The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2
Battle for Life

General Ab’shialaa began to organize her man-orcs into a uniform strategy. She called back the attacks on both her flanks, the rocks there too hard for man-orcs to climb. Of the battle in her rear, she was still unaware, the dwarfs being too short to see below the man-orcs. Yet she knew a large swath had been cut in her force there.

“Forward!” she cried, giving her orders from within the midst of her army, now facing every which way. “Attack!”

The solution was to move her troops forward in mass. Her command had so many man-orcs they were bulging out of the Pass, anyway. They should make short work of the Black Dragons by advancing, then turn about and face the enemy in their rear.

“Kill the Black Dragons! Kill them all!”

She would even take the front to lead them, as no dart or adamantine blade made could harm her, she being a shadow fiend.

Ab’shialaa was a creature without a body, having only the black shadow of one. She was a shadow of a grinning human skeleton with clawed hands and batwings. The Black Dragons could no more kill her than they could their own shadow.

“They move to attack the Black Dragons,” Amien warned Graybeard as he killed the last man-orc on top of the Pass, cutting off first one arm and then his head.

The other man-orcs were pulling back before them but not in retreat. They pulled back only by order.

“Yes,” stated Graybeard, knowingly. “They move away from the light of my staff.”

“Should you put it out?”

“If I do, the satyrs will not be able to see. No! We must get ahead of the man-orcs and join the Black Dragons!”

“But your staff will blind the Black Dragons!” argued Amien.

“That is a chance we must take. Quickly now! For I believe that is a shadow fiend that leads them and for the Black Dragons, there’s no killing it!”

Ab’shialaa used her bat wings to get ahead of her army that she might reach the Black Dragons first. When she did, their darts passed through her as if she were only air. Yet when her huge, clawed hands struck back, they passed through their adamantite armor as if it wasn’t there as well. Yet her claws were there, ripping and tearing apart the woman underneath.

Ab’shialaa laughed as she ripped her way through their ranks to reach Shinayne.

“You can’t kill me!” she cackled and grinned.

Sars’ satyrs now finished off the man-orcs on top of Thera Pass. By Graybeard’s light he saw the man-orcs had changed targets.

“Save the Black Dragons!” he ordered. “Save the Black Dragons!”

As one, they rushed forward, joining the dwarves in the man-orcs rear and hacking and cutting their way through them from behind.

Ab’shialaa, bred from demons, had reached Shinayne who bravely faced her, though her death was certain. The other Black Dragons retreated past her, using whatever time Shinayne's death could gain them.

Ab’shialaa raised one monstrous shadow hand behind her to stop the charge of the man-orcs just five paces behind her. A wall of man-orcs stood behind her, shoulder to shoulder, a thousand ranks wide, weapons ready, and mad eyes glinting.

“Stop!” Ab’shialaa said to them, barely looking back. “Let me kill this one. Then you can have the others!” Her eyes met Shinayne’s. “I think I shall hang you on a wall as a trophy!”

Her same hand slashed through the air but Shinayne sidestepped it. Another swing and another sidestep. Ab’shialaa aimed higher. This time time Shinayne ducked under it.

Frustrated, Ab’shialaa gave her man-orcs her permission. “Ach! Go ahead and kill her, boys!” She gave Shinayne a haughty grin. "Now see what happens!"

Yet something happened then as the man-orcs raised their weapons. The grinning beasts suddenly started with their eyes bulging wide and their mouths falling open as, through their chests, sharp blades ripped through them from behind. Some were axes. Some were spears. All were deadly. Her man-orcs staggered, gasped, and fell where they stood.

The entire line died as one and behind every one of them stood dwarves and satyrs, pulling their blades free from the fallen enemy. Behind them, Ab’shialaa saw dead man-orcs on the ground leading back to Thera Pass as far as the eye could see. Not a man-orc had survived.

As Ab’shialaa stared in disbelief, Amien and Graybeard arrived from the chaos of battle. Amien’s eyes, seeing Shinanyne still standing before the shadow fiend, met Graybeard’s in a silent exchange of understanding. With a subtle nod towards Shinayne, they communicated their shared resolve to confront the shadow fiend together.

In response, Graybeard tossed Shinayne his light staff and she caught it.

“Here!” he said. “You might want to use this!”

Shinayne took it and raised it up, pointing it at Ab’shialaa, who now came at her, her clawed hand still raised to deliver a determined strike.

“Your turn,” snarled the Black Dragon.

And there came a burst of white light in Ab’shialaa’s face from the staff and her eyes went wide, then wild, as her entire shadow body came apart, disappearing into shattered fragments forever.

For what destroys shadow is light.

“Well!” smiled Graybeard to Shinayne as he took back his staff. “That certainly counts as one.”

At this moment, Ronthiel awoke as if emerging from the depths of a long, dark tunnel, to replace himself in a bed. At first, he thought he had overslept, for he had the sensation that too many hours had passed. Then he thought he had awakened from a bad dream, for it was still dark. Yet his eyesight somehow seemed more enhanced and acute. He could actually see the ceiling above him and make out the richly carved rock walls.

A cloud of soft, silky white hair interrupted his vision of the ceiling as a pair of incredibly soft, tender, lovely lips gently kissed his.

“Good morning,” said a rich, sultry young woman’s voice full of invitation.

Ronthiel was surprised. First, he was not used to waking up to a kiss and, second; he was not used to the intense, electrifying sensation of it. Those erotic lips transmitted an incredible awareness into his person that he felt all the way down to his toes.

“Wow!” He thought to himself in amazement. He’d never known a kiss could feel like that before. It was awesome!

Of course, no one had ever been kissed the elf lad before either.

A pair of deep, ruby-red eyes now gazed into his like polished jewels. Their beautiful color was every bit as intense as the thrilling kiss she had just given him.

It was Leradien.

Ronthiel was now fully awake as well as fully shocked. Why had Leradien kissed him and why so passionately—or was it not passionately done at all? With her, he couldn’t tell.

But he voiced no objection, as it most certainly was a pleasant way to wake up. He noticed he was in a drow home, and a wealthy one at that, for he detected the sound of a lulling waterfall or fountain.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she said.

Ronthiel looked up at her pleasant smile and flawless features in curious wonder and amazement and finally voiced the question he had long been wondering.

“Are all driders as beautiful as you?” he asked in uncertain fascination. “As I shall have to have them all if they are.”

“No,” she said with a soft smile. “Just me. And don’t you ever forget it! I shall not have you looking at any other women.”

That made no sense to him. Why should she care if he looked at any other women? She hated him.

Yet why then had she kissed him?

He wondered why he had even thought to ask her that. Perhaps it was because he was more intensely aware of her beauty than usual.

He looked past her and saw the satyr boy, fast asleep in a chair. If they were in a drow house and underground, he wondered how he could see the boy.

True, he could barely see him in the dark, but he managed. It was the first time he’d been able to see anything at all since coming down here.

Leradien noticed his gaze towards the boy.

“You can see him, can’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, I can,” answered Ronthiel. “Although just barely.”

“He fell asleep a half-hour ago,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

“Why?”

“You don’t remember?” she asked, her sweet breath and young, tender lips still hovering invitingly over his.

The elf boy tried to remember but could not. The last thing he remembered, they had set out from Ched Nasad. They were to delay the advance of Lolth’s army by two days. But—after that—nothing. He did not even remember falling asleep here to wake up now.

“Do you remember Lolth?” asked Leradien.

The elf shook his head.

“Do you remember talking to her?” she asked. “The two of you spoke while you slept.”

Ronthiel tried to recall but his face remained blank. He shook his head.

“For the last hour, you’ve been talking about me,” she said. “Do you remember that?”

But Ronthiel remembered nothing.

“What did I say?” he asked.

“If I told you,” she said, her steamy lips still poised gently over his, “you’d take it back.”

Instantly, Ronthiel sat up, suddenly alert and on the defensive to the girl.

“You cannot hold me responsible for what I say in my sleep!” he said.

“Even for an entire hour?” she asked.

“Even for a day!” he told her. “What has happened? Have I been ill?”

Leradien drew back as if mildly disappointed.

“You were bitten by Lolth,” she said. “You almost died.”

“I remember nothing of it.”

“Obviously not,” said Leradien with a reluctant sigh. “The boy hardly remembers it either. He hit his head. It seems I’m the only one that knows what happened.”

“What did happen?”

“If I told you,” she whispered, “would you believe me?”

“Probably not,” he admitted.

“Then I probably won’t tell you,” she said, stepping back away from him.

Ronthiel was curious, as he could still vaguely see her.

“How is it that I can see you?” he asked. “Has it grown lighter in here? I mean, I barely see you, but yet I do.”

“Call it a side effect of being bitten,” she answered. “Can you move?”

“Certainly,” he said, trying out his limbs. “Why?”

“You couldn’t before,” she said. “Lolth’s kiss paralyzed you. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered. But you really remember nothing of what you said about me?”

“I remember nothing until awakening to your lips.”

“Well! At least you remember that.”

Ronthiel noticed the boy now waking up.

“Good morning, Master Satyr,” he greeted the boy.

The boy blinked his eyes open but couldn’t see Ronthiel back for some reason. Yet he had recognized his voice and the boy burst into a happy smile of joy.

“You’re alive!” the boy declared excitedly. “You have no idea how that gladdens me!”

“It seems you both have me at a disadvantage,” said the elf. “What are you talking about? Alive from what?”

“You were bitten by Lolth. Leradien saved you,” said the boy.

The elf lost his enthusiasm.

“What? Leradien saved me?” he asked with a slight frown. “Again? How many times is that now?”

“Four times,” said Leradien. “But who’s counting?”

“Whatever the number is,” Ronthiel told her now with a pleasant laugh and a smile. “I am grateful even though it seems I never get to see these rescues ever happen and I must constantly take the word of the boy for it who, may I remind you, is a proven liar!”

“That must make it difficult,” admitted Leradien. “But it seems my memory is much better than yours on the things that are said because I remember you talking to the boy about me while I was asleep aboard the drow ferry. And I also remember you talking to me while I was asleep and chained in the steeder barn. Perhaps you would be best advised to remember your words also?”

“There is no need to remind me,” said Ronthiel quite quickly. “Name your price and I shall humbly serve you until those words are forgotten.”

“There is no price and they shall never be forgotten,” said Leradien.

“I hate to interrupt,” said the boy, “but is the elf well enough to travel? Because we have delayed the enemy for the required two days and must now catch up with the others.”

“He is perfectly fit,” said Leradien. Examining the elf for the bite marks on his neck, the two previous scars' had now mysteriously disappeared. “Let us pack up and leave.”

“My chest still hurts,” said the elf. “How did I get this welting bruise across it?”

“Lolth struck you with one of her legs. You’re lucky just to be alive from it,” then she added. “Spiders have very strong legs. I’m surprised you’re even in one piece. She could have cut you in half, if you were but a little further away. But that was the least of your worries. Anyway, both the pain and welt will soon be gone. You will quickly recover.”

“If this is all she did, I consider myself lucky,” noted Ronthiel, sitting up. “Did we really delay Lolth?”

“Oh! Yes!” the drider pleasantly assured him. “She won’t be coming back! She’ll even be hiding from her own followers for quite some time!”

Ronthiel nodded, barely listening. She was so incredibly lovely. He had noticed it before but now more than ever. Was it because he could see her better now? Or was there something else about her?

“Have you gotten bigger?” he asked quizzically.

“Do not tell me again I need to go on a diet,” she shot back defensively but only feigning indignity. “For if I grow, if anything, I grow more beautiful than ever!”

“That would be impossible,” Ronthiel stated as if were a certain fact, and then wondered why he had said that. That was like the stupidest possible thing he could say to a girl, especially Leradien who would never let him forget it.