The Temptation of Gheeran

Author's Notes:

This is the sequel to "Shilana's Trial" and it incorporates characters from "Reunion" as well. I tried to make this story as accessible as possible, but you might get more enjoyment out of this if you go back and read those other two first.

A huge "Thank you" to all the people who helped refine this tale. You know who you are.

As always, there are only adult beings having sex.

Enjoy!

*****

Part One: Spring

"I think you have been lazing around long enough," Ya'tyrr said without preamble when I entered his study.

"Lazing, boss? Since when is 'working your ass off to become as good as before' lazing around? I don't know when I had a full night's sleep. My whole body hurts from all the sparring. And losing," I complained, nimbly avoiding two chairs which hadn't been there the last time I had visited him. Just another test. I grabbed the back of the second chair, turned it so that it faced Ya'tyrr's desk and sat down, crossing my arms on the chair's back.

"No, I am serious. It is high time you made yourself useful," Ya'tyrr went on. "You are as good as a blind man with a magic ring can get, but no amount of training can prepare you for real field work. I need you out there. With Belard and Jhaelra still recuperating from their ordeal, we are awfully short-handed right now. So, pack your things and be off."

"Oh? They can rest while I have to leave the nest? That's hardly fair, boss. And they do have working eyes."

"You are not seriously suggesting that your blindness is a handicap, are you?" His tone was no longer playful. Dangerous footing, Gheeran, dangerous footing. Smiling grimly, I countered,

"Of course not. Well, there's the fact that I'll be making a poor lookout..."

"I know that. You will not be ogling the ladies, that much is certain. But you know our rules. Either you are useful or you are out."

I tasted bile as my anger rose. Ya'tyrr and I had arrived on the Surface together, been through thick and thin, and now he was putting the sword tip to my throat? Maybe Arach had been right. The concept of "loyalty" didn't exist in the heart of the Trickster's Chosen. And Ya'tyrr, my boss, and I so foolishly had presumed, friend, was the closest thing I'd ever see to a Trickster priest.

"Don't scowl like that. I am not kicking you out with just your loincloth on. Although you'd make a fine beggar like that. Visit Khol'mar in the workshop to get your gear and see me again before you leave. I may have something for you."

I heard his chair creak, indicating that my briefing was over. Snarling, I got up and left, passing Jhaelra as she squeezed past me into Ya'tyrr's office. I couldn't see her, but even two months back home weren't enough to entirely remove the stench of her captivity. Our once beautiful Moon Maiden priestess had changed in the wake of her encounter with Hael'quira.

Before, she was always at the center of things, a smiling whirlwind of good cheer, quick with a ribald tale, an affectionate kiss or laugh. Now she mostly kept to herself, spoke only when she absolutely had to and avoided her former friends. My fingers slid over her arm by accident as she squeezed past me, causing her to flinch violently. Yeah, that too.

I slid past her and leaned against the cool stone wall as she pulled the door closed. Normally, I wouldn't dare eavesdrop on my boss, but him kicking me out made me a bit rebellious. I was sure the Trickster would understand. Pressing my ear to the rough wood, I strained my hearing.

"I'm leaving, Ya'tyrr. I have to."

"Really? Why?"

"Isn't it obvious? I am surrounded by drow. And I don't want to be. I need to be alone, and far away. The memories are driving me crazy."

"Not to sound overly bossy, my dear, but that is a very selfish point of view. I can sympathize-"

"No, you can't! You haven't been raped by a gods-be-damned swamp troll!" Jhaelra snapped, cutting off Ya'tyrr. Phew. If anyone else but she had dared that, the person in question would be leaking all over the floor by now. I heard Ya'tyrr's chair scrape over the floor.

"I had been Shadow Master to our House long enough to have participated in... hunts before," Ya'tyrr said, much more gently than I had expected. "What do you think made me leave my House in the first place? Certainly not the idea of a glamorous life as an outcast on the Surface. I had to drag one of my own sisters back from the Surface. The priestess was very specific about the punishments, and I heavily figured into it. When Elziya was transformed before my eyes, I began to ask myself if I could do this again and again. You know what came from these questions."

"Nonetheless, I need to go. You've been very kind to me and Belard, but..."

Footsteps were getting closer. My listening time was up. Poor girl. In her stead, I would do the same. Sighing in sympathy, I slipped away from the door. I didn't want to be late for my own exile, did I?

* * * *

The bracers felt uncomfortable and restricting, very much like a pair of cuffs. They covered almost all of my forearm, from the wrist up to the elbow, leaving just a semicircular cut so that I could bend my arm comfortably. The bottom side, facing my palm, felt heavier, and brushing my fingertips against it, I felt some kind of container moulded into it.

"Are these bracers really necessary?" I complained. Khol'mar, our resident tinkerer and quartermaster, snorted in amusement. I could picture his broad, dazzling grin. "You know my arms are not broken."

"And I hope they never will. The bracelets are much too valuable. But the boss said you should give them a try. Hand me your wrist for a moment."

I did as he asked, holding out my right wrist in the direction of his voice. He fiddled with something which clicked into place. Then there was the scraping of tools. I could feel the tension mounting, until I heard another click.

"That should do it. Here, take this." Khol'mar pressed something large, cool and wet into my other hand. I sniffed.

"Raw meat? You can't be serious, man."

"Oh, I am. Time for a test run. Hold the steak up to your right hand and tilt your wrist sharply upwards. And make sure to keep your fingers pointed up."

"Are you sure this is safe?"

"If you're careful, yes. And if not, you can ask Jhael to glue your fingers back on." Khol'mar chuckled.

I gnashed my teeth. For all I knew, Jhaelra could be gone or dead by now, depending on Ya'tyrr's mood.

"Well, here goes nothin'." I sighed and did as he asked. With my left hand, I dangled the slice of meat in front of my right, brushing the wet thing against my knuckles. Then I tilted the right hand upwards. The back of my hand pushed into something at the bracer's wrist end, some switch or button. Then the jolt came, and with it a metallic hissing and the sensation of the meat slice being torn away. The balance in my forearm had changed explosively too. Carefully, I fingered the underside of the bracer. Sticking out a good ten inches was a wickedly sharp dagger blade, pieces of the steak still on the quivering metal.

"You know what? I'll stick to hidden daggers, thank you very much," I said, aghast. It was a sure show of luck that I still had all my fingers, much less most of my face.

"Yeah, at second glance I think I need to tweak the spring tension a little," Khol'mar said. "But the shock value..."

"Uh-huh. I am shocked that you didn't tell me what you were planning," I complained, fiddling with the locking mechanism. "You could have killed me!"

He said nothing, but he didn't need to. I was sure he was thinking "no huge loss." Ever since I had returned from my adventure with Arach, Shilana and Zentam, my companions had been more than a little distant. Maybe it had to do with my blindness. After all, Down Below I would have been put to death the moment my lost eyesight would have been discovered.

Ya'tyrr always said that the gods sent blindness to people who they deemed wise, since wisdom comes from within, but I knew better. My blindness was the result of a medusa's venomous spittle to my face, combined with her desire to have her very own fuck toy. And since medusae usually petrify anyone they look deep in the eyes, becoming her fuck toy meant my badly damaged peepers had to go. She had gouged them out with a glowing dagger, to make it as quick and painless as possible. Relatively speaking of course.

The only other time I had experienced that amount of anguish was when the Mother of my House used a flame-enchanted whip to amuse herself on my back for some minor misdeed. I still sported the burns, and going by the stiff feeling from the scars on my face every morning, my good looks were another price I had to pay.

I managed to survive my encounter with Tissana, the medusa. I also managed to survive a meeting with a mad drow high priestess, thanks to a magical cloak Ya'tyrr lent me. But the cloak, imitating the way a bat saw things, was rather obvious and impractical. So Ya'tyrr had Belard, Jhaelra's brother and the resident mage of our small band of misfits, make a ring that had the same enchantment, albeit a little less effective. I could sense my surroundings a few steps in every direction, even fight rather well close-up, but seeing a beautiful woman writhe under me was a thing of the past. Or reading. Or living as an assassin with my fellow Trickster faithful.

Khol'mer handed me a little chest. "Try not to lose the stuff again," he cautioned me.

"I am blind, Khol'mer, not stupid," I spat and grabbed the chest. I left him giggling to himself and retreated into my own room. The quicker I sorted my stuff, the quicker I would be out of here. Somehow, I knew how Jhaelra felt.

* * * *

The chest held a pair of enchanted arm guards, ones without spring-loaded knives. I could feel the magic buzz through them. I had a pair of those with me when I was out, on my way to raid a certain farming village. They were very handy when dealing with blades and arrows, but not a good fit when it came to spitting snake-women. Never mind, I learned my lesson back then, and these would work well enough in a hide, seek and stab scenario. At least Khol'mar had been kind enough to fit them to my arms.

Next came a slender belt which I snaked around my hips. It bore half a dozen dagger sheaths and two small bags filled with thief's tools: Lockpicks, a few handfuls of caltrops, slender finger blades for pickpocketing, a few tightly wrapped pieces of bait to throw off guard dogs. You know, the bare essentials for a man of the trade.

Then I picked up the new sword Khol'mar had made for me. To the uninitiated, it looked like an oversized dagger with a fancy, curved grip, and that's basically what it was. Sadly, it was only a meager imitation of my old blade that I had lost when Tissana caught me. Sure, it boasted the finest drow workmanship and even the socket, but Ya'tyrr wasn't willing to shell out the gold for the poison gems I had set into my old one. Lastly, I tossed a few of my black garments into my bag, pulled a plain-looking chameleon cloak from its peg on the door and returned to Ya'tyrr's study.

* * * *

No smell of blood when I entered the room. So Jhaelra was still alive. Ya'tyrr wasn't above slitting someone's throat right in his study when he was especially mad, so the lack of that tell-tale coppery stench could mean he was in a good mood. .

"Sit, Gheeran."

This time there was only one chair in front of the desk, and I took it. Ya'tyrr placed his hands on my shoulders before he leaned down. I felt his breath on my neck. My unease caused me to tense up and one hand slithered around a dagger hilt.

"Oh, you hurt me," he breathed into my ear. "Here I am, about to give you an immensely valuable gift, and you threaten me." Then his tongue licked my earlobe, like he used to do before he gave me a good fucking, back when I still could see and we would share his bed on occasion. I placed both my hands on the table in front of me, the old, notched desktop soothingly solid under my fingers.

"That's better. Hold still." A moment later, his hand caught my wrist. Before I even could fight back, he dragged something sharp over the back of my hand, cutting deep into the flesh.

"You fucking-" I began, trying to writhe out of the chair, but he pinned me down. A second later, cool liquid poured over my hand and the pain was gone almost as fast as it had appeared.

"Stand up," Ya'tyrr ordered. I did as he asked, this time drawing two of my daggers and falling into a fighting stance. I heard him sigh and move. With more luck than skill I blocked one of his hands, the other grabbed my wrist and twisted. The dagger clanged to floor. I hissed, going for a spare. The sheaths were empty.

"What the fuck?" I snapped, taking a step back and almost tripping over the chair. Casually, Ya'tyrr took the last dagger from my slack hand.

"I stole them. All six of them." Ya'tyrr laughed. I felt the air move near my ears as he threw two of them past my head, the weapons burying themselves into the bookshelf behind me with a low thrum.

"So, you are completely unarmed. Do you still want to kill me?" Ya'tyrr challenged.

"Of course not. You're my boss." I spread my hands in the gesture of peace.

"Then I'm not trying hard enough." A moment later, pain exploded in my crotch as his knee slammed into me. Even without my eyes, my world turned into a sea of white and I felt my breath leave my lungs in a pathetic wheeze as I folded double.

Now I wanted to kill him.

If only I had a weapon! And then I felt the dagger hilt in my palm. Cool, welcoming and inviting. I closed my fingers around it and unfurled, launching myself in the direction of Ya'tyrr's breathing.

"You shouldn't leave daggers on your floor," I hissed as I advanced on him. He parried my stabs with two of my own daggers no less, then I barely evaded a brutal punch to my face and he disarmed me again.

I was beyond furious now. First he tells me I'm ready to leave, now he was humiliating me to the point of red, glowing rage? Again I felt a dagger hilt in my hand. On instinct, I closed my fingers around it and renewed my attack. Another parry, another disarm, and it took only a moment before I felt the reassuring presence of the dagger in my palm again. I stepped back, comprehension dawning.

"You set me up with a cursed weapon?" I snapped, throwing the dagger Ya'tyrr's way. I heard the air move as he dodged and the clatter of the weapon skidding across the floor. A moment later, the weapon was back in my angrily clenched fist.

"No. Why should I? You're still my friend, Gheeran. This blade, this dagger, is bound to you by your blood. Wherever you may go, this weapon will be just a thought away. That's the only thing I am able to bestow upon you. Believe me, were it in my power to give your eyesight back, I would do that. But you know how the gods work, right?"

I nodded, fighting for my composure. The memory of Tear and Arach, singing a haunting, beautiful duet, pleading for the Moon Maiden to restore my sight, was still painfully fresh. The feeling of bottomless despair was only buried under what felt like a paper-thin sheet of discipline. Why did the oh-so-merciful goddess refuse their plea? Annoyed, I shook my head. These questions were haunting me in my sleep anyway, and I made myself look like a fool.

"I am sorry, boss," I began. Ya'tyrr closed the distance and wrapped me in his slender arms.

"Nothing to apologize for, my friend. Just promise me you'll come back in one piece." Then he kissed me goodbye.

* * * *

They were kind enough to escort me to the nearest trade route, but from then on, I was on my own. I could have gone anywhere, but my gut told me the best place to start my new life as the blind assassin would be Storm Harbour. If I was lucky, I could rejoin my former adventuring companions. Or maybe I could find someone who knew of a way to restore my eyes which did not involve the gods. Or maybe I just needed to ask the right gods. Maybe the human gods were not so fickle in bestowing their grace upon an outcast.

That was an awful lot of "maybes," and the only certainty was that standing around in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night would get me nowhere. My magical blindsense had just enough range to allow me to perceive the ditch next to the trade route, and then I had to evade the wheel ruts dug into the muddy road surface. Smooth walking was almost impossible here. But in which direction was Storm Harbour?

I knew that the city was on the east coast of the Western Continent, so I needed to head east. Even using the heat of the sun as an orientation aid was out of the question, because we drow normally only walk the Surface by night, especially those of the Trickster faith. No one had bothered to give me a compass I could read. And the chances of finding a helpful traveller at this hour were... almost like finding a naked, willing virgin right in front of me. Wait. I think that would be even slightly more probable.

I dug in my purse and fished out a coin, an ornate gold piece. Another one of Ya'tyrr's presents. He gave me a small pouch filled with these, to cover my basic needs wherever I wished to settle down. Even one of them could buy me a roof and food for a few weeks, and the bag's worth could get me a small mansion, complete with hopefully willing servants, if only for a few nights. One side was printed with a sailing boat proudly displaying a crescent on its sail, the other side was blank. So, ship meant "left", the other side meant "right". And knowing the Trickster, I added rim equals "horny, willing virgin" to my list of options. I tossed the coin, the wind a soft whistle on its notched rim, the turning coin a fluttering sensation in my field of perception. The coin came back down again and I caught it, slapping it onto the back of my glove. No horny virgin, sadly. I turned to the left and began to walk.

* * * *

While I was trudging along the pitted band of packed earth which served as a road around here, trying not to break my ankles in some unexpected pot holes, my mind drifted back to the first time I experienced the Surface. After almost ten years being drilled and trained in the Fighter's College, leaving the stalagmite-riddled cavern of my home town for a Surface raid was almost like a badge of honor, one of the few occasions where males were allowed to shine. After long, gruelling marches through the convoluted bowels of the earth, we eventually emerged from a cave entrance and stopped dead in our tracks. It was night back then as well, but compared to the eternal quiet Below, I felt utterly out of my depth. The members of my raiding party were awestruck as well, wondering at how large this unnaturally bright cavern really was. The Priestess we were accompanying got a real kick out of the fear we lowly grunts experienced. There were no walls, no ceiling, no stalagmites to hide behind, just endless open spaces. 'Alien' would be the word to aptly describe this landscape, from one who had never set foot upon it.

And then there was the noise! Compared to the occasional dripping of water, stealthy rustling of predators or the plaintive cries of something careless dying between jaws or claws, it was a cacophony of noises. There were so many things singing, chirping and hooting, how should one hear an enemy approach?

The air never stood still up here as well, there was always a gentle breeze or other pulling at our cloaks, setting them a-rustle. The Priestess allowed us a few minutes to adjust, but then we were off, sneaking towards a small farming village which we raided for valuables and slaves.

With each subsequent visit, it became easier to navigate the Surface. As they say, familiarity breeds comfort and when I left the Depths for good with Ya'tyrr some years later, I felt quite at home. The deserted monastery we found was almost like our houses back home, with both wide halls and narrow corridors. Compared to home, they weren't stacked on top of each other in hollowed-out stone columns, instead they were spread over a wide area, much larger than any dark elven compound home.