The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling Ch. 08

Disclaimer: Everyone is over eighteen. If you are not deeply into fantasy pulp fiction, gender fluidity and pansexuality, you are in the wrong place.

BEHOLD! I, Thutmose-Neferkare, royal scribe, chief librarian and high priest of the divine Ra do bid thee welcome back to the eighth scroll in "The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling". Our mailboxes have been flooded with letters as of late, which is unusual because mailboxes, letters and indeed a postal system have not yet been invented. Regardless, these communications all asketh of we priests the same inquiry -- are Hilarius and Tallia really broken up? Will they stay broken up? And if no, pray thee speak exalted one, and tell us when they shalt get back together, lo, and once more bang?

Rather than bankrupt the temple treasury with a thousand messengers, my most demanding disciples, I will speak here and clear this matter up once and entire. So, listen up, ye doubters. First, have not I bespoke even in the first scroll that Hilarius was the alleged author of this entire saga? Ask thyself, how could this be true if Hilarius went forth and ne'er returned? Forsooth, ye have not seen the last of that lusty rapscallion!

What I shall not do here is engage in that most detestable and damnable of deeds -- the revealing of spoilers -- which even the most righteous Thoth has named anathema and most naughty. Ye shall have to read these scrolls for thine self to know how this tale shall unfold. But as ye have faith in the divine and immortal Ra, also have faith in your good storyteller. Though much woe may befall our characters, know ye that you are not reading some artsy fartsy scroll that shall bummeth thee out with a depressing but somehow meaningful ending that deeply explores the reality of the human condition! I say thee nay!

Expecteth hot action! Expecteth hot sex! Expecteth a happy ending with lots of banging! Eventually. But first, our brave heroes must travel into the deeps beneath the wizard's fortress where all round is darkness, death, danger, doom and other d-words as well. And that is where our tale now commences, dear readers.

Yay, let it be written! Yay, let it be done!

Chapter Eight: Goddesses Gone Wild

"Escaped?! ESCAPED! How could you let this happen!" demanded the furious wizard Arion Three-Eyes of his pitiful cowering minion Diagoras. The aged beast-man lay upon the rough cobble floor of the sanctum even as his master loomed over him.

"Forgive me, my most diabolic and divine dark lord!" pleaded the major domo. "The ranks of the beast-men... they are much depleted between the attacks, the arena and the raids. "

"Choose a hand," the wizard hissed.

"No, please, my..."

"I must repeat myself?" asked Arion Three-Eye, his voice dripping with venom. "Shall I do both then?"

Diagoras, tremulous and tearful, brought forth his yet human left hand and closed his eyes. He knew what came next. Arion smiled a devil's grin and opened his third eye. A beam of ghoulish green light bathed the hand of doomed Diagoras. The wizard seized the appendage at the wrist, pulled it close and began, with a gleeful giggle, to sculpt the living flesh. The major domo did not scream even as his left hand began to burn, boil and twist beneath the wizard's warping witch-fire. This was not mere pain. This was a thousand needles jabbed into every inch of skin and beneath every finger nail. This was holding your hand in a fire from which you could not withdraw. This was a laughing demon-child given a scalpel and having fun with your flesh.

When he pulled the sinister appendage back, it was no longer a hand at all but more akin to a scorpion's pincer. The flesh was scabrous and black, dull in coloration and jagged like a chitinous saw. Diagoras fell back in convulsive misery before his master. But still he did not scream, only whimpering and clutching his new left pincer in unceasing agony.

The wizard closed his third eye and began to pace around his writhing minion, surveying his work. He leaned over and whispered in the ear of his major domo.

"Fail me again, Diagoras. I dare you," seethed Arion. "When I am done playing with you, even your own daughter won't be able to look on you without screaming. You think I don't know what you did, my dear Diagoras? You don't think I know every deed done within my fortress? The Eye sees all."

Arion arose and returned to his throne, sitting upon its fine lacquered wood. The wizard took a long drink of wine from his golden goblet. Mutation was thirst work. Finally he spoke. "Where were they headed? Do we at least know that?"

"The undercity..." Diagoras croaked.

"Damnation!" cried the wizard interrupting the pained groveling. "Those tunnels and chambers go on for miles. They could hide in those ruins like rats for years, constantly harassing me, interrupting my work!"

"We could..." Diagoras tried to speak through the pain.

"Silence, sub-creature! Your master is thinking," said Arion Three-Eyes, genuinely annoyed. Tallia! This was her work, no doubt. Only that Amazonian annoyance could plan so daring an escape and somehow overcome his mental domination. He had underestimated her, that was clear, and he did not mean to do it again. Worse, they traveled in the company of the sidhe sorceress. He wondered if they truly understood her potential, the danger that she posed...

No, this cannot wait. These fools had to be dealt with now!

"I should have killed those two in the arena!" he cried out in frustration. "How long till the Burning Horn and Rontus' warband return?"

"Tomorrow, assuming..."

"Tomorrow, then. As soon as they return, I want them brought before me. There is urgent business in the undercity. Now get out of my sight, you degenerate disappointment, before I show you what real pain is!"

Diagoras dared not say another word. He crawled as much as walked, wracked with agony. He did not forget to bow though in his master's presence as he speedily scrambled from the sanctum. This band of troublemakers had truly gotten under his master's skin. He had never seen Arion so distraught, so out of sorts. As Diagoras left the sanctum, his left pincer still throbbing in pain, a thought occurred to him -- a dark and terrible thought. As he considered the notion more deeply, there arose within him a feeling he had not possessed in many a long year. There was inside Diagoras' black and wicked heart, even amidst his suffering, at last a tiny ember of hope.

'Liandra,' he dared not speak aloud, 'Liandra, I do this for thee...'

***

Sang and Hilarius kept to their word and, in two days' time, departed. It was a bitter breaking of the band and though little was said, much was felt. Only Hilarius spoke, "We're going to Denggang, Tallia. I'll wait for you there. I'll wait forever if I have to. It's not too late. You could come with us. You all..."

Tallia only shook her head and could not move herself to speak. She had no idea what to say. She had often thought to herself in the past, how she wanted to be rid of the little pest. And now, as he at last left her, she could not bear it. They left the camp silently and soon enough the darkness swallowed them.

Silence reigned for some time there in the camp. Tallia poked the small smoldering fire and tried to find some light in this bleak underworld. Liandra's magic, even without her medicine, was working and only hours ago Mela's fever had broken. It seemed all but certain the strange little sidhe-woman would survive her ailment. Likewise, Tallia's amazing Amazonian resilience was on full display and her wounds from the savage fight with the beast-men and tiger-dragon healed without leaving even scars. Also Sang's hideout was proven effective and they had seen no sign of patrols or the strange sidhe guardians that had moved in the dark.

But these were tiny candles of optimism burning lonely amongst a shadowy, swelling sea of sorrows. Tallia lacked her magic sword, a spear or even a shield, possessing only two crude bronze beast-man blades. They had lost from their company two good warriors and two dear friends. They were once more out of food. Mela was recovering but remained too sick to travel on her own. Even though her fever was subsiding, she had only barely stirred and had said not a word in days. Since they had lost their guide, they were not precisely sure of their exact location in this twisted labyrinth beneath the wizard's fortress.

With all these disadvantages and dire circumstances, they still somehow hoped to defeat the most powerful wizard either of them had ever heard of. And he was not alone -- he was served by an army of monster slaves and whatever new horrors he was conjuring from hell even now. Tallia had to admit, the enterprise seemed a fool's errand. The Amazon's mood grew grim and dark.

Liandra though was more upbeat. She tried to cheer the Amazon. "We'll see them again. And we will succeed somehow. I am a servant of the sacred fire. Trust in the Lord and Lady of Love, Tallia. Our answers will come."

Tallia nodded in agreement at the crazy priest, but she believed none of it. What was she doing here? Hilarius was right. This was pride -- foolish, dangerous, idiotic pride. She could not let her defeat go and was now being led into the same madness that had wrecked the life of the priestess. She had once heard an old proverb, "when you seek vengeance, dig two graves." As she looked now on their camp, Tallia thought they might need three. Gods on high and in hell, she should get up and run after him. She should leave this crazy fire-fucker and her pet elf to die in this gloomy abyss.

No. It wasn't just pride that kept Tallia here. Liandra... Liandra had saved Hilarius. Tallia owed this priestess a life. Liandra was not giving up, so how could the Amazon? But now in paying that debt, it had cost her everything. Tallia wallowed in uncertainty and regret. 'I can't believe I called him a coward. I was hurt... angry. I lost my head. I...' She went round and round with thoughts like that. She began to drive herself mad with thoughts like that.

In the end, though, she could only sigh. What did any of that matter now?

They spent another day in silence and darkness. Or at least, Tallia thought it was day. It was hard to know. They had built a tiny fire in their redoubt to spare the remaining brace of torches that Sang had left them. Instead, Tallia had scavenged some wood from roots that had grown down deep into the stone. This was poor fuel, in truth, but it sufficed for now.

There was plenty of water dripping about this cave in small pools, but already hunger was starting to once more intrude upon their every waking moment. Finally the Amazon had to act.

"I am going to go sneak back into the prison and raid the Sons of Arion," announced Tallia. "They must have provisions and that will..."

"Don't leave," pleaded Liandra. "I couldn't bear it if you left too..."

"Mela will be here with you and we must have food."

"But what if you don't come back?" whispered the priestess.

"Have some faith," assured Tallia. "I'll not abandon you. I'll return before you..."

"Return... return from where?" whispered Mela hoarsely, regaining consciousness for the first time in days. "Where... where are we?"

"You're awake!" said Liandra. "Don't try to move."

Mela though ignored that order nad raised up beneath her tattered cloak that had served as her only bedding after their escape. "I... I've been lost in dreaming for days."

"You were sick. Very sick. You almost died," said Liandra. "But the Lord and Lady of Love protected you. You have returned to us!"

"How did we get out of our cells?" Mela managed. "The magic, the Eye..."

"Hilarius," said Liandra immediately regretting saying that name in front of Tallia. "He figured out how to get us out. Don't worry about any of that now. You need to rest and regain your strength."

"No, I've rested enough," said Mela, still struggling to sit up. "I need silver."

"Sang found some in a nearby crypt," Tallia said. "They took much of it, but left us a goodly store. But what will that buy us here in this dark place?"

"I've put this off for far too long," said Mela. "I must make a circle. I must..."

"You cannot even stand," said Liandra.

"I don't need to stand," answered the sidhe with a cough. "I just need a clear expanse of floor and two handfuls of the silver."

Tallia shrugged and did as Mela asked, no matter how crazy the request seemed. The Amazon cleared away some debris and produced two small unknown artifacts of the weird silver that Sang had discovered days ago amidst the dark stone and debris. Mela looked over the items. One was a medallion of some sort.

"This is a sidhe grave-good," she said inspecting the circular amulet. "It marks the wearer as a soldier."

Tallia and Liandra could only look at each other and shrug, unsure if this was a good or bad thing.

"Regardless, it will serve," said Mela. The other was a small short stout rod, curved almost like elongated egg but as long as Tallia's hand. "But this... this is not silver. This is true silver, fior-aergeth. It already has an enchantment upon it."

Tallia had no idea what that meant but did hand her a small ingot instead. Mela seemed more pleased with this. "Yes, this is trade-silver. This will suffice. But this... keep this safe," she said handing the rounded rod to Tallia. "I'll investigate it later."

Mela staggered slowly, painfully to her knees, letting out a low, unintelligible curse in her mother tongue. "I... I'm strong enough to do this," she whispered, more trying to convince herself than anyone listening.

The sidhe closed her eyes. In the darkness, the silver medallion and ingot she grasped glowed. At first, the light was a paltry pale phosphorescence barely brighter than a candle. It grew though from pale white to fiery forge-light, fearsome, orange and intensely incandescent. The precious metal became pliable in her hands and she combined the two items together into an impossibly hot sphere. With one hand she grasped the burning orb holding it forth, her face aglow from this magmatic marvel. With the other she drew forth the soft metal and sculpted a circle of molten silver around her. The form of the circle was not simple, instead tangled with strange glyphs and fiery letters that neither Liandra nor Tallia could hope to understand. Mela's eyes blazed as well, burning like intense embers.

The priestess was amazed. "Fire-eyes! Like in the murals!"

Tallia for her part watched this witchcraft in frightful wonder. She was unsure what to make of the sidhe's eldritch doings, so cautiously observed from afar with her hands ready to draw her blades. The silver continued to blaze even brighter, now completely surrounding the sidhe. Mela serenely sat in the center of this strange circle and began to sing. Or perhaps it was simply words but spoken in a language so innately musical that it sounded like a song. Whatever the truth, the darkness itself seemed to listen.

The umbral gloom of this underworld gave way to light and from the shadows walked forth a form most radiant. It was a ghost the Amazon was sure. It seemed like another of Melaerryn's kind, but instead of being a slight sorceress, this figure was instead a tall and lordly sidhe-man. He wore a long robe, a coat of ghostly mail beneath and a crown of thorns and leaves. All of these adornments and the man himself seemed at once both made of light and thin as mist. Liandra marveled at the otherworldly figure. Tallia instead quickly found her feet and readied her blades for an attack. The priestess interposed herself.

"Wait," said the priestess. "This apparition -- she is communing with it. It is answering her song."

And indeed, Mela and the spirit did exchange words. Even though the tongue meant nothing to either Tallia or Liandra, only much later would they learn exactly what was said.

"Ah," said the spirit. "Lady Methaerryn, at last your report. I feared you were neglecting your king's most sacred charge."

"Hail King Bressian of Danan. And its Lady Melaerryn, my liege."

"Yes, yes, of course," said the fey. "I was just testing you to make sure you weren't a spy."

"Thank you, my king. And fear not, my king, I have not forgotten my duty to you. But unforeseen difficulties have arisen. I need aid, my liege."

"Truly? And what are these 'unforeseen difficulties'?" he said with a yawn.

"I have made it to the city of Gaelynglas and found it, as you rightly suspected, a ruin. But it has also been transformed into the fortress of a human wizard who calls himself Arion Three-Eyes."

"A human wizard," the sidhe noble answered sharply. "How laughable, humans playing at magic."

"He is powerful, my liege. He slew my two guards and took me prisoner. I was lucky to escape his chains."

"This human, this mewling mortal magician, dares interfere with my envoys?!" scowled King Bressian. "I shall have to send him a most dire and threatening missive."

"It would do no good, my liege," reported Mela. "He is a criminal and a demon worshipper. I fear he will not respect even your most august authority."

"Too bad. I was looking forward to giving him a sound literary thrashing. Anyways, he sounds like an utter blackguard," said King Bressian. "And he killed my dear Ulthas and Aoife? You have my permission to deal with this mortal."

"Thank you, my king. That is actually why I have reached out to you. I am hurt and sickened. I have allied with other mortal enemies of the wizard and we seek to slay this villain so that we may..."

"Yes, yes, I'll see what I can do. You are dancing, though, around the real issue. Have you found the Itheoir?"

"Not yet, my liege," answered Mela, "but it must be close. I am even now on the edge of Gaelynglas proper though I have not yet found the sea without sun or the island..."

"You must hurry!" said the king urgently. "This errand is already taking much longer than I'd hoped. And if there is human wizard nearby, can there be any doubt that he is hoping to find the stave first?"

"I think it likely, my lord. That's why we must have aid."

"Yes, yes, enough with the begging. I'll send you... something. "

"Some provisions would be nice as well, my liege."

"Yes, yes, and some snacks," said the king. "Look, Lady Megaerryn..."

"Melaerryn, my liege," interjected the sidhe.

"Yes, yes, regardless, I hope you understand how important this mission is to me. There are -- well, certain complexities have arisen."

"Complexities, my liege?"

"Her!" King Bressian said with a hiss.

"I take it you mean Queen Brigit?"

"Don't say her name," he spoke. "She has spies everywhere and if she knew that I was violating the ban against interfering with the mortals. Well, as I said -- complexities."

"Of course, my liege."

"Gods and devils!" cursed the king. "If this wizard is working with her, this mission may be in dire peril of becoming a true embarrassment to me. That's the true danger here! You are only risking your life. I am forced to hazard my very reputation!"

"I don't think Queen Brigit would stoop to associating with this wizard, my king," said Mela.

"You have no idea what she's capable of, my pawn. Just get this done! Now!"

The circle of molten silver suddenly cooled, cracked and went dim. The spent silver seemed to wither and turn to ash. The ghostly image faded with the failing firelight. And where the image had been there was now a small chest of beautiful heartwood bound in fine silver. The box itself was a treasure, though it had no lock, instead sporting only a delicate clasp. Melaerryn immediately opened it and discovered inside a crystalline flask containing what looked like dark wine, three hands-width blocks wrapped in silken cloth and a matching trio of beautiful, ornate silver daggers.