Cloaks

Chapter 12: Valaetha

Very shortly after the party finished resting, Christopher told them to prepare for departure. True to their host's word, no sun had risen to signal the approach of morning. He had elaborated his plan to hold off the witch, should she appear, so that the party could take the child and flee.

He spoke to them privately, in a hushed tone, glancing over his shoulder occasionally at his daughter, who was blinking sleepily on the other side of the cabin.

Everyone nodded grimly and went about packing up their things. As Bardy picked up his bag, however, he caught Malakos and Deruque, muttering to each other out of earshot.

"What are those two up to now?" He wondered. Last time they had been on the same page about something, it had led to disaster; and seeing them nod discreetly at each other put Bardy's stomach in knots. (Although, Bardy chose not to remember that what they had agreed upon was his own plan to kill Duke Phillip.)

Christopher gently lifted his daughter, speaking to her softly, and then approached the party. He pulled out a small, worn bag, with a few silver coins inside.

"This will pay for her medical care," he said, handing the bag to Deruque. Even without looking inside, the party could tell it would not be enough, but there was an unspoken agreement that this did not need to be voiced.

Deruque hesitated, then tried to hand the bag back, insisting that they could pay for her; but Malakos elbowed him and whispered, "Don't deny him this. It may be his last gift to her."

Deruque looked at the old man, a bittersweet look of fondness in his eyes as he stroked his daughter's hair.

The dragonborn cleared his throat and nodded; then the party left the cabin and began following Christopher down the path through the midnight darkness.

Malakos placed his hand inside the black velvet bag that the party had convinced him to buy and carry Holy Mace's skull in, so as not to disturb so many onlookers. As soon as his fingers brushed the bone, the hero appeared, walking next to them.

"Holy Mace, sir," he asked. "We may be meeting a witch before we can leave these woods. Have you ever fought a witch?"

"Yes, I have," the hero answered.

"Any combat advice?" Malakos asked.

The hero looked at their party. "Have you any anti-magic spells or tools?"

"No."

The hero's voice grew grim. "Then run. As fast as you can. And pray she is not faster."

Malakos withdrew his hand from the bag. Not an option, he thought, watching Christopher gently stroke a strand of hair from his sickly daughter's face, his eyes shimmering with moisture. He had pulled Deruque aside, back at the cabin, to see if he would be willing to fight a witch with him. It had been all he could do to keep the ranger from jumping up and drawing his sword on the spot. The tiefling then instructed Ruby to take the child and Lorenzo with her. She would need to take them to Whispenshire ahead of the rest of them. She looked at him shrewdly, but he smiled in return, hoping not to betray the pang of guilt he felt at leaving her again. Finally Bardy–he would be a wildcard. He might stay and fight or he might run and aid Ruby. Either was an agreeable option for Malakos, but he couldn't risk the little halfling finding out about his plan and trying to interfere. Bardy was a practical adventurer, and would no doubt have some logical objections to make against going up against a witch; but the cleric could not, in good conscience, abandon someone who had offered them aid–especially not a loving father. He would be leaving these woods with both father and daughter, or he would not be leaving them at all.