Chapter 11: Rangers and Witches
Chapter 12: Wolf
Chapter 13: Hephaestus
Chapter 14: Existence
Chapter 15: Neverwinter
Chapter 11: Rangers and Witches
Zak settled thankfully on a chair near the fireplace, though not taking his eyes off the old woman. She had taken out a bowl of strange fruits, depositing it on the table for Mik, who made an appreciative sound. Jormungand pulled up a chair behind Zak.
Zak looked curiously at the old woman, and at the cottage, which contained all sorts of strange ornaments, like a collection of necklaces of bone and such.
The old woman pushed an oak rocking chair nearer, and sat on it. She did not appear to be noticing Zak at all. The black cat leaped onto her lap, purring as she stroked its fur.
"How did you know about..." Zak paused, then shrugged. "I suppose I do not care."
"No," the old woman agreed, "You don't."
They sat in silence, watching the crackling fireplace.
"Lonely here, isn't it?" Zak asked finally.
"Oh yes." The witch said. "I am going to die soon, so I suppose it don't matter."
"Ah," Zak said awkwardly.
"It's just a feeling. Witches know when they're going to die." She said, "I'm looking forward to it, actually. But apparently I have to help you first."
"Why?" Zak asked, "And in what way?"
The witch grinned, showing a lot of gums. "Sounds convenient, ain't it? Actually, Asur has been waiting for you for months already. You're late."
"I got held up," Zak shrugged. "And who is Asur?"
"The spirit legion of this part of the world," the witch said. "Witchcraft here is about spirits... and potions, of course."
Zak didn't know what was going on, and frankly did not care either. If an old woman was offering him shelter and warmth, that was fine by him whatever she wanted to say, so long as she didn't attack.
He did, however, feel obliged to say something. "And why has he been waiting for me?"
"They, you mean. You're next," the witch said. She sounded smug.
Zak looked at the witch through narrowed eyes. "Representative of the spirit, protecting the land and such?"
"Sort of," the witch said.
"Not for me," Zak said firmly.
"We'll see," the witch replied, just as firmly. They glared at each other...or rather; Zak glared at the witch.
"Something's coming here," the witch said. Zak shrugged.
"Something you brought," she continued. The black cat, yawning, stretched, then curled up into another position.
"So?" Zak said in complete disinterest.
"Another Goddess," the witch said. "She'd wreck havoc."
Zak shrugged again. "So long as the havoc takes out a certain goddess, I do not care. Spiral does not seem to be the evil sort."
"She will have conquest." The witch said. "Your twins, for one."
Zak sat up from his slouching position. "What do you know about them?"
"Spiral feeds on her follower's belief," the witch said calmly. "The stronger her followers, the stronger she is. And she wants to exist."
"Let her," Zak said sharply. "What about the twins?"
"She'd convert them," the witch said, "In the future."
"Spiral is not so bad a Goddess as I have known." Zak said, thinking of spiders.
"True," the witch admitted. "I have no truck with gods, so long as they have their place. But what they shouldn't do is rule. A ruling god is disaster."
"At least he or she won't make errors." Zak said.
"Wrong. If he or she makes errors, the errors will be seen as the right choice. She'd know what everyone is thinking, so the merest rebellion will be crushed. The people will have the same ruler – for ever."
"Whether something is right or wrong is due to belief," Zak said, "And Spiral does not seem to be that rigid."
"You'd see," the witch said. "Meanwhile, I'm supposed to teach you how to speak the Common tongue, and your friend with you."
"No magic," Zak said. That was something he needed to know, spirit or no spirit.
"No magic," she agreed.
***
The old man paused, and the owl subsided on another boulder. "Friend of yours?" he said calmly.
"Oh yes," Quetzal grinned.
"Big cat?"
"Definitely," Drizzt said.
The old man eased his bowstring straight and seemed to fold into himself. The arrow pointed at the ground, and the twins saw the panther's ears go up. Then Guenhwyvar leaped off the outcrop, padding to the side of the twins, as if having relinquished all idea that the old man was a threat.
"Good cat too," the old man commented, the owl shrieking in rage and fright as Guenhwyvar passed its boulder.
"I am Montolio," the old man said proudly, "Montolio DeBrouchee."
"Blind ranger!" Lagerbottoms roared, starting forward. Guenhwyvar growled.
"Stop it," Quetzal said, and the giant glanced at her.
"Ranger dangerous," the hill giant said, "Kill many, many monsters."
"That's what we do," Drizzt said.
The hill giant's brow wrinkled. "Kill monsters because ranger thinks they not natural," the giant rambled. "Kill monsters before saying, and changed animals. Evil."
Quetzal raised an eyebrow at Montolio.
The old man shrugged. "Monsters I kill, who have killed others."
Drizzt glanced at Quetzal, then back at Montolio.
"Fare you well," he said abruptly then, "We leave to our own ways."
"Or we may not," Montolio said.
"Are we your... prisoners?" Quetzal said sarcastically, "Would you like to be a squirrel? Or a mouse?"
"I do not wish to be part of the rodent family," the blind ranger said, unruffled, "And I do not know what you mean by that, though the stone giant disappeared quite abruptly."
"Polymorph," Quetzal said flatly.
"A wizard you are?" the old man said, in interest.
"Not more than you," Drizzt replied. "My sister is versed in magic, no more."
"You have, however, killed many of Graul's soldiers. I offer you a room in my castle. The orcs dare not approach that place. They fear..." Montolio struggled with the limited goblin tongue, then gave up.
"Well they do," Lagerbottoms growled.
"Orc King Graul has ten hundred more to send after you," the ranger said, knowing that they were not considering his offer.
"No," the twins said finally, again in unison. Guenhwyvar growled, not approving of the decision.
"You are twins?" the old man said casually.
"Yes," Quetzal said. Guenhwyvar bumped into Drizzt's leg.
"The cat wants you to come," Montolio said. "It will be better than a cave and half cooked fish."
"We will not come," Drizzt said.
"Then I will name you enemy!" the ranger roared, pointing his bow up at them. Lagerbottoms started forward, but Quetzal raised a hand.
"He won't shoot," she said calmly.
"I just as well might," Montolio said.
"You won't," Drizzt repeated, then grinned at Quetzal. She sighed, and nodded, turning to Lagerbottoms.
"We're going with the bugger," she told the giant, "Are you coming, or will you stay in the cave?"
The giant glared at the ranger. "Blind ranger evil. Lagerbottoms will stay in cave. You visit when he try to kill you."
Drizzt nodded gravely. "A friend you have been, and a friend you will stay."
"We wish you well," Quetzal added.
The hill giant nodded, shooting the ranger another glare, then ambled down the slope.
"Bugger?" the old man repeated, sounding injured.
***
What Montolio had described as his castle was a series of wooden caves dug out at the roots of giant, tightly packed evergreens. Animals came down excitedly to be close to the old ranger, but the proximity of Guenhwyvar kept them at a respectful distance.
"I have many rooms," Montolio said, "Many blankets and much food."
The twins glanced blankly at each other, then shrugged.
"Are you trying to tell us something?" Quetzal said politely.
"It's this damned goblin language," Montolio groused. "We cannot speak – properly, that is. Would you allow me to teach the both of you the human tongue?"
The twins glanced at each other again.
"Wouldn't hurt," Drizzt smiled, "And we live to learn," he added grandly.
Montolio's smile nearly took in his ears.
"You're the close sort of twins, aren't you?" he said casually.
"How did you know?" Quetzal asked.
The old ranger shrugged. "You make your decisions together. Sometimes you speak at the same time."
"We wouldn't have it any other way," Drizzt grinned.
***
"Werewolf, are you?" the witch said.
"Yes," Zak admitted, "It was necessary at first, but now it's just a nuisance."
The witch nodded, then pointed to a line of necklaces, hung neatly on hooks on the other side of the wall. "Pick one."
"What for?" Zak said rebelliously.
"Do it." For some reason, Zaknafein could not argue with that tone. He sighed, and looked over the line of necklaces. It was probably some inane and idiotic ritual.
It was routine. Each necklace vaguely resembled some kind of animal, or some type of force. Carved fire, eagle feathers, scales... he stood up, and picked up the least flamboyant (and lightest) one. It was merely a thin black leather thong, actually. Zak supposed he could deposit it in one of his pockets and forget about it, until, say, he needed a bit of firewood.
The witch nodded, as if in satisfaction, then heaved herself off the chair into the interior of the house. She reemerged with a long, gnarled stick. With a glowing knob on the end.
"Oh, no you don't." Zak said, backing off. "I don't want a wizard stick."
"And sod you, too," the stick said in an amiable though slightly wooden tone. The voice came from it in general, though the staff had no mouth.
"Great," Zak said sarcastically, "A sentient wizard stick that insults people."
"It's sapient pearwood," the witch said, "From some world named the Discworld."
Zak began to feel irritated. "I don't want to be a wizard."
"You picked the necklace for it," the witch said smugly, "And you can't turn back. You don't have to be a wizard, actually. Just carry the staff around."
"There's a fire there," Zak said calmly.
"Your twins are on this world," the witch shot back. Zak glared at her.
"What if I already have a sentient sword?" he asked.
"Lucky you," the witch snickered, "You'd be the first person in the world whose weapons raise questions about their master."
Zak tried to put the thong back on the hook, then snatched his hand back with an oath. His hand burned.
"You'd have to have the string on your person, as well," the witch said, not unkindly. "Asur has to have a representative on this world, to balance People and the Gods."
"Asur is many spirits?" Zak said, finally realizing something.
"A good start," the witch said.
"Not if I walk out of this place."
"It won't let you," she said calmly. "My name is April."
"A witch named April?" Zak said.
"Yes," April said firmly. "And your name is Zaknafein."
"Thank you very much for telling me my name." Zak said, in a resigned tone. There didn't seem to be any way out of this now.
The witch shrugged, taking off her pendant. It was bare except for a carving that resembled the moon. "Solitude," she explained, dumping it on the empty hook. It disappeared.
"Each 'sentiment', if you may, can only be chosen once. Yours is 'independence'." April went on, and then realized that Zak was not listening.
April heaved the stick at him. Distractedly, for he was looking with a certain longing at the door, he caught it. And then realized what he had done.
Octarine fire flashed, and ran up his arm and all over the staff. The knob burned.
"Damn," Zak said, with feeling, which is not a good word to say when you first receive a gift.
"And sod you too," the staff replied.
***
Chapter 12: Wolf
The night came early, as it always did in the cold month. Zak rose up abruptly from his place at the fire, and the witch April glanced up at him.
"You can't fight it," she said calmly. "Yours is the last room."
Mik looked at the elf then decided to stay in front of the fire. The monkey knew, somehow, what would happen.
Zak glared at her, and holding the unwelcome staff, stalked into the inner recesses of the house. Inside the room, he closed the door, nudging the staff under the simple cot with his foot.
"She's right, you know," said a voice under the bed. "Hey, there're cobwebs in here!"
"Shut up," Zak said, taking off his sword belt. The room had a small window, which he carefully shut, but other than a rickety wooden chair, the cot was the only furniture in it. He shrugged off his chain mail and dumped that on the chair.
The wolf will come when the moon rises, Khazid'hea said.
"Not you, too," Zak groaned, getting onto the cot. The room was filled, for him, with the sharp smell of snow and pine trees.
I cannot help you when the moon rises, Khazid'hea rephrased the sentence.
"Nor can I," the voice under the bed said.
Zak shrugged, and closed his eyes.
The wolf self was there, primal senses on alert, amber eyes beautiful, coat perfect as ever, padding out of the shadows. The dark elf faced the creature, barring its way.
Go away, the elf told the wolf.
The wolf flicked its pointed ears. No.
The elf could feel the wolf all the time. It had seemed to come from nowhere when Angua, the Ankh-Morpork werewolf constable had bitten him, fully formed, beautiful. And also independent, alone.
They refused to work with each other from the start. This wolf was not the patient one in Angua, which allowed the human shape to determine when to change. This one wanted to change, to walk on the Material Plane.
What was essentially Zaknafein hated the wolf's careless discipline, the wild senses and predatory emotions.
The elf was strong, the wolf admitted. It hated resorting to waiting till the elf side slept, but it had to, and so it did. Wolves have no scruples in that particular area... if something had to be done, it would be done.
The moon is high, and I must run. The wolf communicated calmly and easily, each movement fluid grace. The elf would learn to accept it!
The moon is shut from this room. The elf replied smugly.
Day for you, night for me. The wolf said reproachfully.
You will come only when I call! The elf 'shouted' at it.
Night for me. The wolf repeated. Both felt it, a prickling, silver haze as the moonlight penetrated the bound wood logs of the cottage. The elf sighed, and the wolf looked at him in surprise.
Night for me, the wolf said, calm now, and not unkindly. Always for me.
It surged forward...
The wolf got up from the bed, again struggling out of the clothes. Why did his other side always want to wear such restricting materials?
The magic sword in its sheath glowed red, and the wolf avoided it as it stepped down from the bed. The wolf padded to the closed door, noting that the doorknob, in this case, was a lever-like device that could be opened with a paw. The elf side raged.
The great wolf, gray ruff rich with fur, reared up on its hind legs and put a paw on the lever. The door opened ponderously, and the wolf padded out into the living room.
Mik shrieked, and ran up into the rafters, where it clung on the beams and gibbered in rage and fright. The old human looked up, and the black cat in her lap hissed. The wolf ignored them, padding instead towards the open door.
"I told him," the old woman said, "But he didn't listen, did he?"
The wolf gave no indication of hearing, bounding out into the snow, its joyous run that of freedom and grace.
***
Drizzt and Montolio watched as Quetzal played the flute.
Or rather, the blind ranger looked in the general direction where the music was coming from. "Does this actually work?" he asked Drizzt.
"Oh yes," Drizzt said, stroking Guenhwyvar's fur. "Always has."
The blind ranger snorted, then started as the portal began to form. It showed a wolf, its rich coat randomly dusted with snow.
"Zaknafein!" Drizzt said in astonishment.
"What about that?" Montolio asked, "The wolf's your father?"
"Werewolf," Drizzt said.
"So you're werewolves too?" Montolio looked at them in suspicion.
"No. A werewolf bit him," Drizzt said absently. Is he on this world?
Yes, Quetzal sounded excited.
We must find him, Drizzt said. Can you move the viewpoint upwards?
The portal flickered, then showed a high, bird's eye view of the surroundings. "Near a city," Drizzt murmured. "Mountains, snow, river..."
"What city?" Montolio said impatiently, "What do the mountains look like?"
"Never-ending chain of ice-covered peaks..." Drizzt began, then the view zoomed upwards. "There's a sea that has white specks of it on one end."
"Entire place snowing?" Montolio asked.
"Yes."
"The Spine of the World," the ranger said.
"He's in the forest with the river." Drizzt said.
"Near Neverwinter, then." Montolio said.
Quetzal ended off the spell. "We go," she said firmly.
"After this night," Montolio replied. "It is dark outside."
The twins looked at each other. "Good!"
***
Montolio had somehow located a pair of horses in his glen. They were an amiable pair, and seemed to be traveling well although they were old. Guenhwyvar had been dismissed to its long awaited rest in its plane.
The twins galloped over the rocky trail, through the moonlight that reflected off the snow, through the deep dark of night. There weren't any orcs that they could see now, and Drizzt speculated that they had been scared away. Quetzal didn't think so.
They soon left Graul's valley behind.
"I would have liked to learn from the ranger," Drizzt remarked.
"Really." It was not a statement.
"Yes. You'd have to admit that knowing the surface tongue would be better for us," Drizzt said.
Quetzal cocked her head to the side. Overhead, an owl flew, and she noted that it had the same pointed feathers on its brown head as that of Montolio's pet. "Perhaps," she admitted. "But finding Zak is more important."
Drizzt looked up idly at the owl, which had now veered off back down their path, back to the blind ranger. "Moonlight," he said.
"I wonder how he's taking it?"
***
The wolf ignored the elf, stealthily approaching from the bushes. The herd of deer grazed on, blissfully oblivious.
No, the elf said.
Why? The wolf asked, with casual interest. You would enjoy the Hunt.
The elf had to admit he would. He wasn't the squeamish type, and he had hunted himself before. Though he would prefer his swords to using his teeth.
One of the wolf's choices of words nagged at him, but the wolf had pushed him politely in one corner, and crouched in the bushes, selecting its prey with care. A young deer, ambling beside its mother. An old stag, isolated from the herd by its own choice, its glory days past.
The wolf considered carefully. It was not that hungry. The stag, though nearer, had impressive horns, and the wolf knew that animals did not get that old without knowing something. Luck did not last a lifetime.
Carefully edging through cover, the wolf got as close as it dared to the mother and the fawn. It sensed that the elf was enjoying this, suspense, the intense joy of the chase, then the final sharp taste of blood. It noted that the elf would never admit this to others, of course, and shrugged at all humanoids. They were strange, weak creatures, with only powerful minds and tools.
It jumped out of its place. The deer herd immediately bolted, skittish creatures that they were. The fawn, spindly limbs flying in many directions, was fast, but the wolf, ghostlike on the ground, was faster.
***
The twins looked at the group of robed people with certain disgust. They had met the group on accident, and had agreed to travel with them for a while. The leader of the group knew that travelling with warriors was always safer.
They were called the Weeping Friars, a fanatic religious group that wanted to 'absorb the sufferings of the world into themselves' or something. They stank, and went around asking for money.
I wonder if people pay them truthfully or just to get away from them? Quetzal asked Drizzt.
The latter, I believe. Drizzt replied. One of the robed figures around the fire broke away from the group, swaying as he walked to them.
"Kill me, evil elves!" he wailed, "Strike me with your whips and poisoned..."
One of the friars walked up and took hold of the man. "Our brother has imbibed too much of the drink for his own good," he said conspiratorially, "Apologies." He marched the errant Brother back to the fire.
Definitely the latter group, Quetzal sighed, looking to the distant lights of the town they were camped close to. A simple spell Haste had assisted them this far, but the group slowed them down. It had, however, pulled them out of several would-be misunderstandings with the many patrols in this semi-wild place. No one questioned kindly warriors
aiding the gods.
The leader of the group came over. Quetzal had never bothered to ask his name, and he looked like those unfortunates whose hand would hold on to money as one would hold on to water.
"We pass through the tunnel now. It is the fastest way," he said defensively.
The twins looked at each other. "Fastest way?" Drizzt asked.
"Oh yes," the man said quickly. He might as well have, Quetzal thought, hung a huge sign on his neck reading, "I am keeping a Secret"
"What's wrong with the tunnel?" Quetzal inquired.
"Nothing," the man said hastily.
"Then we don't take the tunnel." Drizzt said. "You're hiding something."
The man looked down at his shoes. "The red dragon keeps house in the cave. Hephaestus." He said.
"Red dragon?" Drizzt grinned.
"Dangerous one," the man went on obliviously, "Though he sometimes helps merchants. And he sleeps early, so we should be safe."
Drizzt, no. Quetzal said. We have enough trouble already, thank you.
Oh, all right. Drizzt seemed disappointed, and the twins nodded at the man, who lurched off.
I feel like putting a spell for boils on all of them. Quetzal remarked.
Do, Drizzt grinned.
***
Ok, special effects again. The eye of the reader zooms in to a tavern at the town the twins are camping close to. There is a commotion, and then two drunkards are thrown out. For the sake of drunkardom, they are both shabbily dressed, supporting each other, holding tankards, spilling beer on themselves, and singing at the top of their voices.
"They say," One of them begins, then throws up noisily in the gutter, "Weeping Friarsh have dark elvesh."
"Dark elvesh on surface?" the other asked, lifting up his tankard and spilling the contents on his hair.
"Yesh. Going to dragonsh tunnel," the other smirked owlishly at the other.
The other nodded. "Locksh?"
"Gatesh," the other grinned, and they stagger off into the night, ostensibly keeping in the shadows, though the singing does seem to be a giveaway.
***
Chapter 13: Hephaestus
Zaknafein paused for breath, leaning on the spade. He wasn't used to this type of labor.
The dark elf was ten or so meters behind the cottage, in a private, probably carefully grown copse of trees that formed a quiet ring around a clearing. In the middle of the clearing now was a mound of earth.
April, as she had said, died calmly. She knew she was going to, anyway, and had gone and lay down inside the hollow, holding a rather one-sided conversation with Zak, who was staring fixedly at a space between two trees.
Even here, then, there was a Death. This Death was also a hooded figure holding a gleaming scythe, but the hand that was exposed was that of an eagle's claw.
Zak was highly irritated that he could see Death, for some reason. The werewolf gave him that annoying ability.
"Why a claw?" he asked. Death had been watching him with a certain friendly interest.
"Well," Death said, in a pleasant voice that was all together human, "People in Toril do not take skeletons seriously, and most of the humanoids don't take humans seriously either. If I were to take an elf shape, others might complain... favoritism, you see."
"Don't take skeletons seriously?" Zak repeated, while shoveling a bit more dirt onto the mound. He wished Jormungand was here, but the serpent was playing with the black cat and Mik inside the cottage. Zak decided he didn't really dislike him, and it was not very politic to hurt the other companion in the house, even though said companion still couldn't speak properly. April had tried to tutor them in her last days, but Zak, at least, couldn't learn so much in so short a time.
"Clerics animate skeletons," Death said, "And skeletons here tend to fall apart easily."
"Ah," Zak said.
"Besides, all the paladins and clerics try the 'turn undead' spell on me when I tried that shape," Death said, "It doesn't work, but I don't like to give them one more disappointment when they're dead."
"Considerate, are you?" Zak said, sarcastically.
"Yes," Death said, in an oblivious voice.
"Why are we talking, actually?" Zak asked. They were talking in drow, a language that Zak had at first been surprised that Death spoke. Then again, considering how many drow died each day, it wasn't.
Death looked uncomfortable. "Asur spoke to me, and requested me to teach you the rest of the Common language. Oh, and your friend too."
"Really. And why you?"
"Because they said they couldn't be bothered to ask anyone who doesn't know their existence. Humans need lots of proving that spirits are actually talking to them, let alone existing," Death said.
"And why did you agree?"
Death looked even more uncomfortable. "Asur said that if I didn't, they'd change me into a skeleton, disassemble me, then bury one bone in one different world."
Zak grinned, then took up the spade from the ground. "I think I can imagine. Do you think it is done?" he gestured at the mound.
"I suppose so." Death shrugged, "I usually meet the dying before the tombs, except in special occasions.
Zak shuddered.
***
"How'd... how'd get the keysh?" one of the two drunkards said, watching his companion turn the key in the intricate lock that was on a portcullis crank in the tunnel.
His companion shrugged, spilling beer on himself. "My brothersh's smithysh." He said. "Brother saysh that good riddance to elvesh."
The other drunkard nodded wisely, then the two leant against the wall, singing loudly and drinking from their tankards.
***
Drizzt, Quetzal, and the Weeping Friars walked through the tunnel until they came to an intersection. Montolio's horses had been released when they reached the tunnel, the animals wheeling and racing back to their master.
Mateus, the leader of the Friars, looked up through the portcullis and at the wide open iron door, which lead to a dark tunnel. Then he frowned as he saw the two drunkards, at the side of the door, singing.
"Come down here!" he called urgently, "You know the dragon's in there!"
"Dragon?" the twins chorused.
"Hephaestus," Brother Herschel, a more learned friar, said. Jankins, the frequently drunk and wild friar, leaped forward, crying, "Phaestus! The final suffering! It is a sign from God, brothers!"
The friars, used to his outbursts, sprang on him like so many trained hounds. But Jankins dodged with surprising agility, sprinting up towards the door.
The twins, faster than the friars, were already in pursuit, and they knocked him to the ground, holding him until the friars caught up, out of breath. They were, however, already inside the tunnel, and they started to drag the struggling and screaming friar out, something that took the entire group, when the twins realized the potential of a trap.
The door slammed shut, and there was the sound of a key in the lock seconds before the twins reached it. After a while, there was the slam as the portcullis dropped, and the sound of drunken laughter.
"Take that, elvesh!"
***
Quetzal frowned as she inspected the door. The friars had long ago stopped their cries for help, as they realized it may wake the occupant at the end of the tunnel.
"Well?" Drizzt asked.
Quetzal shrugged. "I'm sorry. It's crafted by dwarves, and it'd probably withstand my magic."
"Probably?" Drizzt asked hopefully.
"Either that or it's enchanted, and the magic I try will turn on us and obliterate the lot of us," Quetzal said. "Dwarves are like that."
Mateus glanced nervously down the tunnel. "What do we do now?" he asked.
"We get past the dragon," Quetzal said promptly.
"We'd die! Hephaestus is a Red." Brother Herschel said vehemently.
Drizzt looked at him. "Can anything buy us passage?" he asked.
"Treasure," the friar said, "But Hephaestus has treasure enough to run Mirabar for centuries."
"We can try," Quetzal said.
"What if it decides to kill you and take whatever treasure you may have?" Mateus asked.
Jankins cried out, and the friars, anticipating what would come next, sat on him. Mateus and the elves ignored the spectacle.
"Then we die," Quetzal said, calmly.
"Sister!" Drizzt protested.
"I have to agree," Mateus said slowly.
Quetzal smirked. "All die sooner or later," she said.
"You're just saying that," Drizzt said uncertainly, "What if we think of a plan?"
"Oh, good solution, Drizzt. Considering that there are many of us, we're not fireproof, the dragon will fry us if I even start with the flute, and will fry us if we try with our weapons, I'd say it's an absolutely wonderful advantage we have." Quetzal said.
Drizzt shrugged. "We'd think of something."
***
The something proved to be rather simple, but Quetzal saw no other way out yet. Starving to death did not sound very helpful, and as she said, playing any note of the flute might call the dragon to investigate.
The twins looked back at the friars, and winked together, causing some of the friars at the back to make a wholly useless sign against evil.
"You know the signal," Drizzt grinned, nodding at the single exit. The dragon's cave was immense, and full of gleaming treasures, many thousands of times a king's ransom. His heart was aflame with the heady taste of adventure.
Their target was asleep between two piles of gold, a huge scaled tail, red gold in hue, rhythmically swiping from side to side, piling the gold deeper around it. Quetzal wondered if it was actually comfortable to sleep on so much coins, as it seemed awfully knobbly to her. And there was always the chance that metal would absorb heat, causing the bed to become a makeshift oven.
The twins approached, and nearly stumbled when the tail abruptly stopped moving. Managing to walk a few more meters, they predictably stopped dead when Hephaestus' giant serpentine head reared out of the piles of gold. Its huge eyes, giant lamps, glared at them, then at the friars. Quetzal groaned inwardly. Why hadn't they gone to hide inside the passage, as arranged?
"What do you want, dark priestess?" the dragon said at last, its foul, hot breath blowing their hair backwards.
Quetzal wondered why all those she met seemed to respect her more as a messenger of Lloth. Again she stepped forth, again those cold, precise tones emerging from her mouth. "An exchange," she said brusquely. "For our safe passage."
"And what may you offer me?" Hephaestus demanded, "I, who have more treasure than any dragon, I, Destroyer of Cockleby, Devourer of Ten thousand cattle..." it went off for many more minutes, the elves stoically enduring both the breath and fighting the strange urge to burst into laughter.
"A magic item," Quetzal said.
"What is it that may compare to my Invisible Helmet, my Shapeshifter sword, my Boots of Grounding..." this recital, if possible, went on even longer, until the hands of the twins both itched unbearably.
"A flute of Power," Quetzal said dramatically, "And its tome of Spells."
"A flute?" the dragon's disdain was clearly heard, though the twins saw the flicker of interest in its eyes. No dragon could resist the idea of magical treasure, even though it could not possibly wield a magic sword or wear a magic helmet.
"The songs in the book, played in the flute, serve the function of normal spells, mage or clerical or any other," Quetzal said.
"Show it to me," the command blew back their hair with a blast of hot air, and Hephaestus reared higher.
Quetzal shrugged, taking out the flute and the tome. She was loath to part with it, but, as she had said before, practical is as practical goes, and possession isn't much use to a dark elf's cinder.
Hephaestus moved his great head closer, until his nostrils were near that of the flute. The twins resisted the urge to run away, or poke a few sharp points into the huge eyes.
The sniff was delicate, barely whipping up Quetzal's cloak. Then the dragon reared grudgingly back upwards.
"It has the scent of a great magic," the dragon said. "Give it to me, and you shall pass."
"Both myself and my companions all," Quetzal countered.
Hephaestus looked down maliciously. "What say you I kill you and take the flute?"
Quetzal looked up, proud. "I will hurt you seriously enough first, dragon, and the flute does not accept a master that takes it by force." This last was glib lying, but so many objects had this condition that she felt she could get away with it.
"I can take it, then flame the lot of you," Hephaestus threatened.
"And with my dying curse you will change into a spider," Quetzal replied, trying to look as ominous as possible. "Lloth looks not on those who threaten her priestesses."
The dragon looked uncertain. It had obviously never encountered dark elves before, and was unsure of what they could actually do. It looked like it was making a difficult decision, then looked back down at the flute.
"An exchange," The dragon said. "Put both items down, and leave lest I change my mind."
Quetzal bowed, reluctantly placing the flute and tome on the ground, then the twins backed out into the exit, followed by the frightened friars.
***
"You got us through!" Brother Herschel cried, and the friars, with the exception of Jankins, took turns throwing hugs on Drizzt and patting Quetzal on the back.
"If there is any way we can repay you..." Mateus said.
The twins shrugged. "Fast horses would be nice," Drizzt said. "Quetzal, could you really turn the dragon into a spider?"
"Of course not!" Quetzal laughed, "Did you think I would not have, if I could? The treasure there is wondrous!"
"You sounded very certain of yourself there," Herschel said admiringly.
The twins camped in a copse that night while the friars went into the farming village. While Hephaestus had been occupied, the friars had stuffed their pockets with jewels.
They returned the next morning leading two fine horses, but one member was conspicuously absent.
"Where's Jankins?" Drizzt asked.
"Tied up in a barn," Mateus replied, "He tried to go back to Hephaestus."
"If he's still in the mind for it today," Herschel added, disgusted, "We might just let him."
"Here's your horses," Mateus said, handing them the reins, "The horses are supposedly twins," he winked at them, "The farmer thought them blessed, and swore he wouldn't let go of them."
"A ruby changed his mind, oddly," Herschel grinned, "Here's a new wrap." He handed them two rich, fur-lined cloaks. The friars were being uncharacteristically generous, and the twins felt grateful.
They climbed onto the sleek, muscled animals, which were twins in every way, even to their midnight dark skin and the white irregular spot on their head that Herschel generously called a star. The horses were a breeding pair, and Quetzal took the mare, not out of any sense of symbolism, but because the mare seemed more quiet than the stallion which kept snorting and pawing at the ground.
Their backs were also very high, but the remnants of what use their levitation spells had managed, at least, to get them on the saddle.
Through some dint of figuring out and helpful hints from Herschel and the others, they managed to get the horses going in the right direction. Without the flute, they could no longer track Zak, but the friars had given them directions to the place that Montolio had described.
Many days later, they came in sight of the forest, a light snow settling on them and their mounts. It had been touch and go, and fall too, if you included Drizzt falling into a pond that turned out to have thin ice and freezing water. His stallion was exceptionally active, and Quetzal and her mare merely looked on, amused, as he climbed out cursing his mount.
***
Chapter 14: Existence
Zak grasped the bough, hauling himself higher up. With a certain modicum of irritation, he realized that the wolf was also looking through his eyes, with a patient curiosity.
Wedging himself carefully at a fork, he closed his eyes. He really shouldn't have allowed the wolf to eat the fawn. It seemed to have grown stronger, and sometimes surfaced in the day to see what he was doing.
What? He asked it.
I was just observing. The wolf replied innocently, with a careless flick of the tail.
Zaknafein snorted in disgust. The wolf was getting stronger...
He froze, looking forward through the branches, shed of leaves and caked in snow. Two riders on black horses, threading their way through the trees... the wolf tried to rise.
Can you climb down? He asked it acidly.
The wolf appeared to pause, then retreated obligingly to its 'observing' position.
Right. Zak told it smugly. Now, if you try to change on me when I reach ground, I'm going to stay up here.
I give you my word. The wolf said sulkily.
Remember the agreement? Zak asked. There had been a lot of bargaining, with Death working as interpreter. Death now, after teaching them the fundamentals of the Common tongue, had left hurriedly. Zak supposed his appointments were waiting.
Yes. The wolf said. Night for me, day for you, and I come only when you call.
Now don't forget it. Zak said firmly, rapidly climbing down from the trees.
The riders were a few meters away when Zak got to the ground. Zak's eyes widened in stunned astonishment, even as the riders leaped off their steeds and gave him a hug, laughing.
"Father!" the twins said, and grinned as Zak hugged them back.
***
Now, while we leave the elves alone for a little family reunion, back to Spiral. The Goddess of the Hunt had gathered an elite strike force, and collected several kilometers from the city Neverwinter.
Spiral glanced back at her troupe, five hundred Riders and twice that number of foot 'soldiers'. Her wings flipped nonchalantly.
"Do we begin now, Divine One?" K'yane, the Archpriestess, asked. She sat on her eagle steed, K'yirran, who occasionally hopped from side to side in agitation, however not unseating its skilled rider.
"Yes," Spiral said, and smiled. She existed – no longer did she need to channel the Belief into her body just to make it material... the extra magic hoisted her up beyond the power of Blind Io himself!
What happened next should be in accordance to a text found in Neverwinter many decades later, in summary:
'The Goddess descended front of Neverwinter in a halo of blinding light, her beautiful wings fanning the air. Behind her the Riders flew higher yet, and her soldiers formed ranks in perfect discipline behind their Mistress. And she sayeth: "I am the Living Goddess, and I claim thy city. Give unto me and I shall spare thee, but deny unto me my wish and I shall slay thee."'
'The city guards paled white as snow, and ran to tell Mayor Riknan the news. And the Mayor went forthwith to the gate of our City, and beheld the Living Goddess in her splendor. Foolishly, he replied: "Neverwinter will never give herself to invaders that try to crush her underfoot. Attack, and we shall defend."'
'Already the City Guards lined the Battlements of Neverwinter's wall, bows notched and ready. Behind the walls the catapults were led into position, and the soldiers had been told to buckle on their armor.'
'The Goddess smiled, "I am a Goddess, and not without mercy. Behold, and Yield to mine power." She raised one slender hand, and the grass shot up around an unfortunate bodyguard wrapping around him until he moved not. And the archers raised their bows, the Mayor and the others retreating inside the gates to the ringing peal of the laughter of the Goddess.'
'And so the shortest battle in Neverwinter's History began. The archers shot at the Goddess and her Ranks, but she raised another hand, and the arrows stopped in mid-flight, arching back and striking stone a centimeter away from each archer. "I have mercy," Sayeth the Goddess. "Yield."'
'The last word called forth a massive force, which flung wide the gates of Neverwinter. And the Riders fell from the air, each clutching a City Guard, the last one, Archpriestess of the Goddess, capturing the Mayor himself.'
'"Yield," the Goddess repeated, and her Ranks swarmed into the city.'
After this the account swells into a long, long story about the big, big fight with all sorts of guards, and ended predictably with the Goddess Spiral ruling Neverwinter. To her command, all citizens and prisoners were spared. The next bit is more spectacular:
'And She ordered all people out of the City, by dint of her Great Magic. As all watched, she raised Her hands. The City expanded outwards, the streets widening though the buildings stayed same. As the People watched, the smell of wildflowers reached them, as the Goddess sayeth forth: "Let there be gardens."'
'And she sayeth, "Let there be my Temple." And Lo and Behold, a massive cylindrical building of rock rose out of the earth in the huge area where the Mayer's Palace had been, towering over the buildings and the Wall itself, a small Mountain.'
'The Temple had a giant stair that appeared to have been chiseled in the side, which wound up like a snake around the massive building. "For my People," say her, and an arch opens at the side of the building facing the gate. Inside is large, already furnished. A wonder yet, for more such arches appear at regular sides, each with a giant perch, except for the lower quarter of the building for the soldiers.'
'"All shall worship me," the Goddess sayeth, "But none shall die because of me. My soldiers harm thee not, and I trust thou shalt harm us not. This City will flourish under my rule, and grow in wealth and strength."'
Strangely, it came to pass.
***
"Greetings, Jormungand," Drizzt grinned, giving the surprised 'elf' inside the cottage a smile and a handshake. "I have heard about you."
"Guilty," Quetzal came up behind Drizzt, also shaking the elf by his hand. "I trust Zak hasn't been bullying you again?"
Jormungand looked at Quetzal oddly, then flushed and shook his head.
"Bullying?" Zak protested, scooping up the cat from where it had been trying to climb up his leg in greeting.
"Bullying," the twins replied together, firmly.
"How did you get this place?" Quetzal asked, looking around the cottage.
Zak shrugged. "Its owner died, and left it to me. It's a long story."
"Died?" Quetzal narrowed her eyes.
"Don't look at me like that," Zak protested, "I didn't have anything to do with it."
***
Six years pass... yes, I know it's irritating, but if I, the author, try to chronicle every single year, I'd die of boredom, and you wouldn't like that, would you?
Hey!
Anyway, six years pass. For a short summary now for those who are just waking up, Drizzt, Quetzal and Zaknafein live in the cottage. After a lot of arguments with his daughter, who had taken charge of the cottage's cooking and other housework in general, Zak was not allowed to change into a wolf in the house for a long period of time for fear of shedding.
The wolf was indignant, and spent a long time telling the dark elf about it. Zak got to know the wolf better, but there's no love lost amongst them. It has become sort of a partnership, the jolly ones where both idly scheme around each other.
Zak doesn't get on with the staff, to the point that the staff often does the opposite of what he asks it to do. However, the staff gets on with Khazid'hea. He has taken to ignoring the sniggers from the both of them.
The elves and Jormungand start learning the Common tongue from various books in the cottage, although their grasp of it is rather shaky at first, it predictably improves, though still not brilliant.
Drizzt settles down well and divides his time by practicing with Zak or Quetzal, getting bullied by his sister into helping with the garden, the roof, the fence, or any of those hard jobs in particular with his father, and riding with his sister.
In the fourth year, Mik dies in its old age, mourned for and buried next to the witch. Her grave, predictably for a practitioner of magic, has a lot of white roses on it, which grows even through the snow. The cat joins Mik the next year, blind and stricken with rheumatism and asthma, its death was more expected.
Now we come back to the immediate story....
***
"Neverwinter has increased in power greatly," Drizzt commented.
Zaknafein sat in a chair opposite Jormungand and Drizzt, and he nodded. "It is expected," he said calmly, "A Goddess is ruler."
He worried occasionally about what the witch had said. He certainly hadn't done anything to stop Her advance in power.
"Spiral's grasp of power is strong," Jormungand said. After a lot of tutoring he could, at least after he grasped consonants, speak the Common Tongue.
"Apparently the entire city worships here now," Zak groaned, "And she's taken eggs from the Discworld. There are some Toril Riders now."
"Now... everything is now." Drizzt grinned. "And where is Quetzal?"
"Females take a long time to change," Zak remarked, loud enough to reach certain ears. The staff had created another two room extensions, such that Jormungand moved out of the witch's room with relief, and Quetzal inside.
Quetzal stalked out, in a red and silver-gray robe that she had purchased from Neverwinter. The city accepted all strangers without comment, especially Riders. Jormungand had gladly obliged, quite gladly, Zak thought.
The robe allowed the wearer to wear a sort of trousers underneath, riding wear. Quetzal disliked riding sidesaddle.
"I'm ready," Quetzal said, shooting Zak a glare. He grinned, and she sniffed, sweeping out of the cottage imperiously as any queen. Drizzt nodded to Zak then started to follow his sister.
Zak saw that Jormungand's eyes were fixed on Quetzal's retreating back, with a look of undisguised adoration. Then he sighed, and Zak, unable to stop himself, let out a bark of laughter.
Jormungand's eyes snapped to Zak, injured and innocent.
"I'd always wondered why you'd stayed," Zak grinned, "Even when you had completed your year of service."
The serpent elf reddened. "Don't tell her," he pleaded.
Zak rolled his eyes, "Sure." Love. In Zak's opinion, it wasn't important, it brought one quite a bit of pain, it was dangerous, soppy, sentimental, and wasn't very practical. The wolf thought it was nice. Zak told the wolf to go away.
There's something coming. The wolf informed Zak, then retreated back to observation.
Zak got up abruptly, hands on the hilts of his swords, walking carefully to the door, followed by a curious Jormungand. An eagle landed on the garden, and a familiar figure dismounted.
"R'ikar!" Zak smiled.
R'ikar bowed. "The very same," he said.
Zak's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what are you doing here?"
R'ikar looked innocent. "Following the Living Goddess, of course."
"And you are in my garden for?" Zak inquired.
"An invitation from the Goddess herself to someone called Asur's Guardian. That you?" R'ikar asked.
"I'd never heard it called that way," Zak said cautiously.
"Well, that's something I made up," R'ikar admitted. He was speaking in perfect Common. "Actually, K'yane's... the Archpriestess... words were that Spiral wanted me to get the dark elf with the staff inside the quaint habitation..."
"Quaint?" Zak protested.
"Habitation," R'ikar grinned at the snickering Jormungand, "and tell him to get over at once as the Goddess wants to talk to you. And your kids and your friend there."
Jormungand stopped laughing, and looked to Zaknafein anxiously.
"Why?" Zak asked.
R'ikar shrugged. "How should I know? Are you coming now or what?"
"Do I have a time limit?" Zak asked acidly.
"Not really," R'ikar said, "Now if you can."
"The twins are riding," Jormungand said.
"Then I'd wait for all of you," R'ikar said, unruffled. "Do you have wine? I'm dying of thirst."
***
Chapter 15: Neverwinter
"Are you certain, Goddess?" K'yane asked nervously. "The Gods of this world may object."
"I shall take that city," Spiral said, looking down at the map on the table, the highest of her Faithful around her. The select group was now partly consisting of Faithful that were born in Toril.
"As you wish, Goddess," K'yane said.
Spiral sat on her throne when the Faithful had departed. Occasionally her amber eyes darted down at the map, and glowed when she thought of her conquest to be, and all the people, the believers, that would be living inside.
She started to laugh to herself. As is usually the case, abruptly escalating power is a very unbalancing thing, and this Goddess is already over the edge, and accelerating.
***
Zak looked at the cylindrical building, and at the steps. "You can't possibly suggest we climb up that," he said.
"The stairs do not have rails... very unsafe, I would say," Drizzt said.
"I would say so," R'ikar said. Zak and Jormungand rode on the eagle with him, which walked in a stiff, gait through the city, leading the twins on their horses.
"Just keep near the wall," R'ikar said.
"We're going to climb up?" Zak said incredulously. "It's a long way, if you noticed."
"Usually people ask Riders to help them," R'ikar said, then waited expectantly.
"Can you fly us up?" Zak said acidly.
"Why, of course," R'ikar said, wide-eyed, "There's a groom waiting for you at the main entrance – give the reins to him." He spoke to the twins, who nodded. They had been inside the city before, and it seemed to be developing every day. There were many fountains and aqueducts around the place, and the scent of the city that of wildflowers, something a good drainage system provides for.
P'yarran, R'ikar's eagle steed, bent down stiffly to allow the twins on board, then leaped into the air, grumbling at the weight.
It brought them to the temple, a beautifully chiseled work of art, again right at the top of the cylindrical building.
"You'd think that the people would have built something unique – like the temple in the middle of the building instead," Drizzt said.
"Lightning and such, yes," Quetzal agreed.
R'ikar grinned. "It's symbolic."
"Beautiful," Jormungand commented, and R'ikar nodded.
"That it is, serpent. That it is."
***
Spiral paced inside the large inner sanctum, waiting, like a caged beast. Then the door was knocked politely, K'yane entering respectfully. "The requested visitors, Divine One," she said.
"Send them in, K'yane." Spiral smiled. The Archpriestess bowed, and backed out of the chamber. After a short while, Zak walked in, holding the staff, followed by the twins and Jormungand.
When the door closed behind them, Spiral nodded to Zaknafein. "Greetings, chosen of Asur," she said.
Zak shrugged, not bothering to bow. "And why are we here?" he inquired.
"Right to the point," Spiral smiled. "Then I shall too be frank with you."
"I know what you want, Goddess," Jormungand said.
"Yes?" Spiral raised an eyebrow.
"You want our Belief," the serpent elf said, "As the power of Gods are gauged by their number of followers, it is also gauged by how powerful their followers are."
"Correct," Spiral smiled.
"You want us to worship you?" Drizzt said ominously.
"I've got enough of gods, thank you," Quetzal said.
"You do not want power," Spiral said, amused, "Neither do you want life. Most unusual."
"Yes," Zak said, "So, we'd leave now. I don't mind if we be... acquaintances, but I am an atheist, and proud of it."
"Oh no," Spiral snapped her fingers, and many warriors stepped out of the pillars, where they had been magically concealed. The dark elves watched them warily. Some of the warriors had crossbows, that weapon that is severely annoying when it's pointed at you.
"I suppose we could ask why," Drizzt said, his eyes burning.
"The Gods can see the future, imperfectly, but well enough," Spiral said sharply; "Asur's Chosen will lead me to my obliteration on this world."
"Well," Zak said urbanely, while eyeing a large crossbow pointed at him, "If you'd let us go, we'd say no more of this, and be on the best of terms."
"I leave nothing to chance," Spiral said, and the warriors closed in. Jormungand spoke a word, and the attackers collapsed.
Then Drizzt's head snapped back, and his eyes went blank.
"Drizzt!" Quetzal wailed, stepping forward. Her reflexes saved her – Drizzt lunged forward, scimitars first. As it was, he scored a hit on her hand. Jormungand snarled.
"What have you done?" Zak demanded.
"The one with the most passion is the easiest to control," Spiral laughed, "He is mine, until I die."
"Then die you shall," Jormungand roared, the air warping, reforming, and flowing over him. Spiral's eyes grew frightened for a moment, and then she shot upwards, passing through the roof, Jormungand following as a streak of red gold light.
The door was flung open, and warriors streaked in. Zak pointed the staff at them, praying, hoping that it would listen just this once. Apparently it did, for the warriors were pushed backwards by a series of octarine explosions, and the heavy ornamental doors slammed shut, the edges melting into the stone to form a wall.
"Drizzt!" Quetzal's cry pushed Zak back to the twins. Drizzt was attacking his twin, eyes cold, Quetzal defending desperately.
"Snap out of it," Zak said, dropping his staff and pushing up his swords to deflect the scimitars.
Drizzt's answer, predictably, was a scimitar thrust that was easily deflected.
***
Spiral paused, many miles above her city, and Jormungand faced her, in his true, elemental form of a large serpent.
"Join me," Spiral smiled madly.
"Release Drizzt," Jormungand replied, the serpent's coils twisting.
Spiral laughed, forming into a giant bird of prey, with the speed of falcons and the talons of osprey, the cruel beak of eagles. Jormungand's advantage was short lived.
***
Behind the door, K'yane felt the magic draining from her, as her Goddess absorbed all the magic in the vicinity into herself for the fight.
Some of the Faithful fell on their knees and began to pray, but the Archpriestess looked thoughtfully out of the opening of a perch, at the titanic battle above.
***
"Fool!" Spiral laughed, her voice loud enough to reach that of the elves in her inner sanctum. "Half of me exists in the Discworld. You cannot kill me."
The serpent nodded gravely, the many slashes on its armor forgotten. "But banish you I can."
***
"She's absorbing all the magic," the staff moaned, "Oh, ouch. Service out of order. Too bad. And probably damn." It retreated into itself, as Drizzt lunged forward again, battling Zak and Quetzal back and fort around the chamber.
Some of the magic had been given to Drizzt, Zak noted. He moved faster, his swings stronger, his reactions unnaturally quick.
When Drizzt scored the third painful stab on the ex-weapon master, the enraged wolf surged forward in Zak's consciousness.
The wolf bit hold of Drizzt's wrist, pulling him off balance, though not drawing blood. Drizzt recovered impossibly quick, deflecting a swipe from Quetzal and also scoring a kick on the wolf. The wolf, for once, wriggled out of the chain mail quickly, and darted behind Drizzt, snarling in rage. Both selves wished that Jormungand would hurry up.
"Guenhwyvar!" Drizzt cried, the word sounding strange on his lips.
The black mist formed, and the panther looked confused.
"Begone," Quetzal told it, and Guenhwyvar, understanding, dissolved into mist, its wide eyes staring reproachfully at Drizzt, who attacked with greater rage.
***
A flick of the tail sent Spiral plummeting down, crashing into a watchtower. The Goddess launched herself into the air, not stunned at all, the swelling power of thousands lashing out at Jormungand, who met it with his power. Around them, the ground burst upwards, as if an earthquake was taking place, the power pulling off roof tiles and causing the water in the fountains to spurt upwards in agitation.
The people ran, terrified, for cover.
The principle of being a serpent was interesting strategy for a battle. When the head was attacked, Jormungand's spiked; prehensile tail was quick to help. When the tail was attacked, the head helped, and when the middle was attacked, both head and tail turned on the attacker in equal ferocity.
Spiral, however, was faster, and her talons dug bloody streaks into Jormungand. The Serpent shrugged it off, and the next lunge caught Spiral on a talon with great, crushing fangs. The Goddess shrieked as the poison lanced in.
***
Drizzt paused, and Quetzal smiled in relief. That relief was abruptly broken when Drizzt started forward again, but the wolf leaped on him. Drizzt flung it off neatly then went back to attacking Quetzal, though his eyes now held a look of horror.
"Drizzt?" Quetzal asked.
"I can't stop," Drizzt cried, another cunning thrust stabbing into Quetzal's left shoulder, precisely rendering that sword arm useless. A saber clattered on the ground.
"Sister, make me stop," Drizzt pleaded, then hissed as the wolf's vice-like jaws pulled one of his legs under him.
***
Spiral beat Jormungand with her wings, and the free talon and beak bit into the serpent cruelly. Jormungand merely pulled down the goddess, and wrapped a coil around her, in doing so shifting to bite at an artery.
Slowly being crushed, Spiral lashed out with all her power, and that of the Midgard Serpent met it again. Already all the buildings below them had been flattened, in a perfect circle, and the people watched from the safety of several kilometers.
Slowly, the Goddess was dying.
***
Quetzal looked into Drizzt's eyes, and saw love. She nodded, and their minds linked.
Kill me, Drizzt told her, and her eyes filled in tears. Spiral may be banished from this world, but her hold will not be loosened as her people believe in her, here.
Their minds joined, and Quetzal knew what Drizzt was going to use, what move, and what to counter. The wolf padded back, ready to join in, but the dark elf told it to stay put.
Drizzt smiled when the saber slid in. I love you. he said.
I love you, brother. Quetzal replied, feeling also the hot stab of pain in her chest, then a soothing emptiness.
Such twins share death itself.
***
Spiral disappeared with a wail, and Jormungand levitated quickly back to the temple, passing into it. He saw Zaknafein, who had put his armor back on prudently, kneeling at the side of the twins, their faces pale.
"No," Jormungand said, wheeling on Zaknafein. "I can bring them back!"
"You can't," The staff said, from where it had been recovering. "You know you can't. Your power don't reach past the dead realms, and his sister's followed him there."
"She lives," Zak said, holding Quetzal's wrist.
"Better to kill her now. Her soul's gone – it's never really been her soul. She'd always shared it with her brother." The staff said.
"No," Jormungand snarled, and rocked Quetzal's still body like a child, shoulders shaking.
Zak looked at him wearily. "There's no help for it."
"No," Jormungand said, his voice shaking. "Why? I banished the Goddess..."
"There aren't any happy endings," Zak said sharply, "This is life. There aren't any happy endings, you understand? Life isn't a book or a poem!"
He was angry. The wolf was angry.
"So what can we do?" The Serpent asked quietly.
"Bury them," Zak replied, feeling suddenly the weight of all four centuries and more of his life.
"Not Quetzal,"
"Fine," Zak said in exasperation, "Fine, if you're going to delude yourself in dreams. You're free, anyway. You're free, you understand? Now, I'm going to bury my twins."
"Not Quetzal."
Zak bit out a curse, then stalked over to the staff.
***
Zak looked at the second large mound next to that of April's, his eye cold. Jormungand had taken the body of Quetzal away to somewhere outside the world of Toril, for what purpose he knew not.
All things die. The wolf rose, and said philosophically.
Except werewolves? Zak said bitterly, Except Gods?
They died. We feel grief for a while, then we heal. The wolf replied, its acceptance and calm overwhelming the dark elf. We heal.
***
Jormungand, cradling the body of Quetzal protectively, sped up through Space, eyes wet with tears, leaving the world of Toril behind.
Perhaps to a place where he could make Quetzal live again. Perhaps to somewhere where he could go to her soul.
It was an ending, of sorts.
***
Epilogue
Asur leaned back from the table. The legion of spirits was actually seven spirits, the World-Makers, those who created the universe.
"A good game," Morikan said calmly. Morikan, the dragon leader of the seven due to an accident involving three Stones of Power, glowed white.
All the spirits were sitting in a well-lit chamber in a world that they had created together; looking at what resembled a very complicated board game, with no squares. They sat on ornately carved wooden chairs, which had lots of pads and cushions in the right places. After all, their 'games' tended to last for centuries.
You can see the many continents and oceans of a world, that had been stretched flat for gaming though still accurate to a grain of sand, the many planes that surround the world lying around it.
The spirits have taken, for their own reasons, human forms, though the forms unbelievably beautiful, each glowing with their own color.
"Who won?" the speaker had a voice that boomed with malicious power. He glowed red, Hat'yet, the serpent spirit.
"I believe GrayWolf did," the speaker Shoshuna's musical voice sounded amused. She was the spirit of the unicorn. She glowed a bright wheaten gold, her hair falling silken and long to her waist.
"Why, thank you, my dear sister," GrayWolf, the spirit that was 'all too fond of pranks', as Morikan put it, got up from his seat and bowed, his gray glow lighting up the air around him. "My token is still in play, isn't it?"
"Thou dost not need to rub it in," Belnarath, the blue spirit of the owl, groused.
"I have to agree with our stiff brother," the black glowing N'avsh, spirit of the cat, smiled. "The last, most powerful token was to win."
"You say that because you like GrayWolf, N'avsh," Rykvaz, the chairman of this particular game, rumbled, his words somber and filled with a more subtle sort of evil. His clothing, embroidered with his symbol of a basilisk, glowed green.
GrayWolf grinned, then reached over and picked up his token, the only remaining valid one in the game. It was a surprisingly lifelike statuette of Zaknafein.
"Another game, brethren?" Morikan inquired.
The other six nodded solemnly. "Who is to be the chair?" Rykvaz asked. They looked at each other. The game was exciting for a player, especially the stakes, but the chair did not lose or gain anything.
"GrayWolf?" Shoshuna asked.
"Oh no," N'avsh smiled, "He has to give us a chance to beat him."
GrayWolf got up and bowed. Morikan glanced at him.
"Oh sit down," he irritably told his brother.
GrayWolf did so, his amber eyes wide and innocent. "Why, brother!" he said, in feigned shock.
"And don't do that. It is really irritating," Hat'yet commented. Belnarath nodded his agreement.
"I will chair," Morikan decided with a sigh.
"Any objections?" Rykvaz asked.
There was a general shaking of heads. "Right," Morikan said, and stretched his arm over the playing board. It rippled.
"It is a new 'game' I noticed in one of my worlds," Morikan said. It was the chair who chose the game. "We will follow the story line."
"More or less," Shoshuna smiled.
"More or less," Morikan agreed. "Buy your tokens."
The 'buying' was an exchange of bits of themselves, power that would be stored inside each 'token' and lost if it was lost. However, if they won, their tokens grew more powerful, and could be 'exchanged'. Yes, I know it doesn't make much sense, but when you're all powerful, eternal, and bored, there are worse things to do than to play a game of living chance.
"How many?" Hat'yet inquired.
"Two each," Morikan smiled. "And split into 'good' and 'evil', I suppose."
"We know the groupings, oh great and glorious leader," GrayWolf grinned. The spirits were divided already into good and evil, with Morikan as a neutral, the best type of leader.
"Very well. Buy the tokens." Morikan said.
"I'd use this one again, thank you," GrayWolf said, placing the figurine of Zak on the playing board, at a precise starting place only the spirits could understand. The spirits, with the exception of Morikan, held up a hand, and figurines appeared in it. These they also placed on the board, in seemingly random places.
Morikan picked up the dice from the table. "Winner starts first," he said, handing the dice to GrayWolf.
"What is this game?" Rykvaz asked.
Morikan smiled faintly. "Baldur's Gate."
End of Sojourn-Rewritten. This is an ending, of sorts.
Lledith RavenWolf
© 1998-1999 Dragon's Library & Ulrike Großmann