of the small space. There was a window opposite the bed. It was dark outside. Strange animal calls could be heard. So I'm still in the elven woods, he thought.

He was in a narrow cot, swaddled in the elaborately stitched bedroll. That explains why I feel so awake, he thought. Rhys let his hands travel over his body. He was naked.

Something else occurred to him. His head felt like it had been stuffed to the brim with shorn sheep's wool. Everything seemed muffled and somewhat... off.

His memories stirred. Faedal, grinning viciously, placing that blasted Disjunction Stone between his teeth. The harsh slap under his chin and then an explosion of chills all over his face as the magic-eating dust engulfed him. He didn't know how much of that stuff went down his throat. Gingerly, Rhys sat up and tried to gather some energy for a simple Light spell. His reward was a blistering lance of pain arcing from temple to temple. He clutched his head, moaning softly.

Something moved close by. He turned his head. Borna uncurled into a sitting position next to the bed.

"You're awake," she rasped. The crimson-plated demon princess tugged at the leather band hanging around her neck, opening the small sack dangling from it wide enough to slip a finger inside. She placed her hand on Rhys' shoulder. "How do you feel?"

Rhys shook his head. "I'm not quite sure. My body seems whole." He reached under the covers and touched his knee. He winced. "Except for the knee. It's very sensitive and stiff. And I can't cast any magic. My head's all fuzzy."