The River Pt 1 11/05 Sorrel and the Heroes
May 15, 2022 9:05:35 GMT
Lykksie, Velania Kalugina, and 3 more like this
Post by stephena on May 15, 2022 9:05:35 GMT
I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be heroes, just for one day
Heroes, David Bowie
“It’s not over. He’s still alive. That’s good news,” Jackal’s voice broke into Sorrel’s thoughts as sat in the temple, praying to the goddess. “And I just met your boy Kavel – he’s useful.”
Sorrel smiled up at the towering, plate clad warrior, pleased he approved of her brother. “His fists are magical, you know,” she began.
“I know, I had him punch me,” Jackal looked impressed for the first time she could remember. “Bringing anyone else?”
“I’m kind of bringing my girlfriend.”
Jackal’s impressed look faded. Very fast. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “So… you’re walking into the 4th level of Hell, Phlegethos, the realm of fire and pain where you will face at least five – that’s five – powerful fiends in what might well be a doomed bid to rescue one of the most powerful religious figures in the Dawnlands and prevent Armageddon and… you’re taking your girlfriend…” his voice was flat.
“She’s been at war since she was 16,” Sorrel rose to her feet and shouldered her pack. “She knows how to fight. And she’s saved my life once already. She’s really nice, you’ll like her.”
Jackal’s face crawled with a strange mix of emotions.
“I mean, perhaps ‘nice’ isn’t the right word and you don’t like anyone but otherwise I definitely have vague hopes that you won’t erupt in fury when you meet her.”
They walked to Portal Plaza in silence.
We're nothing, and nothing will help us
Kavel, Zola, Marto, Velania and Silvia were waiting for them, and Silvia was serving everyone stew. Marto was wolfing it down hungrily and the others were clearly impressed by the subtle blend of herbs and spices. They stopped munching and turned to face Sorrel and Jackal as they strode across the square.
“I’m not good at speeches,” Sorrel’s awkwardness was almost painful to share a continent with as they came to a standstill, and she started pulling the powerful healing potions she’d spent the past 24 hours hunting down out of her backpack. She handed one to each party member in turn. “Zola, I came running up to in the market, you charged into danger to save the village and you’ve been fighting skilfully and tirelessly ever since. Marto, your bravery leaves me breathless. Always the first in the charge. Kavel, my brother, I didn’t have to ask, you simply knew I needed you. Silvia, if you die I’m hunting your soul down to kill you again. And Velania… you healed me in more ways than you can know. Hopefully these bottles will help in some small way.”
As she watched them all murmur embarrassed thanks Sorrel felt something nagging at the back of her mind. Warlock. Eldritch knight. Barbarian. Spell slinger. Paladin… girlfriend. Weirdly, this was almost exactly the crew that made up the Wolf Pack, her close protection team at the House. The team that was slaughtered by fiends while she was trapped in a separate plane, protected by a well-meaning wizard. They were all supposed to be safe there, but her comrades… Sana the first amongst them… had rejected the potion Sorrel drank. And then she had watched them die.
Silly. Pure coincidence. And Jackal would be with them. He inspired her. That warrior would not die in Hell, she knew that. Plus, he knocked the balance of the team off and it wasn’t a version of the Wolf Pack as long as he was in command. And anyway, it was just coincidence. Just coincidence.
The Lady Aurelia was suddenly next to them. “The city needs you,” she sounded convincing. “You will be good enough.”
Maybe we're lying, then you better not stay
They filed into her house, an austere place with unexpected outbursts of chintz, and she offered tea as if they were popping in before a shopping trip. Sorrel had learned from bitter experience that old campaigners never turned down food or drink for a good reason. You never knew when the next mouthful would come your way.
She took a cup gratefully and they gathered around Aurelia in her drawing room, their weapons and armour seeming as out of place as a battleship in garden pond. She pulled out a plain wooden box and set it on her lap.
“You all know why you are here, and I am grateful,” she spoke with the practiced speech making voice of a professional leader who had sent countless armies into grave peril. “I don’t need to tell you that Rholor has been taken. Not only is he a valued member of this community, he is on the Daring Heights council and I consider him a close friend.”
She paused. Breathed in. “I cannot go myself. I cannot abandon my post. That you are all willing to do this…” the practiced pose broke for a second and a human heart fluttered in the silence. “I would like to thank you.”
There was a strange, pregnant silence, then she opened the box and pulled out a bizarre mechanical device, all baubles, gears and machinery broken like someone took a sword to it.
“This is what we believe caused the innocent bystanders to lose control,” she explains. “They described it as dreaming. They knew they were awake but not in control. This is a powerful artefact. Should you encounter something similar, do not trust the dreams. A solid blow should do it.”
She drew another deep breath. “You will be going to Phlegethos, the fourth layer. It is a horrid place. We will send you in, and hopefully you won’t have to stay long.”
She hesitated and looked like she had something else to say that she didn’t want to admit. Jackal stepped forward.
“We can’t get you out,” he was blunt, as ever. “I can get you in. Once. I can’t go with you. Your only way out is Rholor. We have reason to believe he’s still alive. Get to him, get him lucid, he can get you out. If you don’t, you’re fucked.”
Sorrel felt the world start to spin around her. Jackal not going meant this was the Wolf Pack again. For fuck’s sake Sana and Silvia almost sounded the same. This would not happen again. She would not live in a loop of despair and self-harm.
For a second she considered walking away, but she couldn’t get her muscles to work that way. She was trained, a soldier, a team player, close protection par excellence. The target had fallen into enemy hands. To walk away would kill her. To lose her team would kill her. She had her brother, her lover and her saviour on this team. And Marto and Zola were good comrades. The guilt was overwhelming. If anything happened to any of them…
She had only one choice. Find the fiends and fuck them up.
She gritted her teeth and realised Jackal was still talking. “The second prophecy talks about the bank of the Azellah – a river in the fourth Hell. I’ll drop you as close to it as I can. Not a lot of precision down there. If you don’t see a giant fiery river, get to high ground, look for it, follow it. They’ve set up shop…” he seemed to be trying to smile. “Right.”
He walked out of the door with Aurelia flowing in his wake.
“Silvia, you should go home,” Sorrel whispered urgently.
There was no reply as Silvia packed away her pots and hoisted up her trident.
“I mean it, really, I didn't realise the Jackal wasn't coming.”
Silvia straightened up and stared at Sorrel. "No,” she said simply. “I'm not running away from this one."
Though nothing will keep us together, we could steal time just for one day
Aurelia and Jackal bickered at the teleportation circle. Aurelia hissed something about plane shift and Jackal countered with arcane focal point.
“Hop on,” he said.
Hop. Right. Sorrel made sure she was last, checking no-one left anything behind as they piled on to the circle.
Jackal pulled a greatsword from his back and beamed at them all with his mouth while his eyes stayed dead and cold. “Right, on three,” he raised the blade above his head.
“One…”
Then he stabbed the sword deep into the stone platform. Every glyph and rune seared with bright light.
Velania saluted him cheerfully. "Great talking as ever Ja–"
And the ground ripped open beneath them.
We kissed, as though nothing could fall
As they fell she found she was clutching Silvia’s hand.
She searched for Kavel and Velania but she was blind.
The dust.
Her eyes were caked over and she couldn’t summon up the spit to wipe the dirt from her face. When she finally dusted her eyes off and opened them, she almost closed them in despair.
It was a crucible of torment, a bone-dry basin of vastness and death with the ground cracked like a series of savage wounds, all labouring under a low, heavy sky that throbbed with a deep dark red.
The immensity of it burned Sorrel’s brain. As far as the eye could see there was a mournful pan of emptiness roasting in the intense fire of eternal malignant sorcery.
Mountain ranges stretched off in all directions – towering savage peaks and blazing volcanos erupting in great gouts of flame. All she could smell was the soul crushing scent of her own death and it followed her everywhere, as ungodly and virulent as the heat itself.
Her skin felt like it had been scraped off by a sandstorm then flooded with the sharp sting of tears and sweat. The cinders burned her feet raw through her boots, and the distant sounds of screeching, shambling, screaming creatures played at the edge of her hearing.
Kavel strode past.
“Does anyone have a familiar?” Everyone shook their heads, dumbly. “No? But…” he seemed stunned. “Everyone has a familiar, no?”
And he bounded off up a nearby hill to get the lay of the land.
Sorrel watched him with a mix of envy and relief. Zola, Marto, herself and Velania were scarred by the filth that had stolen the High Diviner. They were battlesore and heart sick. Silvia, she could see, had been blindsided by the brutality of the infinite distances stretching out under skies that offered only destruction.
Kavel was untouched by the horror, although she knew he’d met at least one of these fiends before. He had great faith, she realised, not in the amorphous approval of a deity but in himself and his training. For now at least, it defied the fury of Hell itself.
They followed Kavel up a mountain with a low summit. A distance that should have taken 20 minutes dragged out over an hour and a half, each step a painful immersion of flesh into flame.
Silvia stumbled and Sorrel caught her, amazed at how light she was for someone who burned so fiercely. She took her arm and helped her climb the last few feet.
She noticed Velania was struggling. Sorrel ran through the basic battlefield wound care available to her and cursed her lack of medical training.
Kavel was waiting for them, scanning the horizon. The party tried to catch their breath, although each gasp just drew in searing lung-fulls of boiling air. Velania and Silvia slumped on the cinders, Marto knelt under the weight of his full plate armour and Sorrel fussed anxiously around them.
Kavel pointed to a mass of burning orange slithering through the landscape from a volcano spewing lava that tumbled into an ancient riverbed and flowed like a ghastly parody of life-giving water and, little nearer, a valley, with a pool silvery-white light glowing within it.
“Is that where they are?” he asked.
Sorrel looked hard. Mists curled and smoked from dark and noisome pools. The reek of them hung stifling in the still air. Far away towered an evil fortress, all black serried towers, high battlements, spikes, gates and row upon row of sentries parading on the plain in front. Kavel and Zola tried to calculate distances to the mouth of the river and the strange valley.
And then they heard Kháos in their mind. Sorrel had forgotten them. Which, she supposed, was the point.
You will not make the mouth of the river. The valley is where they are likely to be.
They set off, the ferocious heat filling their lungs until each step, each breath was agonising. Sorrel was drenched in sweat, but it gave her no relief. She noticed Marto begin to flag. They could not afford to face the fiends with half the party too exhausted to fight.
They paused for a rest, sipping water, nibbling at rations and staring at the sky in silence.
Though nothing will drive them away, we can beat them, just for one day
Sorrel noticed shadows in the sky. It looked like birds swooping and soaring off in the distance. For a few seconds, this sight cheered her. Any sign of life in this sterile, long dead land was welcome.
Then she noticed their speed.
Nothing alive could move that fast.
Within seconds a cloud of ravens was circling above them, swirling and swirling into a black funnel of diving birds.
They scrambled into position, chanting spell, drawing weapons, making ready as best they could.
Sorrel hauled back her bowstring, nocked an arrow in place and breathed fey magic into its shaft. She let it fly and it erupted into a hail of thorns, scything through 20, 30 birds.
Which vanished into puffs of smoke.
Which carried on down towards them, inky tendrils sliding into their wounded lungs.
Sorrel hated this isolation, trapped in Hell with traitors. She knew they would turn on her any minute. She saw the goliath look towards her angrily and the warlock prepare a spell to trap her soul. They would die for this betrayal, even if she had to tear them apart with her bare hands.
The goliath trapped her, sneaking up behind like a coward, while the warlock clamped manacles on her wrists. She almost laughed. She’d been manacled before and…
Wait.
She had been manacled before.
By… Silvia.
Kavel, her brother, had his arms around her, and Silvia had bound her like – she gave a half smile – like the day they met in Feywild when the Hunger Sprirt overcame her.
Sorrel laughed and she could see Kavel and Silvia staring at her uncertainly. She had been so sure they shouldn't be here, and yet if they hadn't been - if the people she loved hadn't helped her - she would have been lost.
“Just like our first date,” she caught Silvia’s eye. “Although in bed, Kavel, the manacles are usually applied the other way round.”
Silvia burst out laughing and Kavel briefly blushed.
Suddenly pain seared through Sorrel’s body and she heard the words Ophanium had told Zola echo in her mind, Chains, whip, pyre, betrayer… and the fifth word, at last… self-annihilation.
Fire seared her skin, and she knew the brand was gone from her back.
She heared shouting and turned to see Marto drop his axe and shield in horror.
Velania was kneeling, blood pouring from a wound.
Marto seemed on the verge of flight, his face contorted in shame. “Don’t come near me,” he screamed. “I could have killed you. I shouldn’t be here…”
Kháos was in their minds. You are meant to be here. You are relieved of the second brand. You are the right people. I will scout ahead. Wait. Rest.
And Kháos was gone.
Sorrel walked over to Zola. “I know the fifth word,” her eyes searched the drow’s face. “The one Ophanium… the fifth one. It’s self-annihilation.”
Zola blinked, her eyes dark with pain, then nodded. "I think that makes sense."
I don’t know the full story between you and the fiend, Sorrel wanted to say. I know this hurts you, and I know there is some powerful bond. Is there anything I can do to help?
But Sorrel had never been great with the whole emotional interaction stuff. So she patted Zola awkwardly on the shoulder and wandered off.
After a morsel of food and a sip of water they went on up sharp slope of screes and sliding stones to where Kháos was waiting.
They are here, they are waiting. Rholor is there.
They stepped over the lip of the valley and saw their doom laid out before them.
And the shame was on the other side
The river of fire wound along the bottom of the shallow basin and beyond it a pavilion and a stone table.
In the pavilion, Ophanium sat, a glass of wine in his hand, his eyes fixed on Zola. Behind him, Rahmiël her gaze supremely indifferent.
Standing apart, and staring at Marto, was Adhyël
For a second, hope blossomed in Sorrel’s heart. Just three of them.
Then she looked closer at the stone table. Rholor’s body lay on the platform tied to a floating globe by a silver string. An'Ahkrim leered at them from beside his head.
She scanned the valley, looking for the tactical advantage. Two bridges. One right before them, one some distance away but unguarded.
And then she saw Zah'Ranin on a rise just a short distance away, leathery wings and savage teeth spreading out beyond the possible. Zah'Ranin was on their side of the river. Every approach covered.
Make yourselves ready for war.
Sorrel muttered charms of protection then nearly choked as she saw Silvia conjure up a dark spirit from the goddess knew where. It was too profoundly empty and terrifying even for Hell.
Despite herself, Sorrel felt a surge of pride. Look at my girlfriend summoning dark spirits from beyond the edge of terror all by herself, she beamed inwardly.
Then she turned back to the valley and muttered to Kavel – “the Hammer and the Ghost?”
It was a long practised play, something they’d worked on in training. She flicked her eyes towards Flappy Boy but wasn’t sure Kavel had heard her.
Before she could check, she heard Marto’s voice. He was speaking in halfling, a language she’d never heard him use before.
"O Nurturing Matriarch of the hin, please, hear my prayer… May my weak heart overcome my doubts as you stand beside me, Blessed One. May your touch be felt upon my shoulder in this hell, O Great Protector Yondalla, giving my inner heart the courage to face the devil… and sum of my choices…"
Sorrel felt like she was overhearing someone in the confessional. She was moved and touched.
But then, wait, choices? What?
But then, no, it was Marto’s time with his god, and he deserved respect.
But then, what did he mean by courage to face?
But then, it was not her business. She moved towards Silvia to stop eavesdropping.
And yet....
We could be Heroes, just for one day
Suddenly Ophanim slammed back his wine, stood up and walked out towards them, a weapon in each hand – one shining sword and one duller blade. He held them up in a warrior’s salute to Zola and cried across the valley ‘it’s going to be beautiful!’
Zola drew her new longsword, the mighty Castor, pointed it towards Ophanim and called out ‘this is what you want? Who am I to deny you?’
Sorrel noticed the tears streaming down her face.
Ophanim smiled back, happy and adoring.
This is like a story, Sorrel thought briefly, amazed at the vista in front of her.
She turned and caught Silvia’s tired face.
But right now, these moments are not stories. This is happening. I am here, and I am looking at her. And she is so beautiful. I can see it.
The she took in this band of insane, courageous fools around her.
She saw her brother, eager for the fray, his strong back a constant reassurance.
She felt Velania’s holy power.
She heard Zola and Marto’s weapons slice the air and she thought - this is one moment when you know you’re not a sad story.
You are alive. And she was standing there seeing the fires in the sky and everything that made her wonder. And she was standing with the people she loved most in the world.
And in this moment, she thought happily, I swear, we are infinite.
Then the fiends attacked.
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be heroes, just for one day
Heroes, David Bowie
“It’s not over. He’s still alive. That’s good news,” Jackal’s voice broke into Sorrel’s thoughts as sat in the temple, praying to the goddess. “And I just met your boy Kavel – he’s useful.”
Sorrel smiled up at the towering, plate clad warrior, pleased he approved of her brother. “His fists are magical, you know,” she began.
“I know, I had him punch me,” Jackal looked impressed for the first time she could remember. “Bringing anyone else?”
“I’m kind of bringing my girlfriend.”
Jackal’s impressed look faded. Very fast. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “So… you’re walking into the 4th level of Hell, Phlegethos, the realm of fire and pain where you will face at least five – that’s five – powerful fiends in what might well be a doomed bid to rescue one of the most powerful religious figures in the Dawnlands and prevent Armageddon and… you’re taking your girlfriend…” his voice was flat.
“She’s been at war since she was 16,” Sorrel rose to her feet and shouldered her pack. “She knows how to fight. And she’s saved my life once already. She’s really nice, you’ll like her.”
Jackal’s face crawled with a strange mix of emotions.
“I mean, perhaps ‘nice’ isn’t the right word and you don’t like anyone but otherwise I definitely have vague hopes that you won’t erupt in fury when you meet her.”
They walked to Portal Plaza in silence.
We're nothing, and nothing will help us
Kavel, Zola, Marto, Velania and Silvia were waiting for them, and Silvia was serving everyone stew. Marto was wolfing it down hungrily and the others were clearly impressed by the subtle blend of herbs and spices. They stopped munching and turned to face Sorrel and Jackal as they strode across the square.
“I’m not good at speeches,” Sorrel’s awkwardness was almost painful to share a continent with as they came to a standstill, and she started pulling the powerful healing potions she’d spent the past 24 hours hunting down out of her backpack. She handed one to each party member in turn. “Zola, I came running up to in the market, you charged into danger to save the village and you’ve been fighting skilfully and tirelessly ever since. Marto, your bravery leaves me breathless. Always the first in the charge. Kavel, my brother, I didn’t have to ask, you simply knew I needed you. Silvia, if you die I’m hunting your soul down to kill you again. And Velania… you healed me in more ways than you can know. Hopefully these bottles will help in some small way.”
As she watched them all murmur embarrassed thanks Sorrel felt something nagging at the back of her mind. Warlock. Eldritch knight. Barbarian. Spell slinger. Paladin… girlfriend. Weirdly, this was almost exactly the crew that made up the Wolf Pack, her close protection team at the House. The team that was slaughtered by fiends while she was trapped in a separate plane, protected by a well-meaning wizard. They were all supposed to be safe there, but her comrades… Sana the first amongst them… had rejected the potion Sorrel drank. And then she had watched them die.
Silly. Pure coincidence. And Jackal would be with them. He inspired her. That warrior would not die in Hell, she knew that. Plus, he knocked the balance of the team off and it wasn’t a version of the Wolf Pack as long as he was in command. And anyway, it was just coincidence. Just coincidence.
The Lady Aurelia was suddenly next to them. “The city needs you,” she sounded convincing. “You will be good enough.”
Maybe we're lying, then you better not stay
They filed into her house, an austere place with unexpected outbursts of chintz, and she offered tea as if they were popping in before a shopping trip. Sorrel had learned from bitter experience that old campaigners never turned down food or drink for a good reason. You never knew when the next mouthful would come your way.
She took a cup gratefully and they gathered around Aurelia in her drawing room, their weapons and armour seeming as out of place as a battleship in garden pond. She pulled out a plain wooden box and set it on her lap.
“You all know why you are here, and I am grateful,” she spoke with the practiced speech making voice of a professional leader who had sent countless armies into grave peril. “I don’t need to tell you that Rholor has been taken. Not only is he a valued member of this community, he is on the Daring Heights council and I consider him a close friend.”
She paused. Breathed in. “I cannot go myself. I cannot abandon my post. That you are all willing to do this…” the practiced pose broke for a second and a human heart fluttered in the silence. “I would like to thank you.”
There was a strange, pregnant silence, then she opened the box and pulled out a bizarre mechanical device, all baubles, gears and machinery broken like someone took a sword to it.
“This is what we believe caused the innocent bystanders to lose control,” she explains. “They described it as dreaming. They knew they were awake but not in control. This is a powerful artefact. Should you encounter something similar, do not trust the dreams. A solid blow should do it.”
She drew another deep breath. “You will be going to Phlegethos, the fourth layer. It is a horrid place. We will send you in, and hopefully you won’t have to stay long.”
She hesitated and looked like she had something else to say that she didn’t want to admit. Jackal stepped forward.
“We can’t get you out,” he was blunt, as ever. “I can get you in. Once. I can’t go with you. Your only way out is Rholor. We have reason to believe he’s still alive. Get to him, get him lucid, he can get you out. If you don’t, you’re fucked.”
Sorrel felt the world start to spin around her. Jackal not going meant this was the Wolf Pack again. For fuck’s sake Sana and Silvia almost sounded the same. This would not happen again. She would not live in a loop of despair and self-harm.
For a second she considered walking away, but she couldn’t get her muscles to work that way. She was trained, a soldier, a team player, close protection par excellence. The target had fallen into enemy hands. To walk away would kill her. To lose her team would kill her. She had her brother, her lover and her saviour on this team. And Marto and Zola were good comrades. The guilt was overwhelming. If anything happened to any of them…
She had only one choice. Find the fiends and fuck them up.
She gritted her teeth and realised Jackal was still talking. “The second prophecy talks about the bank of the Azellah – a river in the fourth Hell. I’ll drop you as close to it as I can. Not a lot of precision down there. If you don’t see a giant fiery river, get to high ground, look for it, follow it. They’ve set up shop…” he seemed to be trying to smile. “Right.”
He walked out of the door with Aurelia flowing in his wake.
“Silvia, you should go home,” Sorrel whispered urgently.
There was no reply as Silvia packed away her pots and hoisted up her trident.
“I mean it, really, I didn't realise the Jackal wasn't coming.”
Silvia straightened up and stared at Sorrel. "No,” she said simply. “I'm not running away from this one."
Though nothing will keep us together, we could steal time just for one day
Aurelia and Jackal bickered at the teleportation circle. Aurelia hissed something about plane shift and Jackal countered with arcane focal point.
“Hop on,” he said.
Hop. Right. Sorrel made sure she was last, checking no-one left anything behind as they piled on to the circle.
Jackal pulled a greatsword from his back and beamed at them all with his mouth while his eyes stayed dead and cold. “Right, on three,” he raised the blade above his head.
“One…”
Then he stabbed the sword deep into the stone platform. Every glyph and rune seared with bright light.
Velania saluted him cheerfully. "Great talking as ever Ja–"
And the ground ripped open beneath them.
We kissed, as though nothing could fall
As they fell she found she was clutching Silvia’s hand.
She searched for Kavel and Velania but she was blind.
The dust.
Her eyes were caked over and she couldn’t summon up the spit to wipe the dirt from her face. When she finally dusted her eyes off and opened them, she almost closed them in despair.
It was a crucible of torment, a bone-dry basin of vastness and death with the ground cracked like a series of savage wounds, all labouring under a low, heavy sky that throbbed with a deep dark red.
The immensity of it burned Sorrel’s brain. As far as the eye could see there was a mournful pan of emptiness roasting in the intense fire of eternal malignant sorcery.
Mountain ranges stretched off in all directions – towering savage peaks and blazing volcanos erupting in great gouts of flame. All she could smell was the soul crushing scent of her own death and it followed her everywhere, as ungodly and virulent as the heat itself.
Her skin felt like it had been scraped off by a sandstorm then flooded with the sharp sting of tears and sweat. The cinders burned her feet raw through her boots, and the distant sounds of screeching, shambling, screaming creatures played at the edge of her hearing.
Kavel strode past.
“Does anyone have a familiar?” Everyone shook their heads, dumbly. “No? But…” he seemed stunned. “Everyone has a familiar, no?”
And he bounded off up a nearby hill to get the lay of the land.
Sorrel watched him with a mix of envy and relief. Zola, Marto, herself and Velania were scarred by the filth that had stolen the High Diviner. They were battlesore and heart sick. Silvia, she could see, had been blindsided by the brutality of the infinite distances stretching out under skies that offered only destruction.
Kavel was untouched by the horror, although she knew he’d met at least one of these fiends before. He had great faith, she realised, not in the amorphous approval of a deity but in himself and his training. For now at least, it defied the fury of Hell itself.
They followed Kavel up a mountain with a low summit. A distance that should have taken 20 minutes dragged out over an hour and a half, each step a painful immersion of flesh into flame.
Silvia stumbled and Sorrel caught her, amazed at how light she was for someone who burned so fiercely. She took her arm and helped her climb the last few feet.
She noticed Velania was struggling. Sorrel ran through the basic battlefield wound care available to her and cursed her lack of medical training.
Kavel was waiting for them, scanning the horizon. The party tried to catch their breath, although each gasp just drew in searing lung-fulls of boiling air. Velania and Silvia slumped on the cinders, Marto knelt under the weight of his full plate armour and Sorrel fussed anxiously around them.
Kavel pointed to a mass of burning orange slithering through the landscape from a volcano spewing lava that tumbled into an ancient riverbed and flowed like a ghastly parody of life-giving water and, little nearer, a valley, with a pool silvery-white light glowing within it.
“Is that where they are?” he asked.
Sorrel looked hard. Mists curled and smoked from dark and noisome pools. The reek of them hung stifling in the still air. Far away towered an evil fortress, all black serried towers, high battlements, spikes, gates and row upon row of sentries parading on the plain in front. Kavel and Zola tried to calculate distances to the mouth of the river and the strange valley.
And then they heard Kháos in their mind. Sorrel had forgotten them. Which, she supposed, was the point.
You will not make the mouth of the river. The valley is where they are likely to be.
They set off, the ferocious heat filling their lungs until each step, each breath was agonising. Sorrel was drenched in sweat, but it gave her no relief. She noticed Marto begin to flag. They could not afford to face the fiends with half the party too exhausted to fight.
They paused for a rest, sipping water, nibbling at rations and staring at the sky in silence.
Though nothing will drive them away, we can beat them, just for one day
Sorrel noticed shadows in the sky. It looked like birds swooping and soaring off in the distance. For a few seconds, this sight cheered her. Any sign of life in this sterile, long dead land was welcome.
Then she noticed their speed.
Nothing alive could move that fast.
Within seconds a cloud of ravens was circling above them, swirling and swirling into a black funnel of diving birds.
They scrambled into position, chanting spell, drawing weapons, making ready as best they could.
Sorrel hauled back her bowstring, nocked an arrow in place and breathed fey magic into its shaft. She let it fly and it erupted into a hail of thorns, scything through 20, 30 birds.
Which vanished into puffs of smoke.
Which carried on down towards them, inky tendrils sliding into their wounded lungs.
Sorrel hated this isolation, trapped in Hell with traitors. She knew they would turn on her any minute. She saw the goliath look towards her angrily and the warlock prepare a spell to trap her soul. They would die for this betrayal, even if she had to tear them apart with her bare hands.
The goliath trapped her, sneaking up behind like a coward, while the warlock clamped manacles on her wrists. She almost laughed. She’d been manacled before and…
Wait.
She had been manacled before.
By… Silvia.
Kavel, her brother, had his arms around her, and Silvia had bound her like – she gave a half smile – like the day they met in Feywild when the Hunger Sprirt overcame her.
Sorrel laughed and she could see Kavel and Silvia staring at her uncertainly. She had been so sure they shouldn't be here, and yet if they hadn't been - if the people she loved hadn't helped her - she would have been lost.
“Just like our first date,” she caught Silvia’s eye. “Although in bed, Kavel, the manacles are usually applied the other way round.”
Silvia burst out laughing and Kavel briefly blushed.
Suddenly pain seared through Sorrel’s body and she heard the words Ophanium had told Zola echo in her mind, Chains, whip, pyre, betrayer… and the fifth word, at last… self-annihilation.
Fire seared her skin, and she knew the brand was gone from her back.
She heared shouting and turned to see Marto drop his axe and shield in horror.
Velania was kneeling, blood pouring from a wound.
Marto seemed on the verge of flight, his face contorted in shame. “Don’t come near me,” he screamed. “I could have killed you. I shouldn’t be here…”
Kháos was in their minds. You are meant to be here. You are relieved of the second brand. You are the right people. I will scout ahead. Wait. Rest.
And Kháos was gone.
Sorrel walked over to Zola. “I know the fifth word,” her eyes searched the drow’s face. “The one Ophanium… the fifth one. It’s self-annihilation.”
Zola blinked, her eyes dark with pain, then nodded. "I think that makes sense."
I don’t know the full story between you and the fiend, Sorrel wanted to say. I know this hurts you, and I know there is some powerful bond. Is there anything I can do to help?
But Sorrel had never been great with the whole emotional interaction stuff. So she patted Zola awkwardly on the shoulder and wandered off.
After a morsel of food and a sip of water they went on up sharp slope of screes and sliding stones to where Kháos was waiting.
They are here, they are waiting. Rholor is there.
They stepped over the lip of the valley and saw their doom laid out before them.
And the shame was on the other side
The river of fire wound along the bottom of the shallow basin and beyond it a pavilion and a stone table.
In the pavilion, Ophanium sat, a glass of wine in his hand, his eyes fixed on Zola. Behind him, Rahmiël her gaze supremely indifferent.
Standing apart, and staring at Marto, was Adhyël
For a second, hope blossomed in Sorrel’s heart. Just three of them.
Then she looked closer at the stone table. Rholor’s body lay on the platform tied to a floating globe by a silver string. An'Ahkrim leered at them from beside his head.
She scanned the valley, looking for the tactical advantage. Two bridges. One right before them, one some distance away but unguarded.
And then she saw Zah'Ranin on a rise just a short distance away, leathery wings and savage teeth spreading out beyond the possible. Zah'Ranin was on their side of the river. Every approach covered.
Make yourselves ready for war.
Sorrel muttered charms of protection then nearly choked as she saw Silvia conjure up a dark spirit from the goddess knew where. It was too profoundly empty and terrifying even for Hell.
Despite herself, Sorrel felt a surge of pride. Look at my girlfriend summoning dark spirits from beyond the edge of terror all by herself, she beamed inwardly.
Then she turned back to the valley and muttered to Kavel – “the Hammer and the Ghost?”
It was a long practised play, something they’d worked on in training. She flicked her eyes towards Flappy Boy but wasn’t sure Kavel had heard her.
Before she could check, she heard Marto’s voice. He was speaking in halfling, a language she’d never heard him use before.
"O Nurturing Matriarch of the hin, please, hear my prayer… May my weak heart overcome my doubts as you stand beside me, Blessed One. May your touch be felt upon my shoulder in this hell, O Great Protector Yondalla, giving my inner heart the courage to face the devil… and sum of my choices…"
Sorrel felt like she was overhearing someone in the confessional. She was moved and touched.
But then, wait, choices? What?
But then, no, it was Marto’s time with his god, and he deserved respect.
But then, what did he mean by courage to face?
But then, it was not her business. She moved towards Silvia to stop eavesdropping.
And yet....
We could be Heroes, just for one day
Suddenly Ophanim slammed back his wine, stood up and walked out towards them, a weapon in each hand – one shining sword and one duller blade. He held them up in a warrior’s salute to Zola and cried across the valley ‘it’s going to be beautiful!’
Zola drew her new longsword, the mighty Castor, pointed it towards Ophanim and called out ‘this is what you want? Who am I to deny you?’
Sorrel noticed the tears streaming down her face.
Ophanim smiled back, happy and adoring.
This is like a story, Sorrel thought briefly, amazed at the vista in front of her.
She turned and caught Silvia’s tired face.
But right now, these moments are not stories. This is happening. I am here, and I am looking at her. And she is so beautiful. I can see it.
The she took in this band of insane, courageous fools around her.
She saw her brother, eager for the fray, his strong back a constant reassurance.
She felt Velania’s holy power.
She heard Zola and Marto’s weapons slice the air and she thought - this is one moment when you know you’re not a sad story.
You are alive. And she was standing there seeing the fires in the sky and everything that made her wonder. And she was standing with the people she loved most in the world.
And in this moment, she thought happily, I swear, we are infinite.
Then the fiends attacked.
