Surfacing Ch. 03

She glared at me and nodded once.

"I know the Drow who attacked you," I said, crossing my arms gently as I sat back in the wooden chair. "And what she did to you only once...she has done to me many more. I am familiar with her mountings, you and I have both felt her thrusts. She is rough but not the worse I have had. You are lucky."

The blonde's face turned even paler and she looked ill.

"She spared you," I insisted with a touch of frustration. "And you mope now that another Drow sits before you, talking, and has not touched you. Where is the will to survive in that? You wait for what? For me to do the same as the other Drow? Do you pity yourself?"

"I lie here because you poisoned me!" she blurted, truly angry and her face flushing a deep, dark pink in a flood that fascinated me. She started to sit up though she did not seem to realize it.

"And you are the first I have seen to survive that poison!" I pitched back with force. "I gave you antidote when you released me! You are twice spared!"

The elf's chest heaved beneath her loose buckskin shirt and she trembled as further words seemed to stick in her throat. She had managed to sit up nonetheless, her anger giving her a surge of energy, though by her face I could tell the glass still in her backside caused a stab of pain.

I clapped my hands together in mock applause and gestured to her. "There. You sit up. You want to live. Do not complicate it."

Tears began to stream down her face just before she burst into some very noisy sobbing. Her golden hair fell in front of her face, twigs interwoven in it just as Jaunda had described, and she crossed her arms over her chest, holding her shoulders as she gasped for air and trembled in full-body quakes, her face becoming blotchy and wet.

I had no idea what to do next. I sat and watched.

"I-I...did not r-release you..." she garbled. "I l-lost—lost—"

"Lost control of the spell," I said with a shrug. "I knew, one or the other. Dark or pale, we act the same under threat. I kept my bargain still."

"Why?" she demanded, the whites of her eyes reddened and swollen as if she still suffered the poison. "You were f-free, why n-not just l-let me die?"

"I wished to talk," I said. "And I will get value for my potion, elf."

She fell silent for a few moments, even her sobs, before she began weeping again. I sighed in exasperation and decided I would wait her out. I was not leaving yet, my wounds still needed rest, and I had waited out plenty of other Drow much tougher to crack than this one.

Not that she was exactly a Drow...but she had some of our arrogance in her superiority and all of our ruthlessness when she felt threatened. Only when her sobbing was brought under more of her control did I speak.

"Was I to continue as you are now, back home, do you know what would happen to me?"

She shook her head. "I do not wish to—"

"Tough hide. I would be beaten until I fought back. If I failed to fight back, I would be killed."

"That is why your kind is wicked!" she said with conviction.

"What do you expect when you weep so, goldie?" I asked with plenty of derision of my own.

"Compassion! Comfort!" she said, trying to raise her chin up. "A gentle hand to calm fear. But you do not know what those are!"

Gentle hand. Gaelen came to my mind immediately. Not too long ago, in the cave when I'd woken from my terror-dreams. Her hand on my forehead. And before that...Auslan. Holding me close as I shook after collapsing on his floor, overwhelmed by so many memories of pain and fear after what Kerse had done...

...perhaps as this elf felt so overwhelmed now. She was shaking again.

"I do not know you," I said. "You would not accept comfort from me. You cannot expect it now."

She blinked her raw, pinkened eyes and she looked insulted. "You pretend to know of what I speak?"

"I do know, elf. Stop assuming you have unique feeling. Survival is first in the Underdark, then...if one has time...then reflection and healing, strengthening for the next injury. I am lucky. I have two who have comforted me because they saw pain when none other would. If others do, it is secret between them so as not to be abused by enemies."

My cousin closed her mouth and stared at me, her cheeks wet still and flushed deep as if the blood in her veins pushed to the surface and bloomed just under the skin. She seemed to reflect then, and I let her. Perhaps the walls in her mind would rearrange themselves in a new pattern. Her stubborn repetition was getting tiresome.

Given enough time, the golden-haired elf did manage an intelligent response at last.

"Pilla can give me comfort," she said. "Please...release her. I will instruct her not to attack you, and we will talk."

I looked at the falcon, well-covered in dust and webs on the ground, and back at the elf. "Tell me your name first."

She swallowed. "Tamuril. Pilla is my...my friend." She licked her lips and I could tell her stomach trembled. She did not want to ask the next question. "And you are?"

I stared at her. "Sirana. Your falcon will not attack or endanger me, Tamuril, even once. If she does, I will kill her, and I will poison you again. Both of you do not attack and do not put me in danger in any way, and I will not kill. Agreed?"

Tamuril blinked slowly and nodded even more so. "A...agreed."

I leaned to reach from my chair, able to snatch the bundle of feathers off the ground and place it on the ground between us. I slipped a very thin, short dagger from my boot and watched as the falcon continued to caw and struggle. I looked at my hostess.

"Well? I will not cut it free struggling like this."

The Surface elf whispered something in her native language and almost immediately the bird began to calm itself. The falcon was not limp but waiting, one tawny, lizard-like eye looking up at me through the webs. Leery still of being pecked or clawed by its feet, I made one good swipe through the sticky stuff and pulled enough of it off that the bird could eventually free itself on its own as I sat back with blade and tool belt to hand.

Pilla rolled and fluttered and eventually gained her feet, moving in hobbled fashion toward Tamuril, who gathered the bird up and cooed softly, pulling off trails of web and brushing her head just before the falcon puffed up her feathers and shook herself. Tamuril coughed and clenched her eyes against the flying dirt and I grinned in mirth, suppressing it once the elf could see me again.

Tamuril spent a great deal of time getting her "comfort." I did not know what was being said to the bird, but I did stand up slowly and close the door. When Tamuril blinked at the sudden darkness and I heard her breath quicken, I spoke.

"For my protection, Tamuril," I said, though soon I could still see her just fine. "You agreed, you will not put me in danger in any way. She speak with you somehow. Pilla will not fly away to tell others I am here."

"S-she must hunt and drink, it is her nature," the blonde said. "It is a long flight to tell the nearest Silven able to understand her, and longer still to travel back over land. You are safe for the moment, Drow."

"Sirana. You ask my name, use it."

"Sirana," she repeated, clearly uncomfortable doing so and her voice shook as she continued. "Give me some light and we may talk more. Open that window just a crack, not wide enough for Pilla to fly out."

My own eyes had stopped hurting for that moment in the dark—Rausery was right, it never truly stopped hurting, even if I could walk in the daylight—and I was at first not eager to acquiesce to her request. However, I heard her heart and her breath quite clearly then; I heard the movement of the bird as tension increased exponentially as each second passed in quiet. They were both going to panic, which would do me no good. I opted for opening the shutter a crack so she could see me.

As the elf was again able to place herself in her familiar home, she breathed slower, and she stared at me. "Do you hold bargains, then?"

"If well considered, and of an ally," I replied.

"You do not hold them when it suits?" she asked, the muscles in her neck tensing.

"If I accept the one I cross as enemy, yes." I smiled a bit. "What is the word...consequence? Consequence should be no surprise if you cross a bargain."

"If you know of consequence, why betray at all?" she asked with that arrogant slant.

I tilted my head, thinking it a child's question. "Because anyone may be challenged for what they have. Someone always wants what you have. No one is beyond that."

The pale elf's green eyes deepened in some emotion and her back sagged a bit as she turned away from me for a moment, as if she knew I spoke the truth but still did not accept it. That was her denial—I could not be more plain in my motive— and this only made it more likely that I would come out the better for our meeting. She would waste her opportunity...

Or so I thought.

"What do you want?" she asked me.

Huh. She might be learning at last.

I considered. "Do you know of the Necromancer and his Tower?"

She hesitated, shifting while Pilla balanced on her leather-protected forearm. "Some."

"Can you sense ley lines?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"What kind of mage are you?"

She tilted her head a bit but answered, "I am a druid."

"And that is...what? A plant and animal mage?"

"Nature, yes," she murmured. "Worship of balance in the natural world, the cycle of birth and death."

"That is why you warp and twist thorned vines?" I asked with a smirk.

Tamuril frowned. "Those exist in natural form. I do not warp them just give them purpose."

I shrugged a bit lightly. "So I guess you likely do not kill females with young, or pregnant ones?"

"No," she answered immediately, even though she looked confused by the question.

"What about the sick or old?"

"If the sick can be mended, yes. If it is time for the old to die, then it is time."

I nodded.

The Surface elf surprised me again by asking, "What do you worship?"

"You do not assume to know?" I asked.

She pursed her lips. "I...am asking. I want to hear you describe it."

"You learn something. I worship the Game, Tamuril. Interlinking threads and the web traps within."

"Not a spider goddess?"

"You did not mention deities. You worship balance."

"I..." She stopped herself and thought again, seemingly confused. "Drow worship...a game?"

I chuckled. "Thick, Tamuril. Unless you mean to sound simple. A game is balance, even as it ever changes. It is our nature. It is nature as you worship it. A web is balanced and birthed, renewed each day by its maker."

"It is not the same," she said stubbornly.

"And your world does not change? Creatures do not compete to live, to keep what they want and need, as in a game?"

"It is. NOT. The same," she hissed, her green eyes narrowing as Pilla fluttered her wings in agitation. "You will not twist my morals into yours."

I smiled, a bit impressed at her holding fast against my prodding. I understood the line being drawn even if I did not side with her view. If one considered too many sides at once, was too accommodating to the demands and arguments of others...there was no boundary that would not be crossed and invaded. Given enough information or time, I could present persuasions why anyone should see it my way, or why it was better for them to consider it. Those without strong boundaries possessed wills that were quickly dominated.

She seemed to be able to understand that. With practice she could even become a better liar.

"Then what I want, Tamuril, is for you to guide me to the Necromancer, and for you and your bird to tell no one of my presence."

"I cannot," she said immediately.

"Which?" I asked.

"Both! Necromancy is unnatural, those who practice it my enemy. I will not empower him with contacts such as you, and I must speak of you if I live."

"Why must you speak of me?" I asked.

"The simplest of reasons: that is why I am here. If Drow surface, I must inform."

My brow arched. "You lie poorly. You are four days away from a known portal, you have no watcher's nest, you were not aware of my surfacing though I have adjusted to the light with time, and you have no contact for back-up, you said yourself. Be realistic if you must lie. I wager instead you live alone here, perhaps exile."

Her face flushed and she looked humiliated. I was not far from the truth, but her coloring again warned me I would not likely cross that boundary right now.

I chose to sit again. "So. You will not betray a function to be silent. Why not let one enemy destroy another, as with the Warpstone cult?"

She shook her head. "You may speak some truth, but you must plan more than you say. One Drow who cannot sense ley lines in Silverin cannot defeat him, he is too far in his magic. You omit something."

I smiled. "Very good. I search for his weakness first. What I find forms my next step. Now I've found you...you have some effect on what I do on the Surface before I return, Tamuril. Have you thought of that?"

She blinked then looked away. The blonde elf became distracted again by the wound in her ass as she winced and shifted again, upsetting Pilla's balance a bit.

"The shard must come out," I said blandly, figuring if she would not ask, I would save us some time.

She glared at me. "What is it? What did you do?"

"Glass needle. Antidote forced into muscle is faster than through the stomach, and you could not swallow anyway."

Understandably, she blanched at being reminded. "You broke it off inside?"

"The way it works. A trade for speed."

"All is a trade for you," she muttered.

"As for you, Tamuril, do not fool yourself." I grinned slowly. "I will pull it out."

She huffed a strange laugh that sounded almost horrified. "No! Pilla will help."

"It is deep. She will not be able to reach it without tearing you open further," I said. "Her beak and talons have no doubt dug into dead flesh. They are dirty."

"And...*you* can offer better?" she sneered.

I slowly reached into one of the smallest tool pouches and pulled out a precision pair of tiny, delicate, metal tongs. Useful for so many things. "I can, with minimum damage or infection."

I saw her jaw flex and her teeth remained gritted when she spoke. "In exchange for what?"

"The pleasure of practicing the skill. Nothing more."

Tamuril's eyes became glassy but she blinked away her tears before they could seep out. "You will do it because it is fun?"

"Yes. That is believable to you, is it not?"

I could ask more in exchange but I'd found a few limits already and knew that would be pushing them. It was far from my main purpose anyway; this was just consequence of our first meeting. Kind of like when I'd gotten Panagan to bend over for the reward of capturing Jael; the hunt was going to happen that way anyway, so the extra was just a perk.

After further hesitation on the elf's part, I added, "We may use your medicines, anything to numb the skin and thwart festering. You need not trust mine."

I didn't want to use my limited store on her anyway. I would no doubt need it later.

"You have some, yes?"

I saw her green eyes—nearly the color of Shyntre's emerald—flick toward a wall with a small shelf. The only items on it were a few simple, wooden boxes.

I nodded. By contrast, she shook her head and I tilted mine in question.

"No. You will not touch me."

I rolled my eyes. "Even at the price of poisoned blood? Such pride or fear or whichever this is... not often useful. I want you alive and able to guide me, remember?" "I have not agreed to that, either. There is no benefit to me."

I stared at her for a moment and then laughed out loud. The sound seemed to disconcert her and her bird companion. I leaned back then, considering the blushing pink of her cheeks. It was true that I didn't yet know what might tempt her; she was difficult to understand, holding to ideals that seemed to have little practical use and only provided points of exploitation for others. She wouldn't believe that I understood any of those ideals, either. And many of them, I didn't.

We had tried discussing perception and world view, but we knew too little about the other, just the basics of what we didn't like, didn't respect in the other, despite the fact that each of us seemed to consider those very same points to be our strengths.

The vagaries of worship and friendship weren't useful to me here; neither was merely saying that I'd kill the Necromancer for her, as one who diametrically opposed to her own magic...variations of life and death, divine and arcane. It seemed reasonable to me that both would exist, just as the stark contrast in skin tone between us implied that we'd each adapted to our respective environments to survive. There held equilibrium.

It was an interesting thought that some of her ideals may have been practical to her survival...wherever she had grown up before staying here for an unknown reason.

So why was Tamuril alone and out here and relatively close to an Underdark portal? Could it have something to do with her reason for going down there...?

I knew that had been very important to her, if nothing else.

"Jynitha myotcee," I said bluntly.

She blinked and slowly shook her head to say she did not understand.

"What did you call it, the Underdark mushroom you sought? Jena—?"

I saw a glimpse of actual dread on Tamuril's face. Dread. She feared what I would say about it. Excellent.

"Genetha myocete," she murmured.

"I have some. In powdered form, not fresh, but still useful. Potent."

Her lips pursed. Her resolve seemed weakened. I continued.

"I will trade for your willing guidance to the Tower, your silence, and your true knowledge of Necromancer. For that, you must be healthy. You must allow me to remove the glass from your body."

Tamuril began to shake her head; I kept pushing, removing the correct pouch from my belt and holding it up to her. Three or four such pouches could have fit in my palm; it was tiny but it was turgid. There was a lot there to use, despite the small weight. I would be giving up a surer recipe to make more poison paste for my bolts and daggers, as well as possible medicine, but...I had Shyntre's pellets and I'd recognized a few possible substitutes in the forest.

"You will be prepared should you need to cure another such illness," I said. "You need not visit the borders of the Underdark to do so."

Golden brows drew down; she looked both angry and saddened. "I cannot count on its purity."

"I select it for my use," I said. "It is pure. Why would I have stale or tainted myocete among my tools? As a 'druid,' you must have knowledge of that which you use to heal."

"May I see it?" she asked, watching me with distrust, as if she expected me to refuse.

I hefted its slight weight in my palm. "Do you agree?"

"No," she said stoutly. "You will let me judge your powder prior to any agreement."

I smiled, which was more drawing my lips back from my teeth to bare them. "Spoil it only to spite and refuse me, and we fight once again, elf."

She nodded once, somehow relaxing as if I made the most sense to her when I threatened violence. "Understood. Yes or no, Drow?"

I tossed the small pouch to her. Pilla screeched and fluttered, jumping to a perch dug into the all at the foot of Tamuril's bed, blinking balefully at me in the dim light. The blonde elf did not make the catch, but I'd aimed it for her lap and she was able to lift it quickly. I watched as she inspected the make of the dark leather, seemingly interested in how it was made, before she tugged at the tight strings to check the contents.

To her credit, she did not stick her nose in it to inhale, but gently waved her hand above the opening to direct any scent toward her as she sniffed gently. She took out a tiny pinch and set it in her palm, touching and studying it, its color, its texture. Most mushroom powders were some form of grey, but this one had distinct blue flecks that helped with its identification.