It took much longer than anticipated to arrive at the next area, following a singular hallway that spiraled down and down but passed the entrance the facility had become a residential area of sorts. Wizards in their robes and with staffs sat in communal areas, their rooms behind them in a cluster of honeycombed walls each with a simple bed and the knick-knacks that set them apart from one another. All eyes seemed to be upon him as he came down the slope of the tree's ramp.
The expanse of the area surprised Clarke, the thought that a whole group of people, at least a hundred that he could see and likely more that he couldn't, could be living inside the tree and how that worked without harming it sending his mind off on speculation.
His thoughts felt like pages caught in a whirlwind, flying up and down, impossible to pin for long.
He stiffened when he saw the guards running towards him, seven sprinting over, attracted by the sound of the massive explosion that had sent shockwaves through the tree.
Why hadn't they gone to look?
Everything became so sharp all of a sudden, as though he'd been dunked in ice water and his muffled senses began working at full blast again.
What was I doing? Gotta calm down...
Someone was already approaching him and he realized for the first time that a human wouldn't be just wandering around down here and his ears were somewhat of a giveaway. Using one hand he wrung the blood out of the collar and slid it around the edges of his ears, holding them so they were out of sight.
“Is something wrong? Should we be worried? Do you need a doctor?”
The wizard looked concerned. A few of the guards stopped beside him while the others rushed to the next level. The first elf reached out for him but Clarke flinched away.
He took a breath, trying to level his breathing and giving himself enough time to think of what to say. His ears were still ringing and he spoke a little louder than he meant to when he finally managed to squeeze some words out.
“There was an accident in the supply room. Something experimental they brought back went off and took the whole store room with it.”
He lifted his cupped hand just enough for a glance and showed what he hoped looked like a bloody stump.
“Some shrapnel took part of my ears off. Couldn't even find them.”
“OH WUBWA!”
Other elves turned to stare as the elf turned away from looking at him and tried to hold his stomach down. The guards seemed satisfied with this and ran to help upstairs.
“I know it's going to hurt when my adrenaline goes down so can you get me to the doctor before I start to feel it?”
“Put...put your hands back, I'm not good with that sort of thing.”
Clarke clamped his hands over his ears and the elf led him quickly through the area to another sloping ramp that went deeper into the tree to another identical set of residential areas.
Crossing this new area, Clarke saw the next ramp down and the much heavier resistance. There were three regular elf guards, the basic breastplate and uniform and one in heavy armor decorated in smoothly flowing lines and elegant curves, a warhammer at his side. Beside them at the checkpoint was a dryad, this one smaller than the first and less developed, likely not as old or powerful. The path behind them was closed up with the same tree membrane as the entrance through the fertilizer room.
The prison is at the least the next floor down and at most several floors. How do I get through there? Did Wormwood already go through?
There was a larger honeycomb beside the checkpoint and the elf lead Clarke in through the door. It was a big office, several beds all spread out with crisp, white linen, the room with the heavy smell of potions and reagents mixing together in something very earthy and natural, like a walk through a condensed forest.
An older elf turned away from his seat and started up quickly, rushing to Clarke.
“What happened this time? Was that explosion from a fire spell? Earth spell gone wrong? Summon something nasty from who knows where?”
Clarke looked at the elf who'd helped him this far.
“You might want to leave since-”
“OH, yes, I'm already gone.”
The elf scurried from the room, his lunch still in his belly, and the doctor slowly moved Clarke's hand from his ear.
“Let's have a look at this wound. That's a lot of...hmm...wait a second, you're not-!”
The sentence trailed off with a jab to the old man's neck, a pin dipped in paralysis poison sending it's body stiffening payload into his blood stream and through his system in a matter of seconds.
He slumped and Clarke caught him, carrying him over to one of the beds and laying him in it. The eyes were frozen staring straight up, the body rigid and stiffening. He wasn't unconscious but he wouldn't be moving for a couple of hours, if that soon. A privacy curtain pulled around him put him out of sight.
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He was alone with maybe a few minutes to catch his breath and think.
Could I burn through the wall here? No, the dryad outside would feel it, this close.
The door opened and he tensed, half turning and leaning on the counter, fake growls of pain as he covered his ears. A soldier came in, a military cap pulled down low which he took off as he shut the door.
“Clarke.”
“Wormwood.”
They stared at one another across the room until Wormwood finally sighed and looked around.
“Shouldn't there be a doctor in here?”
Clarke nodded at the bed.
“Ah. You seem extra blood thirsty today. Is he still alive?”
“He's fine, just paralyzed. Now what do you want? It's hardly the time to catch up.”
Clarke was on the defensive as Wormwood walked over to the doctor, picked through his pockets and pulled out a few papers, a bottle of pills, a wooden card.
“Well, I have to congratulate you if your only intention was to stop me. We knew a lot of what was in here thanks to some careful spy work and paying for information from former researchers, all gathered in record time. I was truly impressed at how quickly it came together despite how tight lipped the workers here can be. Even your friend Twinty wouldn't have been able to do it since when has an elf ever trusted a ratling? We'd planned to improvise through the rest since that was all we could do. Emphasis on we. I'm short an entire team after you turned them to soot on someone's boot. Not to mention some of the items we brought. Good magic items, gone. Wasted money.”
“Let me play you a very tiny violin.”
Clarke rubbed his thumb and index finger together and Wormwood chuckled.
“But you're stuck in the same boat. We both need to get in deeper but we can't do it alone. Partner up until the inevitable betrayal?”
Clarke was coming up empty on plans but just the thought of joining with the elf again after the last knock on the door and knife in the back filled him with spite. On the other hand...he was stuck already and he'd be holding the knife this time.
“Do you have a plan?”
Wormwood pulled out a knife and Clarke reached for his, relaxing only as Wormwood approached the doctor.
“I am an urban adventurer. While my usefulness was limited to hiding and shooting while we were out in the wild, tricking people and getting by them is second nature to me.”
He ran the blade over the elf's face with precision, swiping the hairs off as easily as wiping away water.
“That's the beard. Aaaaand......that's the head.”
He'd shaved his head just as fast and now took a small bottle from a pocket and applied it to his face, carefully growing himself a beard as he placed the hair, smoothed it out so the grain all ran one way.
It was impressive how quickly his looks had changed. He used the same adhesive on a lace cap he produced and he was, at a glance, the old man.
“Always carry around some disguise equipment.”
Clarke did his own disguise, wrapping bandages around his head and staining them with blood.
“So what's next?”
Clarke coughed and felt new blood dripping down his face. He'd forgotten all about the spores and began pulling at them, barely containing his pain to a few groans as they tore out of his skin. Wormwood slid his finger around the collar of his uniform and took on the clothing of the doctor.
“Well, now we tell them I need to go down to my lab for a treatment for you. Grow those long, fancy ears back.”
It wasn't the worst plan Clarke had heard. He'd run a number of ideas through his mind and none had been better than that one despite the very literal chance he'd be stabbed in the spine.
“Okay. Lead the way.”
“Good choice.”
Clarke took his coat in hand and hid his book inside it, neither he nor Wormwood wanting to be the first out the door. Wormwood finally stepped out first and both side-eyed one another as they approached the guards to the lower levels.
“Play it up.”
Wormwood whispered as the guards looked at them. The heavy guard lifted his hammer and smacked it in his hand.
“Play what up?”
“Your agonizing pain, dimwit.”
Clarke held his hands to his ears, whimpering pitifully. Pitifully being a very poor performance as they approached the guards. The dryad stepped up to meet them.
“We heard the explosion. Some guards went to check it out and they might need the doctor if they find anyone else.”
Wormwood's words came out deeper, settled and hoarse as though he'd lived a lot longer than he had. He pointed to Clarke's head.
“They already do. The potions and equipment I have isn't suitable to such an extensive rebuild. Look, his ears are missing and he's lucky it wasn't his head. I don't know if any other survivors will be found but I need my stronger medicines and I can't get anything from the supply room. It's gone.”
The dryad looked at Clarke and something had her reach out and jerk his collar open, picking out tiny spores that looked like dandelion fluff. Her eyes narrowed as she tightened her grip on his collar and he worried that at this distance she'd be able to tell his ears weren't damaged at all.
“What happened to the Great Avatar?”
The only hint that Wormwood was screaming internally were his tightening throat muscles. The fluff had begun spreading tiny roots in Clarke's clothing, one of them taking root on his neck. In great enough numbers they could turn a person into excellent fertilizer.
Clarke didn't have any trouble putting on a pained expression as her grip tightened on his collar.
“She threw me clear in the explosion. She spored in shock from the pain but she saved my life. I don't...I don't know what happened to her, I just remember a lot of burning...”
Wormwood patted Clarke on the back.
“Just what you would expect from the Great Avatar. Selfless and caring.”
There was a commotion behind them, a group of guards hurrying with a stretcher between them, the dryad laid out like a burned log. A familiar group of adventurers trailed behind.
Wormwood talked faster.
“Look, they've managed to get her up and to me but I was already low on supplies before and I'm damn sure gonna be too low on them to treat her. We need to hurry or...”
He gestured back.
Her whimpering began to fall on their ears the closer they got and the dryad seemed shaken, her eyes wide and hands trembling. The leaves on her head drooped, her mouth crunching together like cracking wood. Wormwood showed her his passcard, the little wooden card and she nodded, distracted by the audible pain. The wood sprites attended to her, magical beams pushing positive mana into her body like bandages.
“Of course, doctor. I'm sorry. Hurry, quick as you can.”
She waved her hand over the door and it slid aside. She nodded them through, her wooden claws digging into her palms. They hurried along, finally breathing again when they were around the bend.
“This thing smells like stew. That's what I hate about pretending to be a wizard. So many of them smell like soup.”
“They're going to get very suspicious when we don't come back and leave their friend to die.”
Wormwood smiled, smug.
“It's a good thing my escape plan doesn't involve going back this way. Does yours?”
“Not this way, no.”
The silence grew between them as did the space they kept from one another. A moment of lapsed vigilance would be the end of the truce and the quiet of the tree carried them down to the laboratories.