Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 17

The City of Aethwin, jewel of the Free Cities, spread out before the weary group as they crested the last ridge before the outlying farms. It was nearly noon, and the city's glorious spires and luxurious terrain were bustling with activity. The sky was clear and the winds kept the temperature manageable. Horses would have been nice, but it was pretty certain that the ones they had ridden out one had been lost near the hags, if not eaten by them. There was still a way to go for the foot weary travelers, but the road before them was clear and the last few miles would pass faster than any they had trod. Home, after all, awaited them.

To his right, a soft giggling drifted from the woman hanging off of Vick's arm. She was a sweet thing, maybe in her late teens or early twenties, with tanned skin and dark hair. Lithe of build and clad in soft, supple green suede, she had been the one screaming back in the Startower. Lilian, he thought her name was. Vick had ended up rescuing her from whatever pit trap he'd got himself stuck in, and she had spent the entire trip back clinging to her "handsome knight".

"Fat bastard" was the first term to come to Alan's mind. He recognized her kind, though. Padded soles to silence footsteps, a pouch of tools at her waist. A thief of skill could sniff out another thief any day. She had likely broken into the place seeking quick riches. He couldn't blame her, it sounded like something he would have done in his youth. The old rogue just wasn't sure how long it would take Vick to catch on, or whether he should call her out or just let Madame Pryce settle things with the girl.

Windhawk had been quiet for the whole trip. Garthur had tended to what strain and injuries the dark tentacles had inflicted on her body, but the embarrassment of her own reactions to those invasive lengths was something that would linger on in her own mind. Not a single member of the group that had been there mentioned it, but she constantly shot glares to Alan and Faringalia, and even Vick, the one who eventually cut her down from their writhing grasp.

Still, when they had stopped to allow Garthur to give his blessings over the place Daphne fell, she had seemed almost happy for a moment. Tears had returned to the stoic ranger's features, but they seemed ones of happiness. It was apparent to the rest that a great weight that none of them shared had finally been lifted from the elven woman.

Garthur had complained incessantly about the distance during their walk, but Alan knew that it was his way of showing he was pleased with how things had turned out. It seemed he always drank most and laughed loudest when things were at their most dour, but when events turned out right, he was the first to gripe over the little things. Their mission had been accomplished, and he'd managed to seal another great evil away for however long his blessings would bolstered the Lost Queen's prison. He had been disappointed when the rest had overruled another trek through Pinroot Ruins. The dwarf had so wanted to show off how he had sealed off the entry to the Lost Queen's chambers.

Faringalia had reverted to the chatterbox that so annoyed Alan, but he had learned to tune her out. She was bubbling with excitement over having completed her first adventure as a True Reaver of Aethwin, and had waxed loquacious about how she had saved Vick multiple times, as well as how far the scant items she had collected would go to pay off her debts. He had to admire her eagerness, if not her overactive voice.

The most important of the group, however, had never left Alan's side during the entire trip. Elizabeth Tinsley clung to his side as if frightened he might slip away at any moment. Aside from that, however, she seemed in good spirits. Clad in Alan's cloak, and a simple black shift they had borrowed from the fallen Daphne's supply pack, she still managed to radiate a rare beauty. Nothing supernatural or otherworldly, but the simple attraction of a ready smile and a warm heart.

She recalled every bit of her capture, from the abuses heaped upon her at by the infiltrated guild to the way the bard had charmed her while her memories were subdued. With all that she had been through, however, Lizzy had been more concerned over Alan's state, and had doted on him every moment she could. For a noble who had rarely been subject to such hardship, she had proved quite strong.

Of course, when they had passed the Stranger's body, she had taken a knife to it. It wasn't the savage, raging fit of one driven by anger, but there was a certain rage in her eyes as she systematically cut the flesh. It was done, Windhawk had told Alan later, in a manner that would attract predators and scavengers to the freshly opened wounds, to speed the scattering of the bard's remains. Alan wasn't certain where Lizzy had learned such a thing, and frankly didn't want to know.

She had begged forgiveness for her actions while her memory had been gone, and it took some time for her to accept that Alan would not have faulted her even if there had been no spell.

"I love you, Elizabeth. No matter what you may do or what may happen. I adore you for being you."

Alan didn't think he'd ever seen someone so happy after hearing such a simple truth. He didn't, in all fairness, tell her about his own indiscretions. He wanted her to be happy, and such knowledge might certainly spoil her mood, though he was fairly certain she would forgive him in the end. After all, she had married a scoundrel with full knowledge of his personal failings. With her around to keep him on the straight and narrow, there would be no further lapses.

As they gazed out over the fields before them, Windhawk stopped, then cleared her throat. She waited for the others to turn their attention to her before she spoke, "This is as far as I go, friends. It was grand, adventuring with you once more, but the forest beckons, and I cannot deny its call."

Vick grunted a bit as he looked Windhawk over, but the woman at his side bowed her head.

"It was an honor to meet you, Lady Elf," Lilian's voice sounded as sweet as the rest of her looked. During the entire trip back, Faringalia had been pushing her to consider joining the Reavers, while Vick had been regaling her with tales of their past exploits. It seemed that the young woman was trying to put her best foot forward, in case she did end up joining the newer ranks.

The thief girl's courtesy stirred the fat Count to action, and he nodded, adopting a sober tone, "Windhawk, sorry about your cousin, but it was indeed good to see you in action again. May your travels ever keep you safe."

She offered a gentle smile in return. "Thank you Vick, and there is nothing to be sorry about with Daephraen. She is free now, free of the icy clutch of undeath which kept her from the forests for so long." Her smile grew sad, but she then turned her eyes to Garthur. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, yes it is, elf." The dwarf stroked his beard as he regarded the ranger. "Keep fighting the dark ones out there. You've gotta pick up the slack so the rest of these old farts can retire." He jutted one thumb to Alan and Vick each.

Windhawk giggled, then turned her eyes to Alan, and Elizabeth in turn. She stepped forward, and hugged Alan's wife gently. "It is good that we have you safe and sound, back where you belong, Mrs. Tinsley. Keep the old man out of trouble, will you?"

Elizabeth laughed gently at the exchange, "Of course, I can only try. Alan is always one to do his own thing."

Alan smiled when Elizabeth stepped back into his side. He slipped his arm about her and dipped his head to the elf. "I do expect you to come visit us, at least when Vick's wedding comes along."

At the mention of the wedding, Lilian stared at Vick, who shifted uncomfortably, and tried to offer her a disarming grin. "Yeah, I may be engaged. Did I forget to mention that?"

The sound of the slap was impressive even for those used to Vick's antics.

As the two set to quarreling, Windhawk waved at Faringalia. "And you, I'll be looking forward to working with you again some time. You're a plucky little thing, and you'll have a long career ahead of you."

The gnome grinned in response. "Oh yes! I don't doubt we'll join together to face the forces of evil again. You take care of yourself, Miss Windhawk!"

With her fare wells said, Windhawk slipped back toward the forest. As she did, Lilian stormed off along the road toward town, with Vick moving after her, calling for her to wait. Faringalia watched Windhawk until she disappeared, then turned her eyes back after Vick.

"So um, should one of us go after him? In case something happens? I mean we hardly know the girl..."

"Be my guest," Alan and Garthur at the same time, then laughed. Each man gestured after Vick's retreating back. She eyed them both for a moment, then ran double time to try to catch up with the bulky fighter.

With the group dispersing, Alan sighed. He let his hand fall to rub at the small of his wife's back, and she pressed in against his side. Finally, he leaned to capture her lips. The kiss was exquisite, a sweet reminder of everything he had given up his life on the edge for. As the blonde broke away from the kiss, she looked from Alan to Garthur and back. It seemed the dwarf was lingering around for something specific.

"I'll let you two speak. Catch up quickly, won't you?" She spoke in a teasing tone, and let her nails play over Alan's chest.

He simply nodded, and she pulled away. His gaze followed her form as she trod away far enough to give them time for a private exchange, but not far enough to be in real danger. The way she had been swept away once already was still at the forefront of everyone's minds. Alan admired the view, however, the way the wind stirred her shining hair, the way it flattened that simple cloak and shift about her form, outlining every curve, exposing those pale limbs.

"Alan," Garthur began, but he didn't have to continue for Alan to know what he spoke of.

The old thief's hand traveled down to the pouch at his belt, and with a click, he opened the buttons which clasped that worn leather shut. From the pouch, he drew forth the item that he had kept hidden from the others. It shined in the sunlight as he held it out.

The silver handle shone as it caught the light, its clawed talons curved inward over the shattered remnants of black crystal it once held. He passed it over to the dwarf, then shook out his pouch, for the rest of the Orb's shards. He'd painstakingly collected every piece, after all.

Garthur took the remnants in one broad, stubby fingered hand. He drew a ceremonial piece of silk from his own pack, twice blessed and embroidered with protective glyphs. It was something usually used to wrap holy relics, or in rituals of purification. Carefully, the cleric of the earthen father wrapped the broken remains of the Nightmare Orb, and spoke a soft prayer. The silk tied itself up, in such a way that the embroidered glyphs aligned perfectly along the edges.

It had been a few days since that terrible moment. Days of walking the long way around the most dangerous parts of the forest. It had been time well spent, allowing members of their group to recover, allowing his own thoughts to settle down. But it was still not enough time to forget that haunting scream, the betrayed sound of Miena's voice.

Alan had delayed at the end, long enough to study her ghostly expression, to look into her glowing blue eyes. He was looking for signs that she was truly Miena, and not just some figment of the Orb. She certainly seemed to have Miena's memories, and her spells. Even her erratic actions could be excused as the after effects of becoming a tormented ghost. In the end, he genuinely wanted to see proof that she was Miena, to hold out some hope that she was still who she was. He thought he knew how Windhawk felt about Daphne, in that moment.

He wasn't sure why, however. It would not have changed anything after everything was said and done. Alan would still have shattered that Orb, he had to end the chaos the obsessive magic user had wrought. Whether she be ghost or figment, he had to know that his Elizabeth was safe from her, not subject to the whims of a changing mind or the false protection of promises made under duress. Most damning, Alan still wasn't sure whether he had seen any spark, any proof that Miena was not simply some nightmare spawned from the Orb itself.

And so he had thrown it to the cold stone ground. Right there, in front of her spectral eyes.

He had been shocked, at the time, that such a simple act had worked as well as it had. He'd heard that some artifacts required great lengths to destroy. Even his limited experience with magic items told him that most were much more durable than their physical forms would suggest.

As soon as that Orb struck the stone floor, however, it had shattered. No, it had done more than shatter, it had exploded. Arcs of arcane energy danced across the floor as the black sphere burst into pieces. Shards were cast out at high speed, some ricocheted across the room. A few pieces grazed off his leather armor, one cut his cheek as it passed. The handle still maintained a few pieces affixed to its clawed talons, but for the most part, the Orb was unrepairable.

Miena wailed. Her cry was heart breaking, it sounded so like her. Her forlorn ghost flew toward the broken Orb, but by then it was too late. Whatever powers it once possessed had fled in the instant of its destruction. He didn't know what to expect. The wave of energy it had released felt sickening, dark. Malice, regret, fear, hate, self loathing, it all washed over him, washed throughout the room. The walls stained a diseased black, and glistened as if coated with some foul thing's ichor.

The transparent woman before him shook with a few last sobs, then began to fade away. The blue glow of her eyes faltered and died, and her form darkened, growing more and more see through. She had enough time to turn to look at him, to stare into his eyes with a mix of sorrow and relief. She looked so frail, so lost. If she had still been living, his conscience would not have let him simply stand there and watch her perish, but she clearly was no longer among the quick. One of her delicate hands reached for him, and the thought that he had made a mistake flickered through his mind. It was but a moment's idea, however. Whatever the result, in the end he had taken what action he thought necessary. He would live with what consequences it produced.

Finally, the last of her faded away, and he was left within that chamber, alone. It had taken him some time to recover his thoughts, and more to realize that he couldn't just leave the fragments of the Orb laying there, to be discovered later. So he set himself to gathering them up. Piece by piece he collected those fragments into his belt pouch, and only then did he return to the others. By then, Vick and Faringalia had already started tending to Elizabeth and Windhawk, while the new girl Lilian looked on with concern.

Although he hadn't told any of the others what had happened, he knew that some of them had their likely wild and improbable guesses. None of them asked him about it, even when he made Garthur head back to the tower with them to lay Miena's real remains to rest. It became obvious, however, that at least Garthur knew something was up beyond simply an old, dead friend.

Alan wasn't sure whether the remnants of the Orb held any power in them, but he was definitely relieved when the dwarf stowed the silk wrapped shards away. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I'll see to it that these get disposed of properly."

The old rogue nodded, then turned his eyes back to where his wife stood. Elizabeth gazed out across to the city, and the wind blew her hair into her eyes. A smile touched his features as he watched her tuck that stray strand behind one ear.

She must have caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, because she turned to meet his gaze. Her own smile followed, as well as an almost shy blush. It was enough to make all of the trouble they had been through worthwhile.

"Go to her, boy. Enjoy your time." Garthur chuckled.

"I fully intend to." Alan offered a grin back to the cleric, who just waved him onward.

Alan moved up toward Elizabeth, and she turned to wrap her arms about his shoulders. Her soft body pressed in against his own, and he slipped his arms about her, pulling her in close. He looked into her eyes, and she just smiled and gazed into his. The thief slipped his hands up and down along her back, loving the feel of her within his arms again, the sensation of her under his hands. It was the look in her eyes, however, that convinced him she was really his Lizzy, not some shape shifting imposter or figment of magic.

Her full lips curled into a smile, and she murmured in gentle tones, "Let's go home, my love."

He brushed his lips across hers for another gentle kiss. "Of course."

The trip home should have been uneventful, but news had spread of the Count's arrival, of the victorious return of the party. The streets were lined with well wishers, and though the crowds were noisy and perhaps a bit too thick for his tastes, considering Elizabeth's state and lack of substantial dress, it turned out for the best in the end. They were loaned a carriage to ride to their estate by another landed family, and escorted by some city guards who had taken it upon themselves to greet each hero's return.

The details as to what had sent the old Reavers of Aethwin out into the wilds had been intentionally hidden when they left, and lack of hard facts left rumors to run rampant during their absence. Just on the way home, Alan heard they had gone to slay some giants, or had ended the threat of a dragon before it even showed its head. Some were even ascribing feats of magic and mayhem to Alan's wife, and tales of her being some manner of fire throwing wizard amused Elizabeth greatly.

As much as the city still thrived, however, Miena's actions had left their mark. The Count's announcement of his engagement to his long time lover had many people looking forward to a grand wedding, despite Margaret Pryce's low birth and questionable profession. Apparently, she had made herself quite visible as protector of the city during Vick's few days absence. Whatever she had done, she had achieved some popularity with the people, if not with the nobles.

With their names back on the tongues of those suited to spreading such news, and their victory, the Reavers would likely thrive again. Faringalia's induction into the original circle and the fact that she was still the sort to go out adventuring would no doubt bring fresh blood flocking to the name once more. Alan looked forward to a revitalized Reavers' Rest, however it may turn out.

Then there was the guild. It had taken him years to build up the Aethwin thieves into something that, while not legal or particularly respectable, at least wasn't a force for destruction and chaos. He had reigned in their worst activities, organized them and built up their reputation. And this, in such a short span, had shattered it all. Even if that night of butchery had never taken place, the good work and progress he had made for the guild would take a long time to return.

The worry must have shown on his face, for even as they passed what used to be the guild house, Elizabeth shuddered and leaned into his side. She gazed up to his features for a long moment, then asked tentatively, "You aren't thinking of leaving retirement, are you?"

The look on her face made his mind up instantly. "Of course not, my love." But that did leave the question of what would be done about the situation.

But the solution dawned on him readily, and he smiled to himself. This earned a poke in the chest from Elizabeth, as the carriage swayed and rocked along those winding streets. "What's that look for?"