Mud and Magic Ch. 10

"Is anyone hurt?" Astra'il asked. "I mean, apart from the bed? Poor thing needs to see a carpenter, and soon."

"What do you want?" Borna growled, carefully disentangling herself from Rhys. She slid from the bed, her phallus hard and erect despite the cool air flooding the room.

Astra'il openly admired her. "You know, that brings back... interesting memories," the dark elf said, a slender hand indicating Borna's erection. The other had dipped into her robe.

"You didn't come here to drool all over me, did you?" Borna asked. Quietly she added, "Although I'm flattered."

"Like I said, I had quite the fun night," Astra'il said, sitting down on a dry bit of the bed. "Dióran-"

"The waiter?" Borna cut in.

"Yes, the waiter." Astra'il sighed. "And he owns half of the inn alongside Farook. Anyway, we eventually had to take a break, so we got to talking."

"Did you use the ... how's it called?" Borna asked. "On him?"

Astra'il laughed. "You mean the mythical Everhard ointment? The term you're looking for is oirna jivvin - the Eternal Amusement. I can't. The ingredients are already very rare back home and I'd rather spend my money on a good blade instead of a tin big enough for just one use." She grinned. "Speaking of my money... You are aware that someone has to pay for all this devastation, right?"

"Sorry," Rhys mumbled, his head still in a pillow. "My fault."

"That is not true," Borna snapped. She had found her loincloth and wound it around herself. It hid precious little. "If anyone is to blame, it's me. I clawed at the bed. I..." She blushed.

"You drenched the room in seed?" Astra'il whistled between her teeth. "Oh my indeed." She licked her lips. "Dióran told me the inn brokers services. Escorts, monster kill requests, that kind of thing. Maybe we could take on something and earn enough money for your scrolls that way?"

"Why 'we?'" Borna asked. "Haven't you done enough already?"

Astra'il rose from the bed and faced down Borna, a feat doubly impressive considering she wore only her diaphanous robes. "I don't know who taught you manners, crimson beauty, but my lover insisted that I should always finish my self-appointed tasks. I told you I'll help you get back home and I'll stay by your side until you've left the elven woods behind." Her eyes roamed down Borna's torso. "And as impressive as that rod of yours is, I think an extra blade on any task you might pick up will be helpful. Not that I doubt your battle prowess but Rhys-"

"She has a point, Borna," Rhys said, sitting up. He looked devastated, with half his hair plastered to his skull. "I've had an idea too. Why don't you use that Earthgate to send us back home? No need for either of us to stumble into a dangerous situation."

"I'd love to," Astra'il said. "But I can't. Each standing stone requires a particular chant. Isaya only taught me those she knew, allowing travel between three stones here in the woods." She hung her head. "Also, do you know if there are standing stones where you want to go?"

"I have seen the occasional stone circle or menhir during my travels," Borna said. "But none have sung to me."

"Well, it was worth a thought," Rhys said. "We'll try your idea then."

Astra'il knelt down in front of Rhys and examined his knee with deft fingers, scowling at the irregular shape. "Your patella has fused awkwardly. I'm afraid in the end I have done more harm than good," she said. "I'm sorry."

Rhys took her hands. "Don't be. You helped us, that's all that matters. If bad comes to worst, I'll only have to ask someone to shatter my knee again. Then you can fix it properly." He blushed. "I... should probably cleanse myself. And dress."

"'There are few things more beautiful than a man caked with cum,' my Mother always told me." Astra'il quipped. She dipped her hand into the wash basin and chanted a quick note. Plumes of steam rose from the magically heated water. "I'll see both of you downstairs. And make no mistake. Both of you owe me for this room."

* * * *

Freshly washed and clothed in one of his blue Tower robes, Rhys returned to the taproom. Borna, a fresh blanket wrapped around her towering form, behind him.

"Now I see why you didn't simply use our Infinite Water Bottle to refill the basin," he said.

"That gave me the excuse to visit the blacksmith," Borna admitted, placing her hand on his shoulder. She squeezed fondly. No painful arcs of energy, no wickedly sharp claws. "But knowing my healing capabilities, they will regrow in a matter of weeks. I might not be able to cut someone from neck to groin but I can still tear them limb from limb."

They joined Astra'il at their table. The dark elf was quietly talking with Dióran, the waiter.

"I'll see what we have," he said. "In the meantime, enjoy your breakfast." He clandestinely squeezed Astra'il's hand before leaving.

"He really likes you," Borna observed, claiming a chair.

"The feeling is mutual," the dark elf admitted. "He may only be in his sixties but he is wise beyond his years."

Rhys nearly tripped. "What? I... I thought he's maybe my age!" He slumped into a chair and looked around. The table was piled high with bread, cheeses, butter and more savories than he had ever seen in one place. Around them, the taproom bustled with activity as dozens of travelers prepared for departure or whatever else they were up to. There were hardly any free chairs.

Astra'il giggled. "The elf blood is strong in him." She pulled a dark wad of fabric off her legs and handed it to Rhys. "Here. For you."

Rhys shook out the fabric. It unfurled into a new pair of pants, made from a sturdy canvas material. "That's... unexpected."

Astra'il bathed him in a radiant grin. "I bribed Dióran to deal with the mess in your room without Farook noticing. The last few coins I spent on this. It's only getting colder and I can't let you walk around with one trouser leg missing."

"I'll put them to good use," Rhys said, balling up the trousers. "Thank you."

"That comes out of your loot share," Astra'il promised.

Around them, the tap room suddenly fell quiet. Rhys craned his neck to see. A tall, robed figure stood in the doorway, a menacing, wide-shouldered shadow framed by the blinding morning light. A raven perched on the stranger's right shoulder, rustling its feathers. He fully entered the room, using a long scythe topped with a human skull as a walking aid, and closed the door with his heel. He was garbed in a long, tattered robe made from what looked like a mixture of black fabric, leather and feathers. Numerous bones, large and small, had been stitched to it. The head was obscured both by a spacious hood and a mask underneath. A grim, scowling skull covered the new arrival's face. The threatening effect was ruined somewhat by a scraggly tangle of beard spilling onto the stranger's chest. He made his way slowly across the room, head turning from side to side, seemingly taking the measure of every single patron. Around the taproom, people moved closer together. Some clutched holy symbols hanging around their necks and muttered warding prayers.

Rhys nudged Astra'il. "Who... or what is that?" he whispered.

"That's a Death priest," she said. "Not the most popular people around."

An ivory tap on the floorboards pronounced the Death priest's arrival at their table. An ominous shadow fell over Rhys.

"There is one free chair," a muffled voice announced. "May I take it?" The smell of strange herbs surrounded him like a palpable entity.

Rhys looked around the table. Borna shrugged and Astra'il made an encouraging gesture. "By all means, be our guest," Rhys said, indicating the empty seat.

"Much obliged, young man," the Death priest muttered, leaning his grisly weapon against the wall. He fussed with his hood and mask, finally removing the menacing skull. Underneath, the face was narrow and lined with age, dominated by a hawkish nose and strange, ageless eyes. Long, gray hair was held back with a grubby strip of leather. The Death priest wiped his hands on his robe and extended them towards Rhys. "Nice to meet you all. I am Ulrich Tilgeroth. You may also call me Uncle Ulrich."

"Uncle?" Rhys asked. "We're not related, are we?" He carefully took the man's hand and shook it. It was icy cold and he could feel the knuckles through paper-thin skin. The raven eyed him curiously, its head cocked to one side.

Ulrich began to laugh, which quickly turned into a pained wheeze. "No boy, we aren't. But as a representative of Jolly Uncle Death, you can feel free to use that title with me."

Dióran stopped by their table and bowed. "Is there anything you require, Uncle?"

"I wouldn't mind a pot of tea and a mug," Ulrich said, rubbing his hands. "Walking all night put a deathly chill into my bones. But I can't croak just yet."

"It shall be so. One moment." The half-elf bowed again and darted into the kitchen. Ulrich pulled a bone pipe from a pouch on his belt, along with a tobacco box made from what looked like a ratkin skull. He prepared his pipe and placed it, unlit, onto the skull.

"You don't mind sharing your breakfast with a tired old man, now do you, Rhys?" Ulrich asked.

Rhys nearly dropped his sandwich. "How...? What...?"

Another pained laugh. "A good one, eh?" Ulrich waggled his fingers. "It would be horribly rude not to know the names of those I help across the threshold. When you shook my hand, I learned your name. Those waiting for the Reaper's embrace are usually not very talkative."

Dióran returned with a steaming tea pot and mug. "If there's anything else, don't hesitate to let me know," he said, placing the items in front of the priest.

Rhys sighed and tried to relax, something he found suddenly very hard to do under the piercing gaze of both Ulrich and his pet.

The raven cawed. Ulrich tilted his head. "You don't say," he muttered. The bird cawed again, a long, strangely articulated string of sounds. "You may be right," the priest conceded. His gaze swept the table. Even Borna shivered under his stare.

"Your bird is talking to you?" she asked. Borna hadn't touched any of the food yet.

"Birds can't talk," Ulrich said. "But over the past twenty years, he and I have learned to glean meaning from each other's noises. His eyes are a lot sharper than mine by now so I tend to heed his advice."

"Your bird is talking to you," Borna said. "And what's it saying?"

Ulrich sipped his tea, his thin lips curled into a cryptic grin. "Now, Skjor here is mighty impressed by you and asks that you don't eat him."

Borna cocked her head. "Wait. He's not falling over dead. That's something new."

"You are neither a demon nor undead," Ulrich said. "What's to be afraid of?"

Borna locked gazes with Rhys. "You know, things were so much easier when I was just 'that demon thing,'" she said. "People not being afraid of me... it feels wrong."

"Isn't it nice not to have to fight for your life every waking moment?" Rhys asked. Under the table, he clasped Borna's plated knee. Her hand joined his and she squeezed his fingers.

Borna growled softly. "I'm just saying it was much easier."

"Now, there was something else Skjor suggested," Ulrich said. "Since I'm in the presence of a furious fighter, a beautiful Moon Maiden cleric and a promising sorcerer, might I ask for your help?"

"'Promising sorcerer,' huh," Rhys said. "I'm afraid I'm anything but. Not after someone fed me a Disjunction Stone."

Ulrich refilled his mug and took a long sip, eyeing Rhys intently. His pupils changed, taking on a strange silvery sheen as he looked him up and down.

"I see nothing wrong with you," Ulrich said. "Whatever happened to you must have passed by now." He blinked twice and the strange silver sheen was gone. The priest cleared his throat. "As I was saying. I could use the help of some capable adventurers." He leaned closer, enveloping Rhys in his personal cloud of herb aroma. "I will pay handsomely."

"We're listening," Astra'il said. "Do you want us to escort you somewhere?"

Ulrich chuckled. "No, lass. I am where I need to be, at least for the moment. No. What I would like to enlist your aid for is a bit... embarrassing." He snatched a slice of bread from a basket and crumbled it between his fingers. Half of the crumbs he piled onto the table, the other half he unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth. He chewed frantically and washed the rest down with another gulp from his tea. Skjor hopped onto the table top and pecked at the bread.

Ulrich coughed. "We Death priests are sworn to protect the sanctity of the dead. With all those necromancers and Dark Order sods around who love nothing better than to bolster their minions' ranks with the undead, that's a never-ending task." He slapped his own thigh. "And since I'm a bit long in the tooth, I need young, fresh hands to help me in this. Not far from here, there is an old elven tomb someone recently has broken into."

Rhys shivered, distinctly remembering his first encounter with Carver in the ruins of the Elven Academy under Storm Harbor and the undead Raghbairn he was about to raise.

"You want us to investigate?" Rhys asked.

"Yes. Find out what happened to the tomb. Put to rest any poor souls who have been disturbed." Ulrich's eyes turned into blazing slits. "And punish anyone responsible - should they be stupid enough to still be there," he growled.

"I think I know which tomb he is referring to," a cool, male voice said. Borna jumped in her seat, her stinger tearing free from the blanket.

Rhys looked over his shoulder. An elf stood behind him, his hands placed calmly on the backrest of Rhys' chair. He wore brown and green clothing and a leather chestplate. An intricately made bow could be seen above his shoulder, along with a big quiver. A short sword hanging at his hip was the only other visible weapon. The elf's hair was reaching just below his neck. It was inky black and very glossy, obscuring the points of his ears.

But most striking was his face. His slightly tanned skin was tattooed to look like a snarling monster. Triangular shadows had been tattooed around his piercing blue eyes, his cheek bones were enhanced with sharp outlines and the whole width of his mouth, extending almost to his ears, was framed by a blood-dripping row of fangs. Tattooed scales, ranging from gold to white, had been placed down his neck.

Borna slowly rose, stretching out a shaking arm. "I know your scent," she growled. "You have been stalking us the whole time."

"Only until you reached the supply depot," he said, shrugging. "I'm impressed you noticed me at all."

"Can we help you?" Rhys asked.

The elf chuckled, a thoroughly unpleasant sound. "Boy, it is you who needs help. Obviously." He forced his face into a smile and almost managed it.

"If you are here just to insult us," Astra'il began.

"Children, behave," Ulrich said. "Let the man say his peace."

"I am sorry," the elf said, stiffly. "Maybe I should start anew. My name is Gael and I am here to offer my bow to aid you."

"Why? You don't know us... and it's obvious you would rather be anywhere else," Rhys observed.

"I owe you a blood debt, human," Gael said. "You saved my sister and she demanded I repay you in her stead."

"Your... wait. Sylae is your sister?"

"Indeed. She sends her regards and regrets she can't fight by your side again. Her ordeal at the hands of Carver's swine has left her weakened."

Rhys paled. "She... she almost killed an ogre on her own! If that's your sister at her weakest..."

Gael grinned, his tattoos distorting the expression into a savage leer. "That's not how she told the tale. According to her, without your help the ogre would have bested her. Without you, she still would languish in that damned pleasure den. I will be happy to guide you to the tomb and assist in any way I can. That should pay off the debt and our paths shall not cross again afterwards."

"Why did you stalk us in the first place?" Borna asked.

"I had to make sure you were no threat to the forest." Gael cast down his eyes. "And I hoped you would guide me towards my sister. I know the Hall of the Speakers is a place ripe with meaning and the Stalker showed me a vision of aid coming from an unexpected place."

"How come you didn't show up at the supply depot?" Rhys asked.

"I had to take care of the Devourer," Gael said. "Obviously, those beasts can't be left unchecked. When I managed to kill it, the depot was already a burning ruin and Sylae was gone, along with the other slaves you freed. Imagine my joy when I found her here. I took her back to our home and returned to honor her wish."

"We'll take any help you may offer," Rhys said. "How far is the tomb away?"

"For me, a brisk day's march," Gael said. "I'd double that since we're traveling as a group. When you're done eating, get your gear and meet me outside. I can't stand the stench of this many humans." He turned on his heels and strode from the room.

"Cheery fellow," Borna muttered. "I'd keep an eye on him if I were you, Rhys."

"You don't have to tell me." Rhys turned to Ulrich, who had observed the whole exchange quietly nibbling on more bread. "What kind of compensation can we expect?"

The priest reached under his cloak and produced a fat bag of coins. He dropped it onto the table. "That should be enough for a bit of decent kit. A few healing potions and the like."

Rhys looked at the purse. "You're paying us in advance?"

Ulrich bared his teeth, an uneven row of stumps. "Would you dare cheat Death?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. The chill of the grave crept up Rhys' spine.

Ulrich relaxed. "I know you will do the right thing. And I also will know when you have completed the task I've given you. Should you think about absconding with the gold, there's little I can do but curse your name and that of all your offspring." He snatched his pipe and extended it Rhys' way. "Mind lighting that for me?"

"I... I don't know..." Rhys muttered. The idea of casting another spell, with potentially dangerous side effects, scared him even more than the thought of Faedal.

"Come on, just a little spark. With my shaking hands it will be hours before I can coax a flame from my tinderbox," Ulrich said. "Don't make an old man beg."

"All right. I'll try." Rhys said.

"Don't try. Just do it," Ulrich said, his eyes boring into Rhys. "I know you can."

Rhys exhaled slowly. He's right, he thought bitterly. If I can't even light a stupid pipe, what help will I be to my companions? I'll already slow them down with my bloody knee. He could almost hear Padec's sneering voice. "I knew it. You've been useless all along. Not that you'd ever amount to anything." Rhys gnashed his teeth. I should stop pissing my pants and start pulling my weight.

He reached out a finger and concentrated. The fireplace was a large, soothing source of heat and power. Careful, as not to draw too much, Rhys gathered strands of power. I'm not good with fire, he suddenly realized. Every time he had used fire spells - be it the first time back home, where he nearly died melting the candelabra Celeste wanted lit or the fire blast he had aimed at the ratkin trying to kill Lishaka - he overshot his mark wildly, causing far more devastation than intended.

A long flame shot from his fingertip, barely missing Ulrich's beard. The death priest slapped at a few sparks on his robe.

"I'm sorry," Rhys stammered, blushing.

"No harm done," Ulrich said. "Restraint is an art form."

By the third try, he managed a small, steady flame and used it to light Ulrich's pipe. The priest happily puffed a stinking herb cloud into the air. "Thank you. And now go out there and put the fear of Death into whoever broke into that tomb."

* * * *

"Oh, you're back. No refunds!" the white ratkin said, waving his hands in a warding gesture. "And... forgive me for asking, but where is that glorious serpent lady?"