In The Cards

It is a common misconception that ‘evil’ has to wear skull insignias or have horns or red eyes. People who look just like everybody else, and even are able to behave like everybody else when it suits them do much evil in the world, perhaps the most of it.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

It felt as if her skull was about to split open. Zaerini groaned quietly to herself, and then wished that she hadn’t. Groaning meant making noise. And right now noise was the last thing she wanted around her. That, and bright light, such at that currently lancing her brain even through her closed eyelids. Her stomach was hurting badly too. This isn’t fair. I didn’t drink that much last night, I know I didn’t. I must be getting sick or something.

Kitten? Softpaws sounded rather worried. She was sitting on top of her mistress’ chest, green eyes watching her closely. How are you doing?

I’ll live, the bard said, petting the black cat. It’s just the after effects of last night.

I don’t like it. It feels all wrong inside your head.

I know. It really does. Phew, I’ve never had a hangover this bad before. Usually I just get a little dry in the mouth, maybe a small headache. I suppose there has to be a first time for everything.

Imoen was still in bed, clutching her pillow tightly with a broad smile on her face. She certainly looked as if she was having a very pleasant dream, and Rini didn’t want to wake her. She silently exited the room, intent on getting some fresh air on one of the shaded benches behind the inn. Once there, she sat down, leaned back against the wall, and closed her eyes again. Her headache seemed to be getting worse, there were even spots swimming in front of her eyes now. I’ll never again drink anything stronger than juice, never, ever. Ever. Ever.

“Hellkitten? How are you feeling?”

The half-elf hastily opened her eyes to see Edwin standing in front of her. The Red Wizard didn’t look to be in the best possible shape himself, he was pale and looked as if he hadn’t slept much, and there was a deeply concerned look in his eyes.

“It’s nothing, really,” Rini said, smiling faintly. “I suppose that pink drink was stronger poison than I expected, that’s all. But thanks for asking – Dread Wizard. What about you though? You look exhausted.”

Edwin looked a little distant for a moment, but then he sat down next to her, making her skin tingle pleasantly. “It’s…nothing,” he said. “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. I had some things to think about. (And decisions to make. Yes, especially that.)”

“Oh, I know what you mean.”

“You…you do?”

“Sure. I’m worried about Sarevok too, you know. I’d be crazy if I wasn’t.” Zaerini sighed quietly. “You know…we’re going against the Iron Throne directly now, and we’ll soon be facing my brother. I just wish…”

“What?”

“I…I don’t really know. That things didn’t have to be this way I guess. I mean…I know he killed Gorion. I haven’t forgotten that or anything. It’s just…he shares my blood. My sire’s blood. It would have been so easy to become like him, I’ve been so close. And if I could have become like him, then maybe he could have become like me, you know?” The half-elf blinked away the tears that were forming in her eyes. “And since I read that diary…I mean, I still hate what he’s done and everything, but then I see the child he was, and wonder…” She wiped at her eyes with an angry gesture. “It was so much simpler when I could just hate him.”

“Hate or not, you have to kill him or he will kill you,” Edwin said in a serious voice, taking one of her hands in his. “Please understand that, it is extremely important.”

“I know he’s dangerous. I know. And if I have to, I will do what I can to kill him. But I won’t take any pleasure in it.”

”No,” Edwin said. “No, you wouldn’t. (But if he harms her, then I will.)” He turned towards her again. “You really don’t look that well. Perhaps you should sleep some more?”

Rini nodded. “Yeah, I think I will, in a little while. The headache is getting even worse. I think…I’ll just rest here a while first, if you don’t mind.” Slowly, carefully, she let herself relax against the wizard, until eventually she was leaning her head against his shoulder, red on red.

Edwin swallowed heavily. “No…” he said, and his voice sounded a little shrill. “No, I can’t say that I mind at all.”

“Thank you,” the bard said, closing her eyes. And as for me, I wouldn’t mind staying here for the rest of my natural life span…

Eventually she had to go upstairs again though. The headache kept getting worse, and she felt weak and listless. Having promised the Red Wizard that she wouldn’t tackle Sarevok and his assorted minions while her head felt ready to burst, she headed upstairs. The bedroom was blissfully shady and quiet by now. Imoen had gone somewhere, so she could even have it to her self. Trying not to move about too suddenly, she lay down on the bed again, trying to get some sleep.

Imoen wasn’t quite as badly off as her sister, though she also was feeling really unwell. She was sitting by herself at a corner table in the Elfsong, twisting her Lucky Handkerchief between her fingers and practicing looking menacing. She wasn’t sure how well it was going however. The other patrons were giving her very strange looks.

Khalid and Jaheira suffered jointly. Healing spells would do no good, since it wasn’t an actual injury they were dealing with. When Jaheira shifted into the form of a bear to try to get away from the pain, Khalid had to carefully explain that a bear with a headache was a poor substitute for his wife. And besides, it made her too large for the bed.

Yeslick felt ill. But then, he did that just about every day when he first awoke, thinking about his lost clan, his lost mine, and on Reiltar Anchev who had come to mock him when he lay abandoned in his dark cell. One day Reiltar would pay for that.

Edwin sat in his room, writing a letter. He had already done three versions, and was anxiously reading through the fourth. Finally he sighed, an expression of extreme sadness and regret on his face, signed the letter and sealed it shut with his signet ring before locating a messenger who could take it where it needed to go. Now, it was done. There would be no turning back. He only hoped he had done the right thing.

Softpaws slept, washed herself, ate some, and killed an obnoxious rat by the Tavern’s back door. She was still worried about her Kitten, but didn’t want to disturb her while she slept. Not when she wasn’t feeling well.

Slowly, Zaerini drifted off into the beginnings of sleep, feeling her limbs grow heavier and heavier, the sounds of the world more distant. She thought she dreamt then, dreamt of somebody coming in the door, approaching the bed. “There she is,” said a pleased voice. “Let’s get her.”

She was trying to move, to fight, but her body was hurting by now, and she was feeling weak, so weak. As desperately as she tried, she couldn’t seem to move her arms and legs properly, and even thinking about magic made knives of raw agony shoot through her head. As she felt herself helplessly picked up she tried to scream, but the only sound that would emerge from between her lips was a muted whimper.

In the yard, Softpaws looked up from her washing, startled from her concentration. Her Kitten was in pain, calling for her, being hurt. With a hiss, the cat rose and leapt for the stairs, but it was too late. Marek and Lothander had already made their escape with their prize.

When Zaerini woke, she was lying not on her bed, but on a cold stone floor that was digging painfully into her body and chilling her to the bones. It was dark, but there was a flickering light coming from somewhere. Torchlight, shining through the bars of the cell. How had she got here? And where was here? It hurt when she tried to think, hurt badly, and she gasped with pain. She still couldn’t move properly, and that frightened her most of all.

Time passed. More time passed. Still the pain, the cold, the terrible feeling of being trapped and helpless.

Then the door opened, and footsteps approached her where she lay. “So, you are awake. Good.” The voice was male, and sounded infinitely pleased with itself. Hands grasped her shoulders, propping her up against the wall, one of them grasping her by the hair to keep her head up. The grip was hard enough that it brought tears to her eyes.

Some women would probably have thought the man who was hunched down on the floor of the cell handsome. He had a regular face, with gray hair and a firm chin. However, if you looked more closely you might have been able to see the cruel and merciless look in his eyes, laced with some darker, more primal feeling that frightened the half-elf to the core of her being. “You are Zaerini, the little troublemaker,” the man said, almost sounding pleasant. “You have been a very naughty girl, you know. And I, I am Reiltar Anchev, of the Iron Throne. You may have heard of me from that fool dwarf Yeslick.”

Sarevok’s foster father, Zaerini thought, an island of rational thought in the sea of fear. The monster. The…the Devil. The Devil…of my last Reading. And I am at his mercy.

“Marek did well,” Reiltar said, again in that pleasant voice. “Without the poison I wouldn’t have been able to acquire you nearly so easily. It was a two-fold poison he tells me. The powerful part needs some time to fester in the body, so you were slipped that in your dessert the other day, and then the catalyst last night. Very clever. And so, now that I have you, what am I to do with you, hm? You who would destroy me?”

The slap was hard and quick, taking her completely by surprise, and the pain exploded in her head as it connected with her jaw, bright suns bursting before her eyes. “As I said, you have misbehaved,” Reiltar said, still in that eerily calm and pleasant voice. “And you must be punished for it. How am I to do that, I wonder?” He stroked her cheek gently, and the weakness of her body kept her from even recoiling at his touch, though every fiber of her being screamed for her to escape.

“Perhaps I should whip you. Or burn you. Or perhaps…perhaps I should trim those pretty little ears for you.” Reiltar bent forward, his lips touching the tip of her ear in a mockery of tenderness. She wanted to scream. She couldn’t. “Yes, so many good ideas,” the Iron Throne leader smiled. “But first, I think I should really put you in your proper place. It won’t even be much of a chore. After all, even soiled like you are you are reasonably pleasant to look at.”

No. Noooo…

“Yes,” Reiltar said, raising her hand to his mouth. “I think it is time you learnt which one of us has the power. Perhaps you may even be able to teach my son a thing or two once I am done with you.”

Then he kissed her fingertips and slowly and with great relish sucked her fingers into his mouth.

Not being able to scream was probably the worst.