Dark Flower, Chapter 21.
Posted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 1:50 am
Dark Flower, Chapter 21.
The greenhouse in Lonelywood village was nearly as hot and humid as the saunas that were so popular amongst the people of the north. Sheyreiza entered the greenhouse to pray, however, not to bask in the steamy air which nourished the village’s more exotic plant life. The greenhouse was not a holy place or in any way sacred to Eilistraee, but at the moment it was private and Sheyreiza needed the privacy.
Outside in the snow the war band of Lonelywood was gathering. The forest wardens had sent word that Termaline was under attack by a force of gnolls and goblins backed up by a giant. This foul, disparate group was undoubtedly under the influence of the Talona-worshipping plague druids who had been waging a war against the folk of the north for more than three years now. Month after month, season after season, the war had dragged on. Sheyreiza and the other elves had led numerous raids, destroying both the Talona worshippers and their Thayan allies when possible. A year ago one of the red wizards fell under the blades, arrows and spells of the war band even as he tried to secure the ruins of Sunderhelm. A long, deep winter had brought hostilities to an end for months, but now, the Talonites were apparently on the offensive again.
Naturally, the war band would respond, but they would be shy at least one very important person. Jain’n, the Lord of Lonelywood and the war band’s leader, was not in the woods and could not return fast enough to make a difference in this fight. Sheyreiza would have to lead the war band in his absence.
Two years ago Sheyreiza had been banished from the interior of the woods and removed from the war band by Jain’n. Their daughter, Shein’n, had been born shortly thereafter. Peace between Sheyreiza and her lover, Jain’n had come, but it had taken a long time. So too did the healing between Sheyreiza and the other members of the war band. Still, over the last two years the healing had taken place. Sheyreiza, following the guidance of her goddess, submitted to be treated as new recruit for a year and a day, despite having been a two-year veteran of the war band already. That year and a day had passed, and true to his word, Jain’n lived up to his end of the bargain: he made Sheyreiza co-ruler of the realm. Now, she was the Lady of Lonelywood. Though primarily responsible for the spiritual guidance of the elves, when Jain’n was not present, she was also the battle leader.
Sheyreiza had led forces before. As a priestess of Lolth, she had led patrols in the academy in Ched Nasad and later in the streets of Skullport, both with a certain murderous effectiveness. She had never assumed command of the Lonelywood war band, however. This would be an entirely new experience. Moreover, without Jain’n’s sword arm to lead the way, Sheyreiza knew that not only would she have to lead the war band into battle, she would have to lead from the front; something she would have never even considered as a priestess of Lolth.
In the greenhouse she drew Drathir Killian’anon, the Moon-sword of Flower, an enchanted blade marked with the symbols of Eilistraee given to her by Tel, the half-drow follower of the Dark Maiden. Sheyreiza knelt, looking at the sword. In its clear, silver blade she saw the reflection of the armor she now wore. The armor was a magnificent suit of mithril, forged by the dwarves of the Battlehammer clan just for her. Its enchanted surfaces were engraved with the constellations of Faerun’s night sky, hymnals to the Dark Maiden were inscribed along the edges of its plates in Espruar and the center chest piece was adorned with the moon-symbol of Eilistraee. In her four years on the surface, Sheyreiza had never seen a suit of armor that could match the enchantment and beauty as those made in her native Ched Nasad. Not until now. While this suit lacked the enchantment that the drow would lavish on such an artifact, the workmanship of the armor was unparalleled. It was truly a thing of beauty.
Jain’n had commissioned the suit as a gift, the first step in an ancient elven ritual. He had taken Sheyreiza to the small camp in the ruined tower where she had spent nine blissful days with him years earlier. There, they partook of a communion, a sharing of their memories. Jain’n had shown her a warm scene from his boyhood, and a bloody one from his manhood. He had shown her his wrath, and his love, his curse and his blessing. Sheyreiza, in turn, showed Jain’n the moments that shaped her life; her terrifying first meeting with her vampiric mother and the hideous yochlol that sewed the seed of heresy in the young drowess; she showed him her plots to kill her mother and the destruction of those plots as Sheyreiza was betrayed by her own sister; she showed Jain’n her flight from island fortress of the Valsharess, and the long, timeless trip on the Darklake trapped in a small boat with nothing to eat save the other escapees. Jain’n saw Sheyreiza trade her body for life, and he saw her eat the flesh of other drow; he saw the streets of Skullport, the murders, thefts and even the assassination of the Illithid merchant which eventually led to Sheyreiza’s flight from that dark place. He saw the peak of Sheyreiza’s sadism when she sexually aroused the Claddath assassin Hartex, and then withdrew herself leaving the killer in a rage. Jain’n saw Sheyreiza laugh as the streets of Skullport ran red with the blood Hartex spilled in that anger.
And Jain’n saw himself. He saw himself through her eyes, first as a threat and an enemy, and then, as a great enigma. Sheyreiza had never, in more than a century of life, encountered someone who she could not understand, but Jain’n, it seemed, was beyond her comprehension. He saw the warmth in her grow, and he saw her fight it. He saw her struggle to deny what she felt and he saw her finally give in. He saw love blossom strong and hot in what was once a bosom colder than the snows of the north. And then he saw her pull away.
Sheyreiza had, unwillingly, been given a vision of the future and this meant she had a memory of what had not yet come to pass. This she withheld from Jain’n in their communion. He had been shocked at first, but he did not press her for answers. Somehow, he knew he should not pry. What Sheyreiza knew of the future was for her, and her alone.
The gift of the armor was to honor and mark the communion. The communion was the first step to a bonding. Neither Sheyreiza nor Jain’n knew if they would, or even could, successfully bond in the time they had left together in this life, but they both wished to try. At least, Sheyreiza knew she wished to try. The concept of the bonding was foreign to her. In the lightless webs of Ched Nasad she had never even given serious thought to taking a long-term patron. Still, while the idea of a bonding was anathema to the drow way of life, she knew her heart had already walked a far ways down that path: she loved Jain’n. The bonding would merely bring her soul along to follow. It seemed only right.
Now, she knelt in the greenhouse in the shining mithril armor that had come to symbolize their communion and the beginning of their bonding. Just as they were trying to bring themselves closer, Sheyreiza found she would have to inaugurate the symbol of their union without Jain’n present. She knew that as the Lady of Lonelywood the day would come when she would have to lead the war band into battle, but she had not expected it to come so soon. She trembled slightly as she began to pray. She prayed for success, she prayed for guidance, she prayed for the folk of the north, but mostly, she prayed for those in her charge, for it was they who were her responsibility now. When she was done, she stood and held her sword up towards the sky that lay beyond the greenhouse roof. A moment later, she turned and walked back out into the snows where the warband had gathered. The time for praying was done. The time for war was at hand.
***
The war band was small: Nylo the wood-elf scout and priest of Erevan; Wind-Song the wild-elf bard who was far more fond of drink than danger, but partook of both; Inthara, the drow sorceress who had come from Skullport with Sheyreiza; Gilthar and Bete-nom, two, as yet untested, young elves new to Lonelywood; and finally, Sheyreiza, the Lady of the Wood and their priestess of Eilistraee. The band made hasty preparations, Sheyreiza taking special care to ensure the new comers were properly prepared for the cold they would face on Bremen’s Run.
“Alright, lets order the battle here.” Sheyreiza said. “Wind-song, Inthara, you two will use bows and spells. Nylo, you will scout and draw the enemy. Gilthar and Bete, you will provide healing, and will avoid getting killed.” She paused. “And I will be on blade, handling the melee.” The other elves nodded in turn as Sheyreiza spoke.
“May the Maiden protect you, Sheyreiza.” Inthara offered when Shey was done.
Sheyreiza nodded her thanks to Inthara and then turned to face Nylo. She looked at him for a moment and thought about all that they had been through as a group: mistrust; fear; hate; love; heroism; cowardice; life; death. She remembered the command she had literally spit at Nylo almost two years earlier. “Shut up and scout.” Now, she had to tell him to scout again, though so many things had changed. She took a deep breath.
“Alright, lead the way Ghost.” She said to the wood elf scout.
Nylo nodded professionally like the seasoned veteran he was and turned to lead the war band to the enemy. As professional as Nylo acted, Sheyreiza was sure she caught the glimmer of a smile on his lips. Sheyreiza had not given any thought to calling Nylo ‘Ghost’ before she said it; the nickname had just come out naturally. Obviously he appreciated it, so Sheyreiza decided she would go on using it so long as it seemed to fit.
The band moved silently and swiftly through the woods until they came out on the open, wind-swept plain of Bremen’s Run. Twisting columns of snow, not unlike tornadoes or desert dust devils, wandered across the arctic landscape. The war band began to move south when a figure came running out of the white swirling clouds ahead. Sheyreiza was on guard instantly, but she recognized the figure a moment later. It was Drizzt Do’Urden, the male renegade male from Menzoberranzan. Despite both being drow exiles from their homelands, Drizzt and Sheyreiza’s relationship had been a difficult one over the years. Drizzt had asked King Bruennor to spare Sheyreiza when she was first captured, but once free Sheyreiza found she still did not trust the male. A year of battles alongside the scimitar wielding Drizzt overcame her mistrust, but that mistrust was replaced by annoyance at the male’s arrogance. Drizzt did not display a level of obnoxious bravado anything like what his peers in the City of Shimmering Webs might display. Nevertheless, the self-assured renegade often offended Sheyreiza’s sense of propriety and inflamed her insecurities.
Today was different. Sheyreiza could not help but smile as she saw Drizzt approach. “Vendui’ male, its been a long time.”
Drizzt came to a stop panting hard, and nodded. “The red wizard is leaving Sunderhelm, and he has the eggs,” Drizzt stammered out between gasping breaths. “The attack on Termaline is a distraction. Xur…the mountain king, he needs to know about the eggs.”
The eggs were dragon eggs and they belonged to Xurshin, the great white wyrm who was the uncrowned king of the Spine of the World. By all rights Xurshin should have been an enemy to the elves of Lonelywood, but a common threat can make allies out of strange pairs. The Thayan wizards and their Talonite puppets had taken a clutch of dragon eggs Xurshin coveted. These they held hostage to keep the beast in check, or so the elves surmised. Xurshin had made it clear to the elves in no uncertain terms that he wanted those eggs, and would be willing to help destroy the Thayans if it meant the safe return of the clutch.
The war band discussed what to do. The threat to Termaline, though a distraction, was still real and had to be dealt with. On the other hand, Xurshin needed to know as soon as possible about the eggs.
“I can make the journey to Xurshin,” offered Nylo, “if Drizzt can scout for the war band.”
Drizzt nodded. “I have traveled too far, too fast to turn around and run all the way to the Spine, but I can scout the way to Termaline.”
Sheyreiza looked between the two warriors, one dark, one light. She did not want to lose Nylo’s scouting and she did not entirely trust Drizzt but it seemed the only viable option. “Alright, we will make for the forks of Termaline together. Nylo can slip through the lines while our attack diverts the giant and gnolls.”
Nylo shook his head. “Lady, if I may. I can get their faster if I use the trodes.”
Sheyreiza nodded. “Of course, forgive me. We will head south then, to Termaline’s aid while you head to the spine.” She looked at Nylo for a moment again, her face taught with feeling. “May shadows cloak you, Ghost.”
Nylo bowed. “Blessings, lady.” The nimble scout departed the war band at a run. Bete-nom leaned over to Sheyreiza and offered to go with him.
“Thank you Bete, that is a brave offer, but no, Nylo will move faster on his own.” Sheyreiza spared Nylo’s running form one last look, then turned to Drizzt. “Lead the way, Do’Urden.”
The war band ran across the plain of Bremen’s Run. Light elven feet carried the warriors across the snows like biting wind itself. Near Termaline, Sheyreiza had Drizzt veer east to bring the war band up out of sight of the Talonite attackers. There, the war band set its ambush. The elves fanned out in a saddle between two hills. The western hill was all that lay between them and the Termaline forks where even now the giant and the gnolls waited. Sheyreiza stood at the base of the hill and looked back upon her band. Bows in hand, each of the elves set steely eyes on the ridge in front of them. Beside Bete was a great white cat, a predator of the north whose fangs were like daggers. Sheyreiza smiled. She had not thought to ever fight alongside such a creature. Turning back to the western hill, she signaled to Drizzt.
The drow male turned and jogged over the rise. A minute later he came back sprinting. Snow goblins followed. Elven arrows flew and the first enemies were cut down. The great snow cat companion of Bete-nom sprinted forward and pounced on a cluster of snow-goblins who fought back desperately with their long-knives. The raking claws of the great cat felled two of the small humanoids, but the other goblin’s knives found their mark. The cat fell into the snow, its once beautiful white coat of fur torn asunder and streaked red with gore. Sheyreiza, who had been holding her arrow for the first enemy to get past the others’ barrage let loose her shaft and cut one of the surviving goblins down. The other elves finished the rest off.
Drizzt looked to Sheyreiza. “There are more.”
“Get them.” Sheyreiza replied grimly.
This time gnolls came carrying long bows and even longer halberds. More elven shafts flew. At first it seemed as if the elves’ arrows would stop all the gnolls from actually reaching Sheyreiza but it was not to be. One lone gnoll got through only to get cut down by the mithril clad drow priestess. Drizzt had already run around the hill again by the time the last gnoll hit the snow. When he came back, he was moving fast. Behind him came the giant, an enormous two-handed axe in its hands.
Sheyreiza’s red and blue eyes narrowed to slits and she uttered a low growl. The sight of the giant sent a chill through her but it also inflamed a hate. She remembered all too well watching as a frost giant’s blow felled Vraja on the slopes outside the Termaline gate. In a heartbeat the chill of fear and the anger of memories passed and Sheyreiza’s eyes opened normally. Now was not the time for panic nor was it the time for rage. It was time to kill.
The drow priestess moved into the giant’s path with quick but measured steps. Overhead, arrows were already pelting the twenty-foot high beast. Sheyreiza slashed at the giant’s leg as he passed, cutting through his furred boot and white skin. Hot blood splattered across cold snow. The giant stopped its pursuit of Drizzt and swung at Sheyreiza. The priestess, always remembering the rhythym of her sword dance, stepped away from the giant’s strike. Despite her perfect timing, the blow still connected; the giant’s axe was just that big. Cold steel powered by giant muscles collided with brilliant mithril forged by dwarven smiths. Sparks as bright as the night sky’s stars flew and Sheyreiza staggered but the armor held. Sheyreiza danced away and came in again striking quickly. Blood flowed from the giant’s other leg. Bellowing like the northern wind the giant tried to crush the small drow priestess at his feet but this time, she timed her dance to allow for two steps before his blow landed. The giant’s axe hit nothing but white powder. Sheyreiza darted in again and again giant blood flowed.
Not more than fifty yards away, the other elves loosed arrows as fast as they could. Inthara intoned the words to her spells and beam of white struck the giant but still the mighty beast fought on. Wind-song began to sing as he fired one well aimed shaft after another and all the elves took heart when they heard him. Gilthar, a near neophyte to battle, stood bravely before the giant and added his arrows to the barrage. Finally, Bete circled carefully near the melee, ready to cast what healing he could offer, or deliver what attacks he could land.
Blow after blow from the giant axe fell, and blow after blow found nothing but the ground. Snow exploded in a mushroom shaped blossom with each failed strike of the giant’s axe and Sheyreiza found herself in a cloud of white flakes and splattering blood. Time after time she danced away from the giant’s weapon, then darted in to strike, and danced away again. Here and there the great cold steel axe might clip a greave or a shoulder plate, but everytime the mithril held.
Red rage filled the giant’s eyes as it screamed and fought. Sheyreiza realized that for all her success, she was doing little more than shredding the giant’s shins. She remembered that the killing blow to the last frost giant they faced had not been a sword or arrow, but a spell. A spell of Sheyreiza’s, prayed for when she had been a priestess of the Spider Queen. To save Jain’n, her love, she had invoked the power of the very goddess Jain’n wished she would abandon.
Sheyreiza danced away from another blow of the frost giant’s axe. This time she did not dart in but began intoning her own spell, a prayer of power. This one was not to Lolth, however, but to Eilistraee. The enraged giant smiled and took the opportunity to swing on Sheyreiza again but the nimble priestess was already moving. With the final word of the prayer, she leapt up to grab the giant’s arm as his axe came down. Raw power flowed from Sheyreiza into the giant. The beast’s eyes went wide and it tried to scream but the protest was too late. The energy of Sheyreiza’s prayer-spell had stopped its heart. The drow priestess tumbled aside as the monster fell into the snow dead.
With one blue eye and one red, Sheyreiza stared at the fallen giant. There might be more humanoids, but without this beast, they would run. The battle was won. Sheyreiza's first test as a battle leader of Lonelywood’s war band had been successful. She stood and could not help but smile. Suddenly she felt good. Too good. She realized belatedly that Bete-nom was casting healings on her. In the flush of victory, Sheyreiza had failed to realize that while the mithril armor had kept the giant from killing her, she was still wounded. She smiled even more.
“Praise the Maiden.” Sheyreiza said, holding Drathir Killian’anon aloft.
Around her, the other elves were mopping up what was left of the enemy, checking the numerous humanoid corpses or healing each other. Inthara began cutting the head off of the giant. Sheyreiza knew she should stop the decapitation. Sheyreiza hated despoiling corpses, even those of the enemy. The moment came and went, however, and the giant’s head was separated from its body. Sheyreiza blinked and shook her head, forcing herself to snap out of her inaction. Yes, she had lead the war band and yes, she had led them to victory, but that was not the end.
Sheyreiza wiped off the blood from her blade on the fallen giant’s corpse and started giving orders again. There was a lot to do. The battle was won, but the war was far from over.
The greenhouse in Lonelywood village was nearly as hot and humid as the saunas that were so popular amongst the people of the north. Sheyreiza entered the greenhouse to pray, however, not to bask in the steamy air which nourished the village’s more exotic plant life. The greenhouse was not a holy place or in any way sacred to Eilistraee, but at the moment it was private and Sheyreiza needed the privacy.
Outside in the snow the war band of Lonelywood was gathering. The forest wardens had sent word that Termaline was under attack by a force of gnolls and goblins backed up by a giant. This foul, disparate group was undoubtedly under the influence of the Talona-worshipping plague druids who had been waging a war against the folk of the north for more than three years now. Month after month, season after season, the war had dragged on. Sheyreiza and the other elves had led numerous raids, destroying both the Talona worshippers and their Thayan allies when possible. A year ago one of the red wizards fell under the blades, arrows and spells of the war band even as he tried to secure the ruins of Sunderhelm. A long, deep winter had brought hostilities to an end for months, but now, the Talonites were apparently on the offensive again.
Naturally, the war band would respond, but they would be shy at least one very important person. Jain’n, the Lord of Lonelywood and the war band’s leader, was not in the woods and could not return fast enough to make a difference in this fight. Sheyreiza would have to lead the war band in his absence.
Two years ago Sheyreiza had been banished from the interior of the woods and removed from the war band by Jain’n. Their daughter, Shein’n, had been born shortly thereafter. Peace between Sheyreiza and her lover, Jain’n had come, but it had taken a long time. So too did the healing between Sheyreiza and the other members of the war band. Still, over the last two years the healing had taken place. Sheyreiza, following the guidance of her goddess, submitted to be treated as new recruit for a year and a day, despite having been a two-year veteran of the war band already. That year and a day had passed, and true to his word, Jain’n lived up to his end of the bargain: he made Sheyreiza co-ruler of the realm. Now, she was the Lady of Lonelywood. Though primarily responsible for the spiritual guidance of the elves, when Jain’n was not present, she was also the battle leader.
Sheyreiza had led forces before. As a priestess of Lolth, she had led patrols in the academy in Ched Nasad and later in the streets of Skullport, both with a certain murderous effectiveness. She had never assumed command of the Lonelywood war band, however. This would be an entirely new experience. Moreover, without Jain’n’s sword arm to lead the way, Sheyreiza knew that not only would she have to lead the war band into battle, she would have to lead from the front; something she would have never even considered as a priestess of Lolth.
In the greenhouse she drew Drathir Killian’anon, the Moon-sword of Flower, an enchanted blade marked with the symbols of Eilistraee given to her by Tel, the half-drow follower of the Dark Maiden. Sheyreiza knelt, looking at the sword. In its clear, silver blade she saw the reflection of the armor she now wore. The armor was a magnificent suit of mithril, forged by the dwarves of the Battlehammer clan just for her. Its enchanted surfaces were engraved with the constellations of Faerun’s night sky, hymnals to the Dark Maiden were inscribed along the edges of its plates in Espruar and the center chest piece was adorned with the moon-symbol of Eilistraee. In her four years on the surface, Sheyreiza had never seen a suit of armor that could match the enchantment and beauty as those made in her native Ched Nasad. Not until now. While this suit lacked the enchantment that the drow would lavish on such an artifact, the workmanship of the armor was unparalleled. It was truly a thing of beauty.
Jain’n had commissioned the suit as a gift, the first step in an ancient elven ritual. He had taken Sheyreiza to the small camp in the ruined tower where she had spent nine blissful days with him years earlier. There, they partook of a communion, a sharing of their memories. Jain’n had shown her a warm scene from his boyhood, and a bloody one from his manhood. He had shown her his wrath, and his love, his curse and his blessing. Sheyreiza, in turn, showed Jain’n the moments that shaped her life; her terrifying first meeting with her vampiric mother and the hideous yochlol that sewed the seed of heresy in the young drowess; she showed him her plots to kill her mother and the destruction of those plots as Sheyreiza was betrayed by her own sister; she showed Jain’n her flight from island fortress of the Valsharess, and the long, timeless trip on the Darklake trapped in a small boat with nothing to eat save the other escapees. Jain’n saw Sheyreiza trade her body for life, and he saw her eat the flesh of other drow; he saw the streets of Skullport, the murders, thefts and even the assassination of the Illithid merchant which eventually led to Sheyreiza’s flight from that dark place. He saw the peak of Sheyreiza’s sadism when she sexually aroused the Claddath assassin Hartex, and then withdrew herself leaving the killer in a rage. Jain’n saw Sheyreiza laugh as the streets of Skullport ran red with the blood Hartex spilled in that anger.
And Jain’n saw himself. He saw himself through her eyes, first as a threat and an enemy, and then, as a great enigma. Sheyreiza had never, in more than a century of life, encountered someone who she could not understand, but Jain’n, it seemed, was beyond her comprehension. He saw the warmth in her grow, and he saw her fight it. He saw her struggle to deny what she felt and he saw her finally give in. He saw love blossom strong and hot in what was once a bosom colder than the snows of the north. And then he saw her pull away.
Sheyreiza had, unwillingly, been given a vision of the future and this meant she had a memory of what had not yet come to pass. This she withheld from Jain’n in their communion. He had been shocked at first, but he did not press her for answers. Somehow, he knew he should not pry. What Sheyreiza knew of the future was for her, and her alone.
The gift of the armor was to honor and mark the communion. The communion was the first step to a bonding. Neither Sheyreiza nor Jain’n knew if they would, or even could, successfully bond in the time they had left together in this life, but they both wished to try. At least, Sheyreiza knew she wished to try. The concept of the bonding was foreign to her. In the lightless webs of Ched Nasad she had never even given serious thought to taking a long-term patron. Still, while the idea of a bonding was anathema to the drow way of life, she knew her heart had already walked a far ways down that path: she loved Jain’n. The bonding would merely bring her soul along to follow. It seemed only right.
Now, she knelt in the greenhouse in the shining mithril armor that had come to symbolize their communion and the beginning of their bonding. Just as they were trying to bring themselves closer, Sheyreiza found she would have to inaugurate the symbol of their union without Jain’n present. She knew that as the Lady of Lonelywood the day would come when she would have to lead the war band into battle, but she had not expected it to come so soon. She trembled slightly as she began to pray. She prayed for success, she prayed for guidance, she prayed for the folk of the north, but mostly, she prayed for those in her charge, for it was they who were her responsibility now. When she was done, she stood and held her sword up towards the sky that lay beyond the greenhouse roof. A moment later, she turned and walked back out into the snows where the warband had gathered. The time for praying was done. The time for war was at hand.
***
The war band was small: Nylo the wood-elf scout and priest of Erevan; Wind-Song the wild-elf bard who was far more fond of drink than danger, but partook of both; Inthara, the drow sorceress who had come from Skullport with Sheyreiza; Gilthar and Bete-nom, two, as yet untested, young elves new to Lonelywood; and finally, Sheyreiza, the Lady of the Wood and their priestess of Eilistraee. The band made hasty preparations, Sheyreiza taking special care to ensure the new comers were properly prepared for the cold they would face on Bremen’s Run.
“Alright, lets order the battle here.” Sheyreiza said. “Wind-song, Inthara, you two will use bows and spells. Nylo, you will scout and draw the enemy. Gilthar and Bete, you will provide healing, and will avoid getting killed.” She paused. “And I will be on blade, handling the melee.” The other elves nodded in turn as Sheyreiza spoke.
“May the Maiden protect you, Sheyreiza.” Inthara offered when Shey was done.
Sheyreiza nodded her thanks to Inthara and then turned to face Nylo. She looked at him for a moment and thought about all that they had been through as a group: mistrust; fear; hate; love; heroism; cowardice; life; death. She remembered the command she had literally spit at Nylo almost two years earlier. “Shut up and scout.” Now, she had to tell him to scout again, though so many things had changed. She took a deep breath.
“Alright, lead the way Ghost.” She said to the wood elf scout.
Nylo nodded professionally like the seasoned veteran he was and turned to lead the war band to the enemy. As professional as Nylo acted, Sheyreiza was sure she caught the glimmer of a smile on his lips. Sheyreiza had not given any thought to calling Nylo ‘Ghost’ before she said it; the nickname had just come out naturally. Obviously he appreciated it, so Sheyreiza decided she would go on using it so long as it seemed to fit.
The band moved silently and swiftly through the woods until they came out on the open, wind-swept plain of Bremen’s Run. Twisting columns of snow, not unlike tornadoes or desert dust devils, wandered across the arctic landscape. The war band began to move south when a figure came running out of the white swirling clouds ahead. Sheyreiza was on guard instantly, but she recognized the figure a moment later. It was Drizzt Do’Urden, the male renegade male from Menzoberranzan. Despite both being drow exiles from their homelands, Drizzt and Sheyreiza’s relationship had been a difficult one over the years. Drizzt had asked King Bruennor to spare Sheyreiza when she was first captured, but once free Sheyreiza found she still did not trust the male. A year of battles alongside the scimitar wielding Drizzt overcame her mistrust, but that mistrust was replaced by annoyance at the male’s arrogance. Drizzt did not display a level of obnoxious bravado anything like what his peers in the City of Shimmering Webs might display. Nevertheless, the self-assured renegade often offended Sheyreiza’s sense of propriety and inflamed her insecurities.
Today was different. Sheyreiza could not help but smile as she saw Drizzt approach. “Vendui’ male, its been a long time.”
Drizzt came to a stop panting hard, and nodded. “The red wizard is leaving Sunderhelm, and he has the eggs,” Drizzt stammered out between gasping breaths. “The attack on Termaline is a distraction. Xur…the mountain king, he needs to know about the eggs.”
The eggs were dragon eggs and they belonged to Xurshin, the great white wyrm who was the uncrowned king of the Spine of the World. By all rights Xurshin should have been an enemy to the elves of Lonelywood, but a common threat can make allies out of strange pairs. The Thayan wizards and their Talonite puppets had taken a clutch of dragon eggs Xurshin coveted. These they held hostage to keep the beast in check, or so the elves surmised. Xurshin had made it clear to the elves in no uncertain terms that he wanted those eggs, and would be willing to help destroy the Thayans if it meant the safe return of the clutch.
The war band discussed what to do. The threat to Termaline, though a distraction, was still real and had to be dealt with. On the other hand, Xurshin needed to know as soon as possible about the eggs.
“I can make the journey to Xurshin,” offered Nylo, “if Drizzt can scout for the war band.”
Drizzt nodded. “I have traveled too far, too fast to turn around and run all the way to the Spine, but I can scout the way to Termaline.”
Sheyreiza looked between the two warriors, one dark, one light. She did not want to lose Nylo’s scouting and she did not entirely trust Drizzt but it seemed the only viable option. “Alright, we will make for the forks of Termaline together. Nylo can slip through the lines while our attack diverts the giant and gnolls.”
Nylo shook his head. “Lady, if I may. I can get their faster if I use the trodes.”
Sheyreiza nodded. “Of course, forgive me. We will head south then, to Termaline’s aid while you head to the spine.” She looked at Nylo for a moment again, her face taught with feeling. “May shadows cloak you, Ghost.”
Nylo bowed. “Blessings, lady.” The nimble scout departed the war band at a run. Bete-nom leaned over to Sheyreiza and offered to go with him.
“Thank you Bete, that is a brave offer, but no, Nylo will move faster on his own.” Sheyreiza spared Nylo’s running form one last look, then turned to Drizzt. “Lead the way, Do’Urden.”
The war band ran across the plain of Bremen’s Run. Light elven feet carried the warriors across the snows like biting wind itself. Near Termaline, Sheyreiza had Drizzt veer east to bring the war band up out of sight of the Talonite attackers. There, the war band set its ambush. The elves fanned out in a saddle between two hills. The western hill was all that lay between them and the Termaline forks where even now the giant and the gnolls waited. Sheyreiza stood at the base of the hill and looked back upon her band. Bows in hand, each of the elves set steely eyes on the ridge in front of them. Beside Bete was a great white cat, a predator of the north whose fangs were like daggers. Sheyreiza smiled. She had not thought to ever fight alongside such a creature. Turning back to the western hill, she signaled to Drizzt.
The drow male turned and jogged over the rise. A minute later he came back sprinting. Snow goblins followed. Elven arrows flew and the first enemies were cut down. The great snow cat companion of Bete-nom sprinted forward and pounced on a cluster of snow-goblins who fought back desperately with their long-knives. The raking claws of the great cat felled two of the small humanoids, but the other goblin’s knives found their mark. The cat fell into the snow, its once beautiful white coat of fur torn asunder and streaked red with gore. Sheyreiza, who had been holding her arrow for the first enemy to get past the others’ barrage let loose her shaft and cut one of the surviving goblins down. The other elves finished the rest off.
Drizzt looked to Sheyreiza. “There are more.”
“Get them.” Sheyreiza replied grimly.
This time gnolls came carrying long bows and even longer halberds. More elven shafts flew. At first it seemed as if the elves’ arrows would stop all the gnolls from actually reaching Sheyreiza but it was not to be. One lone gnoll got through only to get cut down by the mithril clad drow priestess. Drizzt had already run around the hill again by the time the last gnoll hit the snow. When he came back, he was moving fast. Behind him came the giant, an enormous two-handed axe in its hands.
Sheyreiza’s red and blue eyes narrowed to slits and she uttered a low growl. The sight of the giant sent a chill through her but it also inflamed a hate. She remembered all too well watching as a frost giant’s blow felled Vraja on the slopes outside the Termaline gate. In a heartbeat the chill of fear and the anger of memories passed and Sheyreiza’s eyes opened normally. Now was not the time for panic nor was it the time for rage. It was time to kill.
The drow priestess moved into the giant’s path with quick but measured steps. Overhead, arrows were already pelting the twenty-foot high beast. Sheyreiza slashed at the giant’s leg as he passed, cutting through his furred boot and white skin. Hot blood splattered across cold snow. The giant stopped its pursuit of Drizzt and swung at Sheyreiza. The priestess, always remembering the rhythym of her sword dance, stepped away from the giant’s strike. Despite her perfect timing, the blow still connected; the giant’s axe was just that big. Cold steel powered by giant muscles collided with brilliant mithril forged by dwarven smiths. Sparks as bright as the night sky’s stars flew and Sheyreiza staggered but the armor held. Sheyreiza danced away and came in again striking quickly. Blood flowed from the giant’s other leg. Bellowing like the northern wind the giant tried to crush the small drow priestess at his feet but this time, she timed her dance to allow for two steps before his blow landed. The giant’s axe hit nothing but white powder. Sheyreiza darted in again and again giant blood flowed.
Not more than fifty yards away, the other elves loosed arrows as fast as they could. Inthara intoned the words to her spells and beam of white struck the giant but still the mighty beast fought on. Wind-song began to sing as he fired one well aimed shaft after another and all the elves took heart when they heard him. Gilthar, a near neophyte to battle, stood bravely before the giant and added his arrows to the barrage. Finally, Bete circled carefully near the melee, ready to cast what healing he could offer, or deliver what attacks he could land.
Blow after blow from the giant axe fell, and blow after blow found nothing but the ground. Snow exploded in a mushroom shaped blossom with each failed strike of the giant’s axe and Sheyreiza found herself in a cloud of white flakes and splattering blood. Time after time she danced away from the giant’s weapon, then darted in to strike, and danced away again. Here and there the great cold steel axe might clip a greave or a shoulder plate, but everytime the mithril held.
Red rage filled the giant’s eyes as it screamed and fought. Sheyreiza realized that for all her success, she was doing little more than shredding the giant’s shins. She remembered that the killing blow to the last frost giant they faced had not been a sword or arrow, but a spell. A spell of Sheyreiza’s, prayed for when she had been a priestess of the Spider Queen. To save Jain’n, her love, she had invoked the power of the very goddess Jain’n wished she would abandon.
Sheyreiza danced away from another blow of the frost giant’s axe. This time she did not dart in but began intoning her own spell, a prayer of power. This one was not to Lolth, however, but to Eilistraee. The enraged giant smiled and took the opportunity to swing on Sheyreiza again but the nimble priestess was already moving. With the final word of the prayer, she leapt up to grab the giant’s arm as his axe came down. Raw power flowed from Sheyreiza into the giant. The beast’s eyes went wide and it tried to scream but the protest was too late. The energy of Sheyreiza’s prayer-spell had stopped its heart. The drow priestess tumbled aside as the monster fell into the snow dead.
With one blue eye and one red, Sheyreiza stared at the fallen giant. There might be more humanoids, but without this beast, they would run. The battle was won. Sheyreiza's first test as a battle leader of Lonelywood’s war band had been successful. She stood and could not help but smile. Suddenly she felt good. Too good. She realized belatedly that Bete-nom was casting healings on her. In the flush of victory, Sheyreiza had failed to realize that while the mithril armor had kept the giant from killing her, she was still wounded. She smiled even more.
“Praise the Maiden.” Sheyreiza said, holding Drathir Killian’anon aloft.
Around her, the other elves were mopping up what was left of the enemy, checking the numerous humanoid corpses or healing each other. Inthara began cutting the head off of the giant. Sheyreiza knew she should stop the decapitation. Sheyreiza hated despoiling corpses, even those of the enemy. The moment came and went, however, and the giant’s head was separated from its body. Sheyreiza blinked and shook her head, forcing herself to snap out of her inaction. Yes, she had lead the war band and yes, she had led them to victory, but that was not the end.
Sheyreiza wiped off the blood from her blade on the fallen giant’s corpse and started giving orders again. There was a lot to do. The battle was won, but the war was far from over.
