Callista looked back out into the dark cavern. It had been years since she and Bastian had
slain the Madusilith in this very place.
So many things had happened since that time so long ago . . .
But it had been here, standing over the corpse of their
vanquished foe, that she had decided once and for all that she would not be a
reindeer herder. It was in this cavern
that she had claimed Stonesplitter as her own, and had struck down the stone
golem that stood guard over the passage to Bastian’s home, a place called Sigil
that existed in a realm beyond her own.
It had been here that she took her first step into a larger world.
Only now duty demanded that herding reindeer, and leading
her clan, would be her fate. But duty
also demanded that she retrieve her father’s sword. Her new adventuring companions were strong,
and it seemed that their direction lay together. And yet she did not fully trust them. The southern halfling was shifty and a
trained thief. The drow was . . . a
drow, and one that openly consorted with demons, at that.
She needed the advice and counsel of her old
swordmaster. He was the only one
left. Both of her parents had been
slain, and she trusted no one else enough to seek them out.
She turned back to the shimmering portal.
“Dammit, Bastian!
I need you! You told me to call
for you when I needed you!”
She ground her teeth in frustration, and slammed her fists down onto the cold, unfeeling stone.
* * *
Amalielle wept in her darkened chamber. She had sought for him yet again, and yet
again, another dead end. Siggertha the
Watcher, her foster mother here at the Chapel, had told her not to go, but she
still had. She did not know what to do
next. This had been her last lead, her
last thread of hope.
She sat on the edge of her sleeping pallet, head in
hands, when she received a sudden start.
“Bastian, I need you.”
She sat up and looked around. “What is the meaning of this? Who was that?”
In the corner, she spied a small, roiling mist of inky
black. A magical portal! How had she not seen it before?
Again she heard the voice, “Dammit, Bastian! I need you! You told me to call for you when
I needed you!”
An angry, female voice.
Did this person know her father?
She must have. She did not have
the sibilant voice of a courtesan, nor a former lover. Nor even a scorned lover. This one had the harsh voice of a soldier on
guard duty.
The portal suddenly began to waiver, and before it might
disappear, and without a second thought and without any other preparation,
Amalielle the Confessor plunged into the inky depths.
* * *
As Callista angrily turned to leave, a crashing noise
erupted behind her. Looking back over
her shoulder, she saw a heap of white robes and flowing golden hair.
“Bastian?” she
asked surprisedly, then pulled up short when it was clear it was not the
swordsman. “Who in the nine hells are
you?”
The stranger rose to her knees and looked around
uncertainly.
“I am Amalielle, the Confessor of Tyr,” she said, rising
to her feet. “I am also called Amalielle
Bastiansdottr. Bastian is the name of
my father.”
“Did Bastian send you?”
“No,” she replied. “ . . . I have never met him, although
I too seek him out.”
“Wonderful. Who
knows where the aasimar went, then . . . ”
“Did you know him well, uh . . . “
“I am Callista, daughter of Gorragh Yeti-Bane, Chief of
Clan Armageddon, and free knight of Vaasa.
He was my swordmaster many years ago.
And he was my friend and mentor.”
The young aasimar cleric nodded, satisfied. “I do not know where Vaasa is, I am afraid.”
“Well you had better come with me, there’s nowhere else
for you to go and we have much to discuss, and in any case, the door is closed
behind you. I have no idea how long
before it opens again, if ever.”
After several moments pondering the empty space where the
portal had once been, she looked back at the half-orc warrior.
“It seems the Lawbringer has set a path before me in this
strange place, and so I will follow it wherever it may lead. We have much to discuss indeed, Callista,
daughter of Gorragh.”
* * *
The young priestess shrank before the sight of the dragon
waiting for them outside. She had never
seen anything like the huge a creature, only heard of such things in the sagas
Siggertha had told her as a child. And
yet here it sat, straight from the legends of Sigurd and Fafnir.
“Old Smoke is a friend,” the half-orc told her
boldly. “He will take us to a place
where we may prepare ourselves for what lies ahead.”
Amalielle reluctantly climbed onto the dragon’s back
along with her new companion, before she heard the dragon’s voice in her mind.
Do not fear child.
Your forebear is known to me, from days long past. I owe that one my life. No harm will come to you so long as you are
in my presence.
*
* *
The dragon alighted outside of Callista’s fortified
tower. The half-orc and the aasimar
dismounted and head toward the place that Callista had come to call home.
Thank you Brother. I am
in your debt.
Find the blade of our blood’s covenant, Little One, and the debt will be repaid. I must hunt now, to regain my strength and to
prepare for the long winter that is to come.
The dragon dipped its head in acknowledgement, and took
flight into the night sky.
Our paths shall cross again, Callista, daughter of Gorragh.
*
* *
As the dragon disappeared from sight, Callista called out
to her frightened retainers, who had hidden themselves. The steward of her holding presented himself
before her.
“Good evening, Gareth,” she said to him, handing the
aging human her bow and quiver. “It has been a long night, and we are
hungry. Bring whatever is available in
the kitchens to the great hall, and prepare a room for our guest for when we
have finished. We will need horses ready
in the morning.”
“I will see to it immediately, my lord,” he said, bowing
slightly. “There is still some stew of
venison and carrots and onions on the fire.
I will have it brought up. As
well as a barrel of our most recent stout.”
Dame Callista put her hand on his shoulder and offered
him her thanks, as his lord and her guest made their way inside.
In the years since age and his wounds had kept him from
serving directly at her side, he had become used to his mistress appearing
suddenly, even in the middle of the night.
She would often leave just as suddenly, but that was her business, not
his. His business was to serve his
lord. She could have sent him away when
he could no longer swing a blade for her as was common in the bloodstone lands,
but she had not. She was as honorable
and loyal a knight as any he had seen in his life, and he would serve her to
the day he died, if she would have him.
* * *
“I will follow you wherever your quest takes you,
Callista,” the cleric said to her. “It
seems that Tyr Grimjaws has set me on the same path you travel, and so I will
help you see it through.”
The day had dawned brightly, and the horses were ready by
the time the two adventurers had eaten a cold breakfast and come down to take
their leave. They had spent the morning
discussing how to proceed, and had concluded an alliance. When the quest at Reaver Hall concluded, if
they still lived, they would seek out Bastian, wherever he might be.
“Then let’s not waste any more time,” she replied. “If we ride hard, we can catch up to the
others. They may have already reached
Reaver’s Rest by now. We will meet them
there.”
The half-orc warrior and her new aasimar cohort kicked
their horses into a gallop, and headed out across the Vaasan steppe.
* * *
Siggertha watched quietly as the images in her scrying
basin slowly faded. Amalielle had taken
up with the half-orc knight, just as she had foreseen. It was this knight who had helped Bastian
find his way back to their city years ago, and Siggertha’s visions had also
told her it would be the half-orc who would help Amalielle find Bastian in the
end.
Amalielle had gone from her, away from the City of
Doors. It was her destiny. While Bastian had left long ago, Amalielle
had been an enduring gift of grace. She
was the very image of her father, yet with her mother’s bearing and
dedication. Siggertha could not have
been more proud. Some day, Amalielle
would learn that the mistress of the Chapel of Resounding Justice was more than
just her foster mother. Perhaps Bastian
would tell her himself, once they had found him.