Chapter 6 - The Crimson Bloodied-Fist
Tasha awoke with a start. A cold sweat was covering her brow and her hands trembled in the aftershock of her nightmare.
Hal, quickly noting his Lady's discomfort, abruptly reined in his steed and fell back in line to pace with Tasha's mount. Garnthalisbain, deeply immersed in his study of a leather-bound tome, looked up slowly, concern starting to crease his features.
"Are you all right, milady?" Hal asked worriedly in his low baritone voice. He took a hold of her steed's reins to control her mount as Tasha wrapped herself in her cloak, fighting against a sudden chill.
They had been on the road for close to a week since their departure from the Vineyard Grove. Since then it was more than apparent that autumn was fading. The temperature had dropped considerably and the winds had picked up, forcing the three friends to don their heavier cloaks earlier than expected. Most of the trees had shed their summers’ burden of leaves, consequently covering the road with a solid foot of dried out, orange and brown vegetation.
By Garn's understanding of their withered old map, (but more from the information Tasha had gleaned from people they had met on the road) they guessed that they would reach Wayfarer's Port by sundown that very day. From there, they would book passage on the next ship heading across the Inner Sea. And then, sooner than Tasha was ready for, Southmoor.
Hal coaxed their mounts over to the side of the road to avoid congestion (though Garn strongly remarked on the foolishness of this, seeing as how there were no other travelers within sight in either direction) and assisted Tasha down from her saddle. For once, she didn't complain and was actually glad for the help. Gently, Hal sat her down on the leaf strewn turf and leaned her up against a barren highoak tree.
Garn knelt on her other side and produced a small vial from one of his many pouches. Deftly he removed the cork and waved it in her face a time or two, a thin stream of white vapor drifting out. Tasha's nostrils flared hugely and she coughed, turning away from the mage swiftly. Hal looked curiously at his frail companion with a questioning glance as Garn stoppered the vial and tucked it away. Seeing Hal's gaze he quickly explained.
"Don't worry, big guy. It's just a mixture of smelling salts. It should have cleared her senses up by now."
Hal wasn't really concerned. He trusted Garn and was fairly certain that he wouldn't deliberately hurt Tasha. And besides, Tasha had chosen to press her face against Hal's chest and huddle away from Garn until the odor faded away. As modest and noble as he tried to be, Hal couldn't bring himself to complain.
Within moments, Tasha had recovered her wits and realized that she was fervently clutching Hal. Flushing slightly, and still a bit wary about his intentions towards her, Tasha pushed away and tried not to notice the twinge it caused in the big man's eyes. Garn forced her to lean back against the tree trunk and relax.
"Just take a few deep breaths, give the salts enough time to work through your system." Garn smirked the way he always did but his eyes showed his concern.
After a couple more moments of deep breathing, Tasha nodded reassuringly and both young men backed off slightly. "What happened, Tash' ?" asked Garn. "Do you feel ill?"
Tasha shook her head softly and pressed one palm against her brow. "No, I'm not sick. I wish I was, but I'm not." She took a moment for another deep breath and looked into Garn's eyes. "I had another vision."
The young mage's eyes widened in surprise as sat down to the ground beside her. Hal looked to the two of them in confusion, still not truly understanding what was going on. "I didn't know that these things happened spontaneously, Tasha," Garn commented
Tasha rolled her liquid amber eyes up to the sky, absently noting that the sun was at its midday position. A faint rumble from her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten anything yet that day. Hal, being unusually perceptive, pulled out a piece of smoked beef from one of his side pouches and offered it to her. She took it gratefully and bit off a hunk of it before speaking. "It's not like I was overwhelmed by it or anything, Garn," she mumbled through a mouthful of beef. "I was stretching out with my thoughts, letting them just... wander around. Back home mainly," she admitted, her eyes lowering to the ground slightly.
Garn made an impatient circular motion with his hand, indicating for her to get on with it. Hal reached out to make the mage stop but quickly snatched his hand back after receiving a dangerous look.
Running her fingers through her lengthy blonde hair, Tasha tried to explain. "I was trying to focus on my father. It was difficult at first, but after a while I was able to find him. I could tell that he was still exceptionally angry just from the way that I wasn't able to actually make contact with him." She took another bite of the beef before continuing. "Well, after realizing that I wasn't going to get anywhere with him, I decided to return... here," she stated for lack of a better word. "And then it happened.”
"I was drawn, almost forcibly towards this cloud of gray mist. Like the last time, only last time I fell into it by accident it seemed." Her slender fingers began to tremble slightly again. Garn took one of her hands in both of his and surprised the both of his friends with his tenderness.
"This time was different you said? How different?" The mage tried to understand the feeling. "Did it feel like you were... I don't know, grabbed or something? Like you had to go there?"
Tasha thought about it for a moment before speaking, shaking her head slowly as she did so. "No. Not like that. I get the feeling that if I truly wanted to pull away I could have. It was sort of like, I knew I shouldn't go there, but I knew that there was something I needed to see. Kind of like when... " She broke off suddenly and refused to look at Hal for several moments as she remembered the unfortunate incident the week before.
Garn eyed her curiously for a moment but let it drop. "What exactly did you see? The woman and the cat?"
"No. It was the figure... Xir." She took another slow, deep breath. "He was leaning against his staff, the metallic one that glowed crimson."
"Leaning?" Garn asked.
"Clutching would be a better word. Like he would die without it. At any rate, he began to lash out at the mist with beams and beams of energy." Tasha shook her head in profound awe. "I never thought that I would ever see such a profound display of power in my entire life."
Garn became exceedingly anxious. "The mist didn't part, did it?"
Tasha looked at her friend strangely. "No, not at all. The mist held tenaciously, fighting back against the energies." Garn breathed an immense sigh of relief. "That's when I got scared." The mage's eyes narrowed nervously as she searched for words. "Xir began to, I don't know, throttle the staff. Shaking it and screaming in fury. The staff seemed to glow even more brightly. Almost luminously." She faltered.
Garn leaned in slightly. "Then what?"
Her hands groped in front of her helplessly, searchingly. "There seemed to be... a tearing feeling. I can't explain it any better than that. It was as if something that was a part of me, but not a part of me at the same time, was being yanked on by a stampede of wild horses. Stretching to its breaking point but not letting it go." She gave up. "I can't explain it any better than that." She shuddered. "I don't think I've ever been so scared in my entire life.
Hal cleared his throat uncomfortably. Tasha, glancing at him for the first time in minutes, felt a pang of sorrow at the confused expression on the big man's face. She had tried to explain to him what they were doing and why right at the beginning. But, after a frustrating half hour, Hal stood up and politely declared that it wasn't necessary for him to know what was going on, so long as he told where to go and what to do. At the time Tasha had agreed, for she was still upset at Hal over the incident with her father. But after seeing the completely puzzled expression on his face...
"Uhm, we should get moving, milady." Hal said, extending his hand to her with a surprising amount of grace. Even more surprising was her willingness to accept it. Gently, the powerful man helped her to her feet before offering h
is hand to Garn. The young mage sneered at the hand and got up under his own power, though his back cracked ferociously as he did so.
"Will you be able to ride, milady? I can steer your mount if you'd like?" said Hal as he assisted her up into her saddle.
"Thank you, Hal," Tasha said politely, surprising herself and catching a strange look form Garn. "I should be able to handle it myself, but I'll let you know if I need any help."
If she'd thought Garn had looked at her curiously, there was no word to define the expression on Hal's face. Struggling, he was able to partially mask it. With a polite nod of his head and a whispered, “As you wish, milady," Hal effortlessly flung himself up onto his mount. Tasha noticed him taking an unconscious account of his weapons and their locations, knowing that it was the most important thing that he needed to know in case of trouble, before nudging his steed forward.
Tasha smiled slightly at her ability to so easily fluster the big man. As they set out once again, Tasha mulled over that thought. After a few moments, she realized that while Hal, was easily a man in stature and frame, intellectually he was like a child.
It was just the little things about him that, if you knew of them in advance, made it almost glaringly obvious. His hair, for example, was long and hopelessly unkempt. Always in an impossible tangle on the top of his head. He didn't care about it and it was comfortable so he left it alone. Garn, on the other hand, made his hair his main passion after magic. Or at least it seemed that way to Tasha.
The way he dressed was another good example. Hal’s clothes were little more than patchwork, random material held together with string and lots of luck. His open toed sandals; the legs straps were knotted together so badly that one would be uncertain as to where one began and the other ended.
Just the little things, Tasha thought again. And then she remembered the most important point of them all. Hal wore all of his emotions out on his sleeve for the whole world to see and make fun of. He continually attempted a stony gaze, expressionless and uncaring. He had almost perfected it in fact. But he couldn't keep it up for any length of time worth mentioning. Every time that Tasha smiled at Hal, his whole face just seemed to light up. And vice versa if she said a cross word to him. Thinking of all the times that she had done just that during the past week made her twinge with guilt.
Also, she came to finally understand why the men in her father's guards took such advantage of Hal. Basically, it was because he let them. Like any young child being pushed around by a bully, he put his head down and mutely accepted what was being done to him, all the time hoping that it would end soon.
It all made sense now that Tasha thought about it. Hal wasn't even all that old to begin with. His age was guessed at nineteen, but now looking at the evidence before her she would guess even younger than that. Maybe seventeen, or even as low as sixteen (though Tasha highly doubted that, Hal was just too large).
She watched Hal's large form as it rode ahead of her, bobbing slightly up and down upon his steed. His gaze swept across both sides of the rode piercingly, trying to see everything at once. Tasha smiled at his back, noting that he tossed glances over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure that his companions were still following along behind him.
Tasha wondered why she suddenly seemed to have forgiven Hal after being so rude to him for so long. As she thought about it, Tasha knew that she couldn't really blame Hal for what happened when she fell into his dream. It was mainly just the shock to find that he was dreaming about her, she was more surprised than truly angry. And after seeing that it could have happened with anybody, Tasha came to the conclusion that there was no possible way that she could truly be upset with him.
Besides, Tasha couldn't deny being flattered at the idea of being the object of someone's dreams. It was practically the highest compliment that anyone could pay to someone else. And a hundred times more eloquent than anything anyone could say. What words could be spoken to compare with sheer, emotional transfer.
So Tasha kept on smiling, now glad to have had the vision. It had allowed her to come to grips with one of her concerns and get it out of the way, enabling her to concentrate on more pressing matters.
Like, what they were going to do when they got to Southmoor.
Tasha could just feel the headache coming on.