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The ground was slick. He kept his footing only through sheer force of will, grimly not thinking of what soaked the grass. His hands were coated with orcish blood, gummed up to his elbows in their stinking fluids. And still, there was no end to the masses of teaming goblinoids. Their twisted faces, tongues lolling from between gaping fangs, sneered at his efforts even as they fell to his blades. They pressed in from all sides. He felt a flare of pain in his leg and his knee buckled under him. He redoubled his efforts to keep them at bay, but they only laughed; rough cold voices filled with bloodlust. His left shoulder exploded with agony. Blood gushed from the wound and his arm hung limp and useless at his side. His blades faltered. The orcs surged forward, howling. The leader, a thick-bodied orc with gleaming green eyes, filled his sight. It pulled back its cruel, serrated sword. He could not stand, he fell to his knees in the bloody muck. The sword came down... Cold. Bone deep. Pain. Agony that raced through his veins. Hatred. For all things, for all warmth. He raised a hand. Wisps of pale smoke clung to his hand. His flesh greyed and melted off the bone like wax. Skeletal fingers protruded from the ragged cuff of his sleeve. Orlann. A voice, a living voice... calling... He turned. He raised the ghostly remains of his father's sword. Her smile faltered as she beheld him. Her perfect face twisted in disgust. Run. Run, Tarri. He tried to shout to her, but his voice raised instead in a howling scream of agony. She froze, shaking her head in denial. She reached out for him. He warred within. He wanted to take her hand. He wanted to tear her flesh from her bones. He loved her. He hated her. She was warm, alive... so vital... Loathing consumed him. He strode towards her, eager to feel her hot blood, to taste her sweet flesh... Orlann jerked awake, biting off a scream. The room was dim. A shaft of white moonlight spilled in from the window. He heard nothing but the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart in his throat. He was slicked with sweat. He shivered, fearful of moving. A dream, he thought, his chest still heaving as he panted in reaction. He steeled himself and raised one hand to the silvery moonlight. Flesh still covered his fingers and he was absurdly relieved. He sat up. No soft padding footsteps crossed the room, no warm arms wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders. He scolded himself. The Crow's Nest had been busy that afternoon; Miss Tarri was exhausted. She needed her rest, did not deserve to be burdened by his fear. Again the thought slipped, unwelcomed, into his mind that perhaps he should leave. He was healed in body, if not in spirit. She had already done so much for him, he hated to impose further. At the same time, he thought of waking alone, in the dark, and shuddered. It shamed him to admit that he was afraid of being alone. This is not your home, he reminded himself. In Bleakhill, the militia were quartered in the homes of widows, or elderly couples. The practice provided the soldiers with food and shelter without overly burdening any one home, and gave security to those who were unable to fight for their own defense. It was prudent in an area prone to occasional lightning raids by goblins to have a defender in each home. He often found himself confused at the behavior of the city people with their open manners and their baffling customs. But he had not missed the narrow-eyed stare of the old woman who rented the flat below Miss Tarri's, nor the guards at the south gate who nudged each other and snickered crudely behind their hands when Orlann followed her out to the Crow's Nest. Folk were already talking and Orlann blanched with shame. How could he sully her reputation? It was even worse than rude; it was ungrateful. Perhaps, if she was not so beautiful, achingly perfect. He sighed. If he did not want to act improperly with her, did not long to take her into his arms and... Stop it! He scrubbed at his face with his hands, trying to clear the image. You've no right to think of her like that! As if she heard his wicked thoughts, Miss Tarri whimpered. Orlann flinched involuntarily from the sound. He paused. She had left the door to her bedroom slightly ajar and from across the room he could hear her labored breathing. Hesitating, he stood slowly and took a step in her direction. Before he could caution himself against it, he opened the door. She was asleep still, tossing in the grip of a dream. In her frantic rolling, she had dumped all her blankets onto the floor. Her loose sleep tunic was rucked up, revealing a flat patch of her porcelain skin. Her short hair was damp with sweat and tangled from sleep, clinging to her face. That she also was troubled by nightmares she had told him, but she had never waken him. Even as he watched, she moaned so quietly that had he been asleep, he never would have heard her. "No," she whispered. "Don't..." Her voice shivered on the edge of terror. Orlann dropped to one knee next to her narrow bed. "Miss Tarri." He hesitated, then touched her shoulder. "Wake up." * Tarri flinches away from his touch. "No!" Her voice cracks in fear, and her eyes snap open, staring sightlessly in the dim light, still more than half-caught in the dream. * Orlann winces, then pats her shoulder awkwardly. "No, Miss Tarri, it's only me... you were dreaming..." <Tarri> ::Slowly, she focuses on him.:: Corporal? ::Tentatively, she touches his hand on her shoulder, then closes her eyes in relief:: Oh, gods... ::She starts shaking with delayed reaction:: * Orlann hesitates a long moment, watching her shake, then, moving slowly, he circles his arms around her. "Shhhh, now. Everything's all right..." * Tarri curls into his arms and hides her face against his chest as she shivers. "I didn't mean... I'm sorry..." <Orlann> ::rumbles a low chuckle:: I was already awake, ma'am... an' if you'd touched me when I first woke, I'd probably have climbed straight up the wall..." <Tarri> ::managing a ragged laugh, though she remains huddled against him:: That might have been worth seeing... ::more seriously:: There must be an evil moon tonight. <Orlann> Mayhap. ::he shudders in response, then lightly strokes her back with one hand:: T'was an evil dream I had... <Tarri> D you want to tell me about it? ::she looks up at him in concern:: Are you all right? <Orlann> ::looks at her:: I... Miss Tarri, I would never want to hurt... anyone. I dreamed that... ::he shivers:: that I became one of those... the creatures my friends became. That I wanted to hurt someone, who was still living... <Tarri> ::shivers:: No wonder you were awake... How awful. <Orlann> ::meets her eyes:: I would never hurt you... I'd... I'd rather cut off my hand then hurt you. <Tarri> ::blinks and touches his face:: Thank you... ::she freezes for a minute, then smiles sadly:: Oh. It was me, wasn't it? * Orlann nods, unable to say anything. <Tarri> ::nods sympathetically:: Don't worry about it too much, okay? I've killed all the wrong people in my dreams, too. It doesn't mean anything, really. <Orlann> ::nods again:: Only a dream... Yet, I don't understand what happened to my friends, why they became what they did... I don't want that to happen... <Tarri> I should think not! ::she runs a hand down his arm:: I don't understand it, either. The Lieutenant, though, he sent wizards to look things over. They'll know more. They'll figure it out. * Orlann shakes himself out of his dread. "But I didn't wake you to talk about my dream, Miss Tarri... you... you sounded so frightened... Are you all right?" <Tarri> ::shivers briefly and shrugs, not looking at him:: It was just a... A dream. A memory, of sorts. <Orlann> ::almost sternly:: Miss Tarri, you've been so much help to me, I'd... I'd be honored, if you'd let me help you... <Tarri> ::she sighs:: Have you heard of Bane, Corporal? <Orlann> ::nods:: Aye... Mother spoke sometimes of his priests from before He died. <Tarri> He still has priests. They are... dedicated to bringing Him back. <Orlann> ::hesitates:: Is that... possible? <Tarri> ::shivers:: Who's to say what's possible for a god, even a dead one? ::she leans her head against his shoulder:: A- a young man from my home town happened upon a powerful artifact that contained a scrap of Bane's... soul? Essence? Something like that. It... possessed him. Bargained with him. Promised him anything, everything he wanted, if only he'd help. <Orlann> Someone you knew? ::he pushes back from her a little, but trails his hand down her arm to curl his fingers around hers:: <Tarri> ::nods:: He courted me, briefly. ::her mouth twists:: He was a selfish, petty creature. I had to resort to threats to make him leave me alone. He and Bane were well-suited to one-another. <Orlann> ::darkly:: Every village seems to have one of those... <Tarri> ::nods, and continues, in a tone of recitation:: Tomas wanted... among other things... revenge for a number of petty slights. Bane wanted to be reborn. They struck a bargain. Bane gave Tomas the power to... to rule a person's mind, and other... talents. Tomas was to choose for himself a Bride. Or a number of Brides. One of these would bear a child which would carry Bane's fragmented soul back into the world. Tomas chose three. <Orlann> ::reaches up to touch her cheek:: You? <Tarri> ::nods:: And Glossaria, who is Lady Natovna's apprentice and my friend Vallel's wife. She humiliated Tomas in front of the whole village, once. And Loria, Vallel's sister, who not only refused him, but drew steel on him when he tried to press his suit. * Orlann closes his eyes before Tarri can see more than a flare of pain and anger in their depths. "You... don't have to tell me the rest, if you'd rather. If it's too painful..." <Tarri> ::looks up at him:: It's painful whether or not I tell it. You might as well know. It's not... not as terrible as what happened to you. <Orlann> Tell me true, is he dead? This monster who hurt you? <Tarri> ::nods:: <Orlann> Good. ::he clenches his jaw, then nods at her to go on:: <Tarri> ::closing her eyes:: Gloss lives in the Tower, under Lady Natovna's protection. He couldn't reach her. And Loria is Nacheyla's priestess... His hold on her was light enough that her lover broke the spell. But I'm... nothing special. I was in the Morninglord's temple, an apprentice healer. He sent me dreams that I didn't understand, and one night, sleeping, I walked out of the temple and straight into his arms. <Orlann> That be a lie, Miss Tarri... ::he squeezes her hand:: If you are 'nothing special' you do a damn fine imitation of it. <Tarri> ::gives him a wan smile and shakes her head, then looks back down, twisting the sheets in her fingers:: It wasn't enough that he had me. He wanted them, too. So he sent me to one of Bane's temples - I'm not sure where - and had me imprisoned there. To make certain that Gloss and Loria would come, or at least be left undefended, he kidnapped Vallel's youngest sister and put her in the cell with me. To keep me in line. Every defiance I attempted, *she* was punished for. <Orlann> ::shudders:: Monstrous. <Tarri> ::nods:: He was. ::she takes a breath:: I... I think Vallel might have come, anyway, without poor Polla being dragged into it. If only because Bane had to be stopped, if not for my sake. But... They came. Vallel and Glossaria and Loria and Kevil and... some friends of the family. They came. ::her hands clench in the sheets, shaking slightly:: * Orlann nods. "I'd have gone..." <Tarri> ::not hearing him, her voice a shaking whisper:: They came too late. Poor Polla... When Tomas brought me back to our cell, she... she tried to brain him with a tin dish. He was barely even stunned, but he took that sword, and... and ran her through. I think I hate him worse, for that, than for what he did to me... <Orlann> Brave girl... ::he closes his eyes:: Did... did she die? <Tarri> Not even a clean kill, but a gut-wound. And he left her there, in our cell, and I had nothing but dirty sheets and water to tend her with... I was sure she'd die. ::she closes her eyes, shaking again with the memory:: She would have died, but they came... just in time. An hour later, and it would have been over. * Orlann takes her hand again, gently unknotting her fingers from around the sheets. <Tarri> There was a fight. A battle. It was... I don't understand all of it. At the end, Loria had killed Tomas, and Bane had been... ::she shrugs:: He was gone, I guess... That was... a little less than a year ago. ::she falls silent, looking fixedly downward:: <Orlann> ::softly:: What a rare, fine woman you are, Miss Tarri... <Tarri> ::shakes her head, speaking barely louder than a breath:: I didn't do anything. I couldn't even fight them. <Orlann> But you did... ::puts one finger under her chin:: You saved your friend's sister. I've seen grown men die from a sword stroke like you described and nothing we could do for them. And you're a healer. You want to *help* people. So brave... after all you've suffered... to care for someone else's pain... <Tarri> I... ::she meets his eyes briefly, then blushes and looks away:: You're very kind to say so, Corporal. I certainly don't feel brave. And I didn't heal Polla. Finn gave her a potion, like the one Lisl gave you. ::she almost smiles:: At least Polla got something out of the whole mess... <Orlann> My father used to say only a damned fool isn't afraid... bravery is doing what needs doing, no matter how scared you are... <Tarri> ::gives him a half-smile:: How brave does that make you? <Orlann> Well, if being afraid makes someone brave, I guess I'm 'bout as brave as they come... I've never been more scared in my life... <Tarri> And you keep going, doing what needs doing. ::she slides her arms around his waist and hugs him tight:: Thank you... <Orlann> Best I can, ma'am... wouldn't seem right any other way. ::he holds her for a long moment:: Feeling better? <Tarri> Some... ::looks up and smiles shyly:: Are you? <Orlann> Yes'm... s'only a dream. It'll fade in time, I reckon... <Tarri> ::nodding:: I only dream... Oh... A few times a month, now. Mostly. <Orlann> I'm... ::he hesitates:: I'm not making things harder for you, miss? <Tarri> ::blinks, startled:: Why should you? <Orlann> Being here, miss... ::he blushes, barely visible in the darkness:: A man, and all, in your home... <Tarri> ::smiles:: A man who'd rather cut off his hand than hurt me? ::she shakes her head:: I trust you. <Orlann> ::gives her a hesitant smile:: You think I'm... how do you put it? Teasing you. But I mean every word, Miss Tarri. You're a rare, fine woman, and I'm honored to call you my friend. * Tarri meets Orlann's gaze, tears welling in her eyes. After a moment, she puts her arms around his neck and hugs him again. "Thank you. That... That means a lot to me. You're a good man, and a good friend." * Orlann blushes harder and pats her on the back. "Ain't nothing to cry over, Miss Tarri. But you best be getting back to sleep, if you can. You need your rest." * Tarri bites her lip, then quickly kisses Orlann's cheek before sitting back and beginning to straighten her tangled blankets. "Yessir." She gives him a quick glance. "You, too, now." * Orlann ducks his head, looking absurdly pleased. "Yes'm..." He stands up. "You just call me, if you have need..." He looks at her for a moment, then leaves the room. * Tarri watches him go, then lays back against her pillow. For a long time, she does not sleep, her gaze lingering on the door. * Orlann lays down on his pallet in the sitting room and stares up at the ceiling. |
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