23

Gildyr hadn't much time to think. The wood-elf druid… battered, dirty and sore… had been dragged up from the prison below to face High Lord Arvendahl. They were alone in the main guard room. Or, nearly so.

Gildyr had been slapped into a mage-lock collar on being arrested. His remaining magical senses were few, but lit up by danger and stress. And if he could detect Cinda…

Lord Arvendahl stopped ranting threats to scan that glow-lit stone chamber. He was a very tall and handsome high-elf, without a trace of warmth in his expression or voice. Now, looking slowly around, he hissed,

"Ah. The ranger. I sense your presence, Scrub-elf. Your next breath, word or move will betray you, and then you will die. Unless completing my set of conspirators draws the rebel from hiding."

The cold stone was painful to kneel upon. He was thirsty and exhausted, but Gildyr was nothing at all, if not optimistic. Now, daring to shift his position a little, he sat back on his heels and started the Dawn Hymn's final verse. Not the solitary chant, but its choral arrangement, intended for groups of worshipers. The one that required participation.

Gildyr hadn't realized that Arvendahl's expression could get any colder; he almost stopped singing, himself. Forged onward, though, when he spotted the golden outline of a monkey sliding out from beneath the rear door. Rippling swiftly over mortar and cracks, Cap'n slid around behind Lord Arvendahl, then swept up onto the wall.

Everything happened at once, all in a wild and chaotic rush. Cap'n popped suddenly off of grey, mortared stone, screeching aloud, to land on Arvendahl's head. Cinda flowed out of shadow like a wraith, spell-hand glowing. The rear door burst open, exploding outward under a tidal wave of mixed, angry prisoners. Lastly, Gildyr lunged forward to pick up and throw the dropped goblet, deeply cutting Lord Arvendahl's forehead.

Any one of these would not have accomplished much. All together, with the elf-lord impaired by sorrow and drink… Well, it was still a very near thing.

The Tabaxi charged, cutting low, as the freed drow picked up and swung a stout wooden bench, breaking it sharply across Lord Arvendahl's back. Between them, they dropped him to the floor. Most of the prisoners ran for their lives then, concealed by the High Lord's own silence and privacy spell.

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One fellow, a human wizard, stayed behind to place sleep on the elf-lord. Possible, because no one had bothered to mage-lock a clearly insane, raving mortal.

In all of that noise and chaos, the dark-elf picked up the longest half of the bench. Swung it back over Lord Arvendahl. Only,

"Wait!" called Gildyr, struggling to rise.

The… not entirely drow… albino turned slightly to scowl at Gildyr.

"Kill him now, or regret it later," snarled the drow, adding, "Only a fool leaves a knife at his back in the name of mercy."

But the mortal wizard stepped between them, shaking his head.

"My dream, my rules," he chided. "And since you're all subconscious impulses, you have to listen. Primitive sub-brain, no killing. Feminine aspect, get off of the ground. You're strong and independent."

Meanwhile, the ranger had not been idle. As the Tabaxi and Cap'n worked to remove Gildyr's crippling collar, Cinda placed hibernation on Arvendahl.

"It won't hold him for long," she warned, as the High Lord's breathing and heart rate slowed almost to nothing. "He's too powerful, and already fighting it… but, if we kill him, we'll be marked as criminals, with every hand turned against us, forever."

All of them had the uneasy sense that this was not their first go-round. Even the wizard, though he believed himself to be dreaming. Shrugging, the dark-elf dropped his half bench clattering onto the floor.

"I am already hunted and hated by all. Makes no difference to me… but have it your own way, day-spawn."

The monkey's tools and clever small fingers unlocked Gildyr's collar at last. Took the druid a moment to get up, though, as the sudden return of his manna flow was quite disorienting.

"Thank you, both," he gasped to the Tabaxi and Cap'n. "And, I'm not for killing His Lordship, either."

"I need some kind of portal," mused the dark-haired wizard, stroking his beard. "Last time, my subconscious heroic-impulsive aspect opened a doorway to send me back to the waking world."

Cinda had gone to the guard room's window for a swift, cautious look outside. Now, turning back to the others, she said,

"We'd best leave quickly, before the warder's fear of their lord is overcome by concern for how long this is taking."

The banished guards weren't in the courtyard, but that didn't mean they'd gone far, or would stay away for much longer. The wizard brightened immediately.

"Of course," he enthused, smacking a palm to his forehead. "The prison door is an obvious symbol for release, or escape. Maybe I just need to put my studies and lab work on hold for a while. Do some backpacking."

So saying, he helped lever his 'feminine side' up off of the floor. Moments later, having forged an uneasy truce, the lot of them slipped out of Milardin's prison, vanishing into the night.