11

Rusalka’s Eye

Cricket woke early to meet Oydd at the portal. Early for Cricket meant that he didn't get to finish a particularly enticing dream, where Bax had somehow gotten a hold of Bale's legs, which made him a good two feet taller. The gnome ran circles around the insect on the battlefield. Which didn't really contribute to the fight, but it was still impressive.

Cricket waited in the empty portal room for about ten minutes before growing bored and taking a seat. Somehow the stones seemed colder in the morning, like they, too, needed time to wake properly. He stared at the useless forgehammer that sat across the room, scorching the ground beneath it. No one had touched it since Skunk had first pulled it through the portal. In fact, the azaeri soldiers had several superstitions revolving around the hammer, and many of them avoided the room entirely or wouldn't enter without rings of flowers around their necks or a pouch of ash strung to their waists.

Oydd cleared his throat to get the insect's attention, and Cricket nearly jumped from his daydreaming.

He yawned and waved lazily, his antennae sagging. "Hey, Oydd."

"Good morning."

A new ghoul crouched protectively at the rudra's side. Or ghast, likely. Cricket could feel the difference from across the room—a smothering, hateful presence.

"Are you ready to set out?" the rudra asked.

Cricket scratched his neck. "Are we going somewhere? You just said to meet you here."

"Oh, my apologies. Yes, I wanted you to attend me on a little trip. I assumed you'd be happy to get out?"

"Yeah, of course." Cricket stood up. "Are we going through the portal?"

"Yes, to Agoth. I have received intelligence on the location of Bale's eye. It belongs to an arachane warlord, and I believe it will be fairly easy to track down."

"Where is he?"

"She was last sighted in Agoth. There is another portal near her reported location, and it seems likely she oversaw its construction. However, no one has seen or heard from her in days. So I'm not sure what to expect."

"Just you and me?" Cricket asked.

"Yes, I thought so. This new ghast is likely strong enough to send alone. But I want to be there personally. And since I'm going, I wanted to bring you along for added protection."

"Not Scorpion?"

"He's not ready to fight. He needs his rest."

"Oh, uh... well he was fighting yesterday..."

"What? Already?" The rudra thought. "Well, I suppose he has the fortitude of an ogre now. At first, with the left claw, I had to learn to dominate it. My flesh was too weak. I suppose he does not need the recovery time I did."

"What's his name?" Cricket indicated the ghast.

"I will not name my ghasts. I create them by bonding a malevolent, disembodied soul to the corpse. Since the soul has already been named in its previous life, assigning a new name would only weaken it." The rudra studied his creation. "I have only gotten the process to work with a lizardman so far. The extreme heat from the magic seal melts away most of the vessel's skin... which causes more problems than you would imagine."

"I would imagine it to cause a lot of problems. Wait, didn't you make a fomorian into a ghast? Jesh said it was, like, fifteen feet tall."

"I... did. But I have not been able to repeat it. It is difficult to explain, but—"

"Heat of the battle sort of thing?"

Oydd considered this explanation and simply lied, "Yes. something along those lines."

"Too bad. I was hoping you could bring Indech back. He's only about four times as big. I figure it’s like the difference between me making one clone or four."

The rudra's eyes went wide. "Indech was over sixty feet. That is much more than four times as big."

"Well, not much more."

"Ah, you're... doing the math wrong. That would be quadruple the height, width, and length, so he would be sixty-four times as massive, which would affect the magic drastically."

"That can't be right..."

"It is. Regardless, it is safe to say, controlling Indech is magnitudes beyond my skill. For now, we will settle for this creation. He should suffice. By its very nature, a soul summoned and bound against its will exudes an aura of fear and hatred. The wild and unintelligent creatures of Agoth will give us a wide berth, moving away without even understanding why..."

"And what about the intelligent creatures?" Cricket asked.

"They will understand why."

Cricket studied the ghast more closely. The heat from the binding magic caused the scaly skin to shrivel, which only made it more tight and menacing. Here and there, the dry, leathery skin burst around a bulging muscle, or a warped bone ridge.

"Is that what that feeling is? Fear?"

"Surely you've felt fear before? Like when you wouldn't come to the annex because of the height."

"I told you, it messed with my compound eyes."

Oydd snickered.

Cricket folded his lower arms. "Well, believe me or not, this fear feels different."

"Jeshu said you couldn't sense Indech, so I thought perhaps it didn't affect you. Some of the archers who flew too close to him died from the magical fear. They just dropped out of the sky. I was happy to hear you were fine after getting so close."

"Fine? No. If that feeling was fear, then I've never been so afraid in my life. It was almost overwhelming."

"Ha!"

"What?" Cricket asked, a bit self-conscious.

"No, no, it's nothing. Just," Oydd replied, "that the azaeri died of heart attacks. You have an entirely different circulatory system than vertebrates."

"Vertebrates means animals with bones?"

Oydd considered how complicated of an answer to give, but settled for "Yes." Then he continued his thought. "Perhaps you simply can't have a heart attack! That is, regardless of the strain on your heart."

"Oh..." Cricket nodded with a smile. "Can I invite someone?"

"Who did you have in mind?"

"Cricket. Ky'leh just broke up with him, so he's having a hard time. Might be nice to get his mind off things."

"Your shadow? I assumed you would bring shadows, so it should be fine. But you can't just call him Cricket. Does he have a nickname."

"Well... yes," Cricket said sheepishly. "But I don't think you'll like it. His girlfriend picked it."

"If it's not something mushy, like Cuddlebug, then we'll be fine."

Cricket offered a cheesy grin.

"Oh, god... it is Cuddlebug." The rudra replied with wide eyes. "No, I'm not saying that."

"Well, that's just a rough translation. It sounds cooler in azaeri."

"But I'll know."

Cricket looked a bit embarrassed. "Um... well, I'll go get him. Should I get any of the others?"

"How many do you keep out?" Oydd asked in astonishment.

Cricket scratched his face as he thought. "Uh... nine now."

"And that doesn't get tiring?"

"Actually the opposite. It was a drain making them, but the longer they're out, the easier it is to keep them out, and then making new ones actually feels like... light work?"

"That can't be. There has to be a limit."

"Limit, yes, but it's not more tiring to keep them out. I can still make another four on top of the nine, if we need them. But the nine are training azaeri soldiers, so I'd leave them here, unless you need one for their expertise."

"Expertise?" the rudra repeated, perplexed.

"Oh, yeah. I guess they're not really experts yet, but they will be. I have each one specializing in just one weapon, so if someone has a question about... halberds for example, there's a Cricket for that. Eventually they'll be a lot better than me at their chosen weapons."

"You continue to astonish me. A brilliant idea, if you're able to keep it up."

Cricket beamed. "I am."

*****

Scorpion found Patches waiting by the ledge at the top of the tower, near the severed rope bridge. She looked constantly out toward the horizon. The rudra had left a few scraps of food out for her, but she had barely touched them, and the meat already looked spoiled.

The ratling sat down next to her, but she didn't acknowledge him.

"You have to eat." Scorpion felt like a fish out of water trying to comfort the mouseling, and he knew he wasn't saying anything that Oydd or Jeshu hadn't already said.

The mouseling still stared out into the vastness of the underworld without a word.

So Scorpion sat with her for some time before he spoke again.

"What are you waiting for?" He knew the answer.

Patches frowned in concern. Without looking up, she said "Pip."

"It's been three days..." He trailed off, not daring to suggest the bug might not come back.

"I tried to see through his eyes, but it was so dusty, so it didn't work."

"Well, it's not dusty now."

"I don't want to check." The mouseling's whiskers twitched. "He'll come back. He had an important mission, so he's just taking care to do it right."

Scorpion took a deep breath. He drew his sword—a straight, adamantine blade—and lay it next to the mouseling. Then he reached into his bag, and pulled out... nothing. His fingers clutched around the air, and he made a motion as if setting something down. Surprisingly, the motion made a light tapping sound.

At this, the mouseling gave him a sideways glance.

"The invisible salt," Scorpion said, by way of explanation. "I found it on Licephus. I think no one else remembered, so I was able to keep hold of it."

Patches reached out with her lone paw and confirmed the presence of the invisible salt crystal.

"It's pretty," she said softly.

"It's really not."

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The mouseling sniffed at the salt and turned back wistfully, as if hesitant to abandon her watch.

"This sword is special," scorpion said. "Oydd says it was forged by Bale's hammer."

Patches appeared uninterested.

"Juhidra, the forgemaster, managed to enchant adamantite. We thought that process required the hammer, at first, but... now Oydd thinks the metal is already receptive. It just needs an enchantment."

Another long silence followed. This time, the mouseling spoke first. "It won't work."

"Why is that?"

"It's too pointy. The magic will shoot out of the tip."

"People enchant swords all the time, so I..." Scorpion began to sound exasperated, and took a calming breath. "So what makes you think it can't be done?"

"Because when you put magic in a wand, it shoots out the tip. Because they're too pointy."

"I don't think that's why. But you admit it's been done before, right?" His tone began to rise again slightly.

"I can't do it."

"You're the only one who can do it. You're better at enchanting than Oydd. I've seen Jeshu make charms, but this is different. Only you can do it."

Another silence followed.

"And I'm asking you to try... because you took my ring," Scorpion said.

"I didn't take it. It was in my bag."

"And when it appeared in your bag, it disappeared from mine."

"That's not my fault!" the mouseling cried.

Scorpion sighed. "I'm not upset. Just suggesting a trade. You keep the ring, which you said I could have, and I keep the sword. You can keep the ring, even if it doesn't work, as long as you give it a try."

Patches let out a huff, and rested her chin on the stone, but she still eyed the weapon.

"I'll just leave them here, and let you think about it. Just don't... forget it and leave it behind. If it gets moved, we'll never find it." Though he didn't say so out loud, the ratling knew that Patches was incapable of forgetting an enchanted rock and leaving it behind. He rose, and left the mouseling sitting unmoved from where she had started, still staring hopefully out into the underground sky.

*****

Cricket's shadow brooded as he followed the others, kicking rocks along the ground, and generally staring at his feet regardless.

Oydd only seemed slightly perturbed. "I didn't know he would be so mopey when I said he could come. I should have realized."

"Well, he was... kind of getting on the other Crickets' nerves, so it's better this way." Cricket smelled the sulfurous air. "You know, Agoth used to seem a lot more... dangerous."

"I feel the same. It seems odd, as well, to come here on our own volition."

"Not led here, following the Ettin or Licephus?"

"I would say forced, rather than led, but yes."

Cricket mulled this over.

"Speaking of Licephus," Oydd continued, "Jeshu brought up having some sort of service for those we've lost. Like a funeral."

"A funeral? With a procession and everything?" Cricket asked.

"No, not like the dhampir funerals. More like a gathering in their honor, I think. He suggested a burial."

"What's a burial?"

"Er... I think he meant burying the body. I'm not certain. It's more of a surface custom."

"He wants to mummify him instead of burning him?"

"Not by the sound of it. He said that elves simply bury their dead."

"And let them rot underground? Gross."

"Well, we can discuss the specifics. But it is odd to him that we don't do anything."

"You can't have a service for every ratling and goblin that dies. It would be all you do. You can't mummify all of them. And you certainly can't bury all of them."

"I've heard that humans do. They have entire fields dedicated to it."

"They probably have long lifespans and small litters. Still sounds like a recipe for a haunting. One funeral for everybody, though, sounds nice. For Ty'lek and Agena and Raccoon and Bax."

"Bax isn't dead."

"Yeah, but how much longer can he possibly make it? It's just a matter of time, right?" He thought a bit and added, "Zarachi, Yentl, Jiukec, Eyrgan—"

"Eyrgan?"

"Yeah, he could have been worse," Cricket argued.

"Is that worth a celebration? That he could have been worse?"

"Well, isn't that why we liked Licephus? As vampires go, he could have been worse?"

"Nevermind," Oydd said with a sigh. "We'll discuss it later. Do you smell that?"

"Zombies?" Cricket asked.

"Dethkiri corpses. I recognize the acidic scent."

Cricket sniffed and pretended to notice as well.

"I think I see the remains of a battle up ahead," Oydd continued.

"Cricket," Cricket said, gesturing his shadow. "Can you scout ahead?"

Surprisingly, the shadow appeared eager for the opportunity. He drew his flickering khopeshes and hopped over some rubble. When he got a short distance ahead, he slowed, picking his way along the battlefield before turning to wave the others on.

Cricket reached him first. "What we got?"

The shadow indicated the wounds on a dethkirok corpse.

Cricket stooped to investigate. "Khopesh wounds? What... a few days old?"

The shadow placed a khopesh near an open slash and shook his head. Cricket reversed the grip on his own khopesh, then reached out. "He used this side. But some of the cuts..." he crept toward a mutilated kobold. "Some of the cuts are from this side."

When the realization dawned on the shadow, he nodded enthusiastically.

"I even recognize the fighting style."

Oydd approached from behind. His ghast sauntered up to a kobold corpse on all fours, waving its tail hungrily, but simply stared at the dried blood with a smoldering look.

"And some of these corpses are covered in web," Cricket continued. "So we've got an arachane warrior mimicking me, because my style is so effective," he concluded.

Oydd shook his head. "These webs are magical. Smells like ether," he said dismissively.

Behind a pile of rubble, a rock shifted slightly. The ghast stiffened and darted toward the noise, bounding over the rocks with a loud clicking of its black claws. When it reached the distant mound, it opened its maw, releasing a low growl.

"Heel!" Oydd called forcefully. The ghast instantly ran back to his side—its face full of pain and rage at following the command. But it did not hesitate. Instead, it matched the rudra's pace as he moved toward the pile of rubble. He stopped several yards away and called out. "Reveal yourself, or I will release him."

After a short pause, another rock shifted and fell with a clack. Another rock fell, and then a feminine voice called out, "I'm pinned."

"Cricket, send your shadow," Oydd ordered, but Cricket, himself, had already begun to climb the mound.

He shouted back at Oydd. "It's a ratling. She is pinned," he confirmed, as he dropped out of sight.

Oydd reached out with his mind to confirm her position, then circled the pile of rubble, where he did, indeed find a ratling leaning against a wall with her leg beneath a slab of stone. She held a loaded crossbow in one hand and a dented shield in the other. The shield appeared to have been nearly rent in two by some heavy weapon, and was likely retrieved from one of the dead. A deep gash marred her long snout, from ear to nose.

"Cricket, I mostly wanted to know if it was safe. She is not incapacitated, and she could have shot you had she wanted to."

"Didn't," the ratling replied brusquely.

"Besides, I can dodge arrows, remember?"

"You got lucky once. You might have warned me though. I certainly can't dodge a bolt."

The ratling watched the two argue with panicked eyes, and eventually Oydd tried to calm her.

"Don't worry, we won't hurt you if you mean us no harm. What happened here?"

"Don't know," the ratling replied. A speckled salamander—purple with yellow spots—climbed from behind her shield and perched on her shoulder, with the familiarity of a pet. "They was dead when I got here." She motioned at the large dethkirok corpse.

Oydd glanced at the ratling corpse near her. "What about him?"

"He was with me."

"And what were you doing here?"

"Looting," she answered honestly. "Heard there was a fight. Ran into goblins. The red ones."

Oydd nodded. "If you set your weapon aside, I'll release you."

The ratling hesitated, but set the crossbow down at the edge of her reach. She still clutched the split shield protectively.

Oydd lifted the rock pinning her leg with a wave of his hand and tossed it aside. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said, pointing at the other ratling.

"Not my friend. Met him during the fight. But... kin before king and all."

"I'm not sure if you're using that phrase correctly," Oydd responded.

The ratling spat on the ground, but it was unclear if she did so in contempt or simply impropriety. "What now?" She asked expectantly, staring at the rudra.

Cricket answered. "You need a healer."

"Leg will heal," she replied.

"That gouge won't." He pointed at the gash on her snout. "That wound's older, and it's got gangrene. I can smell it from here."

A spasm crossed the ratling's face, but she stared back defiantly.

"We have a healer back at Euna Brae," Oydd offered.

"So what? I have to come with you?"

"You're welcome to come with us," Cricket said. "If you don't, you'll die."

"Why would you trust me? I could kill you in your sleep."

"Don't." Oydd met her gaze calmly.

The ratling froze, thinking.

"Do you have somewhere else to go?" Cricket asked.

"None of your business." The ratling slowly rose to her feet, limping. The fat salamander on her shoulder nuzzled up to the fur of her neck. "Am I free to go?"

"Oh, wow, you're huge!" Cricket blurted out. Then, seeing her reaction, he added "I mean that as a compliment. I think you're the biggest ratling I've ever seen. You'd even be bigger than Scorpion if he wasn't bigger."

The ratling looked annoyed. "That doesn't make any sense."

Oydd sighed. "Actually it does. He just has a poor way of wording things."

Cricket reflected on the word choice. "Well, I didn't realize ratling women were so big. Are they always bigger than the males?"

"Cricket, Patches is a ratling."

"Oh, weird. I guess I forgot."

"Anyway," Oydd said, " You are free to go." The rudra looked down at her crossbow. "Should anything happen to me, nothing would stop this pet of mine from devouring all of us."

"Got it," the ratling answered through narrowed eyes.

"Come." Oydd gestured for Cricket to follow him and began to head across the battlefield.

"Wait, she's not coming?"

"I think not. Would you?"

"Yes," Cricket answered. "Some of my best times have been with strangers. Plus, I'm almost unkillable."

"You're not, Cricket," Oydd replied as the ratling slung the crossbow over her shoulder and began to make her way in the opposite direction.

"Basically. I'm like a zombie—you have to destroy my head."

"Which is entirely possible," Oydd countered.

"Hasn't happened yet. Unless you count that time in the mines..."

The unnamed ghast and the heartbroken shadow began to follow Oydd, and Cricket had to pick up his pace to catch up.

"How's your arm, by the way?"

"Meh. If I tried to use it right now, it would probably fall off again."

Oydd nodded, not really paying attention. The group navigated an increasingly web-covered mess of kobolds, most of which had obviously been picked clean of belongings.

Eventually, the walls became more worked—flattened and smoothed—indicating permanent quarters. It appeared to be the ambiguous boundaries of a keep, though the halls were absolutely quiet, save for one dethkirok cadaver covered in vibrant blue corpse beetles that clicked as they feasted. Unable to penetrate the demon's thick skin and plates, the beetles entered through the mouth or picked at its open wounds.

The rudra followed the major hallways to a quiet throne room. The corpse of a female arachane still hung in its own webs, spinning gently in the air. When she turned to face the rudra, a violet orb glistened from one of her eight eye sockets, shedding a faint light on the strands of web and across the chamber.

"Rusalka," Oydd breathed, almost reverently.

"Well, the looters didn't make it this far yet," Cricket said.

"Most of the scavengers were likely her own troops—deep goblins and kobolds. They may have avoided her corpse out of fear, or even some threat from Shisu. I believe anyone foolish enough to steal her eye would surely die a gruesome death."

"You just jinxed us!" Cricket cried in alarm.

"I meant that her own henchmen would know not to touch it."

"Well that's not what you said."

Oydd shrugged. "Well, there are some risks. But we know how to use it." He floated up to eye-level with the corpse and plucked the eye free with Bale's claw. The optic nerve stretch then snapped and a lavender ichor began to seep and drip from the empty pit, mixed with her own green blood.

Oydd drifted back to the ground and both Crickets came up to get a better view of the prize.

"Odd," Oydd said. "I thought my arm would glow in response. Or... the eye would glow. Like the horns did when Bale's wings neared."

"I bet that was caused by the horns then."

"Well," the rudra said anticlimactically. "Shall we be on our way?"

"Should you bring back some of the spider web? You made it sound like it was high quality."

"For what?"

"For Skunk," Cricket said.

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate."

"You said there was something wrong with his diet. Which means there's some nutrient he's not getting, right?"

"Yes."

"Because of his mix of troll and changeling blood. Which is exactly what Aberron had and—"

"And he ate spiderwebs," Oydd finished. "I... suppose it's possible. They have some complex proteins and acids that are not easy to..."

"I told you recently. I brought it up."

"So you did, but I didn't get your train of reasoning. You kind of just reminded me that you saw him eating webs without context."

"So you like the idea?"

Oydd considered the possibility. "Can you and your clone gather as much as you can carry. I think that will be plenty for an evaluation and some trials."

The shadow saluted emphatically in response, and soon Cricket and the clone had all eight arms filled with thick cords of silky, lustrous webbing.