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The thin trail of blood snaked its way through the Emerald Grove, barely visible to the naked eye. Larger and larger, the drops led Halsin through the newly established camp of the tieflings, towards a secluded chamber guarded by a solid stone door.
No doubt there would have been more eyes resting on Halsin if there had been any to spare. As it was now, every last one was kept on the nearest stranger. Just enough time had passed since Halsin had brought the Elturian tiefling refugees to the Grove that the sun was now hiding behind the jagged mountaintops that surrounded the forest and its inhabitants. Horns and tails dotted every corner of the Hollow, as tieflings of all colours bloomed like flowers from the harsh gravel underfoot. Slowly, the druids were retreating, closing in on themselves once again, their work over for those tieflings who had been less lucky than others. The rest of the tieflings had planted themselves among the tents, and were huddling together, what belongings they had only half unpacked. Some had their attention fixed resolutely on the heavy gates in the distance, as if expecting the gnolls to reemerge from the darkness. Occasionally, snippets of Druidic pricked at the tips of Halsin’s ears: “Strays… But Master Halsin… Can we be sure? … Not too long, hopefully…” Another language, alien and somewhat harsh, timidly filled out the gaps. Infernal, as far as Halsin could tell. How had it started, this rift? With the druids switching to Druidic, or with the tieflings resorting to Infernal? And so soon… Halsin’s eyes swept over the sight, and he drew in a breath and kept moving.
The armed and armoured tiefling just behind him - Tilses, she had introduced herself as, in the terse manner of a soldier - seemed to almost trace Halsin’s footsteps as she followed him, as if attempting to glean his intentions. Her tail hung suspended in the air, like a tiger moments from pouncing. Strictly speaking, there was no need for Tilses to escort Halsin, but if it brought her peace, then what harm?
This close to the imposing stone slab blocking Halsin’s way, the red dots sunk into the ground grew numerous. He tightened his grip on the bowl of water seated between his fingers. His other hand made its way steadily to the weathered grey surface in front of him. A careful knock. At first, nothing. Then, the rock door fell, slowly and grating, as walls this old often did.
“I did my best. But I’m no healer.” Tilses said quietly.
I know, Halsin wanted to say. But he had not. If you had told me earlier, I would have seen to him right away.
“It was good you sent for me,” Halsin said. But no words could have eased the furrow between Tilses’s brows.
Deeper into the cave, the path was paved with scattered armour pieces. A pair of bracers here, ends worn from use. Near them, a Hellrider’s gleaming gauntlets. Up close, a waft of sulphur emanated from the gloves, yet they were otherwise proudly-kept. Treasured. On the front, to cover the back of the hands, they were adorned with an eye each, both facing outward at the Hollow. A symbol of Helm, the divine Watcher. And their owner a paladin, Helm’s vigilance made flesh, even through the horrors of Avernus. Perhaps we are not so different, are we? You the protector of your people, your fellow tieflings of Elturel - even if that city rejects you - and I the protector of this land. In a haphazard heap nearest the end of the chamber lay a set of scale armour. Only a few streaks of blood had made it to the outside of it. On the inside, however, there was barely a finger’s width of if that was not caked in scarlet. Halsin swallowed and tentatively raised his gaze.
No.
The tiefling lay still, hunched over a stone table in the far end of the chamber, cheek pressed flat against the rock. The resemblance to a tomb sent a shudder through Halsin’s body. He made it the rest of the way to Zevlor in a few quick strides. As he knelt beside him, the door groaned in the distance, and he could faintly hear Tilses leaving. Zevlor’s upper body was completely bare except for a hastily applied bandage, already stained, his tail loosely curled around the area. From his side, blood oozed, pooling at his feet, sticking to the bottom of his boots, the smell travelling quickly to Halsin’s nose. But, if the amount was any indication to Halsin’s practiced eyes, it would not be fatal. And Zevlor was breathing. Raggedly, but certainly breathing. Setting the bowl of water aside on the ground beside them, Halsin laid a gentle hand on Zevlor’s shoulder, just above a corner of one fledgling ingrown wing. Clammy, Halsin noted, and cold for a tiefling. He gathered his thoughts and muttered a prayer to the Oak Father, let nature flow through his hand to breathe a little life back into Zevlor. It was the tip of the long, red tail that shifted first.
“Tilly?” came a hoarse mutter. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, settling at last on Halsin. “Oh, you’re not…”
“Not exactly, no.” Halsin curled the corners of his mouth upwards slightly, though it was hard to say if this was reassuring to the man before him. “Tilses sent for me.”
Zevlor lifted his head groggily, eyes blinking as he scanned the chamber. A simple soldier’s reflex, Halsin would wager, yet he moved his hands towards the table where they could both see them. Zevlor pressed the palms of his hands into the rock underneath him and pushed, in an attempt to rise. He had almost got up on one leg when he came crashing back down with a choked sound. For a moment, he seemed to be staying there, struggling for breath. Then, seeing Halsin’s outstretched arm, blinked once, and took it.
Still, he said, “you’ve done much for us already…” The words came out jumbled and slurred.
“It would be wrong to turn you away, both in my eyes and Silvanus’s. I am only sorry not all of my fellow druids agree.”
Before Zevlor could reply, Halsin hauled him onto the stone table. He pulled off his own cloak in one quick movement, bundled it up, and lay it under Zevlor’s head, mindful of the horns. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage. Halsin was now offered full view of the gnolls’ work. The skin on Zevlor’s side from his ribs all the way down to his stomach was ripped apart, ravaged by large rings of angry pits dragged across his body. Everything around it was drowned in falling red, crimson on vermillion. Living beings they were, yes, the gnolls, but nature had its limits. These were abominations. Halsin moved swiftly to grab a clean cloth from his belt, bundled it up, and pressed it to the wound.
This was not the only thing Halsin had a view of. Rising and falling, a striking pattern of infernal ridges, from shoulders and elbows to chest and hips, adorned a fighter’s muscular but lean (if a bit thin) body - nature’s beauty on full display. Interwoven with these were the markings of a life lived: Scars of every size and shape, some more recent than others, to which there might be a new addition soon.
A clawed hand gripped Halsin’s wrist.
“My people. They need me.”
“And they will have you, do not worry.” Halsin turned his arm, picked up Zevlor’s hand, and laid it to rest on the edge of the stone table. “As for your people, we have done what we can. I am hopeful on that front. You might have told me about this sooner, though. I would have helped you while I tended to the others.”
There was no telling how much of what Halsin said was actually registered by Zevlor in this state. It might be a distraction from the pain, though, and keep his consciousness afloat through the flood. But Halsin did allow himself some hope that at least a little of it would stay with Zevlor.
With his free hand, Halsin, cautiously dabbed at the wound with a wet cloth. Bits and pieces of dirt, gnoll fur and other unnameable things had to be picked out while gently lifting the cloth pressed to there. Zevlor bore it without complaint, but Halsin saw the way he suppressed a grimace while his tail twitched and breath hitched every time.
“That would have been…” Zevlor clenched his eyes shut and his brows furrowed, searching for the word. “… dem-…” He breathed out shakily.
“Demoralising?” Halsin finished for him. Oh, if anyone understood this, Halsin did.
“Mmmh.” The reply came a bit belatedly.
Hardly the word to describe you, though. In his bear form, Halsin had trod the Risen Road thin. The forest and the Road beside it were eerily silent save for the snarls and mocking laughter of gnolls from every side, and already there were heaps of gore laying around, some of them with newly added remnants of tails and horns, on the path. Coming from the east, the setting sun had hidden the tieflings in the shadows, long black arms threatening to pull at them. But they were there, Halsin had known. Somewhere, they were there. And at last, when Halsin had succeeded in tracking them down, there had been one man clearly at the front. Though there were others who looked ready and able to fight, they were few, and all a step behind him. The rest, the vast majority - children, elderly, artists and artisans, scared souls with weapons but little idea of how to use them - huddled together between two jagged cliffs, some with tears streaming down their faces, looking to their leader for direction, eyes so wide they might split apart at the seams. With expert precision, cutting grey flashed before Halsin’s snout. In the twilight from the west, the sun gave an illusion of the blade being bathed in fire. To match it, the wielder’s eyes held copper blazes in black, alight and alert with determination and the heat of battle. The sword had stayed put, quivering so little that one would miss it if they blinked, even when Halsin transformed back into the shape of a hulking elf. It was when Halsin started talking that the steel was lowered.
In the solitude of the secluded chamber, the flames in Zevlor’s eyes had dimmed to pale embers. Halsin carried on with his work. So far, Zevlor had been exceptionally composed despite the circumstances. But every dam broke under enough pressure.
Lodged deep in the wound was a broken-off fang, and there was only one way out. It was the bitter irony of life, that you sometimes had to do more damage first in order to repair something. Halsin leaned in closer. As deftly as was possible, he took hold of the fang, and twisted. The last remnants of colour drained from Zevlor’s face. When Halsin twisted the fang again, Zevlor did too, and Halsin had to pin him down. The tail slammed into Halsin’s side. More likely than not, it would leave a bruise, but this was trivial. He tried to ignore the horrible squelching sound as he finally got the right angle and pulled. Quickly, he retrieved a small bottle from his belt, yanked the cork from it with his teeth, and poured its contents over as much of the wound as he could, still holding down the writhing man beneath him. At this, Zevlor broke and screamed, a raw and painful sound, leaving him trembling and panting.
“I’m sorry. Sorry,” Halsin murmured.
The blood was flowing in steady streams now. Met with this sight, Zevlor’s eyes widened in horror. Halsin curled his fingers under Zevlor’s chin and turned his face upwards to face Halsin’s own. His other hand pressed the now more red than white cloth back down over Zevlor’s side.
“Look at me, not this. There, look at me. You’re alright. You’ll be alright. I’m here.”
This, Zevlor seemed to believe. Glassy but present eyes locked into Halsin’s at last. As a tree needed stable ground to sink its roots into to not topple, Halsin became the earth beneath their feet. Halsin took Zevlor’s still quivering hand back up from where he had left it before and squeezed it gently. With a small delay, Zevlor returned the gesture.
“I don’t have much energy left. I’ll only be able to heal the worst of it,” Halsin said.
“Thank you. Tomorrow, after a bit of rest, I’ll have some power back, and I’ll heal myself.”
Halsin summoned his remaining magic and let it flow into Zevlor through their hands. With the Treefather’s blessings, it would be enough for now. What was broken would grow back, what was drained would be regained. A little sigh signalled to Halsin that his efforts were paying off. Though Zevlor’s breathing was still a bit off, the tension in his body was dissipating under Halsin’s touch and low chanting. The faint blue light of the healing spells enveloped them as Zevlor finally drifted off again. It had only been a matter of time.
By the end, the blood flow had at least ceased, even if visible damage remained. After thoroughly wiping Zevlor’s body and hands, and his own, and winding a new bandage over the wound, Halsin slid his arms under Zevlor’s back and knees and carried him to a bedroll some paces away, near a pond beneath a place where the cave opened up into the sky.
Halsin put his cloak back on and laid out his equipment on the now vacant stone table. If he would need it again, it was ready. If not, then there was still no harm in being prepared. The blade that had previously been aimed at him lay behind the table. It was of fine quality, Halsin noted, but worn. Once, it seemed, it had belonged to a holy order, but the indication of rank and patron deity at the hilt had recently been filed down. He weighed it in his hands for a moment, before bringing it to Zevlor’s bedside.
No sooner had he done this, than the sound of the stone door opening and closing filled the cave. Tilses’s face appeared at the entrance. On the ground, Zevlor stirred, and, seeing her, made a valiant effort to sit up, face twitching ever so slightly when his body twisted.
“Comma-… Zevlor.” Tilses made her way over to the bedroll, but kept a respectful distance.
“Tilly.”
Tilses glanced at Halsin, the obvious question resting on her face. She seemed content with Halsin’s small nod. From her pocket, she fished out a bundled-up cloth and handed it to Zevlor. Inside it was the end of a loaf of bread and a bit of cheese. Barely enough for one person.
“Ah, thank you.” Zevlor mustered a small smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Is everything alright out there?”
Tilses hesitated for a moment before blurting out something in Infernal. The only part Halsin understood was a profanity, and whatever the rest was, it made Zevlor sigh before he gave his reply. Somewhere in there, Halsin thought he heard his own name. Zevlor rubbed his face and spoke again, to which Tilses nodded and left.
When he and Halsin were alone again, he slumped back against the wall behind him and stared at the rations in his hands.
“These were for the orphans,” he muttered. Yet he brought the food to his mouth and ate anyway. As he did, his tail curled up around his body again.
Halsin opened a bottle of water and poured a vial of powder in it. After shaking it, he handed it to Zevlor.
“What’s this?”
“Rogue’s morsel powder. A proper potion has healing properties. This,” Halsin pointed to the bottle, “is a light painkiller. I’ll find something stronger, if need be.”
Halsin moved over to Zevlor and sat down beside him.
“Commander, was it?”
“Hardly. Tilses was my lieutenant, before. But times have changed.”
It sounded like something Zevlor had recited to himself many times over.
“Paladin, then?”
“Zevlor.”
Zevlor’s eyes grew vacant at the question. Too soon?
“My apologies. I did not mean to pry,” Halsin said quickly.
Zevlor’s head snapped up to meet Halsin’s, a strange look on his face.
“No, no. I… You asked.”
Ah, and I alone.
“You would think it was when Elturel fell. But in Avernus, we stood side by side, tiefling, dwarf and elf alike, because we had to.”
Yes, crises have a way of doing that. When Halsin’s homelands had been plagued, even bitter enemies had come together to fight it. That was until the darkness had flooded over them.
“When the city was returned, it had no place for tieflings. What does an oath mean, then?”
“And the Hellriders?”
They served for life, Halsin knew.
“I imagine they saw exile as my Last Ride.”
“Last Ride?”
“A suicide mission for disgraced Hellriders.”
“It is hardly a disgrace, leading your people to a new home.”
“No. They need a protector to lead them to Baldur’s Gate, and I will do what I must to see that through.”
“They will be grateful. They will not forget the times you bled for them.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I bled for Elturel too. We all did. It is not gratitude I need. If they make it to the Gate, it will have been worth it. I do hope you are right, though.”
And now, with their leader back on his feet, they would stand a chance. How many years had he spent protecting Elturel, though? Halsin studied Zevlor’s face. How many decades, even? And who could ever be prepared for a task such as this one? Halsin himself had not been ready to be Archdruid of this grove a century ago when the shadows had taken his home.
“It is alright to wish to lay down your sword. And I hope I will make that possible for you for as long as you remain here.”
Halsin’s words must have struck a tender spot, since Zevlor blinked and turned his head away.
Baldur’s Gate, Zevlor had said? In these times, enemies were gathering in the lands around the Grove. Gnolls on the Risen Road, and, Halsin’s own scouts had told him, goblins near the old temple to the Moonmaiden. And every day, paths towards the Gate, through the mountains, were being destroyed; bridges broken, cliffs toppled upon the passes. As it was now, only one way remained: Through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. The refugees would have to go through there… And face the consequences of Halsin’s mistakes. No. Did they know this? No, not now. Now was not the time. The Emerald Grove was hardly where the refugees would make their new home. But to Halsin, it had, for the past hundred years, been a sanctuary, as it had always been intended to be, if a bit secluded. Zevlor could not save Elturel from itself, as Halsin had not been able to with his own home. But now, now Halsin might help these people.
He almost jumped when a weight landed on his shoulder. When he turned his head to look, though, he was met with Zevlor’s wry smile and closed eyes.
“You were quick to help a tiefling.”
“I rather think I was too slow.”
For the first time, a genuine smile touched Zevlor’s features, and Halsin’s chest grew wings and soared the starry skies above. Moonlight - a full moon, tonight - danced through the cave and settled on Zevlor, his horns shining. And the smile stayed rooted in his lips. Halsin could almost- No, not like this. Tomorrow, when the footing was equal, perhaps. For now, he brought his cloak around to cocoon Zevlor too, and let the calm night air caress them. In turn, Halsin could feel Zevlor’s tail wrap around him. In this moment, just this one, the world was at peace, even if the road here had been unkind and the gods only knew what could happen next.
“Rest, Zevlor.”