Chapter Thirty-One – Game Changer

Tara had to admit, as confident as she had been in Narion Nightsong’s throne room, her decision to deliberately provoke the necromancer might have been premature. It was one thing to know how the quest was supposed to proceed. It was another entirely to actually experience it. Tara had only owned a sword and bow for a brief time, and already she was feeling their loss as she and her companions were led down grim shadowed tunnels.

The distance they walked felt unending. Tara didn't think she had ever been prone to claustrophobia, but she was beginning to feel the closeness with the weight of miles of earth between them and the world above. She tried to resist, but a feeling of helplessness, like panic, was creeping into her bones.

This isn’t like the game, she thought. I was never this scared in the game. Tense, yeah. Man I still remember when I fought that boss in the Buried City, the White Wyrm of Myrkmont. My palms sweat so bad. But never, never like this. Nothing like this.

If anyone noticed, no one said anything. Elita hadn’t recovered since their surrender, the little gnome as bleak and silent as ever. Horon was grim, his gaze fixed as he followed the necromanced ahead of them. And Kell was flagging, his limp worse than before.

It does go like this, doesn't it? Tara questioned herself. She breathed in and out slowly, trying to remember exactly how the quest in Wanderer's Bane went. We’re taken to the Pit of Half Lives, all of us. That’s where we were supposed to go from the beginning. I wasn’t even supposed to meet Narion Nightsong until the final fight with him in his throne room.

Except, thought Tara grimly, Narion knows who I am. The minute anyone figured it out, as soon as they saw those so-called "portents" that were just quest information and level updates, everything would start going wrong. Acalon saw the portents, and his questline was completely ruined before Tara had a chance to make a mistake. Nothing seemed to be going right, and maybe this would go wrong, too.

They could be trapped here forever…

Kell bit back a hiss as his ankle gave out. Tara caught his arm instinctively. It wasn’t hard to steady the fey, not when he was so thin, scarcely more than sallow skin and bones.

The fey flinched at Tara’s offered support, pulling slightly as if he meant to get away.

“Can you walk?” asked Tara. Her voice was dry and cracked, but at least Narion Nightsong’s curse didn’t permanently mute her. She glanced back at the necromanced. “Somehow I don’t think those guys are going to be too pleased if we slow down.”

“I can manage,” said the fey through clenched teeth. Tara was forced to steady him and his eyes snapped to her, almost angry in their fear. “You should let them finish me. You should have before, instead of letting them capture and destroy you, too. What have I done to deserve your help?”

“Nothing,” said Tara frankly. “I mean, it wasn’t you back there who tried to convince Narion to let us go. It wasn’t you who tried to fight the necromanced when they ordered us to surrender. Was it?”

The fey snorted a surprised laugh. He glanced at Tara unwillingly. “I don’t understand you,” he murmured. “You have a very interesting way of expressing yourself. It’s quite direct. But perhaps that’s how the Last Hero of Allerion is supposed to sound.”

“Please don’t call me that,” said Tara. She concentrated on her footing, trying to manage both her weight and the fey’s. Her face brightened suddenly. “Hey, I know how to fix you,” she said, coming to a dead stop. “I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where can you—”

The fey didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. In a rush of blue light, Tara vanished.

***

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The Shieldmistress raised her eyebrows. “What’s this? I don’t believe that you have any new points to distribute at the tree. And once you have committed to a skill, you can’t change your mind.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Tara. “I just came in for a minute. Bye!”

“Tara—”

***

Tara was slightly breathless after disappearing and reappearing so fast. The fey looked as if he didn’t quite believe it.

“I—I must have imagined—” he tried, squinting at her.

“No, that’s just something I do sometimes,” panted Tara. “It’s a way I have of refreshing things, kind of like restarting. If I go up to the Vale and come back, everyone’s health is back at max. You should be better now.”

Kell was looking at her as if she were insane. Even the others, Elita and Horon, had turned during their conversation.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the fey. “My foot—it’s as bad as ever.”

“That can’t be true.” Tara insisted. “You should be healed. That’s how it always works. Try it.”

The fey was doubtful. He took a cautious step forward and Tara gripped his shoulder at his visible pain.

“It’s alright,” the fey said, seeing her frozen face. “I don’t expect you to heal me. You’re no elf trained in the arts of healing.”

Tara knew he didn’t understand why she was so shaken.

“But it should have worked,” she said. “It always works.”

“Enough,” snarled one of the necromanced impatiently. "We are wasting time."

Tara didn’t even mind being pushed. She was too distracted, following the others automatically. “It has to work,” she said. “Horon—Elita—you feel okay, don’t you? More refreshed?”

“I feel no different, Hero,” said Horon dryly. “According to that insane necromancer, you may be the Last Hero of Allerion, but I highly doubt you have that kind of power. I don’t know where it is you disappear to when you wink in and out of existence, but as unnatural as that is, I have no reason to believe that it makes you stronger than any of us. If anything, your gift has made you more foolish.”

Tara barely paid attention to the gruff Fenman. It was enough that he had confirmed her fear that nothing had changed for any of them physically.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispered. “We’re supposed to regenerate health. Hold on.”

Once again, she willed herself to the Shieldmistress’s Vale.

***

“You’re back,” said Altheria dryly. The Shieldmistress was singularly unimpressed.

Tara looked around, panting. “It isn’t working,” she said. “I don’t understand. I came back here and went back down like always, and we’re supposed to heal after that. Aren’t we?”

“Ordinarily,” agreed the Shieldmistress. “Unless you are in the middle of combat.”

Tara was perplexed. “But we’re not. If anything, this is a cut scene. I mean we’re not actually fighting any enemies.”

“Tara,” said Altheria firmly. “I believe we spoke of this already. Certain changes are taking place because of your arrival that are—unexpected, to say the least. Kell is one of those changes.”

“If I kill him we’ll regain our health?” said Tara incredulously.

“No. This goes beyond the survival of a non-essential character,” Altheria told her. “You may have noticed that you met Narion Nightsong far in advance of the preordained battle when you and your companions must destroy him and his minions.”

“You know about that?” said Tara doubtfully.

“Of course. I have seen many heroes come and go, all following the same general path as you. Except their path was fixed. They may choose to pursue adventure in Allerion at a different pace, or seek different challenges. But all those interactions never shifted or deviated from the way it has always been. Until now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps it is a consequence of your unusual role in our world,” said Altheria. “You are not a usual hero, Tara. Your conversations with me are enough to prove that. You are the first hero who has arrived in our world and brought a new, perplexing view into it, speaking of levels and quests and games. Even before your arrival, there were frightening signs. Now I think it is true, that you will bring our world to ruin in some way.”

Tara stared at her. “You think I’m dangerous?”

The Shieldmistress did not answer at once. Then, “I know you are. Only time will reveal the true purpose of the Last Hero of Allerion. For now, understand that you cannot heal yourself or anyone else by coming back to me.”

“Why not?” asked Tara, dismayed.

“Because your early meeting with Narion Nightsong circumvented the usual chain of events,” explained the Shieldmistress. “Your fight with him has already effectively begun, even if it you cannot hope to succeed in your current situation. Until Narion Nightsong is dead, you must rely on whatever tools you have on hand for healing and recovery. You must be extremely careful not to suffer injury.”

Tara’s panic was rising. “So…we could die even now? And I’d have to start at the beginning?”

“Some of you,” said the Shieldmistress. “Horon and Elita are essential characters. Kell is not.”

Tara gnawed her lip. “What can I do?”

“That is for you to decide,” said the fair elf gently. “I am interested to see what you will do with the choices before you.”

Tara hesitated. She knew this was her cue to leave, but she was more afraid than ever.

“Why is this happening?” she whispered. “Is it all just a dream?”

It was hard to believe any of this was exclusively in her head, as she felt the breathtaking rush and surge of power that brought her back to Allerion from the Shieldmistress’s Vale.