Chapter 38. Surrender

endaran walked sleepily beside Brigit and Lemony as the festivities drew to an end and people were allowed to leave the imperial compound.  He observed that many of guild members could not walk in a straight line let alone move in step with the others.  Tired and full of wine and food, the primary goal was simply to arrive home at roughly the same time.  Zhou walked alone at the head of their sloppy procession, reticent and weary.  He barely acknowledged Pendaran and did not seem concerned that he had fallen back to the last group of stragglers for he was stiff and depended heavily upon his cane to walk.  He did not trust the drunken warriors to bear him home.

“Want me to carry you?” Brigit asked, her breath stinking of the heady spirits that were afflicting most of the revelers.  Lemony was wobbling cheerfully along at his right slurring an infamous Tyrian drinking song.  Its unfortunate series of rhymes meant that the more drunk the singer, the more disgusting the outcome.  Occasionally she paused and giggled stupidly after a particularly filthy blunder.  It was probably just as well everyone around her was either too drunk or incapable of translating the words because she was also getting increasingly loud to compensate for her inability to speak straight.

“I can manage,” Pendaran said, “I just need to go slowly.”

“Are you sure?” Brigit slurred, laughing, “You’re pretty scrawny, it’s no problem for me to carry you.”

“Quite certain,” Pendaran replied sharply, blushing at her coarse allusions to his sickly state.  It was true that the face that greeted him in the mirror now had hollow jaws and shadowed eyes.  He looked like a sad ghost of himself and he resented that she had just proclaimed it to the world.

“She just wants to fondle your bony rump,” Lemony giggled inanely, “but Teleri would kill her.”

“No I don’t,” Brigit protested, “Now if he were Zhou, I’d say you might be right.”

“I’d like to see you try pinching that one.  You’d draw back a stump,” Lemony giggled.

“Shut up!” Pendaran groaned.  Despite his long list of vices, prolonged inebriation had not been among them.  He had no patience for it.  He glared at his friends.

“Wonder what’s up with Great Master Grumpy?” Lemony mused, “You would think after all the fun he’d be happy for a change.”

Pendaran decided he and Zhou were probably the only sober individuals for miles around the palace.  His master did look forlorn and distracted at the head of his disorderly guild.  It then occurred to him that the standard bearer was no longer Shikai but Kazuma.  The necromancer wobbled foolishly, waving the gonfalon with uncharacteristic high spirits.  He realized he had not seen her at all that evening and Zhou was seldom parted from her.

“Where is Shikai?” Pendaran asked.  Zhou’s shoulders tensed at his intrusion and he mentally recoiled when his master shut him out.

“She spends winter elsewhere.”

The intensity of Zhou’s reply indicated that the matter was at an end and he would not discuss it further.  Pendaran considered asking about Ashekoroth, but Zhou was closed to him now.  Besides, what, if anything, could they do about it now in the open street?   Maybe it was just a dream no doubt enhanced by mandrake.  It would not be the first time he had hallucinated while using that potent draught.

Uneasiness clenched his gut, however, as they drew closer to home.  Brigit brushed his shoulder and startled him so severely he dropped his cane and nearly fell over.  She caught him and her inebriated jolliness fell away, replaced by concern.

“You’re trembling, Pen.  Are you alright?”

Fear washed through him, but it was not his own.  It was an odd sensation, almost as if he were standing apart from himself watching his body respond with blank animal instinct.  His breath caught in his throat and a cry burst from his mouth.  Lemony placed his cane back in his blindly reaching hand.  His heart raced and he had a brief image of the study wreathed in eldritch light, the sand beneath his feet formed into a great circle with mysterious symbols at its eight points.  He was huddled near the center with Teleri and the warding runes around the door burned, fading one by one as they were destroyed.  The heavy door thundered and groaned as something immense and terrible drove against it from the other side.

“Mabane,” he whispered, recognizing the boy’s vulnerable psyche.  His terror was reaching out for Pendaran, pleading for him to come save him and his mother.  The magical bond that held them now as a Lyssan pair beat like the fluttering wings of a panicked bird upon Pendaran’s soul

“Pen?  What’s wrong?” Brigit asked, propping him up as he stood trembling in the midst of passing guild members.

“I will kill him, Pendaran Caradec, and his mother,” said Ashekoroth, his presence like a bolt of ice in Pendaran’s mind.

“No,” Pendaran gasped, “Leave him alone!”

“If you set foot upon the grounds of the guild, I will kill them all.  Walk away from your little parade and I will depart with what I came for.”

“We’re almost there.  We will fight you!”

“You know you will be too late to stop the slaughter.  Surrender or they die.  Choose.”

“Pen!” Brigit cried, shaking him, “Talk to me.  What is wrong?”

“I… I need to sit.  Just for a minute.  Prop me on the railings of that gazebo.”

Lemony and Brigit guided him to the shadowy structure and he leaned trembling against the ironwork that fenced it in.

“Let me carry you,” Brigit said gently, “Are you sure you are alright?”

“Are you in pain?” Lemony demanded, “More than normal?”

“I surrender.”

“Come to the docks.  I will destroy any who follow you.”

Ashekoroth hoped he would appeal to Zhou for help, that was his true target.  Pendaran deliberately shielded his mind from his master, swallowing his fear and sorrow and presenting a mask of calm to his friends.

“I feel much better.  Just let me rest here for a few more minutes,” he said, feigning relief and delaying as long as he could.  He patted his waist in mock alarm, then gazed at the drunken figure of the little monk.  Her guileless face smiled rosily back at him, “Lem, could you ask Shikai if she has seen the jade charm Zhou loaned me today.  I am pretty sure I gave it to her and it was helping my pain.”

Lemony obediently went on Pendaran’s impossible errand.  Now he had to divert Brigit.  It was dishonest and he hated to do it.  He was also ashamed of himself for being so very good at it.  He turned his head sharply to watch Lemony scamper to the head of the column.  Predictably, Brigit followed his gaze, oblivious as he deftly lifted her prized brass spirit flask from her belt pouch and stashed under his sash against the small of his back.

“I need a drink.  Just something to take the edge off.”

Brigit clumsily patted her waist, growing alarmed when her hand dipped into her pouch and did not find it.

“That’s odd.  I just shared it with Kazuma.  I could have sworn he gave it back.”

“No worries.  He probably still has it.  I’ll manage,” Pendaran said gently, coughing dryly.

Brigit dutifully chewed her lip, wavering between chasing after her flask or staying at Pendaran’s side as she had promised Teleri.

“I’ll be fine, Brigit.  Go fetch it. I know it’s your favorite possession and I could use a drink of that amber wine you keep in it.”

“Well… alright then.”

She dashed after the trailing column of guild members and Pendaran rose slowly counting on the language barrier and her drunkenness to slow her down.  He quickly hobbled into the deep shadows against the wall until he found the mouth of a narrow alley and turned down into the lightless crowded warren of the city.   Long moments passed as he probed ahead of him with the cane, hugging the walls while moving as quickly as he dared away from the crowded street with its constant stream of departing guild members.  He heard Brigit calling his name and sighed.  She had returned much sooner than he had hoped.

He pushed past a rickety door into the back of a filthy home crowded with sleeping people and a cage full of squawking chickens.  They were too shocked to say anything as he stumped past them and walked through an adjoining room, exiting by their front door into a quiet plaza.  He crossed it quickly, his hip burning with pain as he swung along, slowing only once he entered an alley on the opposite side.  He followed its muddy curve westward, pausing once to listen for the pursuit of his friends and grateful when he could no longer hear Brigit calling out for him.

The rancid odor of the sea hung moist and potent upon the still air of the dim alley as he worked his way closer to its source.  Rats scurried out of his way as he stepped past rubbish and other unspeakable filth.  Holding his breath, he emerged into a small thoroughfare and glimpsed the forest of masts lurking above the low buildings to the west.  Almost there.

A pair of men stalked out of the shadows and barred his way forward.  Alone and crippled while wearing rich silks, Pendaran must have seemed too good a target to pass up.

“Drop the cane and keep your mouth shut,” said the shorter of the two.  He was a Tyrian elementalist clad in finest silver and black armor with an intricate lavender pattern upon its stiffened breast and shoulder pieces.  Pendaran recognized the pale focus gleaming upon the man’s brow for that of a storm caller, an aeromancer.  His dusky features were marred by a malevolent scowl and framed by prematurely silvered hair.

Pendaran weighed his options.  Possibly he could stop one or two of the man’s spells, but the elementalist was in good health and prepared to fight.  And he was not alone.  The second figure was a mesmer wreathed in an aura of chaos and coiled like a venomous snake.  His pale flesh glowed like the moon, beautiful and terrible as he surveyed his victim.

“Yield to my servant.”

The harsh voice seeped into his mind, oozing past his defenses and holding him in its thrall.  He gazed at last upon Ashekoroth, cold and inhuman with his icy gaze and raven hair.  He stood a full head taller than either Pendaran or the elementalist, menacing in his thick black cloak.  Swallowing, Pendaran tossed his cane aside and suffered the indignity of being searched. Both the jade charm and Brigit’s flask were removed and tossed carelessly to the ground like rubbish.  He tried to hide his weakness and pain as his hands were drawn behind his back and bound with silken cord.

“Not a word, mesmer,” the elementalist said harshly as Pendaran gasped involuntarily in pain.  He staggered, unable to stay balanced on his dead right leg without his cane.  The elementalist must have thought he was trying to escape for he wrenched Pendaran around harshly by his short tail of chestnut hair and shook him.  His hatred violated Pendaran’s mind.

“Don’t look at me!” the elementalist shouted, “I know how your kind works.”

“Please, just take me away,” he pleaded silently, lowering his eyes, “I won’t resist.  Just don’t harm my loved ones.”

Ashekoroth’s hand perused Pendaran’s jaw, cold as seawater as he drew his chin up so that he could gaze into his face.  Then, nodding, the elementalist moved quickly to finish his work as silent conversation flowed between them.  A gag was buckled into Pendaran’s mouth and cloth was bound tightly over his eyes.  He panicked when his feet left the ground, thrashing instinctively in Ashekoroth’s arms.

“Be still, my prize, I will not let any harm come to you.”

He was worth more to Ashekoroth alive than dead and he told himself to be grateful that he would not be made to stumble blindly in their midst.  He took comfort in the knowledge that Mabane’s fear had diminished and he was safe at last.  He focused upon a mantra, clearing his mind of fear and pain as Ashekoroth began to bear him away.

“Pen!” shouted Brigit, “Put him down this minute, you fiend!”

Oh gods, no.  He felt her fiery spirit, saw it flash within his inner darkness as a red blur of energy.  Turning his face instinctively toward her he silently pleaded she would flee before it was too late.

“I’ll deal with this,” growled the elementalist.

“Please don’t kill her.  You have what you want, let her go.”

He cringed as he heard the telltale ring of her axe being drawn and the soft chant of the elementalist attuning to the realm of air.  Even were she sober, Brigit did not stand a chance.  At best she might get a few swings at the man, but he would overwhelm her with lightning.

“My master says I am to preserve your life if you come without a struggle,” the elementalist snarled, clearly disappointed by this news, “Otherwise my orders are to kill you.”

“Please just run away, Brigit.  Leave me to my fate.  This is my choice, not yours.”

But he could not reach her bound as he was.  Silenced and blinded, the people around him were indistinct flashes of malice and fear that he could no longer focus upon.

“So touching,” Ashekoroth mocked, “And that is why you are so vulnerable.”

Brigit would not back down, it was not in her nature to do so.  Her outrage at seeing him bound and helpless flared within his mind.  She swore angrily and the pounding of her feet upon the paving stones ceased with a terrible blast and a shuddering scream of misery. Twice more she shouted her battle yell and was met with the aeromancer’s might.

“Please don’t kill her.”

Pendaran made a strangled sound, shuddering in horror as Brigit’s raw pain and rage burned into his mind.  He heard her roar an oath to the gods.  The sky split open and his ears rang with its fury.  The bright fiery red spirit he knew and loved was extinguished.

Brigit Gaenor was dead. 

His muffled sobs stained the ozone filled silence that followed.  He should never have befriended her, should never have allowed her to ward him.  Her sweet loving spirit was gone forever. 

“Oh Brigit, I am a stupid worthless man who never deserved your friendship.  I should have died, not you.”

“Be still, my prize,” Ashekoroth soothed, “It is too soon to draw your master into my trap with your grief.”

“No!” Pendaran wept, flailing uselessly in the man’s grasp.  He should never have come here.  He should have died in Tyria.  Morisedd had been right to hate him.  He was nothing but trouble.

A sickly sweet odor washed over his senses, a perfume of roses and insipid sweetness mixed with a salty breeze.  His consciousness recoiled from it, his grief and pain melting before its onslaught.

“Sleep now, my prize.”