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All in all, Fjord had kinda been looking forward to this mission.
Sure, it was dangerous. All their missions these days were dangerous, even a run down to the corner store could turn into a firefight with at least three aberrations. Trying to break into a government building in Rexxentrum, the very heart of the Zadash empire, was never going to be a walk in the park.
But they were adventurers, dangerous ventures were their stock in trade these days. He wasn't even supposed to be on the dangerous part of the mission; he'd been chosen as the best candidate to bluff his way past the door and charm his way out of any trouble they might encounter. Decent work, playing to his strengths, he'd been ready for whatever came at him.
And this time around, he'd been partnered with Caleb.
Caleb, who knew the layout and the signs the Dwendalian higher-ups used; who knew better than anyone else what they were looking for; whose own skill at bluffing and charming was second only to Fjord's own; who could disguise himself at will as easily as Fjord himself. Caleb, who more than anyone else on the team made Fjord feel confident and competent, like he really could do anything he put his mind to. Yeah, he'd been looking forward to spending time alone with Caleb. Dressed up all fancy, working their way through the paneled corridors of the mansion while the others got stuck with trying to break in through the sewers -- as far as he was concerned, he'd definitely gotten the better end of the deal.
Until it all went to shit.
Jester had warned them through Sending that they had spotted a team of Empire operatives -- two men and one woman in the livery of the Dwendalian empire, carrying the staves and arcane focuses of magic-users -- in the same building as them. Guards, hunters, or agents seeking the same goal as them, she wasn't sure. He'd relayed the message to Caleb and they'd agreed to keep going, while keeping a cautious eye out for the enemy. They were both disguised, after all -- and if they were spotted, they could be out of the building in under a minute.
When the enemy team caught up with them, it didn't even take a minute. It took less than thirty seconds.
Caleb had gone ahead through the door while Fjord guarded the corridor. He'd heard Caleb gasp, heard an unfamiliar voice in a bitten off exclamation, then the hair-raising hiss and spit of magic being exchanged. Fjord had rushed in as fast as he could -- but still too slow to do anything but watch what happened next.
He saw it through the doorway, too damn far away to make a difference. The man with the twisted staff called a greenish-yellow light to his hand that filled Fjord with twisting dread. Caleb snapped out a word and the light sputtered out. Almost at the same time the woman with the crimson-bound book gestured and four points of eye-tearing brightness formed a star at the tips of her fingers, pulsing brightly before streaking towards Caleb. The first missed; the second struck his shield and flickered out; the next two hit him center-mass, filling the air with the smell of char and driving him back with a pained grunt.
And then the third man, with the emblem of the Lawbringer on his chest, spoke a word that made the air between them crawl and made Fjord's brain shut down for the instant he heard it; he heard nothing, saw nothing, knew nothing.
A moment more and the air cleared, with the three enemy spellcasters before him and -- and Caleb was on the ground, writhing and clawing at his head as though trying to free himself from the prison of his own skull.
Thirty seconds. At most. And Fjord found himself alone, facing three deadly enemies with Caleb helpless and hurting on the ground in front of him.
"Pathetic," the woman sneered, her chest heaving as she got back her breath. She straightened up and turned the sneer on him. "I would have expected better from one of Ikithon's pupils, but he has gone far astray."
Ikithon's pupils. Fjord felt his blood go cold; these were Scourgers.
"Far astray indeed," the cleric said, an unfamiliar accent thick in his voice. He prodded Caleb's twitching body with his foot, disdain writ on his face. "Consorting with mercenary riffraff and unauthorized deities. I would expect no more from one who has fallen so low."
"Unauthorized deities," Fjord said, and a little chuckle forced its way out behind his words. Nerves, probably. But anything that kept the standoff going, kept them talking and not casting, was worth saying just for the seconds more it might buy him.
"Maybe you need to stop and reconsider…" He drew himself up and extended his hand, reaching for his swor -- no, the sword was gone now, that bridge burned forever. But the sword being gone didn't mean the power was gone, oh no. "What one of your unauthorized deities can do."
The eyes of his opponents riveted to his sword hand and he saw them tense, saw them move into position for casting, saw them watching for the weapon that never came. It distracted them just long enough for the shadow that was building up throughout his body to spill over, unfolding across the room around him in a roiling cloud.
It moved fast as blinking to envelop the room, plunging it into darkness. He heard Zemnian cursing as his opponents scrambled to get out of its radius, and one bitten-off cry of pain from one who failed. Dim shadows at the periphery darkened to a deep, inky blackness at the center of the room, radiating a chill that sucked the heat and life and life out of everything it covered.
Waves of darkness rolled and roiled, groping and falling when they failed to capture anything; faint whispers echoed from far-off reaches where light had never touched. Steeling himself Fjord ducked forward into the darkness, dropping himself off the radar of the casters while he groped around on the floor for Caleb. He couldn't have gone far -- dammit --
"Werde es los!" the woman snapped out, somewhere beyond the darkness. "Tageslicht, jetzt!"
One of her companions began to stammer a halting assent, but it was too late for them to do anything. In the very center of the ring of darkness, the shadows began to thicken. Even though the floor of the room should have been level the entire way across, there was suddenly an impression of great depth -- as though a drain had been opened up that would suck the whole world down into darkness if it could, as though a tunnel had been uncovered to release a blast of foul subterranean air.
In the deepest shadow, darkness moved; one arching limb, then another, then a third as the shadow demon at the heart of the spell unfolded itself. A face was uncovered, a great gaping mouth that dripped endless tar in place of teeth, hard white eyes that shone with an agonizing light that illuminated nothing.
Fjord's hand closed around Caleb's -- Caleb's arm, which struck against him but he kept his grip -- just as the shadow demon began to move. With an almighty crack he teleported both of them out, and the very last thing he heard was a woman's scream.
They rematerialized outside. Midair. Fjord had only been able to see a tiny sliver of a window, not enough to find a safe landing point, and fell a dozen feet unable to stop himself. He hit and it hurt, agony flaring in his joints and bones despite his best efforts to roll with it. Caleb had had no warning; Fjord heard a snap as he landed badly and cried out.
But there was no time to do anything about it. Fjord got him roughly to his feet and manhandled him towards the side of the road as fast as he could go. Caleb staggered along and didn't scream again, so Fjord hoped -- oh, how he hoped -- that whatever had broken in Caleb wouldn't stop him from running.
Once they were out in the light and away from their attackers, it was easy enough to figure out what had been done to Caleb: his eyes stared blankly ahead through an eerie white film, and he didn't react to the sound of Fjord's voice. He was conscious -- he stood on his own and walked, or rather staggered, where Fjord pulled him -- but Fjord couldn't tell how lucid he was. He was mumbling what sounded like gibberish under his breath, but that might also have been Zemnian. Fjord didn't know. No time to figure it out now. They had to get away.
The mission was fucked. There was absolutely no chance of completing it now. If he managed to escape alive and keep Caleb out of the hands of the Scourgers, he would bloody well call that a job well done.
He'd gotten them outside the building, just barely. Craning painfully back over his shoulder he could see the window of the mansion they'd come from, smoking blackness leaking from the panes as actinic light flared against it. The demon he'd summoned wouldn't stop them for long, not against three such powerful casters. But maybe it would stop them for long enough.
Streets. Alleyways. He knew the layout well enough and managed to pick turns and twists that kept them undercover and moved them steadily further away from the mansion. One block. Two. Would the Scourgers be able to track them with magic? If so, there was nothing he could do to stop it: he was tapped. Two spells and he was done, as always. And Caleb could help no one now, least of all himself.
It had been a long time since he felt so helpless. Even longer since he'd felt so alone.
Moving Caleb was a struggle. He spent as much time pulling against Caleb's weight and staggering for balance as he did walking. Once, impatient, he grabbed Caleb's wrist and pulled him sharply forward. The next moment he saw stars as Caleb's other hand impacted hard with his nose. Caleb shrank away from him, huddling against the dirty brick wall of the alleyway and clutching at his elbow. Fuck. That arm looked broken and Fjord had just yanked on it. No wonder Caleb had hit him. Did he realize they'd gotten away, did he even know who Fjord was, or did he think he was still in the power of the Scourgers?
He took a precious few seconds to get his breath, gulping air while sweat ran down the back of his neck and under his collar, his legs throbbing, his throat rough as a file. Caleb was hurt, Fjord couldn't keep yanking him around like this. Caleb was in danger, they couldn't stay here long. Caleb couldn't see nor hear him, how could Fjord get through to him?
"Fjord?" Caleb mumbled, and Fjord's heart skipped a little in its rhythm to hear his name in Caleb's voice. "Sind wir raus, sind wir gefangen? Verletzen sie dich? …Sie mich verletzt…"
He didn't know what Caleb was saying but he heard the confusion, the pain and fear as clear as a bell. Fjord shuddered a deep inhale and stepped forward, keeping his tread purposefully slow and even. Caleb didn't react to his approach, his head down and swaying as his sightless eyes stared wide into nothingness. But when Fjord touched his shoulder he flinched back as if struck.
Fjord pulled him into an embrace, trying to convey all the apology and reassurance and comfort into his touch that Caleb couldn't hear in words. It's all right. We're out of there. I'm okay. Caleb went rigid, then slumped forward to let Fjord take his weight as he dropped his head onto Fjord's shoulder. Fjord let himself nuzzle Caleb's hair, just for a moment, before he lifted his head again and looked around. He smelled blood, but he wasn't sure which of them it was coming from.
He could still see the very edge of the manor roof over the top of the alleyway. They weren't far enough away yet. They had to move. He had to move Caleb, somehow. Had to get through to him.
Back in the early days, when Frumpkin was the best recon option they had, Caleb had spent a lot of time looking through his familiar's eyes. It left him blind and deaf to his immediate surroundings, but they couldn't always just sit and wait for Frumpkin to be done before moving. Nott and Caleb (and Beau, he remembered that Beau had gotten in on it) together had worked out a kind of code -- a series of taps and squeezes that Caleb could understand and follow while he was under. How had it gone -- one tap for yes, two for no, three for need more information? He wasn't sure; he hadn't usually been the one to help Caleb back then, not if Nott or Mollymauk was available instead.
He wished he could help him now.
He took another deep breath, held it, then moved his hands to Caleb's shoulders and pushed himself back. It was an almost physical pain to let go of him, to feel Caleb's heat leave his arms, but they couldn't just stand there. "Fjord?" Caleb said again, his voice stronger this time. "Are you all right?"
One tap, on the sliver of bare skin exposed by his collar. Caleb started, then realization broke across his face like a dawn. "Sei danke," he muttered. Then he clutched at Fjord's arm. "Are we taken? Captured?" he said urgently.
Two taps. It felt almost obscene to see the relief shudder across Caleb's face, to watch his expression when Caleb couldn't see his in return. Caleb took a rasping breath, slowly beginning to calm. "Are we safe?" he said quietly. "Back with the others?"
Two taps. Caleb's shoulders fell, and he nodded. "I understand," he said quietly after a moment, and raised his hand to grip Fjord's on his shoulder, his only point of contact in a world of silence and darkness. "Lead the way."
Fjord tried. This part was intuitive enough. A purposeful push on the shoulder meant start walking, a pull back meant stop. Pull to the left or the right to change direction. Squeeze meant stay here and don't move. A hard sudden pinch for danger! Break the connection and come back! There was danger all around now, but Caleb couldn't come back.
Another block. Another turn. Left. Again left. How long had it been? Five minutes, ten? Shouldn't this spell have worn off by now? Fjord didn't know any magic powerful enough to incapacitate an opponent so completely, so long. The man with the Lawbringer symbol - had he been a cleric? A paladin? This was divine magic, he was sure. Maybe only another god's magic could undo it.
Wildmother, help me, he silently shouted. This wasn't her place, he knew, not in the city and not in this city that had cast her and all her followers out. But he prayed, all the same. Help me get us safe. Help me help him.
Caleb was flagging long before they reached safety. Fjord wasn't exactly feeling a spring chicken himself, burnt out and ragged, but he could go on if he had to. Caleb couldn't, not all the way out of the city to their safehouse. He looked instead for a place where they could go to ground, to stay out of sight. An abandoned storefront, an underground cellar -- thick stone blocked most kinds of magic, didn't it? He could almost hear Caleb's voice telling him that, his precise cadence and clipped accent. "I hope I'm doing this right," he muttered, his words falling on deaf ears.
As soon as they stopped moving Caleb staggered into a corner and collapsed, letting out a moan of pain and exhaustion as his knees hit the floor. Fjord moved after him, helping him up and over to the wall where he could at least lean against it for a little support. The stone was cold, though, and leached heat away fast. He'd chill down fast, now that they weren't moving. "Are we safe?" Caleb croaked out, and Fjord didn't know how to answer that. He didn't feel like he could promise yes, and no would just worry Caleb more.
Fjord crouched beside him and, after a moment's hesitation, reached out to take his hand. Caleb clung to him feverishly, the one point of contact in his darkened world. Fjord could smell the blood more clearly now, blood mixed with burnt meat and charred cloth, and remembered that Caleb had been hit before Fjord had even gotten in the room. But there was nothing he could do about it now: he had no bandages, no medical supplies, no water, even.
Time was he would have had all the water he could have wanted, right at his fingertips to command. But he'd given that up in favor of a cleaner gift, a brighter path. Light and healing instead of crushing depths and darkness. For all the good it's doing me now, he thought bitterly. Clean out of magic and he was useless. It had been a while since he'd felt this powerless, and he hadn't missed the feeling.
Caduceus would have been able to do something. Or Jester, still caught up in the mission for all he knew; he had no way to contact her unless she sent to him first. Caleb could have. Caleb couldn't do it now.
Now that the first rush of danger was past Fjord began to circle back over the past hour, picking apart their actions, wondering if he could have done something different, done something better. He didn't have Caleb's mastery of spellcraft -- but then, Caleb's mastery hadn't saved him either.
And here he was feeling sorry for himself when he had nothing worse than a few bruises from the tumble he took from his own miscast spell. Caleb was hurt, worse than hurt, and he chafed the man's hands in his own, trying to convey through touch what he could not through words. As expected Caleb had begun to shiver, although the skin under Fjord's hands wasn't chilled. It was flushing with a strange, waxy heat instead. Fever.
"Fjord," Caleb said aloud, and his jaw chattered. "Are you -- I can't -- es ist kalt, ich kann nicht sehen-- "
"Aw, to hell with it," Fjord muttered, and went for it. He could do better for Caleb than fucking just holding hands. He gathered Caleb up in his arms and pulled the smaller man into his lap, shushing him gently as Caleb stiffened and made a surprised noise. He pushed Caleb's shoulder down against his chest and his head under his chin, tucking his broken elbow as close to his chest as possible. Like this he was braced against the wall, Caleb protected as much as possible from the cold stone, and after a long moment Caleb sagged bonelessly against him. He rubbed his free hand up and down Caleb's arm and closed his eyes.
Time passed slowly, interminably. Fjord tried his best to rest, to close his eyes and deepen his breaths and let his body recover. It wasn't easy with Caleb's weight on his legs, Caleb's feverish heat growing against his skin, the soft sounds of Caleb's suffering in his ears. But he reached for the memory of Caduceus' lessons on meditation, on finding stillness even in the midst of chaos.
He could help Caleb best now by helping himself. It was hard to accept, but it was true.
This wasn't the Wildmother's place, this overbuilt city, this barren cellar. But the Wildmother was here all the same. In the moss and lichen that grew on the walls, in the flies that crawled in corners and the spiders that spun webs to catch them. In the mice and the rats and the strays that fed on them. In the earth below the stone, buried but not overcome, present and remote and enduring.
The Wildmother wasn't the strongest of the gods. But she was persistent, and insidious, and she always came back. Creeping in like a trickle of water that wore away earth, like a tree root that cracked a stone, like a breeze carrying seeds and spores to rest in barren earth. She always came back, and as Fjord rested his head in the darkness he felt her power welling up in him like the steady rise of a creek in the rain.
When he thought he was ready -- when She was ready -- he shifted and raised his hand to splay across Caleb's face, the pads of his fingers resting in the hollows of his eyes. "Mother, help him," he murmured, and felt the power rush through him.
He felt -- he couldn't quite see -- the curse that had clouded Caleb's eyes and silenced his hearing come apart, peeling away in sticky strands that washed away in the cool current. Felt the fever recede, the burns cooling and the wounds closing. And then the magic rushed through him and was gone.
Caleb blinked, shook his head, and his eyes were clear blue once more and focused on Fjord. "Fjord?" he said, his voice gaining in strength and confidence as he realized he could hear his own words once more.
"Caleb," he replied, and surprised even himself when he broke into a smile. "Good to have you back with us."
"Oh thank the gods," Caleb said in a rush, nearly undone by a shudder of relief that racked him from head to toe. "Thank you. Fjord. Thank you. I owe you one."
Fjord shook his head. "You don't owe me anything."
"No, I --" Calculation whirred behind Caleb's eyes, the familiar expression of gears turning. "If you mean -- the favor you promised me, when we made our blood pact? I suppose we are even now… unless you mean --"
He'd known for a long time that Caleb counted in terms of reciprocation, with nothing given without an exchange of favors, but only recently had he looked back and realized that Caleb only applied that metric to others. He seemed convinced that he needed to earn and pay for kindnesses shown to him by the others, but kindnesses of his own he gave freely and seemed to think they counted for nothing at all.
"Caleb," Fjord said, shifting around and pushing up Caleb's shoulders until he was eye level with the other man. "I think we're past the point of pretending that we're keeping score."
Caleb seemed momentarily speechless, so Fjord thought it might be worth driving the point home. "I care about you, Cay," he emphasized, giving Caleb's shoulder a little shake. Move forward. "I don't like to see you hurting. If I can do anything to help you -- I will. No favors owed."
Before Fjord could react Caleb surged forward and threw his arms around him, and Fjord stiffened up in surprise for a moment before he returned the hug. The fever was fading, chased by the Wildmother's restorative magic, but Caleb's limbs were still shaking slightly from reaction. He'd need time, in peace and safety, to fully recover his strength.
But at least he was up and back to his senses, in command of magics that Fjord could only envy. After a long moment Caleb eased back, climbing to his own feet and looking rather embarrassed. Fjord cleared his throat, trying to ease him past the awkward moment. "We need to get in touch with the others," he said. "And we need to get out of the city without being tracked, get to our safehouse. Got any ideas for that?"
"A few," Caleb admitted. He glanced around their haven. "I can contact Nott but I, ahh, we'll have to get out of this basement first. This much stone will block any magic I try to cast. After that, we'll see."
Fjord nodded. "Then let's get out of here," he said.
They took a few moments to get themselves together -- neither of them had much gear except what they wore on their backs, anything else having been dropped in the mansion when it all went to shit. But taking inventory of all his pockets helped Caleb compose himself, so Fjord let him.
"Fjord," Caleb said quietly as the half-orc mounted the stairs out of the basement. "It might seem strange to say, but -- I'm glad it was you. Who was with me in that manor."
A lump formed in Fjord's throat at that, that Caleb would rather have him than one of the more experienced healers, that he trusted Fjord to see him in his weakened state. That he wasn't anyone's second choice, not in this.
"Me too," he said, he smiled.
They went out of the basement together.
~end.