Breathe - Sorrel's release and the power of love
Dec 16, 2021 13:31:54 GMT
Merla, the Daughter of Summer, Jaezred Vandree, and 3 more like this
Post by stephena on Dec 16, 2021 13:31:54 GMT
The Dark
She could hear it all the time. The whispering. The tempting. The anger. The hunger. Even though the whispering was muted by the thick walls of Selune’s temple, it was constantly scratching at the back of her mind.
And the yearning for blood. The only thing she wanted, with equal desire and loathing. She yearned for and dreaded every meal.
Sometimes she felt as if the spirit was clawing at her very soul, its infection slowly spreading into the very heart of her.
After the horror of the Feywild, where she was scant seconds away from turning her sword on her comrades, she could think of no way forward beyond surrender to the spirit or death.
Sitting alone in the cell behind the hidden door in Selune’s crypt she chose death.
That night, as the moon rose, she would take the Qaal feather, make her way to Port Ffirst, cast the feather on the waves and board the magical vessel. As she understood it, the swan boat would exist for a day.
With a following wind she hoped she would be something close to 150 miles off-shore when it vanished beneath her. She would take the spirit with her to the bottom of the ocean.
Her one fear was the spirit acting before she could sail. It couldn’t quite read all her thoughts. Not yet, anyway. But it was sensitive to her moods and intention.
If it tried to leap to another host before she could cast off, her careful plans would be in vain. She knew her weapons were useless against it – her encounter in the Feythorne had proved that.
She needed a weapon that could strike unholy before she put her plan into operation. But how could she safely leave the temple? If she tripped and scratched her skin it would emerge enraged…
Perhaps, she thought, it would be safer to have them seal her inside this cell forever, warding the bricks with blessings and prayers.
The Visitor
As the thought crossed her mind, the eyehole in the vast wooden door slid open and Nessa’s voice called softly;
“Sorrel, you have a visitor. Can I let her in? She is…” Nessa paused for a long time. “She came in by the Traitor’s Door.”
Sorrel sat up sharply. The Traitor’s Door. The unsanctified entrance to the temple, designed for fiends or undead captured by clerics and bought for trial or questioning. There was only one person who would take that route.
“Silvia,” Sorrel said softly. “Yes, please let her in and afford her all comforts.”
After Nessa had helped Silvia disarm and place her weapons in the iron box, Sorrel heard Silvia chant an incantation and felt a pulse of arcane energy before the slim warlock stepped into her cell, her features tired and grey even in the flickering candlelight.
Sorrel rose to her feet and embraced her wordlessly. The two held each other for a few seconds, then Silvia broke away.
“It’s good to see you my friend, although perhaps not like this” Her smile is sad, distant “I have good news though, perhaps we can help you after all”
Sorrel felt her heart stop beating for a second. "Silvia... what is this? My beautiful friend, you have helped me enough. I don't deserve such kindness."
"You deserve to live a happy life, I won't have it said otherwise, now sit down."
Silvia sat on the stone floor, avoiding eye contact.
"I have done research in Fort Ettin, you would be surprised at what that place can hold,” she spoke rapidly. “I may have found a way to lift the curse, although, you see, whilst there are many ways of expelling the spirit I have not found any details on destroying it once out of the body. I have however found mention in several older books that powerful clergy have often aided in the past with the banishment of spirits like this, perhaps the rituals still abound, even if they are not aware of its exact purpose?"
Sorrel sat facing Silvia and looked hard at the slender warlock. "You did this for me?
"Of course."
"I already owe you so much. Silvia, this kindness... even if you banish the spirit I fear you will break my heart."
"Please don't die after all I'm trying to do to help you. You deserve kindness Sorrel, I mean it. I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't have to suffer as I have suffered"
Sorrel gave a twisted smile. "In the House, we have a blood ritual to bond warriors beyond death. You cut deep into your arm and press the wounds together so your blood mingles and you are linked forever. Now is the perfect time for me to offer you my loyalty and service in that way. I am not certain my blood is untainted, but then, I am uncertain of yours as well. So I offer you my blood and my heart if you will accept it. Let our curses battle it out if they will. I choose to serve you."
Silvia finally looked Sorrel dead in the eyes "No."
There was no anger, just a firmness that Sorrel has never heard in Silvia's voice
Sorrel was about to ask why, although such a question is a brutal breach of House etiquette, when she heard a voice echo in her mind. It was not the spirit, she realised. It was the Lady Imryll suggesting she met a Feywild traveller in the portal plaza, saying that it would be to her advantage.
She took Silvia's hands, feeling the thread wrapped around the warlocks fingers brush against her calloused skin, and relayed the message.
"Will you come with me?"
"Of course my friend, I would be glad to. Plus you really could do with some fresh air, the incense is nice but oppressive on the senses."
Sorrel smiled and scrambled to her feet. "But this is not over Silvia. I am not allowed to ask why you refuse, because it is vanity and pride to question a refusal. But I feel there is more to your answer than simple disinclination. Can we speak again on this? Assuming, of course, I am still alive..."
"That is a guarantee, not an assumption friend. And of course we can, I would be happy to talk more once the curse has been lifted.”
"Nessa," Sorrel called. "Open 'er up."
The Tourist
The visitor was naked.
Well, almost. Barely covered with a loosely belted tunic, the most beautiful drow she had ever seen stepped through the portal from the Witching Court and looked around with a mixture of curiosity, excitement and a little disappointment. “So many clothes,” Sorrel heard him whisper.
Jaezred was there to meet him. Of course he was. Lady Imryll’s consort would be their guide. Her eyes also found Gerhard the ranger and a halfling she had never seen before, with a full handlebar moustache and sideburns, bright red eyes, a wide belt festooned with tools and a thick pipe wrench.
The visitor introduced himself as Sarin Aleanndar, explained that he preferred to be naked but realised this would prove awkward but that should they ever visit him in the Witching Court he would be delighted to spend time with them skyclad as nature intended.
For some reason, this cause Jaezred to flinch so violently that Sorrel turned to look at him. He appeared to be speaking through gritted teeth as he offered to show Sarin around. The drow visitor agreed, found Sorrel with his eyes and said “I understand you have a problem… I can help you with that.” Then he fell in behind Jaezred and the tour began.
The day passed slowly. Every step Sorrel took was heavy with dread. Jaezred showed them around town, snippets of salacious gossip dripping from his lips like a spring shower. He still seemed slightly disconcerted by Sarin, Sorrel felt. Although she’d barely spent half an hour in his company, he was so composed and assured when discussing the weightiest of matters that his occasional faltering and uncertain glances seemed out of character.
The elegant dark elf guided them through the Academy library where Silvia seemed lighter in her heart for some reason and Sterling borrowed book after book as if he was building a fortress of knowledge. Then, at Sarin’s request, they visited Selune’s temple where Gerhard revealed a strange picture that touched her soul even though it’s mystery was impossible to understand.
As the shadows grew longer, Jaezred lead them to Samed’s Smithy, where the smoke stained artisans showed her the most beautiful bow she had ever seen. It had spells woven into the silver patterns in its bow tips and hand grip and she fell in love at once. The price was out of her reach at a brutal 1,350 gold, but Jaezred stepped forward and haggled the man down until it was simply all the gold she had. But what use had she for money, she reasoned. She would be dead within a day. She paid and the exquisite bow was hers. She just hoped it would suffice against the hunger spirit.
The Dance
Then, after a leisurely evening meal where conversation seemed stilted and Jaezred monopolised Sarin, frowning at everything the newcomer said, the beautiful drow stood and said there was a ritual he was here to perform. It was dangerous, he warned, although it had always succeeded, so if anyone chose to leave now would be the time.
The party waved away his offer to withdraw and they followed Jaezred to a hidden place outside the city where Sarin created a faerie circle, sat Sorrel in the centre, pulled elaborately decorated drums from thin air and started a gentle rhythm. Sorrel’s heart beat faster and faster. After the nights of torture and days of doubt, she could barely dare to hope. Everything seemed distant and vague until she looked up at the full moon, glowing in the sky with the rich warm promise of dreams and magic, and felt comforted by the presence of Selune’s symbol.
Sarin’s drums kept pounding as he urged the party to dance. Silvia summoned music with a wave of her hands, and closed her eyes, peace stealing across her face as the music took her. Gerthard started moving with a curious, primal grace, recalling some of the dancers Sorrel had seen during the Jungle Wars of ’69. Sterling seemed to conjure a bird that fluttered rhythmically and Jaezred swayed unconsciously as he stared, fascinated, at the Sarin.
Some time passed. It seemed to Sorrel that this was a trick. But then the rhythm changed imperceptibly and a shining female drow slipped into existence behind Sarin, her naked body willowy and graceful as she began to rock sensuously in time with his beat. She was so unearthly, so beautiful that Sorrel knew instinctively she was looking on a goddess. She felt no compulsion to avert her eyes, however, but gazed in delight as the slender beauty drifted towards Sorrel and cupped her face in her hands.
Sorrel gazed into the goddesses ember warm eyes and felt herself start to shiver.
The whispering of the spirit grew louder – “but I love you Sorrel Darkfire, only I love you, your parents never loved you, you know that, why would they have given you away? Such a disappointing child. And the brutal training of the House, that wasn’t love, and yet still you let them down. Your unit killed, your revenge an embarrassment. No wonder you have never known love in your life. Everyone you thought cared for you has gone away, you frightened child, because you are ugly and unloveable with your twisted features and foul voice. Only I can love you. Without me, you will be alone forever. Forever. No-one will ever want to be with you. How could they?”
The drow’s eyes pulsed and her hands drifted slowly down to Sorrel’s throat, their warmth spreading through her.
Sorrel fought back against the spirit.
“No,” she managed. “I have been loved. Sana loved me. And here I have found friends. Toothy loves me. His hug is the biggest I have ever known.”
And as the image of Toothy entered her mind she felt the spirit flicker with rage and its voice rose – “is that love? Would Toothy share his last mouthful with you? I am food, I am sustenance. I am survival. I fight with you, eat with you, live with you every second and I am in your mind. I know the dark thoughts you think. Could you share them with Toothy. Would that innocent child still love you if he knew the things you have done? If he knew the thoughts you have?”
The drow caressed her neck, her fingers moving softly upwards. Sorrel felt the spirit’s claws dig deeper into her soul.
“Kavel is my friend, he is a good comrade,” she saw Kavel’s strong arms and bright smile file her heart.
“How could Kavel love a weakling like you?” the spirt sneered. “Only I love you despite your weakness. You can’t even lift his clubs. You are feeble and pathetic. That’s why everyone leaves you but me.”
The drow’s fingers grew warmer. Sorrel could feel it spread through her chest.
“Silvia is here,” she said triumphantly. “She knows everything about me. She has seen you inside me. She reached out to help me even as I was ready to turn on her and drink her blood. She knows the worst thing I have ever done, she has been there in my darkest hour and yet she came to me today to help me. She studied for hours to save me. She has no illusions about me, and she came back. Silvia is here.”
As Silvia’s face filed her mind, she felt the spirit scream as it lost its grip on her heart. She could almost hear its claws scrabbling for purchase. The drow’s fingers drifted up her neck towards her throat, her mouth and the spirits voice grew sharp and frantic.
“If I leave you I will kill Silvia, I will kill them all, I will hunt them all down, I am hunger. I am darkness. You condemn them all to my rage and my appetite. You will never be anything without me.”
Suddenly Sorrel’s mind was filled with pictures – Ivan standing alone against Jackston, Glint beguiling his enemies into slumber rather than death even though they threatened to kill him, Angier beside her unleashing fey blessed arrows against the undead, Faust’s songs of defiance as the animated armour rained down blows, Oziah’s sword slicing into dragons in the deep… so many heroes, so much courage, so many comrades fighting alongside her though death threatened all.
“No spirit,” she said finally. “It is you who will be nothing without me. I am not alone. I have found my people. I am home.”
The spirit howled in pain. Wisps of mist drifted from her lips. The drow’s fingers stroked upwards in an arcane pattern, Sarin’s drums pounded louder and faster and the dancers whirled about her. The mist became shadow and smoke, pouring out in great billowing gouts of evil, rising into a dark threatening cloud above their heads. Tendrils reached towards Silvia, towards Jaezred, towards Gerhard, but the beautiful drow smiled and moved her hands in a slow pattern then looked deep into the heart of cloud and blew softly towards it as the drums frenzied pounding built to a deafening crescendo, the noise and the dance and drow’s soul’s breath scattering the foul vapour into the soft moonlight until it was just a memory….
And then silence.
Sorrel wasn’t sure if she was alive. Everything seemed to have stopped, including her heart.
She drew in a long breath and opened her eyes and felt her whole body tingle with life.
The drow looked deep into her eyes once more, searching for evil, then smiled, blew her a kiss, whirled into the first steps of a dance and vanished.
Sorrel searched her mind and found no whispers, no hunger, no rage and no sign of the spirit. She was free.
Tears streamed down her face.
Sarin’s drums rippled to a new beat and as she turned she saw Sterling’s bird flicker merrily in the moonlight and Jaezred’s eyes fixed on the spot the drow spirit had vanished from, stunned. She could tell he was thinking of Imryll. He met her gaze and smiled as he recognised his Lady’s blessing in Sorrel’s clear eyes.
She saw Silvia, eyes closed, face radiating happiness for the first time in the weeks that Sorrel had known her, whirling to Sarin’s rhythm, her own enchanted music changing into a song of celebration and joy. She saw Gerhard moving sinuously in a pattern she had heard about in ancient legends, the victory dance of some warrior race long dead.
She looked up to the moon as the music soared and the drums pulsed to the rhythm of her heart.
And Sorrel danced.
She could hear it all the time. The whispering. The tempting. The anger. The hunger. Even though the whispering was muted by the thick walls of Selune’s temple, it was constantly scratching at the back of her mind.
And the yearning for blood. The only thing she wanted, with equal desire and loathing. She yearned for and dreaded every meal.
Sometimes she felt as if the spirit was clawing at her very soul, its infection slowly spreading into the very heart of her.
After the horror of the Feywild, where she was scant seconds away from turning her sword on her comrades, she could think of no way forward beyond surrender to the spirit or death.
Sitting alone in the cell behind the hidden door in Selune’s crypt she chose death.
That night, as the moon rose, she would take the Qaal feather, make her way to Port Ffirst, cast the feather on the waves and board the magical vessel. As she understood it, the swan boat would exist for a day.
With a following wind she hoped she would be something close to 150 miles off-shore when it vanished beneath her. She would take the spirit with her to the bottom of the ocean.
Her one fear was the spirit acting before she could sail. It couldn’t quite read all her thoughts. Not yet, anyway. But it was sensitive to her moods and intention.
If it tried to leap to another host before she could cast off, her careful plans would be in vain. She knew her weapons were useless against it – her encounter in the Feythorne had proved that.
She needed a weapon that could strike unholy before she put her plan into operation. But how could she safely leave the temple? If she tripped and scratched her skin it would emerge enraged…
Perhaps, she thought, it would be safer to have them seal her inside this cell forever, warding the bricks with blessings and prayers.
The Visitor
As the thought crossed her mind, the eyehole in the vast wooden door slid open and Nessa’s voice called softly;
“Sorrel, you have a visitor. Can I let her in? She is…” Nessa paused for a long time. “She came in by the Traitor’s Door.”
Sorrel sat up sharply. The Traitor’s Door. The unsanctified entrance to the temple, designed for fiends or undead captured by clerics and bought for trial or questioning. There was only one person who would take that route.
“Silvia,” Sorrel said softly. “Yes, please let her in and afford her all comforts.”
After Nessa had helped Silvia disarm and place her weapons in the iron box, Sorrel heard Silvia chant an incantation and felt a pulse of arcane energy before the slim warlock stepped into her cell, her features tired and grey even in the flickering candlelight.
Sorrel rose to her feet and embraced her wordlessly. The two held each other for a few seconds, then Silvia broke away.
“It’s good to see you my friend, although perhaps not like this” Her smile is sad, distant “I have good news though, perhaps we can help you after all”
Sorrel felt her heart stop beating for a second. "Silvia... what is this? My beautiful friend, you have helped me enough. I don't deserve such kindness."
"You deserve to live a happy life, I won't have it said otherwise, now sit down."
Silvia sat on the stone floor, avoiding eye contact.
"I have done research in Fort Ettin, you would be surprised at what that place can hold,” she spoke rapidly. “I may have found a way to lift the curse, although, you see, whilst there are many ways of expelling the spirit I have not found any details on destroying it once out of the body. I have however found mention in several older books that powerful clergy have often aided in the past with the banishment of spirits like this, perhaps the rituals still abound, even if they are not aware of its exact purpose?"
Sorrel sat facing Silvia and looked hard at the slender warlock. "You did this for me?
"Of course."
"I already owe you so much. Silvia, this kindness... even if you banish the spirit I fear you will break my heart."
"Please don't die after all I'm trying to do to help you. You deserve kindness Sorrel, I mean it. I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't have to suffer as I have suffered"
Sorrel gave a twisted smile. "In the House, we have a blood ritual to bond warriors beyond death. You cut deep into your arm and press the wounds together so your blood mingles and you are linked forever. Now is the perfect time for me to offer you my loyalty and service in that way. I am not certain my blood is untainted, but then, I am uncertain of yours as well. So I offer you my blood and my heart if you will accept it. Let our curses battle it out if they will. I choose to serve you."
Silvia finally looked Sorrel dead in the eyes "No."
There was no anger, just a firmness that Sorrel has never heard in Silvia's voice
Sorrel was about to ask why, although such a question is a brutal breach of House etiquette, when she heard a voice echo in her mind. It was not the spirit, she realised. It was the Lady Imryll suggesting she met a Feywild traveller in the portal plaza, saying that it would be to her advantage.
She took Silvia's hands, feeling the thread wrapped around the warlocks fingers brush against her calloused skin, and relayed the message.
"Will you come with me?"
"Of course my friend, I would be glad to. Plus you really could do with some fresh air, the incense is nice but oppressive on the senses."
Sorrel smiled and scrambled to her feet. "But this is not over Silvia. I am not allowed to ask why you refuse, because it is vanity and pride to question a refusal. But I feel there is more to your answer than simple disinclination. Can we speak again on this? Assuming, of course, I am still alive..."
"That is a guarantee, not an assumption friend. And of course we can, I would be happy to talk more once the curse has been lifted.”
"Nessa," Sorrel called. "Open 'er up."
The Tourist
The visitor was naked.
Well, almost. Barely covered with a loosely belted tunic, the most beautiful drow she had ever seen stepped through the portal from the Witching Court and looked around with a mixture of curiosity, excitement and a little disappointment. “So many clothes,” Sorrel heard him whisper.
Jaezred was there to meet him. Of course he was. Lady Imryll’s consort would be their guide. Her eyes also found Gerhard the ranger and a halfling she had never seen before, with a full handlebar moustache and sideburns, bright red eyes, a wide belt festooned with tools and a thick pipe wrench.
The visitor introduced himself as Sarin Aleanndar, explained that he preferred to be naked but realised this would prove awkward but that should they ever visit him in the Witching Court he would be delighted to spend time with them skyclad as nature intended.
For some reason, this cause Jaezred to flinch so violently that Sorrel turned to look at him. He appeared to be speaking through gritted teeth as he offered to show Sarin around. The drow visitor agreed, found Sorrel with his eyes and said “I understand you have a problem… I can help you with that.” Then he fell in behind Jaezred and the tour began.
The day passed slowly. Every step Sorrel took was heavy with dread. Jaezred showed them around town, snippets of salacious gossip dripping from his lips like a spring shower. He still seemed slightly disconcerted by Sarin, Sorrel felt. Although she’d barely spent half an hour in his company, he was so composed and assured when discussing the weightiest of matters that his occasional faltering and uncertain glances seemed out of character.
The elegant dark elf guided them through the Academy library where Silvia seemed lighter in her heart for some reason and Sterling borrowed book after book as if he was building a fortress of knowledge. Then, at Sarin’s request, they visited Selune’s temple where Gerhard revealed a strange picture that touched her soul even though it’s mystery was impossible to understand.
As the shadows grew longer, Jaezred lead them to Samed’s Smithy, where the smoke stained artisans showed her the most beautiful bow she had ever seen. It had spells woven into the silver patterns in its bow tips and hand grip and she fell in love at once. The price was out of her reach at a brutal 1,350 gold, but Jaezred stepped forward and haggled the man down until it was simply all the gold she had. But what use had she for money, she reasoned. She would be dead within a day. She paid and the exquisite bow was hers. She just hoped it would suffice against the hunger spirit.
The Dance
Then, after a leisurely evening meal where conversation seemed stilted and Jaezred monopolised Sarin, frowning at everything the newcomer said, the beautiful drow stood and said there was a ritual he was here to perform. It was dangerous, he warned, although it had always succeeded, so if anyone chose to leave now would be the time.
The party waved away his offer to withdraw and they followed Jaezred to a hidden place outside the city where Sarin created a faerie circle, sat Sorrel in the centre, pulled elaborately decorated drums from thin air and started a gentle rhythm. Sorrel’s heart beat faster and faster. After the nights of torture and days of doubt, she could barely dare to hope. Everything seemed distant and vague until she looked up at the full moon, glowing in the sky with the rich warm promise of dreams and magic, and felt comforted by the presence of Selune’s symbol.
Sarin’s drums kept pounding as he urged the party to dance. Silvia summoned music with a wave of her hands, and closed her eyes, peace stealing across her face as the music took her. Gerthard started moving with a curious, primal grace, recalling some of the dancers Sorrel had seen during the Jungle Wars of ’69. Sterling seemed to conjure a bird that fluttered rhythmically and Jaezred swayed unconsciously as he stared, fascinated, at the Sarin.
Some time passed. It seemed to Sorrel that this was a trick. But then the rhythm changed imperceptibly and a shining female drow slipped into existence behind Sarin, her naked body willowy and graceful as she began to rock sensuously in time with his beat. She was so unearthly, so beautiful that Sorrel knew instinctively she was looking on a goddess. She felt no compulsion to avert her eyes, however, but gazed in delight as the slender beauty drifted towards Sorrel and cupped her face in her hands.
Sorrel gazed into the goddesses ember warm eyes and felt herself start to shiver.
The whispering of the spirit grew louder – “but I love you Sorrel Darkfire, only I love you, your parents never loved you, you know that, why would they have given you away? Such a disappointing child. And the brutal training of the House, that wasn’t love, and yet still you let them down. Your unit killed, your revenge an embarrassment. No wonder you have never known love in your life. Everyone you thought cared for you has gone away, you frightened child, because you are ugly and unloveable with your twisted features and foul voice. Only I can love you. Without me, you will be alone forever. Forever. No-one will ever want to be with you. How could they?”
The drow’s eyes pulsed and her hands drifted slowly down to Sorrel’s throat, their warmth spreading through her.
Sorrel fought back against the spirit.
“No,” she managed. “I have been loved. Sana loved me. And here I have found friends. Toothy loves me. His hug is the biggest I have ever known.”
And as the image of Toothy entered her mind she felt the spirit flicker with rage and its voice rose – “is that love? Would Toothy share his last mouthful with you? I am food, I am sustenance. I am survival. I fight with you, eat with you, live with you every second and I am in your mind. I know the dark thoughts you think. Could you share them with Toothy. Would that innocent child still love you if he knew the things you have done? If he knew the thoughts you have?”
The drow caressed her neck, her fingers moving softly upwards. Sorrel felt the spirit’s claws dig deeper into her soul.
“Kavel is my friend, he is a good comrade,” she saw Kavel’s strong arms and bright smile file her heart.
“How could Kavel love a weakling like you?” the spirt sneered. “Only I love you despite your weakness. You can’t even lift his clubs. You are feeble and pathetic. That’s why everyone leaves you but me.”
The drow’s fingers grew warmer. Sorrel could feel it spread through her chest.
“Silvia is here,” she said triumphantly. “She knows everything about me. She has seen you inside me. She reached out to help me even as I was ready to turn on her and drink her blood. She knows the worst thing I have ever done, she has been there in my darkest hour and yet she came to me today to help me. She studied for hours to save me. She has no illusions about me, and she came back. Silvia is here.”
As Silvia’s face filed her mind, she felt the spirit scream as it lost its grip on her heart. She could almost hear its claws scrabbling for purchase. The drow’s fingers drifted up her neck towards her throat, her mouth and the spirits voice grew sharp and frantic.
“If I leave you I will kill Silvia, I will kill them all, I will hunt them all down, I am hunger. I am darkness. You condemn them all to my rage and my appetite. You will never be anything without me.”
Suddenly Sorrel’s mind was filled with pictures – Ivan standing alone against Jackston, Glint beguiling his enemies into slumber rather than death even though they threatened to kill him, Angier beside her unleashing fey blessed arrows against the undead, Faust’s songs of defiance as the animated armour rained down blows, Oziah’s sword slicing into dragons in the deep… so many heroes, so much courage, so many comrades fighting alongside her though death threatened all.
“No spirit,” she said finally. “It is you who will be nothing without me. I am not alone. I have found my people. I am home.”
The spirit howled in pain. Wisps of mist drifted from her lips. The drow’s fingers stroked upwards in an arcane pattern, Sarin’s drums pounded louder and faster and the dancers whirled about her. The mist became shadow and smoke, pouring out in great billowing gouts of evil, rising into a dark threatening cloud above their heads. Tendrils reached towards Silvia, towards Jaezred, towards Gerhard, but the beautiful drow smiled and moved her hands in a slow pattern then looked deep into the heart of cloud and blew softly towards it as the drums frenzied pounding built to a deafening crescendo, the noise and the dance and drow’s soul’s breath scattering the foul vapour into the soft moonlight until it was just a memory….
And then silence.
Sorrel wasn’t sure if she was alive. Everything seemed to have stopped, including her heart.
She drew in a long breath and opened her eyes and felt her whole body tingle with life.
The drow looked deep into her eyes once more, searching for evil, then smiled, blew her a kiss, whirled into the first steps of a dance and vanished.
Sorrel searched her mind and found no whispers, no hunger, no rage and no sign of the spirit. She was free.
Tears streamed down her face.
Sarin’s drums rippled to a new beat and as she turned she saw Sterling’s bird flicker merrily in the moonlight and Jaezred’s eyes fixed on the spot the drow spirit had vanished from, stunned. She could tell he was thinking of Imryll. He met her gaze and smiled as he recognised his Lady’s blessing in Sorrel’s clear eyes.
She saw Silvia, eyes closed, face radiating happiness for the first time in the weeks that Sorrel had known her, whirling to Sarin’s rhythm, her own enchanted music changing into a song of celebration and joy. She saw Gerhard moving sinuously in a pattern she had heard about in ancient legends, the victory dance of some warrior race long dead.
She looked up to the moon as the music soared and the drums pulsed to the rhythm of her heart.
And Sorrel danced.