Lady of Poison

CHAPTER 12

The Great Dale is a long, fertile vale running three hundred miles east from the town of Uth-mere, a port city on the Sea of Fallen Stars. The Great Dale divides the Forest of Lethyr from the dark and deadly Rawlinswood, two of the greatest forests of Faerun. Governed by a council of druids, the independent clanholds of the Great Dale stand amid the ancient ruins of old Narfell, a demon-haunted realm whose dark legacy still threatens the surrounding lands even a thousand years after its destruction.

Near the center of the Great Dale, a great rocky tor rises from Lethyr forest. A pristine lake of clear, cold water stands at the foot of the hill. Carved into the tor is an old wood elf stronghold known as Yeshelmaar.

A hole opened in empty air near the tor. From it issued several travelers and their mounts: Two women (one an elf), two men (one dressed quite barbari-cally), and a child on a pony. They travelers walked their mounts out of the dark into the grass. Horses and people seemed relieved to have reached the end of their journey.

Marrec studied the great fortress of natural stone and fitted blocks that crowned the great tor. “Yeshelmaar?”

The elf woman, Elowen, nodded confirmation. “The Nentyarch’s seat-in-exile, if Briartan was right. Look,” she gestured to the top of the natural fortress, where great green banners cracked and blew in the wind. “The banner on the right signifies the Circle of Leth, the one on the left, the Nentyarch. It is true; he is here.”

“This place looks old. What was it before the Nentyarch took over?” wondered Gunggari.

Elowen responded, “This fortress was built in the days when the Lethyr elves were faced with destruction at the hands of the Empire of Narfell, a sinister force to the north, but such battles are long past. The threat of old Narfell is long gone, but so are the elven-folk of Lethyr. Of the wood elves who once lived nearby, only a few small villages survive. The Circle decided the fortress would make an ideal base. When pressed, I guess the Nentyarch did, too.”

“Where were the Circle and the Nentyarch before?”

“The Nentyarch and his High Druids formerly dwelled together at Dun-Tharos in the Rawlinswood,” said Elowen in a low tone.

Before she could say more, several elves issued from a low gate on the hill and moved forward. They were dressed in the colors of the Circle and wore leathers, bore equipment, and were branded with insignia not dissimilar to Elowen’s. All had bows in hand but refrained from nocking arrows.

Elowen moved forward waving, and called, “Hail, hunters. I’ve returned with important news for the Circle and for the Nentyarch himself.”

The approaching elves stopped short, grins breaking out on many of their faces. One who seemed less pleased continued forward, a man with darker green leather armor and a silver leaf-shaped pin clasping a sea-green cloak on his back. He eyed Elowen and the rest of the group carefully, paying particular attention to Gunggari, before returning his gaze to Elowen.

He said, “So the lone hunter deigns to return to the fold, after an absence of over two years.”

Elowen flushed but said calmly, “You know why, Fallon. I promised the Nentyarch that I would discover the origin of the blighted volodnis and what they sought to the south. I have discovered an answer to both of these questions, though more questions have surfaced. I have come to speak to Nentyarch.”

The other elf frowned, “Reports are customary during the interim of so long an absence, I need not remind you.”

Elowen’s chin jutted forward, “Let us see what the Circle has to say about it; such matters are not for a hunter to determine. As far as I can see, you are still a Nentyar hunter, Fallon.”

Marrec cleared his throat, interrupting what may have been a heated response on Fallon’s part, and said, “We seek an audience with the Nentyarch. We have information that bears directly on his governance of the forest and the movements of his enemy, the Rotting Man.”

The elves all blanched at that name. Fallon said with ill grace, “The Nentyarch does not turn away those who seek him. However, his Spring Court has concluded for the day. He will receive you tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” began Marrec, but Elowen laid a restraining hand on his arm.

She looked at Fallon and said, “Tomorrow is fine.”

Fallon turned, saying, “Then follow me. We can put all of you up tonight in guest quarters. You can freshen up, visit the Yeshelmaar market, small as it is, and restore yourselves before you see the Nentyarch, tomorrow, but,” he paused before forging ahead, “Elowen must come with us. We must take her before the Circle of Leth. It is they whom a hunter must answer to, and it is from the Circle any admonishment shall come.”

Gunggari had moved up to stand abreast of Marrec and Elowen as they spoke with Fallon. He said, “We would not stand here were it not for Elowen. Make sure your Circle knows that.”

“Don’t worry, Gunggari, “said Elowen. “I’ll be fine. After the Circle hears my report, I’ll come find you all. We shall meet the Nentyarch tomorrow.”

They approached the fortress.

The fortress of Yeshelmar was built originally as a simple keep on a hilltop. During the course of the wars with Narfell, it grew, both higher and deeper into the rock of the tor. Stonework piled on brickwork as roofs became balconies for elevated watch posts, as walls became foundations for higher walls, and as basements became the origin for yet deeper halls and armories cut into the earth.

Each addition added new spires and pinnacles, chimneys for fireplaces, and vents for the deepest chambers where golden lamplight was the only hope of illuminaj tion in otherwise tenebrous halls. The congestion of construction thrust aloft a mighty work of stone; it was difficult to pick out where the natural stone of the hillside let off and the handiwork of elves picked up. Slender walkways threaded the tallest spires, while curling stairways provided external access to many of the towers and lower balconies. In many places, actual trees rooted in great earth-filled stone planters rose, providing soothing breaks in the otherwise stern stonework. Green ivy grew over the sides of many of the walls. Despite the clutter and age-worn look, and even despite its military feel, Yeshelmaar yet retained a feeling of an elven holding.

The travelers were led past the great valves of iron and stone that served as the main gates of Yeshelmaar into a wide, square-cut tunnel flagged with granite. The tunnel sloped steeply upward, but the flagged floor provided exceptional footing. Many small side tunnels on either side opened into unguessed chambers, hidden in darkness, but the main passage was lit with great lamps. Ahead and above, the light of day also leaked in. After ascending the slope over the course of a minute, the group of travelers and their escorts left the tunnel, entering a wide courtyard open to the sky but enclosed by the towering walls and spires all around. The travelers’ mounts were stabled at that level, after which they were finally shown to their quarters.

Marrec’s room was high up on the south side of the fortress, and overlooked the lake and road below. His chamber opened onto a rooftop garden, which was filled with greenery and flowers right up to the edge of a sheer plunge down the stony walls of Yeshelmaar, all the way down to the pristine surface of the lake and the hard cobbles of the road. Marrec and his friends had been warned not to venture too close to the garden’s edge.

His friends, all except for Elowen, were given rooms off the same hallway where the elves had put him. In fact, his and Ususi’s rooms shared the same garden. She walked about it, apparently taking a mental inventory of the types of plants and flowers she was unfamiliar with.

Marrec joined her in the garden. He would try a friendly gesture and attempt some small talk with the mage. “What are you looking at?” he asked, coming up beside Ususi.

“Flowers.”

Marrec swallowed. “It is certainly a pleasant evening.” “I suppose.”

Silence interposed between them and grew to a span Marrec found uncomfortable.

Marrec said, “You seem a bit short in temper this evening. Perhaps you would prefer that I leave you alone to your observations?”

Ususi shrugged then surprised Marrec with, “No. Stay. I have few conversations with people, and even less with those from so far to the west. Please, tell me of the lands from which you hail.”

“Very well,” Marrec said with a smile.

See? He thought. Reach out a little, and you shall be rewarded.

Marrec continued, “What do you know of the Sea of Fallen Stars? You’ve heard of it, then? How about fabled Waterdeep?”

Later, his conversation with Ususi concluded, he returned to his room. The mage proved to be a good listener, which was a trait rare in Marrec’s experience. Usually, in purely social situations, it was he who listened and the other who talked, telling Marrec of himself, his triumphs, his children, or the happenings in his day. When Marrec did get a word in edgewise about himself, it was clear that many people used that time to formulate what they would say when they next had their chance, instead of listening in return and showing that they had listened by asking a question related to what had just been said.

Ususi wasn’t like that. For that matter, neither was Gunggari, probably why he and the Oslander had struck up a friendship and traveling arrangement.

Of course, when it came to listening, none could top the ever-quiet Ash.

Marrec was Ash’s putative guardian, and she shared his room. She sat on a small bed brought up to the room by a servant after Marrec inquired if something more accommodating to her small frame might be had. Marrec studied the girl, looking for any changes. As always, no expression crossed her face as she stared without sound out the open door opening onto the garden.

He sighed and seated himself next to her.

“Well, girl, here we are, and I don’t know if we’re any closer to finding out your role in all this.”

He held up a small, delicately carved stone vessel for her to drink from. When she was finished, Marrec continued, “You and me, we’re a lot alike, you know.”

He wondered if he had told the same thing to Ash before. Probably. Undeterred, he continued, “I was a foundling, same as you, and like you I was not… am not… entirely human.”

He stopped, studying the girl’s face for any hint of surprise. Nothing.

“I’m not a healer like you, though. My ability… is more destructive. It’s a burden. I’ve done things that I’m ashamed to admit.”

He sighed. Thoughts he had tried to bottle up over the last few years began to bubble to the surface of his mind, and his lips.

“I can’t help but wonder if my past… crime… is somehow responsible for Lurue’s disfavor with me? Maybe this is all some sort of test, or quest, for me to finally cleanse the monster that lives within me, finally repudiate it once and for all.”

Ash began to trace the lines of stone faintly visible behind the wall plaster. Her wide blue eyes reflected a gulf of emptiness, or Marrec dared hope, acceptance.

“If you are somehow connected with Lurue, then you know what I’ve done. You know my vow, too; that never again shall I call upon the power of my heritage, lest ill once again befall me or befall those I hold most dear.”

Marrec cleared his throat, and went on, “That vow sustained me in the early years of my service to the goddess. All seemed well. I thought it was all behind me, but with this gradual quieting, and my loss of contact with her divine spark, I just wonder…”

He whispered, “Is it my crime? What more must I do to gain forgiveness?”

He reached forward and touched Ash’s brow with a finger. The girl turned, gave him the tiniest of smiles, then went back to” tracing mortar lines.

Marrec spoke no more, but the memory of what he had done would not be bottled up.

— SSSZ- SSSSSS SS

The ranger Thanial’s revelation was nothing short of a life-altering shock. Could young Marrec really be born of creatures he’d been taught to fear and despise all his life? How could he deny it? His memories were proof enough, not to mention the power of his gaze unleashed. The power to replace flesh with unmoving, unliving stone…

“It is an evil thing you tell me, Thanial.”

“Can knowledge by itself be evil? Only the use to which we put it. Not telling you about your parentage that might be considered evil. When you know the truth, you are free to make the best decisions possible. With the time we’ve spent together, I’ve come to know your character, and you are good.”

Someone pounded on the exterior of Thanial’s cabin door. The grizzled ranger gave Marrec’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze then saw to the caller.

It was a boy from the village, babbling of another attack. The ogre raiders had returned to the village, vengeful and more cruel in the wake of their ignominious retreat months earlier. Worse, a truly abominable ogre, nearly double the size of the others, led the raid. The boy said the village elders had sent him. He pled for Thanial’s help in driving off the threat, not recognizing Marrec, who was older and attired similarly to the ranger.

Thanial grunted, “I will come.” He glanced at Marrec. “And my apprentice, too.”

The ranger shrugged into his leathers; Marrec did the same. His leather armor was another gift from his benefactor. Thanial grabbed his sword, Marrec his wooden spears, and they were off through the forest. Thanial told the boy from the village to stay in his cabin. The young villager was too exhausted to protest.

A dark form paced them, partially visible through the trees. It was Thanial’s companion, the great wolf Shira. Marrec felt better knowing that Shira would be with them.

Just before they reached the village, Thanial paused. They could hear screams and the clang of steel through the trees. They were close.

Thanial said, “Marrec, this is an opportunity for you to use your abilities for good. Stifling them can’t be healthy; they are part of you. Your actions define your nature, not your heritage or the sins of your forebears. Defend the village any way that you can.”

Marrec took a deep breath and simply nodded.

Thanial leaped out of the trees and ran for the village gates, Marrec on his heels. Shira rushed ahead.

The first ogre they saw was dead, surrounded by three villagers, also slain, just within the gates. Beyond was the town square. A dozen ogres swarmed the courtyard, each twice the size of an ordinary villager, but the ogres in turn were dwarfed by their leader. They swarmed around the feet of what may have been a giant in truth, their heads topping that creature’s belt.

The overlarge ogre appeared something like a bestial human grown far too big, but it was larger, stronger, and armored in the cured skins of its fallen enemies. In its hand it gripped a wooden club that was twenty feet long if it was an inch. Rusted nails and the fangs of unknown animals protruded from its length.

The sight of the leader’s armor, with its sewn limbs, bodies, and faces, stretched and distorted to make a whole sheet of leather armor, made the gorge rise in Marrec’s throat. He stumbled, coughing and retching.

Thanial was made of sterner stuff. He charged in, slaying an ogre outright with his blade, clearing a path toward the towering ogre leader. Shira followed Thanial, guarding the ranger’s back from the other ogres, a ferocious shape larger than a man herself.

Several villagers, those who were not strewn unmoving around the courtyard, were grouped in a small alley. The giant leading the raid turned his attention from attempting to crush them with his tooth-and-nail-studded club to defend itself against Thanial’s advance. It screamed something unintelligible to Marrec in a foul, phlegmy tongue and brought up its club. Its silhouette was enough to completely shadow the ranger’s approach.

Thanial ducked under the club and stabbed the creature. A flattened human face on the creature’s armor clamped its flaccid mouth down on the length of Thanial’s blade, trapping it. The ranger screamed in frustration as he attempted to pull his sword free. No good. The giant ogre laughed. The creature relinquished its grip on its club, and in the same movement snatched up Thanial.

The ranger struggled in the monster’s grip, but the hold was unwavering. The giant raised the ranger to eye level and spoke in Common for the benefit of its victim and anyone else who happened to hear, “I got a few rips in my armor that your skin can patch, except for your left arm. I’ll bite it off now; saves time later.”

For Marrec, time slowed. It seemed that the illumination in the courtyard dimmed but for a fey light that picked out his mentor and the giant ogre. The creature laughingly manipulated Thanial in its grip, trying to get the man’s arm to stick out as he might pose a doll.

“No!” screamed Marrec.

Pain lanced his eyes, as if ice picks had thrust out from each orb. He locked eyes on the beast and willed it to stop, and it did.

A grayness overtook it, and its terrible skin armor became a gray tide rising on its fleshy beach. Its chest, head, legs, and arms became as stone.

Something was wrong. The tide of mineral gray did not stop with the monster but extended to the victim caught in the giant’s cruel grapple. He’d caught Thanial in his stony gaze.

The entire edifice of stone, man and monster, swayed. The creature had transitioned from flesh to mineral while in mid-step. Down it came, tons of weight slamming down upon the courtyard cobbles. The crash of the shattering, pulverized stone caught the attention of every creature, both attacker and defender, that was not already aware of the dramatic reversal of the ogre’s fortune. A rain of pebbles pelted Marrec, followed by billowing dust. No piece remained whole. Only rubble remained.

He’d slain his mentor.

The ogres, leaderless and afraid, fled, giving Marrec a wide berth.

He’d slain the one person who trusted and understood him.

Shira the great wolf fixed him with an accusatory stare, then leaped away, howling in sorrow.

He’d proved Thanial wrong. His heritage was suspect, and his ability evil. With heavy footsteps, Marrec turned to face the forest. He knew not where he would go, what he would do, or to whom he would pledge himself, but one promise he made immediately and aloud.

“While breath remains to me, my heritage will never again reveal its devilish glare. By this vow, Thanial shall be remembered.”

^a amp;mmelech rubbed at one of his empty eye sockets, disgorging a gobbet of ooze. He’d thought he’d felt some sort of vermin wriggling around in there, but no, it was just an abnormally large accumulation of slime.

When the blackness birthed itself from the air, Anammelech stepped back, alarmed. The void had the shape of a halberd. The blightlord recognized it. It was Gloomgate. It was the signature weapon his brother-blightlord, Gameliel. It’s presence could mean only one thing.

“Gloomgate?” inquired the blightlord. Upon being named, the weapon began to whisper urgent secrets.

Listening to Gloomgate’s tale, Anammelech’s suspicions were confirmed. The weapon’s appearance indicated that Gameliel had fallen. Gloomgate was his. Anammelech permitted himself a malicious grin.

Who were these enemies of the Rotting Man Gloomgate whispered about so fiercely? A clericof Lurue? Anammelech raised an eyebrow. What a strange coincidence.

What’s this? The ‘Child of Light’, too?

Yes. Gloomgate’s silken, silent voice was insistent The Child of Light and the Keystone were both heading toward Yeshelmaar. It was a little too perfect. Fate was conspiring to hand Anammelech quick advancement in the Rotting Man’s empire. Gameliel was dead, and his only other real rival, Damanda, was too close to the Talontyr’s heels to effectively advance the Rotting Man’s agenda. Damanda thought boot-licking would get her ahead, but if Anammelech delivered the Child of Light to the Talontyr, Damanda’s favored position would be his. His sister blightlord, once out of the direct graces of the Rotting Man, would be subject to Anammelech’s long-planned vengeance for past slights, but first things first.

Time to activate one of his most carefully nurtured assets in Yeshelmaar. If he planned it right, he could have the Child of Light delivered to him at the edge of the Rawlinswood without fuss or muss.

Elves were not as difficult to lure into evil as was commonly believed.