The Grove’s defenders heard the goblins before they saw them. A discordant cacophony of drums and war horns rose like a wave and overwhelmed the silence of the forest as the horde approached. The stomps and snarls of hundreds of goblins echoed between the gnarled, ancient trees and beat against the stone wall.

  From their defensive positions atop the wall, they saw the vanguard of the horde emerge from the woodline, led by a hobgoblin. Dror Ragzlin. Behind him followed an ogre carrying an old goblin crone, who wielded a worn wooden staff topped with a skull. Priestess Gut. Dozens upon dozens of goblins, bristling with spears, scimitars, and shortbows, marched after them and poured into the clearing in front of the Grove.

  The plan was simple. The young, the old, and the infirm were sealed in the druid’s sanctuary. Anyone who could draw a bow, aim a crossbow, or cast an offensive spell was positioned on top of the wall. Everyone else who could fight stood in reserve at the wall’s base, right behind the gate, armed with whatever weapons were on-hand and ready to make a desperate last stand if the wall or the gate were breached. Behind them, Shadowheart and the healers set up a makeshift aid station in the Hollow, ready to triage, heal, and return people to the fight as quickly as possible.

  Alex stood next to Gale at the eastern end of the wall, near the elevator that descended to the Sacred Pool, partially concealed behind a makeshift wooden barricade. The defenders only had a handful of offensive spellcasters and were well aware that they would be priority targets, so each was assigned a guard.

  “You know, if Mystra had not crushed my pride and I were not afraid of dying, I probably would be deeply offended at being stuck out of the way, so far from the action,” said Gale. “And at having you as my bodyguard. No offense.”

  “None taken,” replied Alex as he yet again fiddled with his crossbow, checking and re-checking that the bolt was properly loaded. “I know that I’m not a fighter. Compared to the others, I’m practically useless. But if hiding in the corner means that I survive this, I’ll take it.”

  The eastern end of the wall was farthest from the Goblin Camp, so Kagha and Zevlor assumed that it would be the least likely portion to be assaulted. They positioned the bulk of their troops at the western end of the wall, the section closest to the Goblin Camp, and at the center, above the gate. Rolan stood at the western end, evocation spells at the ready, guarded by Karlach, Wyll, Cal, and Lia. Kagha and Zevlor stood ready above the gate, surrounded by their best fighters, plus Lae’zel and Astarion. Alex, the untrained and unproven yet willing fighter, and Gale, the wizard afflicted by a somewhat stable but still debilitating Netherese orb, stood alone at the eastern end of the wall, accompanied only by a handful of second-rate archers.

  The ramparts themselves, while previously bare, now contained several hastily constructed wooden barricades to provide cover for the defenders. Every arrow and crossbow bolt that could be scrounged from the tiefling and druid armories was brought up and distributed amongst the defenders. Several large rock piles lined the ramparts, each held in place by a piece of timber that could be removed to send the rocks tumbling down onto the attackers.

  The battlefield itself had also been carefully prepared. The druids used their magic to make shrubs, vines, and tall grass sprout in front of the gate, covering the area with dense undergrowth that not only served to slow the advance of attackers, but also conceal several barrels of oil and smokepowder placed by the tieflings. The gate itself has been doused with water, to protect it from the effects of these traps and from any creative goblins who may seek to torch it.

  Alex gulped as more and more goblins poured out of the woods, gathering in the clearing in front of the wall with a few worgs and ogres mixed in among them. Some of the goblins carried grappling hooks or ladders, meant for scaling the wall. And a few of the ogres carried large, solid wooden clubs as large as a tree trunk, capped with sheets of iron. Battering rams.

  The army snarled, stamped their feet, and beat their weapons against their armor, but took care to stay just out of longbow range. The defenders on the wall kept quiet as the seeming futility of their situation became apparent. Zevlor and Kagha took notice and turned to give their final speeches.

  “Exiles of Elturel! We have survived much worse than this!” shouted Zevlor, barely audible above the din. “And we will survive this, too. For your families, and for your freedom, stand with me!”

  “Druids of the Emerald Grove! Though we have had our disagreements with these refugees, today we fight as one!” yelled Kagha. “These goblins are an abomination that threaten this entire land. And by the will of Silvanus, we will be victorious!”

  As if on cue, the tide of goblins finally stopped and the horde fell silent. Out of the forest walked a drow, clad in black armor and flanked by two massive spiders. The goblins parted before her as she strode to the center of the clearing to stand with Ragzlin and Gut. Her piercing crimson eyes swept across the ramparts, and Alex shivered as a black aura of pure malevolence radiated across the clearing. Minthara.

  He dreaded this meeting. He knew that Minthara could make a very powerful ally against the Absolute, if only she could be broken free of its influence. But it was one thing to knock her out with a non-lethal attack in a video game. It was another matter entirely when confronted with a seemingly endless army of bloodthirsty enemies, armed only with a light crossbow, a splintered spear, and a chipped dagger.

  Minthara raised a mace and pointed it directly at Kagha and Zevlor. “For the Absolute!” she roared. “Slaughter them!”

  A wave of goblins surged forward and charged the wall, the beating of war drums driving them on. Atop the wall, archers drew their bows and crossbowmen took aim. Willing his hands to steady themselves, Alex stood up from behind the cover of the barricade and aimed his crossbow at one of the charging goblins, watching as they drew closer and closer.

  “Loose!” ordered Kagha, and two-dozen arrows and bolts flew toward the charging goblins, striking down the first row. But the ones behind them did not break stride as they stepped over and around their fallen comrades.

  Alex reloaded his crossbow as quickly as his shaking hands and adrenaline-fueled heart allowed. His first bolt had struck true, hitting a goblin in the upper chest. He did not have time to reflect that aside from some invasive bugs, this was the first sentient creature that he had ever intentionally killed. Back home, he would have felt guilty about running over a squirrel, let alone killing one with a weapon. But now that it was do-or-die, he operated completely mechanically.

  “Good shot,” commented Gale, voice underlain with barely-concealed fear. “Pretty good for an amateur like yourself.”

  “Difficult to miss when there are so many targets,” grunted Alex as lifted, aimed, and fired his crossbow again, striking another charging goblin. Down it went, and yet it seemed to make no difference in the face of the endless horde.

  The first wave of goblins neared the face of the wall, undeterred by the projectiles raining down on them. “Spellcasters!” ordered Zevlor, barely heard above the reverberating horns, drums, and war cries.

  Gale stepped out from behind the barricade. “I suppose that’s my cue.” He held his hands out in front of him and conjured wisps of cool, blue energy. “Glacies,” he chanted, and the wisps combined into an icy ray of frost that shot downward and struck a goblin, toppling it over. When the energy faded from his hands, he grimaced and took a deep breath.

  “You okay?” asked Alex as he fired his crossbow, bringing down yet another goblin.

  Gale rubbed his chest. “It’s this damnable orb. As long as I don’t overdo it and stick to cantrips and the like, I should be alright.”

  The ray of frost drew the attention of some goblin archers, who raised bows and nocked arrows. “Get down!” ordered Alex as he pulled Gale behind the cover of the wooden barricade. A series of thunks signaled the arrival of goblin arrows, but the barrier held firm. “Wait a minute or so between casts. Stand up, cast your cantrip, and duck back down immediately.”

  Gale dusted off his robes. “An excellent idea. I see why we’re stationed in the corner.”

  Alex peered out around the barricade. The wave of goblins had reached the base of the wall and started to climb, finding footholds in the cracks and gaps of the boulders. Several defending archers were now firing across the face of the wall, trying to pick off the climbers before they reached the top. He stood, fired a bolt at the climbing goblins, and crouched behind the barricade. A moment later, Gale did the same, picking off a climbing goblin with another ray of frost and then unceremoniously ducking behind cover, with another series of thunks reminding them that the goblin archers were still on the alert.

  A low roar echoed across the battlefield as Alex was reloading his crossbow and Gale was recovering from the exertion of spellcasting. They both peeked around the barricade and saw a massive ogre charging at the gate, wielding a battering ram as if it were merely a spear. Goblins scrambled out of its way, a few crushed underfoot with a sickening crunch.

  A burning bright light at the other end of the wall drew their attention. Rolan conjured a massive fireball in his hands, lifted it above his head, and hurled it down at the charging ogre. The fireball struck the ogre square in the chest and exploded, covering it, the surrounding goblins, and the ground in flames. Before the ogre could even wail in pain, an enormous orange explosion engulfed it. The ground shook and a blast of heat radiated outward as the concealed oil and smokepowder barrels exploded, temporarily blinding everyone who was looking in their direction. Even at the end of the wall, Alex was nearly knocked over by the force of the explosion and the sweat on his forehead evaporated from the heatwave.

  For a moment, the battlefield fell nearly silent in shock, punctuated only by the crackling of flames and the moans of the wounded. A plume of black smoke hung over the gate, completely obscuring it, and the odor of charred flesh and burnt wood filled the air. As the smoke cleared, Alex spotted Zevlor, Kagha, Astarion, Lae’zel, and the other defenders slowly get to their feet, singed, bruised, and rattled, but otherwise okay. The gate stood firm, intact except for scorch marks.

  The goblins were not so lucky. The explosion burnt the ogre’s body to a crisp, little of its flabby flesh left untouched. Seemingly every enemy within fifty feet of the gate was either dead or mortally wounded, some with flames still licking at their skin, others blackened and charred beyond recognition.

  But though dozens of goblins were killed in an instant, it seemed to barely make a dent in their numbers. “Are you lot afraid of a little fire?” shouted Dror Ragzlin, cutting through the stunned silence like a rusty scimitar. “I thought you were warriors, not babes!”

  Next to him, Gut chanted a prayer and the feeling of shock and awe amongst the goblins dissipated, replaced once more by bloodlust. War drums resumed beating and Ragzlin sounded a war horn, and the army charged forward as one. Hundreds of goblins, worgs, and ogres swarmed towards the wall, met by a flurry of arrows and bolts. Some goblins paused to loose arrows of their own back at the defenders, and the thwack of arrows against wooden barricades and screams of injured defenders echoed across the ramparts.

  When they reached the wall, those who had ladders braced them against the wall, and those who had grappling hooks threw them up, trying to get purchase on the rampart. Tieflings and druids ran forward to push away the ladders, cut the ropes, and release the piles of rocks, occasionally getting pierced by an arrow for their efforts. Goblins tumbled down as their ladders and grappling hooks fell away, crushing their fellow attackers underneath them.

  Alex fired his crossbow as quickly as he could load it, but soon ran out of bolts. Desperate, he resorted to throwing rocks, planks, and whatever makeshift projectiles he could find; he even hurled his shield down onto the head of an approaching ogre, knocking it out with a thud. Gale continued casting ray of frost and occasionally threw in a firebolt, but it was clear that the strain of just these cantrips was getting to him. He collapsed to the ground behind the barricade, breathing heavily and clutching his chest.

  And then another goblin war horn sounded, louder than the others.The goblins in front of the gate parted to make room, and two ogres carrying a battering ram charged forward.

  “Kill them!” shouted Kagha, her desperate command ringing across the battlefield. “Focus everything on those ogres!”

  Out of ammunition, Alex could only watch with dread as arrows, firebolts, and scorching rays rained down on the pair of ogres, who shrugged them off with impunity as they sprinted to the gate, bellowing a war cry. With a loud crash that echoed through the clearing, the iron-plated ram struck the gate head-on.

  The gate splintered under the onslaught. The two ogres carrying it, peppered with arrows and singed by fire spells, drew the ram back and swung it forward with a mighty heave. The gate cracked and buckled, the cracks growing and growing with each impact of the ram.

  Zevlor turned to issue orders down to their reserve troops, but couldn’t be heard over the chaos of combat. The ogres pulled the ram back one last time and swung it forward with a roar. Under the onslaught, the cracked wooden gate finally shattered and gave way. Goblins poured in.

  “This is it lads!” shouted Dror Ragzlin, raising a warhammer overhead. “Everybody, charge! Kill ‘em all!” He charged at the gate, with the ogre carrying Gut not far behind. Their bloodlust was infectious. The goblins got a second wind and they mobbed outside the shattered gate, pushing each other forward and yelling for blood.

  “Retreat!” shouted Zevlor, barely audible above the din of war cries and the ringing of steel against steel. “Everybody off the wall! Form up at the Hollow!”

  That would prove easier said than done. One of the goblin leaders had been waiting for this moment, ready to deliver a killing blow while the defenders were in disarray. The two giant spiders that had accompanied Minthara to the battlefield climbed swiftly up the wall at the western end, where they pounced and surprised Karlach, Wyll, Rolan, and his siblings.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  At the eastern end, which had been relatively unassailed until now, a half-dozen ladders appeared and braced against the wall. A tiefling fighter ran forward to push them away, not noticing the wisps of white magic congealing behind him. In a flash of light, the wisps converged into a humanoid shape and Minthara appeared atop the wall, a scroll of misty step disintegrating in her left hand. With her right, she hefted a mace and brought it crashing down on the back of the tiefling’s head. The tiefling collapsed to his knees, blood pouring from the gaping hole in his skull, and Minthara kicked him off the wall to the charred ground below.

  With a cry, an elf druid discarded her bow, drew a shortsword, and charged at Minthara. Almost lazily, Minthara parried the slash and swung her mace into the side of the druid’s head. When it made contact, there was a burst of radiant light as a divine smite split the druid’s skull. She collapsed like a ragdoll, blood pooling around her head.

  Minthara shook the blood and bone fragments from her mace and looked down on the goblins swarming up the ladders. “You lot, when you get up here, head towards the gate and kill everyone in your path! I want their leaders’ heads!” she ordered. She turned her head to look directly at Alex and Gale, who had tried and failed to slink away unnoticed. “I will kill the wizard myself.”

  Alex gulped and briefly considered running away, but stood firm. No. Minthara is supposed to be a recruitable companion, right? This could be my only chance. And anyway, if I can’t even beat her, how can I possibly expect to defeat the Absolute? “Gale, get out of here. Run to the elevator,” he said under his breath, not taking his eyes off Minthara and the blood dripping from her mace. He slowly crouched to pick up his spear.

  “And how exactly do you intend to win this?” asked Gale incredulously between heavy breaths. “Without dying, I mean.”

  “I don’t need to win,” he replied, settling into a crude fighting stance and hoping he sounded confident. Left foot forward, right foot back, spear pulled back and ready to thrust. “I just need to stall her. So get out of here, now.”

  “To be perfectly honest, I don’t think you can even do that. But best of luck.” Gale backed up a few steps, turned, and ran for the elevator down to the Sacred Pool.

  Minthara’s eyes followed Gale as he ran, and then focused on Alex. He swallowed hard, adding to the anxiety roiling his stomach and threatening to boil over. Pure bloodlust and hatred filled her red eyes, which contemplated him like a bothersome insect. But they also appeared wide, clouded, and unfocused, like she was drugged or hallucinating. The Absolute’s influence?

  He took a deep breath, steadying himself and thinking quickly. She probably sees me as a weak, untrained human who can barely hold a spear correctly. Which is true. But if I can surprise her, I may be able to catch her off guard.

  With the spear, I have the advantage of reach. A temporary advantage; she’s probably fought dozens or hundreds of spear fighters, so I’m sure she can easily dodge any attack I make. But it will at least force her to waste a second on a dodge or parry.

  At the middle range, once she gets past my spear, she will have the advantage. One hit from that mace on my head or chest will probably kill me, especially if she uses a divine smite, armor and antimagic be damned.

  I need to close the distance. She’s smaller than me, so I might have the advantage of brute strength. If I can get close enough, then she won’t be able to swing her mace and I will be able to grapple her. If I can get her to the ground, I can use my weight to pin her.

  Minthara charged at him.

  She sprinted at him full speed, mace raised to strike. Alex thrust forward with his spear, aimed squarely at the center of her chest. With practiced ease, she sidestepped the spear point and knocked the shaft away, leaving him wide open. In that instant, with all the grace of a flopping fish, he launched himself at her.

  It was not pretty, it was not elegant, and it was certainly not practiced. But it caught Minthara off guard. His left shoulder collided with her chest and they both fell to the ground in a tangled heap.

  Minthara tried to roll out from underneath him, but his weight kept her pinned to the ground. He grabbed her wrists and shifted his weight, straddling her stomach. “Do you surren-?” he started to say, when Minthara snarled and headbutted him, her head crashing into his nose. His nose snapped from the impact as he yelped in pain and recoiled, loosening his grip. She freed her right wrist, grasped her mace, and swung it into his left side.

  It was only a partial swing, but he felt the impact though his breastplate and it nearly knocked the wind out of him, the clang reverberating through his insides like a punch to the gut. Before she could pull back for another swing, he instinctively dove forward and delivered a desperate headbutt of his own.

  Their foreheads smashed together. Minthara briefly went limp from the impact and he grunted in pain and saw stars, temporarily dazed.

  Minthara recovered faster. She wrapped her arms around him, pulled him down, and rolled. In a reversal, now he lay pinned on the ground, Minthara straddling his chest. She drew a dagger from a sheath at her waist and raised it, ready to stab at his face.

  Without thinking, Alex grabbed her waist and rolled with as much strength as he could muster. And then they both plummeted over the edge of the wall.

  Everything hurt. But he was alive. Somehow.

  He had landed on the body of an ogre, its flabby flesh cushioning his fall. He winced as he slowly sat up, his back and joints protesting. He gently touched his aching forehead, feeling the developing bruise from his desperate headbutt, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Gingerly, he felt where his nose was, or at least where it should have been, and instead found only a broken mass of cartilage that spiked with pain at the slight touch. He futilely wiped at the blood pooling on his upper lip, only succeeding in smearing it across his face.

  A nearby grunt of pain snapped him out of his shock.

  Minthara laid on the ground a few paces away, sprawled out amongst the flattened remains of a shrub. She laid on her left side, her left arm and leg twisted grotesquely underneath her, very much broken. She breathed slowly and heavily, each rise and fall of her chest causing her to flinch with pain. A large gash cut across her forehead, dying her silver hair red with blood.

  Bracing for discomfort, Alex slowly stood up, bones creaking and muscles aching as he pushed himself to his feet. He took one step forward and almost immediately collapsed, his knees protesting as pain lanced up his legs. This is my only chance. He doggedly grit his teeth and limped forward, drawing his dagger and stumbling towards Minthara.

  As he approached, Minthara tried to push herself up, only to gasp in pain and lay back down with a grimace. He made it to her side and knelt down, dagger raised. She swiveled her head and glared at him. Despite her state, an aura of pure malevolence washed over him, her presence no less diminished.

  But her eyes were different. They were still filled with hatred and malice, but no longer clouded and unfocused. Now, her crimson eyes stared straight at him with unrelenting intensity, as if trying to drill into his mind. “May the Absolute… take me,” she said, gritting her teeth, pushing through the pain, defiance giving her voice strength. “I shall serve… even in death.”

  Before Alex opened his mouth to respond, a loud, bestial cry of despair arose like a chorus from the gate. A mob of goblins sprinted out, scattering in all directions, and a victorious cheer arose from the defenders. He froze in surprise. Did we… win?

  The reaction of the rest of the horde confirmed it. Panic set in among the remaining goblins and ogres, and they began to swiftly withdraw back into the woods, abandoning their equipment and running with fear on their faces. Minthara’s eyes widened at the sight before settling back into a cool gaze of contempt.

  “Do you… surrender?” repeated Alex, breathing heavily through the haze of pain, still recovering from the exertion of their fight. Please. Somehow, the battle is over. Don't make me kill you.

  Minthara’s gaze sharpened into a glare. “No,” she hissed, filling that single word with enough venom to topple an elephant.

  No matter what, I will not kill her. We need her. Silence fell between them, but their eyes remained locked in a battle of wills. Hers filled with contempt, his with melancholy. How do I break through to her?

  “I don’t want to kill you,” he finally admitted. Underneath the layer of crusted blood and sweat, his eyes were downcast and his mind raced, desperately reviewing what little he knew about her.

  “I know… you are soft,” spat Minthara, face twisted into a snarl, eyes burning with anger. “What is stopping you?”

  Alex paused contemplatively before answering. This will be a gamble, but I can’t think of anything else to say. “Your eyes… they are different.”

  Minthara did not respond, but her hatred gave way to suspicion.

  “Up on the wall, your eyes were clouded and unfocused. Down here, they are clear and intense,” he said slowly, his breathing measured as he focused on his words, knowing that he could not allow a single mistake. “Why? What changed?”

  Minthara’s visage of contempt and suspicion briefly cracked, replaced for a split second by confusion and fear. If he had blinked, he would have missed it. But he noticed it, and after a moment of hesitation, he decided to keep chipping away. “The Absolute… I bet you can’t hear her right now.”

  Another crack. “How do you know that?” she asked in a low voice, almost a whisper.

  He lowered his dagger and took a deep breath, preparing to lay all his cards on the table. “Because I can block her voice.”

  Minthara did not react, did not even flinch. But though she met his gaze impassively, he could sense the torrent of emotions roiling underneath. “Enough of this.”

  With a grunt, she stretched her right hand across her body and grasped her left side. Blue healing magic leapt from her fingertips and spread up and down her body. The gash on her forehead sealed and her limbs creaked and straightened as they mended themselves.

  He didn’t stop her. He slowly stood up and stumbled backwards a few steps, wincing at the pain in his knees.

  After a couple minutes, the blue healing magic faded. Testing herself, Minthara stood up and put weight on her left leg, and found no resistance. She stood straight, confident, and menacing, seeming to tower over him, even though he was a few inches taller than her. She reached down and picked up her fallen mace, then eyed him. He backed up a couple more steps and tried to stand straighter, hoping that he didn’t miscalculate.

  “You are fortunate that right now, you are worth more alive than dead,” she said, sounding mildly disappointed. “Otherwise, I would kill you where you stand.”

  “Does that mean-”

  “Silence, iblith,” she snarled, a flash of rage breaking through her shell of authority. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath, composing herself. “Tell me your name, now.”

  He looked her in the eyes and tried to look as confident as one could possibly look when covered in blood and dirt with a broken nose. Please, join our group. “My name is Alexander Bannister.”

  She stared at him like he was a germ under a microscope, memorizing and analyzing his every feature. “I will return to our base. I will tell the Absolute everything about you. And then, I pray that I will be the one sent to capture you and drag you before her.”

  Without another word, she turned and ran into the forest, disappearing among the trees.

  Minthara ran through the woods, her footsteps light and silent. She headed west, back to the Goblin Camp, giving a wide berth to any fleeing goblins she heard bumbling through the underbrush. Upon her return to the camp, she will scavenge whatever supplies she can find and descend to the Underdark through the abandoned Sel?nite temple. If she could link up with that loudmouth jaluk Nere and his duergar mercenaries, she could shave several days off her return journey to Moonrise.

  Her plan set, her thoughts turned back to that human. Even though she was sure it was due to nothing but dumb luck and her own overconfidence, he was the first person in years to best her in a fair fight. A human. A young, seemingly inexperienced fighter. And a male, at that. But to make it even worse, he was soft. For whatever reason, he tried to spare my life from the beginning, even as we fought atop the wall. That iblith should have killed me.

  She clenched her teeth. A humiliating defeat. I must never again allow my pride to become overconfidence.

  At Moonrise, she will tell General Thorm everything about this man and his ability to block the Absolute’s voice. And then, she will ask to personally lead a raiding party to capture him, to atone for her failure to serve their god. A proper squad, this time with better warriors than goblin trash.

  She would never admit it to anyone, but deep down, she was frightened. In her short exchange with him, she masked it with rage and contempt. How was such a thing even possible? How could a mere man silence a god?

  And not just any god. The god in whose service she commanded the slaughter of hundreds. The god who welcomed and accepted her after she turned her back on Lolth. The god whose worship formed her entire identity. And now, the god whose voice was silent, leaving her mind disturbingly empty.

  As she ran and increased the distance between herself and the Grove, she felt it. The familiar, welcoming presence of the Absolute, re-entering her mind. She did not realize it, but her eyes became wide, clouded, and unfocused. Like a drug, peace and contentment radiated outward from her mind to every corner of her body, and her limbs began to move on their own. All her doubts, fears, and confusion faded, replaced with dutiful purpose. And then, she heard Her voice.

  MINTHARA… RETURN… TO ME.

  Bliss.

  “What a fun little decoration,” commented Astarion in his usual sardonic tone. “I hope it won’t stink up our camp.”

  “It is most unfortunate that I do not have the means to properly preserve it,” said Lae’zel, putting the finishing touches on her creation. “For a crude creature such as him, he was a worthy opponent.”

  She stepped back to admire her work. Dror Ragzlin’s head stood impaled on a spear next to the destroyed gate. His decapitated body lay unceremoniously at her feet, next to the body of Priestess Gut.

  “You certainly looked like you were having fun,” said Shadowheart as she walked up to the pair. “A little too much fun, perhaps.”

  Lae’zel shook her head dismissively. “Chk. At least I didn’t lurk in the corner like you or the spawn.”

  “Hey now, I helped,” said Astarion. “I just had to wait for the right moment, and then...” He paused to dramatically recreate the motion of throwing a dagger. “No more dear old priestess. They do say patience is a virtue, after all.”

  “Speaking of lurking in the corner, here comes our powerless wizard,” said Shadowheart as Gale approached the trio, noticeably alone. “Where’s Alex?”

  Gale nervously rubbed his head. “Ah, well, about that. I was actually hoping that you had seen him.”

  “What the hells does that mean?” asked Karlach, approaching the group with Wyll. They were covered with blood, guts, and superficial cuts, but appeared otherwise unharmed. “Where could he have gone?”

  Everyone looked at Gale, who withered under their stern gaze. He gulped, anticipating their response. “Well… last I saw him, he was up on the wall. Fighting that drow commander.”

  Wyll’s eyes narrowed. “You left him up there? To fight her alone?”

  Flames spouted from Karlach’s shoulders. “What kind of cowardly, selfish, backstabbing move is that?” she erupted, releasing a wave of heat.

  Gale held up his hands to placate everyone, but gave up and slumped forward. “He told me to make a run for it. It seemed like he had a plan. I had hoped that I would find him here, but-”

  “But, now he’s dead and rotting up there, and you didn’t even have the decency to tell us,” interjected Astarion, feigning concern. “Or me, for that matter. I bet his blood has soaked completely into the ground by now. What a waste.”

  “You guys know I’m right here, right?”

  Everyone in the group whirled around. There, limping through the shattered remnants of the gate, was Alex. He was dirty, bloodied, and wracked with pain, but alive.

  Karlach ran up and enveloped him in a tight hug, tears welling. “Gods almighty, I’m glad you’re alright! We all thought you were dead.”

  “I wouldn’t… say… alright,” strained Alex, his already-battered body now feeling close to snapping in two.

  “Oh, sorry!” Karlach released him and he almost fell to the ground, catching himself at the last moment as pain lanced up his legs.

  “Gods, you look like someone who got into an ugly contest with a troll, and then the troll beat you for winning,” said Astarion, making a show of peering closely at his face. “But I am glad you made it. Can’t allow your blood to go to waste, after all.”

  Shadowheart ran up, put her hands on his face, and applied a stream of blue healing magic to his broken nose. Mercifully, his antimagic did not interfere, and his nose quickly snapped back into place and realigned into its proper shape. “While I’m sure we all appreciate your enthusiasm to be useful, there was a reason that you and Gale were positioned where you were,” she chided, fussing over him. She moved her hands down to his chest and applied another burst of healing magic, which surged through his body and dulled his pains to a low ache. “You’re the only thing keeping our tadpoles quiet. You were supposed to stay out of danger.”

  Wyll clapped him on the back, making him wince. “I’m glad you made it. You fought the drow commander, eh? And you lived. You’re tougher than you look.”

  “Indeed,” said Lae’zel, giving him a nod of approval. “Your enthusiasm for combat is commendable. Though your martial prowess still leaves a lot to be desired.”

  “Well, I almost died,” he pointed out, nevertheless feeling some pride at their praise. “And I didn’t beat her. We fought to a draw, then she escaped.”

  “Well regardless of the outcome, I am truly, sincerely glad that you are still alive and well,” said Gale, eyes flicking to the ground in shame. “You didn’t have to do that, especially for someone in my current state.”

  Alex looked at the group. Most of them were bloodied, bruised, singed, scratched, and exhausted, but overall, everyone was okay. Against an army of hundreds, they had survived. He had a good feeling about the journey ahead.

  Drow Language Translations