The Black Sword, Chapter 3: Lifting the Veil

"If you value your life, you'll drop the sword," the old man screeched, thrusting the staff closer to Ghaleon's face. His arthritic hands held the other end, gripping it tightly. Everything about the man looked weak. The corners of his eyes were latticed with wrinkles, circumscribed with shadows of insomnia. His white hair and beard were long but thinning, and it seemed he was held up by spindly legs under his faded red robe. Still, the wild fear in his clear blue eyes made Ghaleon's grip gradually loosen until his longsword clattered against the floor.

Malcolm had slid into his spread-legged fighting stance. Soirse stood stock-still, afraid to reach for her scimitar for the risk of spooking the old magician. Ghaleon, for once, was speechless. The three remained in a stalemate with the old man for what seemed like an hour.

Malcolm muttered under his breath, "He's an initiate?"

The man thrust his staff toward Ghaleon again and it sizzled, infused with power. "So you are here to kill me," he said.

"Well we --," Malcolm was interrupted.

"We only wanted to rob you," Ghaleon lied, "We didn't want a fight. I just had my sword out in case, well, this happened." Soirse nodded vigorously. The staff held its place, quivering in the old man's grip. "We're sorry," Ghaleon added hastily.

"Don't underestimate me. The Veil's poisons make the body look older than it is," came the man's reply. His blue eyes, far more alert than the rest of his body, darted from each adventurer to another, then widened in surprise. "They..." he stammered, "They got you too didn't they."

Ghaleon's head dropped, breaking from the man's gaze. "Yes, yes they did."

The crackling around the end of the staff ceased, heat-like waves shimmering away into nothing. The old man lowered it from its threatening position. His expression shifted from anger to sympathy. "I can help you," he offered.

The three moved into his bedroom, sitting on the bed as he motioned toward it. "I couldn't deprive an old man of his seat," Soirse said, gesuturing.

"Nonsense. You were intruders a moment ago, but now you're guests. Sit," he replied. Soirse sat, Fenrir taking his place at the end of the straw-packed mattress. "As you probably already know, my name is Siobhan. The first thing I can tell you is that you aren't poisioned." Soirse, Ghaleon and Malcolm's brows furrowed in puzzlement, then relaxed in relief. "What's happened to you, and me, is much, much worse." The hope drained out of their expressions. "You've fallen in with a group that calls themselves the 'Shadow Veil,'" Siobhan explained. "I was only with them for two months, but in that time they taught me much and hurt me more. They are a cult that worships creatures from beyond the stars, horrible beings from the Far Realms."

"They told us they could help with our problems," Malcolm said.

"Theirs is no help that you want," Siobhan answered, "You'll pay for it with your sanity, or maybe even your life. I'm not sure which is worse." The faint wet glistening around his eyes betrayed the pain of his memories. "The poisons they claimed to give you are actually the tiny eggs of an aberrant creature."

Shock washed over each of the companions' faces at about the same time. "So they're eating us alive?" Soirse cried, "But what about the antidote they've been giving us?" She produced one of the glass vials from her satchel. Siobhan leaned over, examining it intently in Soirse's hand.

"That's a suppressor. It keeps the eggs from hatching, but it won't kill them. They'll keep giving it to you until you're no longer useful, then the creatures will hatch and devour your mind, turning you into drooling thralls to their blasphemous overlords," Siobhan said.

The shock in their faces turned to despair and horror. Disgusted by the horrible creatures inside him, Ghaleon started to wobble on his seat, fighting off nausea.

"But there's hope!" Siobhan exclaimed in a sudden burst of enthusiasm; the adventurers jumped at the startling remark.

"What do you mean?" asked Ghaleon, wavering.

"I know how to make the suppressor," Siobhan replied, "and what's more, I think I can make an antidote."

"So you're not infected?" Malcolm asked.

"No, I am. I know how to make the cure, but I can't get its ingredients," the old man said, "and that's where you three come in. You do want to get cured, don't you?"

A chorus of nods answered the wizard. "Until you can get me what I need, you'll have to settle for more suppressor. I doubt the Veil will be so willing to give it to you once they find out I'm not dead."

"Old man, you may be wise, but you're not thinking," Ghaleon replied, "We'll take you up on the offer, but they won't know you're not dead. We'll bring them your staff as proof." Soirse felt a brief twinge of indignation at the warrior's audacity, speaking for her and Malcolm, but she suppressed it, realizing the wisdom in his plan.

"Hm," Siobhan pondered, "That is devious. It may buy us some time, but sooner or later they'll know I'm around."

"Then hide," Malcolm answered.

"Yes, I suppose I'm no longer safe here. But without my equipment I cannot prepare the cure, and I'm unlikely to escape the eyes of the Veil pulling a cartful of alchemical implements out of town."

"Leave that to me," Ghaleon replied smugly, "I've got some connections around here. Imagine I could pull a few strings and get you out nice and quiet."

"And I have some alchemical training," Soirse added, "so if you'll teach me, I could make the suppressor for us until you can brew up a cure."

Smiling at the sudden enthusiasm of his new allies, Siobhan replied, "Then we have a plan. I will teach you, the druid..."

"Soirse."

"Yes, Soirse. I will teach Soirse to make the suppressor while you..."

"Ghaleon."

"While Ghaleon arranges my passage out of town. I know a place just north of Hanrahan, an old abandoned barrow where I can hide. It's not comfortable, but it's safe."

"And while you go out there, we'll tell the Shadow Veil we killed you," Malcolm blurted eagerly.

"Exactly," Siobhan and Ghaleon replied, in unison but with very different inflections. Ghaleon cut his eyes at the ruddy dwarf; he did not approve of others taking credit for his ideas. Siobhan handed his staff to Malcolm. "Meet me at the barrow in one week's time. I will leave the city in two days. That should give Ghaleon plenty of time to arrange everything. The way is confusing, so listen carefully." He described in great detail the various twists and turns leading to the barrow, taking care to point out all the naturally-occurring landmarks along the trail. "Now, get some rest. We have a long week ahead."