Stillwater: interlude

[moonshadows]

Two days ahead of schedule, we arrived in the village of Stillwater. Virgil looked around dazedly as if astounded to see buildings where we had expected only mountain roads, but the statue looming in the town square was unmistakable.

“Inn,” he said shortly. “Dinner. Bed.”

“Inn, Joachim, dinner, bath, bed,” I corrected.

Guiltily, he started. “Right.”

Although nearly two weeks of travel from Tarant to Stillwater, hard on the heels of almost three from Shrouded Hills to Tarant, had taken its toll on him, my self-appointed protector wasn’t in nearly as bad a state as he perhaps expected to be. His stamina had improved considerably, and so long as I butchered my kills where he couldn’t see what manner of creature I had slain, he cared not at all what kind of meat it was that he was eating. It might have been my imagination, but I thought he was growing fond of being out in the wilds with me – or perhaps that was me projecting my attitude onto him. After all, in the wilds there was no one but the two of us to know if we acted as an unmarried woman and unwed man shouldn’t, and being thrown together by Fate unquestionably encouraged a certain closeness.

Now that we were among other people again, however, I wrapped myself in Clarisse and let Virgil lead the way to the inn.

“Greetings, good sir,” the gnomish innkeeper said with a smile for the two Panarii entering his establishment.

“Hello, innkeeper.” Virgil smiled tiredly. “Might I impose on you for a moment?”

“Of course.”

“My name is Virgil. My companion and I will need a room for the night, dinner, a hot bath, and…I believe that Joachim has left something for me…?”

Silently, I complimented the smooth confidence with which Virgil had spoken.

The innkeeper frowned in thought. “Ah, yes, he left some things for you. Now, where did I put them? Oh, yes! I recall, now...here you are.” He took a book down off a shelf and handed it to Virgil.

The matter of our tab was settled quickly, and we changed into something less overtly hostile before sitting down to a meal unflavored by road dust. Neither of us spoke about the book as we ate, bathed, and changed into properly modest nightclothes, but then we were out of convenient distractions. Side by side we stood, Virgil holding the candle while I gingerly opened the front cover and unfolded the note that had been tucked inside.

 

      The men trying to kill

you seem to be the remnants

of the Molochean Hand, who,

long ago, were assassins for

the Order of the Dead

(Derian Ka).  I found this

ancient but incomplete text

concerning their history…they

don’t seem to be bad fellows,

perhaps just a bit

misdirected.  Things are too

dangerous right now…I

shouldn’t have even had you

come here. I’ll find you.

                          Joachim

 

Without a word, Virgil took the book and skimmed its pages for a long minute while I stared at Joachim’s elegant script. When he was done, I handed him the note and perused the book’s contents. Naturally, Virgil finished reading first.

“Excuse me,” he interrupted gently. “That book is interesting, don't you think? It seems that these Molochean Hand assassins were part of some larger group called the Derian-Ka…what did he call them? The…” he glanced at the note again. “…Order of the Dead? Obviously, these fellows all had some sort of disagreement.”

“Yes,” I replied, still reading. “Joachim thinks perhaps they're not all that evil...”

He sniggered. “Not all that bad? Ha! Obviously Joachim hasn't run into them lately.” More earnestly, he continued, “That fellow Trellian did sound like an agreeable sort, though, didn't he? Anyone who chooses to side against something called the Order of the Dead is alright in my book.”

“You mean the First Assassin Trellian?” I asked archly, finger on the appropriate passage.

“Yes, you’ve got a point there,” Virgil laughed nervously. “I’m sure the man was no saint. Then again, who really is? We’ve all got…uh…” The lighthearted rhetorical tone he’d been pretending to faded into something more honest, more troubled. “…blood on our hands. In the end, we all just play the roles given us...sometimes they don't fit so well, but I guess we make do...”

I put the note back in the book and set it on the table. “You and I know a lot about that, it seems,” I said gently.

Too quickly, he said, “Yes...I'd never had thought myself worthy of this affair, and I shouldn't be making judgments about anyone's character. I think I'd best just keep my bloody mouth shut...”

I could hear tension in the pitch of his words, higher than they should have been. “Virgil…”

“Listen,” he said abruptly, eyes averted, words stumbling over each other. “There's...something that happened to me...well, b-because of me...because- I was foolish, because I was a- coward,” he spat, the hand not holding the candle fisted at his side. “Burdens like mine...they don't go away. They always come back to...to...collect what is due them. Someday, the balance will have to be paid...”

At that moment, there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to take this gentle, wounded man into my arms and ease whatever he was suffering…and then hunt down whomever had hurt him so badly, and show them the true meaning of pain. But that was a line I had no right to step over, and to ask about his past would be violating the respect we had between us. Instead, I clasped my hands together to keep them from temptation and watched out of the corner of my eye until he’d fought his inner demons back under control.

“Well,” I said into the thick, tense silence, “what do you think we should do now?”

Virgil sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don't know. I was hoping that Joachim would be here to give us a little guidance! It seems we've been running blind without the reins, doesn't it?” he continued, sounding more than a little frustrated. Then he shook his head and sighed again. “I guess we should just stick to the task at hand...”

The fire had gone out of him, I realized. His enthusiasm for the unexpected responsibility he’d found himself burdened with had faded in light of this apparent abandonment by his mentor, leaving him hollow and without hope. Virgil had no reason to feel himself worthy of the role he’d been thrust into without warning, nothing to strive for since Joachim had effectively sent us off with a metaphoric pat on the head and no further instructions.

No sooner had this realization seared its way across my mind then I found myself taking a step forward, my arms sliding around his torso, my breasts pressed against his chest and the warm scent of his skin thick in my nostrils as I laid my head on his shoulder. My breath caught in my throat as he stiffened, and for a terrible moment I was certain he would push me away for my audacity – but then his other arm settled around my waist, his hand very warm on my hip, and his chest heaved as he struggled to calm his uneven breathing. After a moment, he tentatively lowered his face to my short hair and exhaled in a long, shuddering sigh. We stood that way for what seemed like forever before his arm loosened and I stepped back, demurely smoothing my tunic and trews as if they were skirts, afraid to raise my face to his. Whether I was more anxious to hide whatever expression mine bore or fearful of what I would see on his, I couldn’t say.

“It’s been a long day, Miss Clarisse,” he said heavily. “Let’s…just get some rest and figure out our next step in the morning.”

Mutely, I nodded and practically fled to the farther bed. As I lifted the covers, Virgil blew out the candle and spared both of us the awkwardness of what we may or may not have seen.

“Good night, Virgil.” My words floated into the darkness and for several breaths I thought he would not complete our ritual. I bit my lip and waited, and then-

“Good night, Miss Clarisse,” came the quiet reply.

 

When I awoke the next morning shortly after dawn, Virgil was sitting on the side his bed staring at the floor, back to me, shoulders slumped. He did not react when I called his name and, alarmed, I circled around the beds to stand before him.

“Virgil?”

Although he had to have seen me, he did not move from his slouch, hands dangling between his knees. Again, I bit my lip.

“I can’t do this without you.” My heart, lodged as it was in my throat, made my voice very small and I stretched my hands out towards his. “Didn’t you dedicate your life to me?” I half-pled, my orcish side hating how weak I sounded and my human side crying for the emotional turmoil Virgil must be suffering.

Slowly, he raised his head to meet my eyes. He searched my face for a long minute before the despair and hopelessness on his faded, and it was like watching the sun rise in his heart. “Yes,” he said quietly, hands warm and soft-rough as they took mine. “I did.”

Virgil stood and pulled me into his arms. Heart pounding, I laid my head on his shoulder and slid my arms around his torso again while he wrapped both of his around me and I nearly wept. In that moment, the Molochean Hand and Arronax and the whole mess I’d found myself tangled up with since the crash – none of it mattered. The only thing that had any relevance to me was the man holding me as if I were entirely human, and I reveled in this taste of what I could never have.

“I think breakfast should be our first order of business,” Virgil announced suddenly, his voice strong and cheerful. It resonated in his chest, and I resisted the urge to nuzzle his throat and feel it there, too. “Breakfast, and then we’ll pay for another night, and then we can take in the sights like a pair of regular tourists. We’ll ask around and see if anyone has any business in Tarant – after all, we’ve got to go back and try to find the owner of that ring, and if we’re headed there already, maybe someone has a letter or delivery or something we can make. We’ll also need to buy supplies, and maybe…”

When he trailed off awkwardly and the skin of his neck grew red, I freed myself gently from his honey-sweet embrace and looked curiously at him. “Virgil?”

“Th-There’s a cult with a temple in this town,” he stammered. “Uh, Gushanna or something. They have…well, they have an orgy every year and call it a religious festival.”

“Maybe we should stop by and ask when the festival is,” I teased.

Virgil flushed an even deeper red, muttered something about getting dressed, snatched clothes up nearly at random, and fled to the bathroom.

 

“How do you do it, Miss Clarisse?” Virgil asked in the way back from Geshtianna’s temple. It seemed only natural that we walk hand in hand, after having been surrounded by such an atmosphere of love and joy. “Your whole life has been upended, there are assassins after you, and your only companion is a…” He looked away, flushing. “How do you keep your composure when the world has gone mad and left you adrift? How do you find the strength to keep going?”

Reassuringly, my fingers tightened around his. “I didn’t have any prospects waiting for me in Tarant,” I said quietly. “I had no idea where I would go or what I would do, but that uncertainty was better than what my life had turned into. If I have no place to call home now, what of it? Staying on the move is the best defense against being hunted. I may not have a clear idea of what I should be doing, but I have a goal to work towards. And,” I continued, turning to smile at him, “I have a brave and loyal companion by my side.”

Virgil turned a deeper red and averted his eyes again.

“All things considered,” I said lightly, “I think I’m better off as I am. My path may be twisting and fraught with danger, but at least I can recognize it. I’m not struggling to find my place in the world like the faceless masses. Whether I am or am not a figure out of prophesy, they brought this fight to my feet. I may die horribly, but…” At the last second, I kept my smile tight-lipped, my too-sharp teeth hidden from sight.

“Not if I can help it,” said Virgil fiercely.

Startled, I met his eyes and he nodded grimly.

“Warriors are made here.” He tapped his chest. “I can see my path, too. If you can face the future so bravely, then I can do no less. I’m your protector, Miss Clarsse. Maybe I’m not the strongest, or the wisest, but I’ll just have to make do. For good or evil, Miss Clarisse, I’m with you. Wherever your path takes you, I’ll be there at your side. And if you die horribly…” Pain flashed deep in his eyes, making my heart lodge itself in my throat again. “…it will be because I’ve already laid down my life to protect you. Let them come; we’ll face them together. If I die…at least I’ll die doing something worthwhile.”

“If you die,” I told him through the whirl of emotions nearly blinding me, “I will be very put out with you, Virgil.”

Gently, he smiled. “I’ll try not to, then.”

Hand in hand, hearts light, we set off to see what supplies we could gather for our trip back to Tarant.

 

Three days out from Stillwater, a man in leather armor similar to Virgil’s stepped out onto the road from behind a clump of trees and said, “It looks like this is the end for you...no one escapes the Molochean Hand.” He smirked evilly and drew a long dagger. “It would have been better for you if you had not survived the crash of the Zephyr.”

“Molochean Hand?” I repeated, buying time for Virgil and myself to prepare for a fight. “I am afraid I have no idea what you mean.”

“We of the Molochean Hand have sworn there will be no survivors of the blimp crash!” He sank into a fighter’s crouch, eyes on me. “For five hundred years no one has escaped who has been pledged to die by our hand; you shall not be the first!”

“What?? I, uh, I'm not the person you are looking for,” I stammered, watching out of the corner of my eye as Virgil eased into a flanking position.

“Really?” The man took a step forward, peering into my face as if to gauge my reaction, and I silently breathed thanks that we were wearing our Panarii robes over our armor; the assassin had let the point of his knife droop under the assumption that I was not a threat. “I pictured you as someone who would accept her fate bravely, for some reason…not attempt to escape by lying like a coward. No matter. Prepare to die, harlot!”

The assassin raised his dagger, but Virgil was quicker.

“Don’t you call her that,” he snarled, aiming a punch at the back of the man’s head.

I retreated and shook my arms – and daggers – free as my assailant staggered forward, then turned with an angry roar, and then it was Virgil’s turn to back up, struggling to draw his sword. Clarisse retreated as my orcish blood sang, and Vorak’s grin was bloodthirsty as I lunged. One dagger skittered off the man’s armor, but the other found purchase in the slight gap between jerkin and leggings. I danced out of range as he turned to me, and Virgil swung at his shoulder. This time, however, the assassin did not turn around, having judged me the more dangerous of us. I feinted and swiped, hampered by the weight of my pack, and Virgil slashed at the man’s legs. Although it was a solid hit, the leather turned the blow. It distracted the assassin for a moment, however, and that was enough.

For a handful of minutes we stood there, struggling to calm our racing pulses as the assassin choked on the dagger in his throat and died. Virgil moved first, kneeling by the body and retrieving my dagger. He cleaned it on the assassin’s sleeve and offered it to me hilt-first, like a perfect gentleman. When I looked up from sheathing it again, he was fishing the now-familiar amulet out of the man’s armor with bloodstained fingers.

“I’m tempted to start a collection,” I said dryly.

“Collect their daggers,” countered Virgil, suiting actions to words and checking the man’s purse besides.

“You keep that one; I’ll stick with my two.” I eyed the body as Virgil nodded. “Should we do anything with that?”

“Yes,” Virgil answered viciously. “We leave it here, as a warning.”

As we continued on, Virgil looked about to say something on several occasions. Each time I glanced questioningly at him, however, he avoided my eyes and swallowed whatever words had been sitting on his tongue.

“We should have checked for his camp,” he burst out suddenly, about a mile down the road. “He must have had supplies that we could use or sell.”

I stopped. “Do you want to go back and look?”

Virgil grimaced. “No. I don’t actually fancy carrying more supplies. If we get jumped again, closer to Tarant…”

Laughing, I touched his hand and was rewarded with a smile. “We’ll check the next time,” I reassured him.

He shook his head. “I don’t know how you can be so calm about the fact that there will be a next time.” Then he laughed, making my heart leap. “But I don’t know how I can be so calm about stealing his supplies, so I guess we’re even. What a pair we make, eh?”

Both laughing, we continued down the road.

 

Five days from Tarant, another Molochean assassin fell for my ploy of false innocence. It took two hours to trace his steps backwards and find his camp, but the equipment and supplies we found there were well worth it. A cursory glance through the pack showed plenty of journey-bread, smoked meat, and dried fruit. Another pocket had several changes of clothing suitable for public use. We didn’t bother investigating further; I piled the contents of Virgil’s pack into my own, and he shouldered the assassin’s.

“If they keep this up,” joked Virgil, “we may never have to worry about supplies again.”

“Come on,” I urged. “We can gloat later…over a nice fire, while eating Molochean Hand travel rations.”

We made our way back to the road, and an hour later Virgil asked quietly, “That fellow outside of Stillwater…was that your first time killing a man?”

I glanced at him, but he had his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.

“It was my first time killing a human in armor,” I replied in an equally quiet voice. “You?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

The silence stretched, tense. Then Virgil said, “I didn’t think so, either.”

We both walked on, waiting for the other to comment or condemn, but it didn’t happen. When I reached blindly for his hand, he took mine and held it tightly.

 

When they sent a cloaked figure along with the ruffian at us, two days from Tarant, we weren’t laughing. Bold as brass, they walked into our camp as we were preparing to pack up and don armor and packs for the day’s journey. I tried bluffing, but they didn’t fall for it. The one wearing a hooded robe raised his hands, and Virgil threw himself bodily at him with a strangled scream. I couldn’t spare any time to fret as they went rolling in the dirt; I forced Clarisse away and became wholly Vorak, concentrating on taking down my prey without being hit by that darkly-glistening dagger. It was a dirty fight, but in the end I was victorious, kneeling atop the ruffian’s back while his slashed throat pumped lifeblood into the ground. My orcish blood sang loudly in my ears, and I’d nearly forgotten I was not alone until a whimper sounded from off to my right.

“I’ve been seriously hurt, madam,” Virgil whimpered, the cloaked figure twisted and bleeding not far away. “Please help me…”

In a heartbeat, Vorak had been suppressed. Clarisse once more, I scrambled for the packet of herbs I kept ready and crushed together kadura stem and ginka root. Virgil whimpered again, teeth clenched together so as to not bite his lip or scream, both hands pressed firmly on a bleeding wound a shade too high to have hit his kidney. Hastily, I ripped a sleeve from the fallen assailant’s robe and wadded it into a rough bandage. The healing salve smeared onto it, I pushed Virgil’s hands and clothes out of the way and pressed it firmly to the wound. It was many long, trembling breaths before the pain started to ease, and I pretended to not see the tears of relief that he blinked away.

“I was focused on the staff,” he panted, apologizing through what pain still lingered. “I didn’t see…he had a dagger…until it was in me…”

“Hold this,” I snapped, pushing his hands into position.

The dagger hadn’t fallen far – and, as I feared, it was poisoned. My blood turned to ice in my veins. Where was their camp? Did they have the poison on them? I scrambled to the dead mage first, searching him roughly and with little regard for the blood splattered everywhere, but he didn’t have the poison vial on him. The ruffian did, and weak-kneed with relief I crushed  more kadura stem against a rock and carefully scraped it into the bottle. Cap again tight, I shook it and waited until the color changed. Virgil had paled when I returned to his side, and not from loss of blood; his hands were clammy as I moved them off of the bandage. As quickly as I could, I pulled the bandage off of the wound and poured a few drops of antidote directly onto the wound itself before capping the precious bottle and pressing the bandage back into place. His color improved almost immediately, and the breathing which had gone unsteady strengthened and smoothed out. After a few minutes, his hands crept back into place and I let him resume holding the bandage down while I stripped the bodies of anything useful. Once that was done, I resolutely continued breaking camp; I’d done what I could, and we were vulnerable. Fretting about my protector would achieve nothing.

When there was nothing left to do, I steeled myself and turned to Virgil – only to discover him standing on his feet, fingers lightly exploring the new scar he bore.

“Virgil?” My tone was understandably hesitant – the healing salve wouldn’t have closed a wound that serious yet. To my surprise, he flushed.

“Ah…once it didn’t hurt so much, and I could think again…” He made a gesture indicating magic, and it was my turn to flush.

“I’d forgotten you could do that,” I confessed.

Virgil stared unkindly at the bodies. “They’re starting to get serious, it seems. Are we going to look for their camp?”

“Yes.” If Virgil was surprised by my vehemence, he didn’t show it. “They nearly took something very valuable from me. I’m going to take everything I can from them for it.”

Without a word, Virgil donned his armor, buckled on his sword, and strapped his pack. “I heartily concur.”

The Molochean Hand camp didn’t have much for us to take; they’d come out of Tarant, it seemed. We took what was there and didn’t look back.