The Companions of Tartiël

by Jeff Wilcox

  Wild blinked at a nonexistent audience, then looked back at the man. “Sure,” he accepted the credit. “I sure did.” He offered his hand even though it wouldn’t be of much use to the taller elf.

  “Why, thank you, small lord. Who might you be?” The elder took Wild’s hand and got himself started on his way to his feet. After several long and painful heartbeats, he straightened and dusted off his extravagant robes.

  “You can call me Wild,” the halfling replied, wincing when several of the elf’s joints cracked audibly. “As for what you’ve been doing… well, it’s a long story. Why don’t I take you back to my friends, and we can help get things fixed up around here. And who are you?”

  The elf smiled down at his little benefactor. “I am Maran. I am one of Andorra’s elders. It seems that some great event has transpired here.”

  “You… got that right,” Wild said, cocking his head. “Oh, and don’t worry about most of the people we’re going to see along the way. They were all knocked out, just like you were.”

  Maran accepted Wild’s explanation easily enough. In fact, as the two made their way back to the town’s entrance, they met a number of confused townsfolk rousing from their oblivion. The elder paused to help each one to his or her feet and then added them to a growing entourage.

  Kaiyr glanced up as Wild approached, leading a small contingent of dazed elves. “Ah, Master Wild,” he said, casting his gaze over the group. “Excellent work in bringing these people to us. I do wish you had informed us of this development.” He gave the halfling a stern but fleeting look before nodding appreciatively.

  The elder stepped forward. “Greetings, Blademaster. I am Maran, elder of Andorra. I… know not what has happened to our fair town, but I anticipate we will learn about the events here in due time.”

  “You shall,” Kaiyr promised him. “However, I fear that some of your people will not make joyous returns and reunions this day.” He looked up at the sudden approach of one of the Terth’Kaftineya. The creature moved with urgent speed and skidded to a halt before Caineye. Kaiyr glanced around while the two held a brief, whispered conversation. Neither it nor any of the elves seemed too concerned by each other’s presence; rather, Maran excused himself to go and speak with the wolf-like being.

  Caineye hustled over to Kaiyr and Wild a moment later. “We have to go,” he told them.

  “Why? What’s going on?” Wild wanted to know.

  Caineye glanced down one of the forest paths that served as roads in Andorra. “One of Kathir’s lieutenants just told me of a woman nailed to a wooden cross.” He hesitated for a moment, taking a breath. “By his description, I believe it’s Astra.”

  Kaiyr’s cobalt eyes widened. “I agree. We must go.” With that, he took off down the street, his dark blue and black robes flowing around him. Wild and Caineye shared a knowing glance before pursuing the elf.

  With his greater speed from constant training, Kaiyr arrived first, running into the center of a small ring of Terth’Kaftineya who watched helplessly as Astra, whom Kaiyr immediately recognized, slowly dripped blood from dozens of wounds. Each trail of blood leaked from around one of many thick, iron nails driven cruelly into her sun-tanned flesh. Her clothing, what little of it was left, hung from her body only by dried blood.

  “We tried to get her down,” whined one of the Terth’Kaftineya as Caineye and Wild sprinted into their midst, but none of them took heed of the creature’s words.

  “By the gods,” Caineye whispered, his face a mask of horror as he bore witness to the work of whatever enemies Astra had made. He looked at the blademaster and stared in shock at the expression on the elf’s features.

  Kaiyr’s emotions were a roiling war between surprise and grief, uncertainty and anger. His brow, furrowed into a deep scowl, twitched with hot anger while tears of frustration ran from the corner of his eye. But what frightened the druid most was when all those things vanished, replaced with cold wrath that was dammed only by a faint glimmer of gentle caring and admiration in his eye as he looked at Astra.

  After an eternity that spanned only a few indecisive breaths, Kaiyr stepped forward, casting about for any kind of woodcutting tool. “Let us cut her down,” he intoned with a chilling tranquility. “I have the means to tend her as we remove her from this cross.”

  Wild joined the blademaster, pulling a small hacksaw from his satchel and handing it to Kaiyr. “Looking for one of these?”

  Kaiyr accepted the saw and nodded his thanks. Working together, all three of them managed to ease the cross, with Astra, to the ground, whereupon they carefully pried the nails from the unconscious nymph’s body. Kaiyr constantly drained power from his healing wand, sealing the wounds as best he could while Caineye extracted the nails.

  “Iron,” muttered the druid as he worked. “What bastards. I’m surprised—in a good way—that she hasn’t died from poisoning yet. Iron is deadly to fey such as nymphs, you know.”

  When the last nail had been removed, Kaiyr tenderly lifted the woman into his arms, and together they solemnly walked back to the Unicorn and to the rooms they had rented there while the elves had been under the curse.

  After cleaning Astra’s blood from her skin and dressing her in his spare robes, Kaiyr breathed a sigh of—he wasn’t sure what kind of sigh it was. Relief, yes. Exasperation at their enemies, also yes. Exhaustion, most definitely. At length, he turned wearily to Wild and Caineye. “I must speak with the townsfolk. As much as I would like to stay by Lady Astra’s side and see that she recovers and remains safe, I must see that the townsfolk regain their bearings. I suspect few, if any of them, will have any recollection of their time under the curse.”

  Caineye stood from his chair after stifling a large yawn. “I’ll come, too. I can leave Vinto here to guard Astra.”

  “Let’s go,” Wild agreed, hopping down from his perch on a small desk. They filed out as Vinto turned around twice and settled down on the floor in front of Astra’s bed, facing the door.

  Outside, the group tended to the people of Andorra. Possibly because one of their saviors was a blademaster and partly because the elders galvanized the people, the elves of Andorra had mostly set aside their questions and gotten nearly the entire town gathered. After the toll the curse and battles with the Terth’Kaftineya during that time had taken on the population, there were only several hundred elves gathered near the palisade’s gate. Some of the elves were inspecting the palisade; earlier they had been wondering how it had seemingly sprung up overnight, and after some explanation, it was clear that no one had any memory of their time under the effect of the curse that had transfigured the town.

  Kaiyr had a difficult moment with one woman who demanded to know what had happened to her husband. Despite the blademaster’s best efforts to calm her and explain that he had no way of knowing whether the man was alive and well, he eventually realized that he did indeed know the man. She described her husband to Kaiyr, and he had to tell her the truth: that her husband no longer lived. After all, he had died at Kaiyr’s own hands that very night, in the room housing Ministriel’s shield and bracers.

  So, it was with a heavy heart that he turned around only to be faced with another problem.

  “Excuse me,” said another woman, standing right in front of him.

  “My lady,” Kaiyr replied wearily, bowing slightly. “What can I do for you?”

  She glanced around somewhat nervously. “I… I haven’t seen my children yet. Do you have any idea where they might be found?”

  Frowning, Kaiyr thought for a moment, casting his thoughts back over the past several days. “I apologize, my lady,” he said after a few moments. “I cannot remember having seen… any children at all.” His frown deepened, and he turned to Caineye, troubled.

  *

  I sat back in my chair, falling silent. Xavier and Matt did likewise, and we all said nothing, lost in thought.

  “Are we missing something?” I asked Matt and Xavier. “I mean, Wild noticed there weren’t any chi
ldren around.”

  “Yeah,” Matt agreed. “But we didn’t really find any of them, either. Were we supposed to find them, or something?” He looked at Dingo, who merely shrugged; it wasn’t the DM’s place to let us know if we’d missed something. At least, not out-of-game. He would, in-game, when it came to bite us in our collective ass.

  “Xavier?” I asked.

  He shook his head, staring at the battle-grid upon which our miniatures still sat from the battle with the shadowy dragon half an hour ago. “I got nothing.”

  I sighed and tapped my pencil on my desk, glancing at the clock. It was already midnight and we had been playing for five hours already. But we each still had about another hour in us before we needed to head to bed. I flipped my ponytail back and forth in defeat. “I…” Then I looked up at Dingo. He was grinning.

  It hit me like an ogre’s fist to my stomach, and my eyes went wide. His grin spread even further across his face. My pencil fell from my hand, and my heart leaped into my throat for Kaiyr. “Oh, no you didn’t,” I told him in the darkest, most serious voice I could muster, though it was weakened with dread. He started nodding and laughing, too pleased with the outcome of his designs to even speak. “Oh, no, you fucking did not.”

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes, I most certainly did,” he cackled.

  I groaned. “Oh, hell. You, sir, are a fucking bastard… a dirty whore. You are the biggest ass in the entire world. Ho, damn. This is not good.”

  Xavier and Matt stared at me, uncomprehending. “What’s the deal?” Matt asked.

  Rubbing my forehead in consternation, I glanced up at him. “I know where the children are,” I sighed.

  *

  Caineye spotted Kaiyr near the edge of the gathering, pacing back and forth and scratching his chin in thought. Joining him, he asked the blademaster, “Still wondering about the children? I don’t think any of us has spotted them, Master Kaiyr.”

  The elf shrugged. “There is little else I can do for these people this night until we are certain there are no others still missing but alive. So…” He trailed off, glancing down the path that eventually led to the “treasure hunter’s” house. His blue eyes went wide, and his hand dropped weakly from his chin. “No! No!”

  Caineye stared, bemused, as the blademaster took off like a wizard’s lightning bolt. “Master Kaiyr?” he called after him. Then, with a sudden ill feeling that all was not right, he gave chase.

  As the druid neared the house, the door having been pulled off its hinges in Kaiyr’s haste, a tormented, keening wail of grief split the lightening night. Caineye rushed inside, nearly tripping over one of the rugs, and stumbled into the back room to discover the blademaster kneeling by the iron door. Kaiyr pounded the floor with his fists, his knuckles already a bloody mess, as tears streamed from his face and fell to mix with his blood.

  “No!” the elf shouted, over and over again as Caineye fully realized what had really been in this pit. They had been werewolves, yes, but they had been a little smaller than most.

  “Oh, gods,” the human swore, his words barely audible over Kaiyr’s grieving. “What have we done? What in the Nine Hells have we done?” He knelt next to the blademaster, staring into the hole. The bodies of the elven children had been so horribly burned by the glass orb’s explosion that only a few twisted remains lay scattered about the floor and embedded in the walls.

  XIX.

  “I am going to them,” Kaiyr said several hours later, breaking a reverent and grief-stricken silence that had settled over them all after Wild had found them in the back room with the blackened bodies of the children below. Kaiyr had taken upon his shoulders the blame for the deaths of these children, rejecting Caineye’s claim that they all shared in the blame. In one corner of his mind, Kaiyr realized that he was being selfish in not allowing his companion to accept the responsibility for what had been done here. But his emotions overrode that small, logical part of him that was usually much more in control. Kaiyr took no notice of Caineye and Wild following him as he strode doggedly from the house, but he paused when Astra, still clad in Kaiyr’s old clothes, stopped in front of him, blocking his path.

  “There you are,” she said, a little out of breath. “It took me a while to…” Her voice trailed off when she noticed the look of absolute desolation in the blademaster’s eyes and the way he did not quite meet her gaze before edging around her and away from the house. “What? What happened?” she asked, trailing after him and turning to Caineye when Kaiyr did not respond.

  Caineye, though, just shook his head, and Wild was of no more help, offering only a sad, little shrug. “Not… not right now, please.” Caineye’s voice was heavy with pain, and he barely noticed when Vinto, who had arrived with Astra, rejoined him and bumped against his leg in question, sensing that all was not well with his master. Astra shook her head in worry but followed the group.

  Upon reaching the area with the gathered elves, Kaiyr gained their attention by climbing atop one of the buildings opposite the gate, constructed by the elves while controlled by whatever mind was behind the curse. There, he entreated all present to gather around him. His solemn voice brought them to him in silence although their hearts clamored with questions. And so, Kaiyr started at the beginning.

  He left nothing out of the story, recounting everything he knew from the moment he and his companions had set foot in Andorra, to Wild’s encounter at the temple of Alduros Hol, to their dealings with the Terth’Kaftineya. His voice cracked when he told the townspeople of his part in the deaths of many of the town’s children, just over an hour before they would have been released from the curse.

  “And so,” he told them all, tears streaming from his eyes as he manifested his soulblade and rested it on his own shoulder, its sharp edge glittering in the early morning sun as it pressed against his neck, “I put my life in your hands. I caused the deaths of thirty-six innocent children. If you wish my death, then upon my honor as Blademaster Kaiyr, as a child of Arvanos Sinterian… you shall have it.”

  “No!” Astra said from where she stood on the ground near the building. “Kaiyr, this is ridiculous.”

  “Be silent, Lady Astra,” he commanded her without looking. “Please.”

  She scowled. “No, I don’t please.” In a sudden flash of blue light, she appeared on the roof next to him. Her rapier danced from her scabbard to her hand, and she used the tip to flip Kaiyr’s soulblade away from his neck.

  Kaiyr whirled a step away from her, his spiritual sword appearing in his other hand as the crowd below watched in stunned stillness. “Lady Astra, this is not your decision to make!”

  Putting a fist to her hip, she frowned, her black eyebrows furrowing over her violet eyes. “Kaiyr, by the power over you which you willingly gave to me, I command you to stop this!”

  Caineye, on the ground, shook his head and murmured too quietly to be heard by anyone but himself, “It’s not going to work.”

  “Hm,” Kaiyr scoffed. “Lady Astra, this is beyond the power I gave to you. Stay back!” He pressed the blade against his neck again, threatening to take his own life should she take another step toward him. Lowering her rapier, she relented and backed away.

  Then Maran stepped between them verbally. “Blademaster Kaiyr,” he said, and both the elf and the nymph atop the roof looked at the elder, regal and commanding in his tone of voice, quiet though it was. “The people of Andorra accept your admission of guilt. As you can see,” he told him, motioning to the elves around him, “none of us raises a hand against you. You acted as you had to in the heat of battle, and with what information you had, it comes as no surprise to me that such a tragedy could happen. Yes, it is a terrible thing, and I mourn the loss of so many young souls. But Arvanos will welcome them into the Everwood as he does every elven soul to pass from this world. If you wish to place blame where it belongs, lay it upon those who are behind the curse that stripped us of our lives, our free will, and our time in this world.” He spread his arms and strode forward until he sto
od near the building, nearly beneath the desolate blademaster. The elves of Andorra, to the very last one, moved with Maran, their silently chosen leader, without a word of dissent, some of them nodding their accord. The pain of loss was clearly written on their faces: for the children, yes, but also for all those who had been lost to the curse and whatever power was behind it.

  After a pause during which Maran let Kaiyr think about his words, the elder continued, “If you still seek to cleanse yourself of the mark you feel on your soul for your part in the loss of our young, then seek out those who brought such harm upon us.” His aged features turned fierce. “Follow your precepts, Blademaster! Destroy them,” he snarled, swiping one arm out to the side in a cutting motion. “Do not send them to the deepest pits of hell. Destroy them so utterly that there shall be nothing left to send to the devils!”

  Maran settled down and composed himself as murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. Kaiyr stared in awe at them as Astra sheathed her rapier, a quirky smile on her lips.

  But then, someone in the throng of elves threw off a cloak and extended a wide pair of black-feathered wings so suddenly that he bowled over a score of those nearest him. It was a creature not unlike the Nemesis, with dark skin and strange hair. “No, no, no,” he said theatrically, “that wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, silly elves.” Those around the creature drew back, shocked at the sudden appearance of a being who radiated such malevolence. “Come, now, all of you. You know you want to kill this man. Come on, you know you want to. Master Sayel would be so pleased with your performance.”

  Kaiyr’s eyes widened, and Astra recoiled in a mixture of shock and fear. “Sayel?” the blademaster hissed. “So, this Sayel is behind this?”

  In response, the creature merely laughed, pulsing with cruel amusement that was so intense it was physically painful.