A little (long) WIP. Thought I was done with this fic but they haunt me. A fleshing out of chapter 46 The Prisoner (1800 words)
A seam in the wall bursts and douses him in ice-cold spray. The death-screams of a colossal metal beast drown out Wyllās shouts. The water is up to his ankles now. A sahuagin spear slices the air past his ear and he lances out with the wrath of the Dawnlord, a burst of light searing the creature full in the face.
No point in yelling at Wyll to hurry up. Somethingās happening in the prison but Arash has his hands full warding off the sahuagin. At his divine command the sahuagin trips over its own flippers trying to flee, but is replaced by two of its comrades. Suddenly his nostrils sting with the acrid stink of sulfur.
Mizora.
Thereās no more time to waste on the sahuagin.
āClear!ā he hollers down the passageway. Heās been in so many fights by now it comes easily: an utter surrendering to the Dawnlord, that flings wide a mental gate of rose-gold and floods his heart with a warmth rapidly rising to flashpoint: a single, concentrated, white-hot beam of dawn light. An instant of utter silence. A blinding thunderclap.
And then the smell of fried fish. The urge in him lets out a wild laugh.
Wet robes and armor dragging on his limbs Arash splashes up the corridor. In the prison a proud yet ragged man kneels in the swirling shallow seawater, head bowed, but Arash doesnāt see Mizora. Still, sheās left her calling card: the prison swarms with hellish spiders, each larger than his splayed hand, their abdomens fierce as embers.
āDonātāā
Too lateāWyll slams his boot down on one of them and it explodes in a spray of lava. Flames leap up his leg.
Wyll has the sense to drop to the floor and kick until the seawater douses his greaves, but now the spiders are swarming the kneeling man. Wyll lunges desperately. āDad. Get up. Move!ā
But some spell has Duke Ravengard in its grip, and though his face works with grim determination no other part of his body seems able to stir, held fast in obeisance to Mizora. The devil who stole his son from him.
Later when he thinks back, Arash canāt recall having any thought at all. He just plunges forward and plows his shoulder into the Duke, sending the large man reeling. Wyll seizes his fatherās arm and drags him out of range while Arash utters a desperate prayer to the Dawnlord for protection, squeezes his eyes tight, and throws himself bodily into the seething pack of spiders.
The blast blows Wyll and his father back, toward the ladder to safety.
Aboard the submersible, Wyll sits with his father in a silence that would be unbearable were it not filled with the joyful shouts of the Gondians.
Arash peels off his blackened helmet and gauntlets. Karlach grabs him by the shoulders and rotates him. āA bit overdone on this side. Looks like somebody forgot to turn the spit.ā
At that he notices the Duke glance straight at him, but the older manās eyes are blank pools of the Absolute. Arash has seen the look many times: wide and unblinking, tuned to some distant song and yet all too uncannily aware. If only the Duke knew his own eyes mirrored Wyllās sending stone eye, how he and his son have both been forced into servitude not despite their heroism but because of it. They are so alike. Arash sees it, and he also sees Wyll is hanging on by a thread.
āHeās fighting it, I know it,ā Wyll says, as much to convince himself as anyone else.
From his belt Arash draws out the Astral prism, its unearthly metal weighing in his palm. He gives it a shake. āEmperor.ā
The voice that rings in his head makes him wince. He can see Wyll hears it too.
That was reckless. Overzealous.
āI thought you approved of my zeal.ā
Keep your zeal focused on defeating the Chosen and the Elder Brain.
āIāll give the orders around here.ā Arashās voice is oddly low. Dangerous. The Princeās voice. āYou depend on us as much as we depend on you. Donāt forget it.ā
I have not forgotten. That is whyā
āRelease Ulder Ravengard from the tadpole. Do it now.ā
There is a pause. Surely the mindflayer is, as always, three moves ahead of themāyet it seems surprised. Very well. If it helps you stay focused.
The Duke is in shock, not just from the conditions of his imprisonment but most of all from the sudden loosening of the tadpoleās control. He stands mutely shivering on the quay. Wyll unclasps his cloak and wraps it over his head and shoulders to keep him warm and safe from prying eyes as they hurry him back to the Elfsong.
Once there Wyll hangs back, hiding in Galeās reading nook, agonizingly trying to work up the courage to speak to his father. All the speeches heās been practicing into the campfire for seven years seem to have suddenly evaporated. All this time choking at Mizoraās gag and now that heās finally free to speak he has no idea what to say.
Arash joins him in the nook and half-sits on Galeās desk. āIn need of a wise and supportive cleric? Or supportive, at least?ā
Wyll inspects his burns: a blistered, crimson crescent on his cheek along the helmet-edge, an angry scorch mark disappearing under his collar. āYou should let Jaheira see to those.ā
āIām more worried about you.ā
Wyll chuckles. āIāve faced down many a powerful foe, but sometimes Iām my own worst enemy. Iāll be all right, donāt fret about me.ā
Yet looking at those burns the fear comes back, racing down his spine at the mere memory. That awful moment when he thought he recovered his father but lost his love. āWhat I donāt understand is why you threw yourself into the fire for my father. He and I havenāt spoken in seven years, and you donāt know him but what little Iāve told you, which hasnāt always the best of who he is, I realize now. Youāre mad.ā
āI did it for you.ā
Wyll is speechless. He stares hard into Arashās eyes as if he can puzzle him out, this sanguinary Prince, this self-sacrificing savior. Somehow those pieces do fit together, if in an unsettling way. Zealous and uncompromising.
Arash goes on. āIf he died, you would never have forgiven yourself. I know what that feels like.ā
Wyll is once again speechless. He tenderly touches Arashās face, then lays a hand alongside the unburnt side of his neck and strokes it slowly, thoughtfully, with his thumb. A new understanding binds them now. Arash is no longer just a companion, a friend, a flirtation to take the edge off the struggles. By this act, Arash said to him: I would throw myself in the fire for you to be at peace with yourself.
At last Wyll breathes out a long sigh of gratitude. And nods slowly as he makes a silent vow of his own.
Arash seems to understand. āGo talk to him.ā
Arash watches helplessly from across the room as father and son have a long overdue talk. The Duke must be exhausted but heās rigid as a polearm. Itās obvious from his frown he is having none of it, even now that Wyllās tongue is freed from the pact and he can explain everything. Wyll looks caved in, like heās been punched. Arash wants to storm over and shake the man. You donāt know how it hurts him that all you can see is his horns.
And then the mental shockwave hits. It hits them all. As he winces, from the corner of his eye he sees Gale grab his head in both hands. Laeāzel bares her teeth. Shadowheart freezes in the act of opening the curtains.
A windswept hill in the night, the city in the distance, night sky roiling with a great, evil summoning.
A teenage boy utterly out of his depth. The longing, the fear, the doubt.
But also the certainty.
Mizora looks twenty feet tall, illuminated against the night by a searing wall of Hellfire. Her Sisters move to hem him in, whispering diabolical chants.
āWhatās one little soul in exchange for a city?ā She offers the contract with a moue of mock apology. āPoor pup. You want to the be the hero? Hereās your chance. Too bad they didnāt warn you what it would cost.ā
Through young Wyllās blurring vision they look back over their shoulder at the distant lights of Baldurās Gate, the city blissfully unaware that it is at this moment being ransomed. And at such a price. Through the psychic link they feel how hard he forces down the lump in his throat.
I want my dad.
The Hellish plume scalds his shaking fingers.
Arash wrenches free of the tadpole and launches himself across the room, but before he can reach them, Duke Ravengard reels as if from a blow, sags, and at long last, after all these years, takes his son in his arms.
Later, over wine, Arash searches Wyllās expression for a hint of bitterness and is surprised to find none.
āYou had to resort to the tadpole to make him listen,ā Arash says, and thereās no disguising the reproach in his voice.
Wyll just smiles. āHeās a stubborn man.ā He leans back in his chair and gives Arash a curious once-over. āAn uncompromising defender of the city. Iād have him no other way.ā
āDo you mean something by that?ā
āItās a trait I admire.ā Thereās a new twinkle in Wyllās eye. A dark mote has finally been swept away. āI know someone else whoās uncompromising. If you hadnāt insisted, Iām afraid we might have been tempted to take Omeluumās advice and leave the Gondians behind. Trying to save them all wasā¦ madness.ā
Now itās Arashās turn to just smile.
āInspired madness.ā Wyll leans forward and places his palm on Arashās knee, and lets it linger there.
At the time, when they jumped down the ladder into the collapsing prison Arash said, āFind your father. Weāll take care of the rest,ā and Wyll took off running but suddenly stopped short and turned back, pleading. āCome with me.ā
It was the first time Arash had seen such uncertainty. So he went with him, and it was a good thing too, because if he hadnāt this would be a very different conversation.
He loves the softness in Wyllās face as he watches his father sleep, tucked into a bunk beyond the screen. For a moment it makes him forget that his murdering hands shouldnāt reach for Wyll, and he gently places one atop his.
He too must reconcile with his father, one way or another. And that will be a very different conversation.
