masterghandalf

Chapter 14: The Captain’s Face

Thyra awoke slowly, a throbbing pain echoing through her head. Her mind felt thick and heavy – where was she, what had happened – and then, slowly, she remembered. The night, the forest outside Sarrin, surrounded by the Emerald Claw soldiers and forced to surrender, and finally being struck on the back of the head and knocked down into blackness. Above all, however, there hovered the image of herself, frozen by doubt, knowing that the power was within her to burn ir’Sarrin off his horse but unable to bring herself to use it. She’d been too afraid, afraid of the warlord and his men, but also afraid of herself, and what tapping into that magic too deep might make her become to the extent that she couldn’t even use it to save herself and the people who helped her. All her life, Thyra had wanted to be a cleric of the Silver Flame, a warrior in the eternal struggle against evil, but when it came down to it, she had proven to be a coward.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and raised her head. She was in a dark chamber lit only by flickering torchlight, a barred gate blocking one end. Thyra herself was chained to a rough stone wall, manacles around her ankles and hands, which had been bound together behind her head. Whoever had been responsible for imprisoning her – ir’Sarrin or one of his minions – had taken no chances; most spells required hand motions as well as incantations, and bound like this, Thyra would be incapable of using her most powerful magic.

Turning her head, she glanced to her right and saw that the mercenaries were bound beside her, chained in identical fashion. Len was closest and still appeared to be unconscious, and beyond her were Ghazaan, Yhani, Harsk, Havaktri and Rinnean, whose part of the mission must have gone wrong as well or he wouldn’t be here. Only Ghazaan appeared to be awake and was struggling against his chains, which appeared to be stronger and thicker than anyone else’s; when he saw Thyra watching him, he nodded wearily.

“Hey, kid,” the hobgoblin said. “Looks like we’re in a tight spot. Sorry we messed this up and got caught.”

“It’s my fault,” she muttered angrily under her breath. “I didn’t know that ir’Sarrin had so many soldiers, and I have magic I didn’t use – I should have tried to fight!”

Ghazaan shook his head. “We all screwed up, and I don’t think we could’ve taken all of them even if we all gave it our best shot – and the Captain didn’t think so either, or she wouldn’t have surrendered. Now if you’d tried to get us caught, that would’ve been a different story.” He gave a short, hoarse laugh. “But I’ve been in worse fixes than this one and gotten out. ‘Couse, I was part of a whole damn army at the time, but…”

Thyra smiled faintly, but Ghazaan’s words did little to lift her spirits or relieve her guilt. She was thankful for the distraction when she heard a long sigh and turned to see Havaktri had woken up and was looking up and down the line of captives, dark eyes alert.

“This,” she said conversationally, “reminds me a bit of some of the exercises we did back at the monastery. However,” she wrinkled her nose, “the monastery certainly smelled better, and I assume we aren’t being initiated into some obscure ascetic order?”

Ghazaan snorted. “Nope,” he said, “this is a dungeon. You’ll probably see a few more in this line of work. At least this one doesn’t have rats, so it could be a lot worse.”

“I see,” Havaktri said, expression thoughtful as she absorbed this new information. “So, would the rats be part of the staff, or just – wait! I think I sense someone coming.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than Thyra could hear the sound of booted feet echoing on the stone floor of the corridor outside. A moment later a key jangled in a lock and the barred door swung open. Two of the Emerald claw soldiers stepped inside and took up positions on the outside walls, and then two more people followed them. One was a tall older man with a military bearing and the faintly imperious look of someone who had spent his life expecting to be obeyed; he had a short grey beard and long hair pulled back in a tail, and was dressed in rich clothing that nonetheless had a martial air. This, Thyra realized, must be ir’Sarrin without his armor. The other person was a slender elf-woman in a black uniform and cape who held a long, dark staff in one hand; her hair was jet black and her face was painted a deathly white with blood-red lips. She regarded the captives with a faint, mocking smile.

“So, looks like you’re the boss around here,” Ghazaan said. “Your facilities could use a bit of improvement, but I’ve seen worse prisons. I’d rate this place at about the middle of the road.”

Ir’Sarrin gave a wintry smile. “Amusing,” he said. “But if I’m not mistake you aren’t in charge, so talking with you won’t get me very far.” He gestured to his guards. “Wake the rest of them up.”

The guards stepped forward and backhanded each of the still unconscious captives until they came to, spluttering and cursing. Len blinked and focused her glare at ir’Sarrin’s face, while Rinnean looked at the elf-woman and winked. “Well, well,” he said. “Seems you just can’t get rid of me after all, eh?” The woman simply regarded him with the expression one might reserve for a particularly obnoxious insect.

“Now that everyone is paying attention,” ir’Sarrin said, “we can begin. My name is Lord Kharvin ir’Sarrin, as you have no doubt guessed. This,” he gestured to the elf-woman, “is my associate, Irinali. I don’t know why you attacked my home, but I intend to find out. If you cooperate with me, the process shouldn’t be a particularly unpleasant one. Fail to do so, and things may go poorly for you.”

“I’m Captain Len, and I’d tell you to go to Dolurrh,” Len snapped, “but judging by our surroundings, I think you did that a while back.”

A muscle twitched in ir’Sarrin’s face – it seemed Len’s comment had struck a nerve – but he managed to master himself without any outburst. Then he focused his gaze on the Captain and scrutinized her intently, and his eyes widened. The warlord raised his left hand, revealing a plain gold ring he wore on one finger. “This,” he said, “is an heirloom of my family. It is enchanted to allow the wearer to perceive the true nature of things behind illusion or deception. You, Captain, will revert to your true appearance immediately, or else one of your warriors will suffer for it. Irinali!”

The elf grinned and stepped forward, drawing a short knife from its sheath at her waist. She scrutinized each of the captives in turn, then approached Yhani, resting the blade along the priestess’s cheek. “You know,” she said, “I always did hate my own kind. I’d enjoy this.”

“Then you are even more lost than I had feared,” Yhani replied, expression unchanging. Irinali snarled and pressed the knife closer, but before she could draw blood, Len spoke.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Thyra had been watching this scene in some confusion – surely, if there was any deception to be uncovered here, it would be hers! – but then the Captain’s face suddenly… rippled. There was no other word for it. Then, it began to change. The color seemed to leach from her skin and hair, leaving her face a dull gray and her hair, which now hung lank, a slightly lighter color. The pupils vanished from her eyes, leaving them blank and white. Her lips thinned and her nose shrank, giving her face a waxy, half-formed look that was accentuated by her newly-hollow cheeks. Then it was done and she let out a heavy breath, then raised her gaze to meet ir’Sarrin’s once again, rage written plainly even across the newly-alien features.

Thyra could only stare in shock as her mind processed what she’d just seen take place. The Captain was a changeling!

“Well?” Len demanded, locking eyes with ir’Sarrin; her voice now was slightly raspier than it had been. Irinali had withdrawn her knife from Yhani’s face and was now sweeping back to the lord’s side. “Is that it? Have you humiliated me enough, Karrn?”

Thyra found she couldn’t take her eyes away, yet so far as she could tell, none of the other mercenaries seemed surprised. Had they known all along? She had a feeling they must have, Yhani especially. The expression of the elf’s face certainly wasn’t one of shock; it seemed, rather, to be of mingled sorrow for Len and outrage at their captors. Why? Thyra found herself wondering why it was that Len chose to conceal her true face, when it seemed obvious everyone close to her knew the truth…

And then Thyra remembered how Len had reacted when she had revealed her own secret; the captain had been angry, yes, but not as angry as might have been expected and it had seemed as if, somehow, she’d understood. A nauseous feeling twisted Thyra’s gut as she remembered the changeling Pok and her instinctive reaction to distrust him. Surely Len must have dealt with that suspicion all her life? Would it not be easier, if one was capable of wearing a different face, to do so, to conceal a true nature that too often sparked a reaction of distrust and fear from others? Yes, Thyra realized, surely no one but a changeling would understand better her own desire to escape her heritage and become something other than what she was, and a sudden wave of sympathy for the captain rose in her in turn.

She was torn for her thoughts as she realized ir’Sarrin was speaking. “Thank you for cooperating and confirming my suspicions,” he said. “Now, Captain… Len, was it?... would care to explain exactly what you were doing when you attacked Sarrin last night?”

“We’re mercenaries,” Len said. “It was a job.”

“Good,” ir’Sarrin said. “So it seems, then, that you aren’t my true enemy. Who hired you?”

“You think we’re just going to sell out our client?” Ghazaan asked with a rumbling laugh. “And here I was thinking you might actually be smart!”

“I think,” ir’Sarrin said, a harsh tone entering his voice, “that you are in no position to deny me anything, hobgoblin. One way or another, I will know the truth. Answer me, Captain – who hired you?”

“It was just a job,” Len said. Ir’Sarrin scowled and gestured for Irinali; the elf woman stepped forward and raised one hand, letting a cold light play along it; she paced back and forth across the line of prisoners, and finally stopped in front of Havaktri. The kalashtar’s eyes widened as Irinali leaned in; whatever spell she was about to use, it was no doubt something extremely unpleasant. Havaktri’s eyes closed and she turned her face away, and then Thyra’s voice broke the silence.

“It was me!” she said, barely believing the words that were coming out of her mouth. “I hired them, I’m the one you want! Leave them alone!”

“You?” Ir’Sarrin demanded, striding forward and seizing Thyra’s face in his hand; Irinali walked over to stand at his shoulder. “A child young enough to be my daughter is behind this? What could you possibly hope to gain?”

“You had something I needed,” Thyra said. Ir’Sarrin raised an eyebrow.

“And I suppose simply purchasing it from me would be out of the question?” he asked, glancing down at the other captives. “Plainly money was not an issue for you, if you were able to hire these.”

Thyra laughed. “I didn’t think you’d be likely to sell,” she said. “All I want is a map you acquired not long ago, to a treasure from the Age of Demons. Maybe I should have tried to buy it, but if you let us go and let me look at it, I swear by the Silver Flame I’ll pay damages for our attack.” That wasn’t how Taras had intended her to use his money, but Thyra hoped that, if it saved her life, he’d understand.

Kharvin’s eyes widened in surprise. “The map?” he demanded. “That’s what this is all about? The map is worthless!” He let Thyra’s face go and turned to stalk away, gesturing to his guards. “Clearly, our prisoners aren’t yet ready to tell the truth. Maybe leaving them hear for a while longer will make them more compliant.”

Thyra slumped, dejected – she’d been telling the truth, but he hadn’t believed her – and what did he mean by the map being worthless? Then, slowly, something Taras had said, a conversation she’d had months ago, swam to the surface of her mind. Could it be? It might be her only chance. “The sepulcher didn’t open, did it?” she called after ir’Sarrin.

The lord froze and then wheeled on her. “What do you know about that?” he demanded, a sudden, desperate light in his eyes.

Thyra forced as much magic as she could into her words; this was her last chance to free her companions and save herself, and she had to make it count. “I know that the map leads to an artifact of power, sealed in an underground vault,” she said. “I think you found it, and can’t open it. I can.”

“What?” Irinali demanded suddenly, pushing past ir’Sarrin to stand in front of Thyra. “I’ve been tearing through my books for days and haven’t found anything useful. What do you know that I don’t?”

Thyra smiled coolly. “It’s not about what you know,” she said, “but what you are. You’re a wizard, aren’t you? Your power comes from books and scrolls and devices. I’m a sorcerer, and I’ve got magic in my blood. My mentor taught me about sealed vaults he’d found from earlier ages, and how some respond to spells, some to special keys… and some, to blood.”

“And how can you be so sure your blood will work?” Ir’Sarrin asked, his tone neutral, but he couldn’t entirely hide that he was intrigued in spite of himself.

Thyra drew a deep breath, and turned over her shoulder to look at Len. The changeling raised her head slowly, met Thyra’s blue eyes with her blank white ones, and then nodded once, slowly in approval. Thyra turned back to ir’Sarrin and spoke. “Because I’m descended, through many generations, from the rakshasas of the Age of Demons,” she said. “That’s where the power in my blood comes from, and that’s how I know that blood will open the vault. Let my companions go, and I’ll go with you to the sepulcher, and I will open it for you.”

Ir’Sarrin now couldn’t hide the naked desire in his face, and even Irinali seemed impressed in spite of herself. Whether by the magic in her words, or just their desperation, it had worked. She had them! Ir’Sarrin opened his mouth to speak, but before he could a young man in dark, red-trimmed robes hurried into the cell.

“Dal,” Irinali snapped, “we’re in the middle of something. This had better be important.”

The young man bowed. “Mistress Irinali, My Lord, forgive me,” he said, “but two travelers just arrived demanding to speak with Lord Ir’Sarrin immediately.”

“Tell them I will see them later,” Ir’Sarrin snapped.

“My Lord,” Dal said nervously, “they were most insistent. They said that it was an urgent matter, and that it immediately concerned My Lord’s personal safety.”

Ir’Sarrin paused in thought for a long moment, then finally he sighed. “Very well; we will see them.” He turned to sweep from the cell, gesturing for his guards and Irinali to follow. Just as he was about to leave, he looked back over his shoulder at Thyra. “And when this matter is settled, we will continue our conversation and see just what it is that you can do for me.”

Then he was gone and the door slammed shut behind him, leaving the captives alone once more.

///

Len was always supposed to be a changeling, back to my earliest conception of the character. There’s quite a bit of foreshadowing I littered earlier – her monosyllabic, gender-neutral name, the allusions to some secret she was keeping, Pok’s reaction to her earlier, her sympathizing with Thyra despite her lying to the team repeatedly, etc. As Thyra suspected, all the mercenaries are aware of her true nature – Yhani, Ghazaan, and Harsk have all known since the War, Rinnean figured it out a few weeks after joining up, and Havaktri knew Len was a changeling from the moment she saw her and never quite grasped it was supposed to be a secret, hence nearly blurting it out earlier in the fic. However, to the world at large this is a secret, and Len typically only shows her true face rarely, and to people she trusts absolutely – hence why she’s so offended when ir’Sarrin (who has a ring of true seeing that’s been in his family for generations) forced her to reveal it to everyone.

On Thyra’s front, she’s figured out what she hopes will be a way to both save her new friends and get what she wants; unfortunately, the news of ir’Sarrin’s visitors (guess who!) seems to have thrown a wrench in things. We’ll see next time what ir’Sarrin learns, if Thyra manages to salvage the situation, and if our heroes will manage to find a way out of their situation.

-MasterGhandalf