Justifying the Means
Aballister leaned in close over Dorigen's shoulder, making the woman somewhat uncomfortable. Dorigen let her focus drift away from the images in the crystal ball and shook her head vigorously, purposely letting fly her long salt-and-pepper hair so that it smacked nosy Aballister in the face.
The older wizard backed up a step and pulled a strand of hair from his lips, glowering at Dorigen.
"I did not realize that you were so close," Dorigen weakly apologized.
"Of course," replied Aballister in similarly feigned tones. Dorigen clearly recognized his anger, but understood that he would accept her insult without too much complaint. Aballister had broken his own scrying device, a magical mirror, and the experience had left him fearful of any more attempts at clairvoyance. He needed Dorigen now, for she was quite skilled at the art "I should have announced my
presence and waited for you to complete your search," Aballister said, which was as close to an apology as Dorigen had ever heard from the man.
"That would have been the appropriate course," Dorigen agreed, her amber eyes flashing with...
With what? Aballister wondered. Open hatred? Their relationship had been on a steady decline since Dorigen had returned from her humiliating defeat in Shilmista Forest, a defeat she had suffered at the hands of Aballister's own estranged son.
The older wizard shrugged away the personal problems. "Have you found them?" he asked evenly. He and Dorigen could settle their score after the immediate threat was eliminated, but for now, they both had greater problems. The spirit of Bogo Rath had returned to Aballister the previous night, with the information that Cadderly was indeed on his way to Castle Trinity.
The report inspired both trepidation and exhilaration in the older wizard. Aballister was obsessed with conquering the region, a goal given to him by the avatar of Talona herself, and Cadderly certainly seemed to be among the foremost obstacles to those designs. The wizard could not deny the tingle of anticipation he felt at the thought of doing battle with his formidable son. By all reports, Cadderly did not even know his relationship to Aballister, and the thought of crushing the upstart youth, both in magical battle and emotionally with the secret truth, inevitably widened a grin across cruel Aballister's angular features.
The news of Cadderly's march inspired nothing but fear in Dorigen, however. She had no desire to tangle with the young priest and his brutal friends again, especially not now, with her hands still sore from the beating Cadderly had given them. Many of her spells required precise hand movements, and with her fingers bent crooked and joints smashed, more than one spell had backfired on her since her return from the elven forest
I have seen no sign of Cadderly," Dorigen replied after a long pause to study again the blurry images in the crystal ball. "My guess is that he and his companions have just recently left the library, if they have left at all, and I dare not send my magical sight so near our enemy's stronghold."
"Two hours, and you have found nothing?" Aballister did not sound pleased. He paced the edge of the small room, running withered fingers across a curtain that separated this area from Dorigen's boudoir. A smile spread across the wizard's face, though, despite his trepidation, when he remembered the many games he and Dorigen had enjoyed behind this very curtain.
"I did not say that," Dorigen answered sharply, understanding the conniving grin, and she turned back again to the crystal ball.
Aballister rushed back across the room to peer over his associate's shoulder. At first, only a gray mist swirled within the confines of the crystal ball, but gradually, with Dorigen's coaxing, it began to shift and take on definite form. The two wizards viewed the foothills of the Snowflakes, obviously the southeastern mountain region, for the road to Carradoon was plainly in sight Something moved along that road, something hideous.
The assassin," Aballister breathed. Dorigen regarded the older wizard curiously.
The spirit of Bogo was cryptic on this point," Aballister explained. This thing you have discovered was one of the leaders of the Night Mask band, the one called, appropriately it would now seem, Ghost Apparently our dear Cadderly took from Ghost a magical device, and now the wretched creature has come back for it Can you sense die spirit's power through your ball?"
"Of course not," Dorigen answered indignantly.
Then go out to the mountains and watch over this one," Aballister growled at her. "We may have a powerful ally here, one that will eliminate our problems before they ever make their way to Castle Trinity."
"I will not"
Aballister straightened as though he had been slapped.
"I have not yet recovered," Dorigen explained. "My spells are not dependable. You would ask me to go near a malignant ghost, and near your dangerous son, without full use of my abilities?" Her reference to Cadderly as Aballis-ter's son made the older wizard cringe, the obvious implication being that this entire trouble was somehow Aballister's fault
"You have at your disposal one far more capable of estimating the strength of (his undead monster," Dorigen went on, not backing down in the least "One who can communicate with the creature if necessary and who can certainly learn more about its intentions than I."
Aballister's wrath melted away as he came to understand Dorigen's reasoning. "Druzil," he replied, referring to his familiar, a mischievous imp of the lower planes.
"Druzil," Dorigen echoed, her tone derisive.
Aballister put a crooked hand up to his sharp chin and mumbled. Still, he seemed unconvinced.
"Besides," Dorigen purred. "If I remain at Trinity, perhaps you and I..." She let the thought hang, her gaze directing Aballister's to the curtain across the small room.
Aballister's dark eyes widened in surprise, and his hand drooped back down by his side. "Continue your search for my s... for Cadderly," Abailister said to her. "Alert me at once if you discover his location. After all, I have ways of striking at the foolish boy before he ever gets near Castle Trinity."
The wizard took his abrupt leave then, seeming flustered, but with an obviously hopeful bounce in his step, and Dorigen turned back to her crystal ball. She didn't immediately return to her scrying, though, but instead considered the action she had just taken to prevent Aballister from sending her away. She held no love for the man anymore, no respect even, though he was certainly among the most powerful wizards she had ever seen. But Dorigen had made a decision - a decision forced by her will to ride this whole adventure out to a safe conclusion. She knew herself well enough to admit that Cadderly had truly unnerved her in the elven wood.
Her thoughts led her to contemplations of Aballister's intentions for his son. The wizard had allies, enchanted monsters kept in private cages in his extradimensional mansion. All that Aballister needed was for Dorigen to point the way.
Dorigen looked down at her still swollen and bruised hands, remembered the disaster in Shilmista, and remembered, too, that Cadderly could have killed her if he had desired.
They set their first camp on a high pass in the Snowflakes, sheltered from, the biting, wintry wind by a small alcove in the rocky mountain wall. With Vander's gigantic bulk standing to further block the gusting breezes (the cold did not seem to bother the firbolg in the least), Ivan and Pikei soon had a fire roaring. Still, the wind inevitably found its way in to the companions, and even the dwarves were soon shivering and rubbing their hands briskly near the flames. Pikel's typical moan of "Oooo," came out more as "0 - o - o - o," as his teeth chattered through the sound.
Cadderly, deep in thought, was oblivious to it all, oblivious even to the fact that his fingers were beginning to take on a delicate biue color. His head down and eyes half-closed, he sat farthest from the flames - except for Vander, who had moved out around the edge of the natural alcove to feel the full force of the refreshing wind against his ruddy cheeks.
"We're needing sleep," Ivan stuttered, aiming his comment at the distracted priest
"0 - o oi," Pikel readily agreed.
"It w - will be hard to sleep with the cold," Danica said rather loudly, practically in Cadderly's ear. The four companions looked incredulously at each other, and then back at Cadderly. Danica shrugged and moved closer to the flames, rubbing her hands all the while, but Ivan, always a bit more blunt in his tactics, took Shayleigh's longbow, reached across the fire with it, and bopped Cadderly several times atop the head.
Cadderly looked up at the dwarf. "What?"
"We was saying that it's a mite chilly for sleeping," Ivan growled at him, his claims accentuated by the puff of frosty breath accompanying each chattered word. Cadderly looked around at his shivering companions, then seemed to realize his own tingling extremities for the first time.
"Deneir will protect us," he assured them, and he let his mind's eye slip back to the pages of the Tome of Universal Harmony, the most holy book of his god. He heard again the flowing, beautiful notes of the endless song, and pulled from them a relatively simple spell, repeating it until its enchantment had touched all of his friends.
"Oo!" Pikel exclaimed, and this time his teeth did not chatter. The cold was gone; there was no better way to explain the sensation that instantly came over each of them at Cadderly's blessed touch.
Took ye long enough," was Ivan's last muttered sentiment before he dropped back against the comfortable (to a dwarf, at least) mountain rock, clasped his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.
The dwarves were snoring in a matter of minutes, and soon after, Shayleigh, her head against arms that grasped her propped longbow, was also resting easily. Cadderly had resumed his previous contemplative posture, and Danica, guessing that something was bothering her love terribly, fought away the temptation of sleep and kept a protective watch over him.
She would have preferred that Cadderly willingly open up to her, initiate the discussion that he obviously needed. Danica knew the man better than to really expect that, knew that Cadderly could sit and mull something over for hours, even days.
"You have done something wrong?" she asked as much as stated to hint "Or is it Avery?"
Cadderly looked up at her, and his surprised expression told Danica much, though she did not immediately elaborate on her suspicions.
"I have done nothing wrong," Cadderly said at length, a bit too defensively, and the perceptive monk understood then which of her guesses had hit the mark.
"It seems amazing how completely Dean Thobicus changed his mind concerning our quest," Danica said slyly.
Cadderly shifted uncomfortably - more evidence for Danica's perceptive eye. The dean is a cleric of Deneir," Cadderly replied, as though that explained everything. "He seeks knowledge and harmony, and if the truth becomes known to him, he will not let pride stand in the way of changing his mind."
Danica nodded, though her expression remained doubtful.
"Our course was the proper one," Cadderly added firmly.
The dean did not think so."
"He learned the truth," Cadderly answered immediately.
"Did he?" Danica asked. "Or was the truth forced upon him?"
Cadderly looked away, saw Vander at the edge of the firelight, pacing in the blasting wind, continually sniffing at the mountain air as he walked his watch, though his eyes were more often turned toward the crystalline, star-dotted sky than to the rugged mountain landscape.
"What did you do to him?" Danica asked bluntly. Cadderly's glare fell over her in an instant, but she didn't back away in the least, trusting in her lover, trusting that the young priest could not lie to her.
"I convinced him." Cadderly spit out every word.
"Magically."
How well you know me! the priest thought, truly amazed.
"It had to be done," he said quietly.
Danica rolled up onto her knees, shaking her head, her almond-shaped brown eyes widening.
"Was I to allow Thobicus to lead us down a path of devastation?" Cadderly asked her. "He would - "
Thobicus?"
Cadderly's face screwed up with confusion, not understanding the significance of Danica's interruption.
"Who has let pride temper his judgment now?" Danica asked accusingly. Still Cadderly did not understand. "Thobicus?" the monk reiterated. "Are you referring to Dean Thobicus?'' Her emphasis on the title showed Cadderly the truth. Even the headmasters of the library would rarely refer to the highest ranking priest without the proper title.
Cadderly spent many moments considering his slip. Always before, he had taken care to refer to the respected dean in the proper fashion, always the name had come to him with the title unconsciously attached, and sounded discordant if he or someone else did not identify the man as the dean. Now though, for some reason, the simple reference to Thobicus seemed more harmonious.
"You used your magic against the leader of your order," Danica stated.
"I did what needed to be done," Cadderly decided. "Do not fear, for Thobicus," - he had honestly meant to say "Dean Thobicus" this time - "does not even remember the incident. It was a simple thing to modify his memory, and he actually believes that he sent us out on a scouting mission. He expects that we will soon return to report on our enemy's activities, so that his foolish plans for a sweeping strike might be implemented."
There could be no doubt concerning the level of horror that Cadderly's admission had instilled in Danica. She actually backed away from the young priest, shaking her head, her mouth hanging open.
"How many thousands would perish in such a war?" the young priest cried loudly, getting Vander's attention, and causing Shayleigh, too, to open one sleepy eye. Predictably, the dwarven snoring went on uninterrupted.
"I could not let Thobicus do it," Cadderly continued against Danica's silent accusations. "I could not let the man's cowardice cause the deaths of perhaps thousands of innocent men, not when I saw a better way to end the threat*
"You act on presumption," Danica replied incredulously.
"On truth!" Cadderly shot back angrily, his tone leaving no doubt that he believed his claim with all of his heart
"The dean is your superior," Danica reminded him, her tone somewhat more mellow.
"He is my superior in the eyes of a false hierarchy," Cadderly added, similarly softening his tones. He looked around at Shayleigh and Vander, both now keenly interested in what had been a private conversation. "Headmistress Pertelope was truly the highest ranking of the Deneirian priests," Cadderly asserted.
The statement caught Danica off guard - mainly because she had held Pertelope in the highest regard and had no doubt that Pertelope was among the wisest of the Edificant Library's hosts.
"It was Pertelope who guided me along this course," Cadderly went on. He seemed vulnerable suddenly, small and uncertain, an edge of doubt finding its way through his stubborn resolve.
"I need you beside me," he said to Danica, quietly so that Shayleigh and Vander would not hear. The elven maiden grinned, though, and respectfully closed her glistening violet eyes, and Cadderly knew that her keen ears had caught every syllable.
Danica stared into the starry sky for a long moment, then moved beside Cadderly, gently taking hold of his arm and shifting in close. She looked back to the fire and closed her eyes. Nothing more needed to be said.
Cadderly knew that Danica held some doubts, though, and he did, as well. He had taken a huge gamble in mentally attacking Thobicus, and had certainly shattered the tenets of brotherhood and accepted hierarchy at the library. Now he was on the course he knew in his heart to be the proper one, but did the end justify the means?
With so many lives hanging on the decision, Cadderly had to believe that, in this instance, it did.
At a campsite far down the mountain trails from Cad-derly's company, four adventuring travelers slept soundly. They did not notice their campfire take on a blue hue momentarily, did not notice the dog face of Druzil the imp peering out at them from within the flames.
Druzil muttered curses under his raspy breath, using the crackle of flames to cover his undeniable anger. The imp detested this scouting service, figured he would spend many hours of sheer boredom listening to the snores of inconsequential humans. He was Aballister's familiar, though, in service (if not always in willing service) to the wizard, and when Aballister had opened a planar gate in Castle Trinity and ordered him away, Druzil had been compelled to obey.
The fiery tunnel had led here, warping through the dimensions to the campfire Dorigen's scrying had targeted in the eastern foothills of the Snowflakes. Using a bag of magical blue powder, Druzil had turned the normal camp-fire into a gate similar to the one in Castle Trinity. Now the imp clutched a pouch of red powder which could close the gate behind him.
Druzil held back the red powder for a few moments, wondering what fun he might find in allowing the planar gate to remain open. What excitement might a host of denizens from the lower planes cause?
The imp reconsidered immediately and poured the red powder onto the flames. If he left the gate open apd the wrong creatures stepped through, then Castle Trinity's plans for conquest of the region would be lost in a swirl of chaos and destruction.
He sat in the flames for more than an hour, watching the unremarkable men. "Aballister bene tellemara? he muttered many times, a phrase in the language of the lower planes which basically attributed the intelligence of a slug to Druzil's wizard master.
A movement to the side, beyond the campsite, caught Druzil's attention, and for a moment he thought - he hoped - that something exciting might happen. It proved to be just another of the men, however, walking a perimeter guard, apparently as bored as the imp. The man was gone from view in a few moments, back out into the darkness.
Another long hour slipped past, and the fire burned lower, forcing Druzil to crouch down to remain concealed by the flames. The imp shook his dog-faced head, his floppy ears waggling about the sides of his canine face. "Aballister bene tellemara" he hissed defiantly over and over, a litany against boredom.
The wizard had sent him out with the promise that he would find the mission enjoyable, but Druzil, used to the mundane activities most often associated with familiars, such as standing guard or gathering spell components, had heard that lie before. Even Dorigen's cryptic reference to "someone that the imp might find akin to his own heart," gave Druzil little hope. Cadderly was on his way to Castle Trinity - that was the place Druzil wanted to be, watching the magical explosions as Aballister finally blasted away his troublesome son.
The imp heard a noise again from the perimeter, a sort of gasping sound followed by some shuffling. Druzil lifted his dog face clear of the flames to get a better view, and saw the guard backpedaling, scrambling, his sword out in front of him and his mouth opened impossibly wide in a silent caricature of a scream.
It was the creature stubbornly pursuing the guard that sent shivers of warped delight up the imp's lizardlike spine.
It had once been human, Druzil guessed, but was now a charred and blackened corpse, hideous and hunched, and appeared as though all its bodily fluids had been sizzled away. Druzil could actually smell the permeating evil that had brought this wretched thing back to its undead state.
"Delicious," the imp rasped, his poison-tipped tail whipping about the embers behind him.
The guard continued to retreat, continued his futile attempt at a scream. The creature slapped the horrified man's sword to the side and grabbed him by the wrist, and Druzil squeaked aloud with pleasure as the skin of the doomed man's face took on a wrinkled, leathery appearance and his hair lost its youthful luster, lost all color, and began to fall out in clumps.
The ghost's hand hit the man again, in the face, and his eyes bulged and seemed as if they would pop free of their sockets. From his opened mouth came gurgling, choking sounds, and a wheeze of breath from lungs suddenly too old and hardened to properly draw breath.
The dying man tumbled backward over a log and lay very still on the ground, eyes and mouth still open impossibly wide.
A cry from the side of the camp showed that the commotion had awakened one of the others. A sturdy man, a warrior judging from his well-muscled arms and chest, charged across in front of the fire, boldly meeting the ghost The warrior's great sword sliced across, diving at the creature's shoulder.
It seemed to connect, somewhat, but then passed right through the undead thing, as though this creature was no more than an insubstantial apparition. Hie ghost came on, reaching with his one working arm, seeking another victim for his insatiable hunger.
Druzil clapped his oversized hands together a hundred times in glee, thoroughly enjoying the play. The other men leaped up from their slumbers, one running off screaming into the woods, but the other two coming to the aid of their bold companion.
The creature caught one by the hair, seemingly oblivious to the frantic man's chopping axe as it turned the man's head aside and bit his throat With hideous strength, the monster hurled the bloodied corpse away, to crash into the trees twenty feet beyond the edge of the campsite.
The remaining two men had seen enough, had seen too much. They turned and fled, one throwing his weapon aside in total, incomprehensible terror.
Ghost lunged for them once but missed, and then stood and watched their flight for just a moment before he began shuffling past the ruined campsite on his way once more, moving up into the Snowflakes as if this entire slaughter had been no more than a coincidental encounter. Druzil understood that the thing was savoring the screams of the fleeing men, though, taking perverse pleasure in their terror.
Druzil liked this creature.