*
Tasha picked her towel up from the bench and began to dampen it with the sweat from her brow. Running her tired fingers through the slick hair, Tasha repressed a shudder at how awful she must look and determined that a bath would definitely be in order before she went to sleep that evening.
Later, she silently reminded herself. Think about it later. Abruptly, Tasha tossed the towel aside and, once again, raised her practice sword up to the defensive position that she had been taught by the man standing before her.
Waiting patiently in the middle of the room for his pupil to be ready, the blade-master loosely swung his wooden weapon from side to side to keep alert. All the while, his dark, calculating eyes regarded her objectively. Tasha took a deep breath before resuming her familiar place on the training room's floor mats. She regarded her teacher just as calmly, not wanting to give anything away. The blade-master smiled lightly, raising his weapon in salute and assuming a stance of his own. The very tip of his weapon slid from side to side in a seductive manner.
With an impressive display of speed and agility, Tasha surged forward in a flickering high line attack which her trainer easily parried aside, almost causing Tasha to lose her balance as she rushed by. Sheer luck, more than any real skill, enabled Tasha to, just barely, roll past the blade-master’s return stroke and back out of the way to a more defensible position.
The blade-master smiled calmly and resumed his stance, the tip of his blade still in constant motion.
Again Tasha surged forward, this time with a sweeping motion angled towards the man's knees before suddenly redirecting the blow up to his mid-section. It was a maneuver that she'd had success with against lesser opponents, but not against this one. With a graceful sweep of his arm, the blade-master casually riposted, effectively wrenching Tasha's weapon from her hand and throwing it across the room with a loud clatter.
With a small grin of self-conscious victory, the blade-master swung his weapon towards his now weaponless pupil to deliver the "killing stroke", only to discover that Tasha was hardly interested in just letting him do so.
At least, not without a fight.
As the wooden blade came whistling towards her head, Tasha sharply swung her arm up and deflected the blow high while stepping within arms' reach of her opponent. The blade-master, surprised, tried to bring his weapon back into play but found himself in quarters too close for it to be of any use.
With a surprising level of strength and ferocity, Tasha stomped down on the man's instep with her heel. The blade-master grunted in sudden pain, dropping his sword. A well-placed knee into the pit of his gut forced him to grunt again and drop painfully to the mat, gasping for air. With a victorious grin, Tasha slipped an arm around the blade-master’s throat and squeezed lightly. The small grin that had begun to spread across her face blossomed into a full smile as she whispered the words, "I win," into her trainer's ear.
"This time," the blade-master wheezed after Tasha had let him go (and once he had gotten his wind back). "However, you wouldn't be able to deflect a steel blade with your arm, you know."
"I disagree," Tasha declared proudly, still on a bit of a rush. "If I squarely hit the flat of the blade, I'd probably get cut, but I think it would work. Besides, I'd rather have a cut than get beheaded." She smiled smugly then, though there were few that would have accused her of it. The blade-master included.
The older man began to gently limp away, favoring his sore foot and pressing one hand to the pit of his stomach gently. He collapsed on the side bench with a huff, slowly wiping at his sweaty brow. "True enough," he grudgingly agreed. "But remember, real opponents won't give you an opening like I did, and most won't be surprised at being attacked by an unarmed person."
Tasha cut him off with a brisk wave of one hand. "Of course, you have a point. But there's no need for your ego to get bruised." She sighed. "You'll just have to get used to losing to me more often."
The blade-master tactfully refrained from mentioning that Tasha's one win came after fifteen consecutive losses. He was willing to admit that they were hard fought losses, but losses all the same.
Clasping her slender hands over her head and stretching back luxuriously, Tasha sighed again. "Thank you, that will be all." With a dismissive flick of her fingers she shooed the blade-master away. Without a sound he retrieved his things, bowed slightly and limped from the room. Tasha ran both hands through her sweat damp hair and grimaced. Retrieving her towel from the bench, she began to furiously scrub at her scalp as she headed towards the baths.
The cool air of the oncoming night gently wafted through the keep's halls, caressing the individuals residing within lovingly. As if just trying to let everyone know of the slowing fading autumn. There were exceedingly few people in the halls that Tasha walked through as she headed towards her destination. Those few that she saw would all incline their heads politely as she passed and then go on about their business. As the breeze began to settle into her clothes, Tasha shivered slightly and hurried on her way.
Cutting through one expansive hallway, she saw two guards standing watch in front of the doors leading into her father's antechamber. They were apparently engrossed in a rather humorous conversation as she slowly came upon them.
"Did you see what 'The Oaf' did on the courtyard today?" One of them asked with a laugh.
"No, what happened?"
"Well, he was practicing his forms in the middle of the courtyard, when..." out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tasha advancing on them and instantly shut his mouth, nudging his associate in the side. Both guards snapped to attention, their faces reddening. Tasha took her time as she strode by, making certain that each of them saw the look of disgust laden in her eyes. Both men, chastened, averted their gaze.
Tasha moved on.
But she was upset. The guards' conversation, what little of it that she had managed to overhear, was almost certainly about Hal. And, as usual, it didn't exactly sound complimentary. It was something she couldn't figure out. Hal had never once done anything to deserve the treatment that he received from his fellow guardsmen. At all times he was polite, courteous, never making a fuss. At least not intentionally. True, he did always seem to get himself into those embarrassing predicaments that only he managed to be capable of getting into. If there was a loose stone in the courtyard Hal would find it and trip over it. If it was anybody else, no one would mention it.
But it was never anybody else.
Tasha shook her head. There wasn't really anything that she could do about it, so why let it worry her.
And why should it worry her?
Hal tended to be a nuisance towards her more often than towards anyone else. Rare was the day when Hal would let her go anywhere or do anything by herself, or at least that’s how it seemed. Towards Tasha, he was always too polite, too courteous too... much. Tasha was infuriated with the whole thing. Of course, there were others in the keep who were the same way, but no one was as bad as Hal. It made her want to throttle him some days.
Another guard stood at the entrance to the baths. Upon closer inspection, Tasha recognized him as Venik, one of her father's personal guards. He politely nodded his head in greeting. "Good evening, Lady Tasha. How are you?"
Tasha stopped toweling her hair and smiled wearily at the guard. "A bit tired, but fine. Yourself?"
He smiled slightly, his face wrinkling at the corners of his eyes as he did so. "Oh, as good as I suppose I could be, your Ladyship."
"Good." Tasha gestured vaguely at the door behind him. "Is there anyone else in there right now?"
Venik shook his head gently. "No milady, there isn't. Hasn't been since before the young mage took his bath, and that was near dusk." The guard casually ran his thumb across the slightly crooked bridge of his nose. "I'm sure the water's still good and warm so there shouldn't be anything for you to worry about."
Tasha nodded. "Good. Nothing's worse than a cold bath."
"Aye milady, that is so."
Tasha ope
ned the door and stepped through. "See you soon," she said, waving slightly.
"Aye. Call out if you need anything. I'll be right here." He waved once himself before she lost sight of him behind the door.
The baths were built completely out of chestnut wood that had been stained a dark brown. There were one or two torches lining each wall, giving off a comforting glow to the otherwise dim room. In the middle of the floor was a large, shallow pool of water heated by a fire from below. Steam filled the room, adding condensation to the sweat already covering Tasha's athletic body. The very air smelled pleasant, like freshly baked bread. She sighed at the wonderful feeling.
Casually, Tasha peeled out of her clothes and gracefully hung them on one of the wall pegs. She shivered slightly in her nakedness and swiftly padded over to the warm water of the pool, testing it with one toe. It was warm, just below hot. She slid into the pool with another sigh, a relaxed smile of pleasure spreading across her face as she leaned back against the side of the pool.
Tasha closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the water just flow over her skin. Soothing. Relaxing. And sedating. She reached for the soaps that lined the pool and began to scrub herself clean of the sweat and grime of the day. The strong perfume of the soaps swiftly permeated the room.
Wiping away the last of the suds and bubbles, Tasha completely submerged herself in the water. She stayed beneath the surface for as long as she could before exploding up like a fish, spraying water in all directions. She laughed like a little girl, with high-pitched giggles. She clapped hand to her mouth after accidentally snorting and broke into an even bigger fit of giggling. Once she calmed down, Tasha reached for the soap again and started in on her hair.
After she was finished cleansing, Tasha allowed herself to float into the middle of the pool and let her mind relax. Gently, she tugged on the strings of that strange but wonderful ability that she had only recently begun to develop. The greatest mages and doctors that her father could find had no explanation for her talent, save to say that they doubted it was harmful to her. Closing her eyes, Tasha gathered her thoughts together and leapt off into the mental abyss.
It was a bit like flying, Tasha assumed. Her consciousness would flit from one image to another in a continuous, blurred slide that was nearly impossible to describe to anyone who couldn't experience it for themselves. In a way, it was similar to riding a horse while it was galloping. The scene would bounce up and down in front of you while the images at the periphery would blur into lines and streaks, only much more so. And with more colors! Colors that couldn't even be seen by the human eye were absolutely radiant there. From the deepest of deep red to an impenetrable, inky blackness. To a white so bright that the sun almost seemed to fade in comparison. All in brief, fluid flashes.
It was difficult to tell where one was going at first. You had to get a feel of some sort, something in which to anchor yourself. In a world of thought, one had to be able to keep a clear head in order to avoid getting incredibly lost. Tasha remembered some close calls in her first few attempts with her strange ability. She was positive that it wouldn't have been so difficult if she'd had someone to teach her, but there just didn't seem to be anyone else who had the ability.
Curious, Tasha searched along the paths for the mental trace of Garnthalisbain and quickly found him. With a literal thought, her consciousness arced through the space that was no space to her friend and took up a temporary residence just on the fringes of his mind.
As always, the young mage was locked in his dim, cramped room, hunched over one of his many books. His eyes were bleary from the lack of sleep and his head pounded like a percussionist upon his drum. With his slender, delicate fingers Garn turned one of the old, weathered pages before leaning back and pressing both hands to the base of his spine. He stretched. The dry, ratchety sound of his vertebrae popping ran up his back in an increasing crescendo, ending with the young mage letting out his breath in an explosive gasp of relief.
Ever so subtly, Tasha tried to plant the suggestion of sleep into the weary mage's mind. Abruptly, Garn stiffened, turning his gaze inwards. Tasha, he thought, the irritation that he was feeling transmitted a hundred times as strongly as if it were spoken out loud. If you don't mind, I'd like to finish this page before I go to my bed.
Tasha chuckled. I'm just trying to look out for you, Garn.
Did I ask you to?
No, but if you did I'd be even more worried. She quickly left his mind before Garn could deliver his normally scathing "last word".
Mentally snickering to herself, Tasha let her mind float along the stream at random.
With some surprise she found herself being softly drawn towards the thoughts of a sleeping individual. Upon her arrival there, she was even more surprised to see that it was Hal.
He seemed to be lying on a rough bunk with his long legs dangling off the end and one arm resting on the cold, wooden floor. He looked for all the world like the largest lost, little boy who ever lived. One of his powerful arms curled protectively around his pillow, the same way a child would around a favorite stuffed toy. His long hair was in a hopeless tangle that would take a rake to straighten out. Out of sheer, unstoppable curiosity, Tasha decided to peer into his dreams.
It was misty there, inside Hal's head. Lots of clouds, dark patches looming over the landscape. Off to the side was an area of golden light that the clouds just couldn't shadow over. Examining it more closely, Tasha saw there a set of eyes. Amber eyes. A face then came into focus, with blonde hair flowing down over the eyes and past a milky white complexion that looked remarkably like...
Tasha gasped, mentally recoiling from the flawless recreation of her features.
Hal's consciousness shifted and began to waver, the dreamscape wavering.
She scooted out of Hal's mind as fast as she was able to and flung herself recklessly across the open expanses of the mental stream. Tasha soared on and on, not knowing where she was headed and not caring the least bit. She just needed to get away. It was irrational, but she had to do it all the same.
The area in front of her suddenly stopped blurring. It became clear, crystalline almost. Astonished, Tasha immediately tried to take all of it in. Never had this happened before and she needed to see what had changed.
She was completely surrounded by impenetrable, gray mists that she couldn't see through or really even move in. For one frightening moment she feared that she'd been caught back in Hal's dream world and was unable to get out. Then, way off in what had to be the distance, came a glimmer of faint, muted light. Curious, and incredibly relieved, Tasha struggled to move towards the light. It seemed as if the very mists around her tried to keep her from it. Redirecting, misleading and even pushing her away at times.
Slowly, the light got closer. She was able to distinguish a figure. A very large, very dark figure carrying a metallic staff that was apparently the source of the crimson light. The figure appeared tall, with a muscular frame that would have made most men envious of its perfection. The figure's shoulder length hair glowed an identical red to that of the staff and flowed about as if in the middle of a maelstrom. The eyes were without pupils and appeared to be engulfed in a perpetual flame that was also crimson. The sharp-edged, brief mail that he wore was enameled the darkest of black, as was the cape that flapped out behind him, also caught in that same hidden wind. The figure gripped the staff with both, trembling hands. The look on the flawlessly beautiful, chiseled face showed a haughtiness and cruelty that knew no bounds. And yet there was something else there as well, something undefinable. Something like...
Fear?
What do you have to be afraid of?
The head whipped around and pierced unerringly into Tasha's being as she berated herself for her carelessness. HOW DID YOU GET HERE? the being thundered, astonished. Then his thoughts changed entirely. TAKE ME FROM HERE! he insisted at an impossible volume. TAKE ME FROM HERE ON THE NONCE OR YOU WILL PERISH! The figure paused in his tumultuous tirade and glared fiercely.
Tasha could feel a deep rooted, pit of fear knot up tightly in her stomach. If she could have cried, she would have. The look on the being's face suddenly became even more twisted and gruesome then before. THEN DIE!!! he bellowed.
He swung the staff down powerfully and thrust it out like a blade. A roiling, crimson wave of crackling energy flowed over her.
Tasha cried out in eternal anguish and pain... ..
And was set free.
The perspective changed. Tasha was looking at the face of a mountain. The largest that she'd ever seen or heard of. It reached from the earth all the way up to the clouds. Around its peak swirled the same gray mist that she'd found herself trapped in mere moments before. The land for miles around the mountain was flat, it stuck out like a gigantic, stone weed in the middle of a desert. Which was more or less what the land was like. Dry, crusty and gray.
Dead.
Tasha knew with a cold certainty that this was where the being lay. Whether hidden or trapped she could not say, only that he was there.
Another change. An ocean, from a bird's eye, it seemed, as it came upon a lush land. There were people happy and laughing as they went about their everyday business, unaware of the imminent evil that was brewing to destroy the whole world. Tasha was unconsciously certain of that fact.
A castle came into view. It was huge. Walled in on all sides with gleaming spires that ascended into the sky like fingers reaching for something great. Men in full plate mail rode out the front gate and over the expansive drawbridge on their immense war horses. Their lances rested on the butts of their saddles, the pennons snapping in the breeze from the tips of their elegant weapons. The symbol of the sword and the dragon lay emblazoned on the shields of all the warriors. In the far distance she heard a word that seemed to be whispered from a hidden source...
Southmoor
Another change. She was in a room. An elegantly artistic room that must have cost a fortune to have decorated. Flowing tapestries, portraying scenes of epic battles and victorious warriors, were spread along all of the walls from corner to corner. The carpet was lush and thick, a lavender that was deeper in color than any she'd seen before.
Floating in mid-air before her, was a book. It was leather-bound, ancient and powerful. Without actually being near it, Tasha could feel the latent energy the mere image of the book gave off.
Around the floating book, walked a cat. It was black, sleek, dangerous in appearance and apparently as immune to gravity's effects as the book was. The look in its eyes was something beyond even that though. Intelligence didn't seem to be an appropriate word to describe the depth of knowledge and wisdom that seemed to exude from the feline's gaze. It circled the book like any cat stalking its prey would, but never even came close to laying a whisker down on the crinkled leather.
A jewelry laden, feminine hand seemed to appear out of nowhere to stroke the cat's back. It purred and arched back to stretch out the caress. The woman was flawlessly beautiful. Thick, auburn colored hair that cascaded over her shoulders and breasts in tumultuous waves. She was dressed in a robe the same lavender color as the carpet. Her dark, voluminous eyes spoke novellas without saying a word that made sense. Tasha knew that she had to trust this woman. For what reason, she could not say. Nor why. Yet, she knew that she must. It couldn't be explained.
The woman's lips moved, but no sound came out. Desperately, Tasha tried to read the formation of her lips, but was unable to make much out. Barely anything at all.
Feeling herself starting to slip away, Tasha struggled with all her might to stay in the image of the room, wanting to know more. Needing to know more. But she was unable to do so. The image swiftly dissolved into the familiar streaks and blurred half-images of the mental stream. With a futile scream of fear, relief and frustration escaping her lips, she flew backwards, completely out of control.
Tasha snapped up to a sitting position with a violent start, splashing the semi-warm water around carelessly as she frantically tried to regain her bearings. She wrapped both arms about her torso and hugged herself close until the shivering stopped. She willed herself to stop being afraid and began to get upset when it refused to work.
He knows.
Southmoor.
The Book of Korum
It wasn't much to go on, but it was all Tasha'd been able to glean from the mysterious woman with the cat.
One thing was crystal clear though.
She needed to talk with Garn . Now.