A deal worth making

Ouch. That is my head bumping on a door frame. But it has woken me up. The demon is carrying me in her arms, well, lower arms. The upper arms are pressing an improvised bandage on my shoulder wound. This is reopening stuff I have already fixed. I keep up a permanent healing just focused on blood vessels. Why are they moving me at all? My head is swimming. Of course, they cannot know whether the strike I landed has caused permanent damage. In fact, I cannot be sure myself. It felt that way, but that’s what our enemy would want me to assume.

My head is touching something that smells good. I am reminded of something I don’t remember. It makes no difference. I am so tired and cold.

Anjali is looking out into the dark night. Snowflakes are driven through the vision slit in the gate. The gate has no provisions for a magical barrier she can see and the path to it is clear. They are no longer trapped except by the elements. They have made it. It feels unreal. Atlanteans are figures of legend you do not expect to meet, let alone beat. So the bar stashed right next to the gate goes right into the tines mounted on the door and the wall, however unlikely anybody is to travel through such a storm in the night without breaking his neck. She has almost finished sweeping the facility and will be able to do the rest on her way back to report. The demoness has taken over command by force of her confidence. It does not matter to her.

„There is a locked door leading to one of the side corridors. We have found quarters for guards, a common room for off duty hours, storage rooms with provisions for about 400 mandays, bath facilities including showers, and a kitchen. I have put the peasants into the kitchen and I hope they have understood that I want them to cook a meal.“ she reports. „And I have found this.“ She extends her hand displaying a ring resting on her palm. The demon demonstrates her knowledge „A translation ring. You haven’t tried it out?“. „I didn’t want to seem to lay a claim on it“ she replies. „Considerate, but unnecessary. You may not have noticed, but parts of the machinery in the ritual room are made out of platinum. Even if we have to melt them down, we are rich.“ and the demon hesitates. Anjali is smart enough to not interrupt. „However, this may not matter all that much. I may just as well tell you, as I am no longer part of the nest. Are you familiar with the local pantheons?“ she continues. „In broad strokes“ Anjali answers. „Good. The clan elders were suspecting that this is Ragnarök.“

Hildegard is enjoying being clean and having brushed her teeth. This is better than the facilities at home, where the warm water is limited by what the solar heaters on the roof can provide or where in winter you need to build a fire to get warm water. She has found the traveling clothes she was captured in in a sack, but they are not fit to be worn in polite company, so they are soaking in preparation for being washed.

She should brush her hair but she is standing in a shower stall her hands braced against the wall. She may have killed someone today. It was in the line of duty and honor, so she should feel pride if anything. Still it bothers her. She is nineteen, a little old to get married, she had been riding out to meet her bethroated to wed on the feast of the harvest moon, just a few days from the day she was captured. She might have been called on to hold a castle in a siege, tend to the wounded and eventually bear a child. But right now she wishes for her parents. What is wrong with her? She did not show weakness in the ritual circle. She faced a mighty magus. She faced a demon. She felled a magic creature with a swing that would have made her instructor proud. But a shower forces her to fight down tears. This is no good. She gets dressed in a fresh linen sheet and heads for the kitchen to do something productive.

The kitchen confirms one of her fears. They are soaking salted fish. There is an awful lot of salted fish in the storage room next to the kitchen, but no meat. It is possible that that wizard is really into fish, but this being emergency rations it is likelier that fish is just cheap here. It is no hering. In fact she has no idea what kind of fish these are. They’ve carried her all the way to the Mediterranean while she was unconcious. Getting home will be difficult. In fact she has to face it. They caught a lot of her father’s forces outside the castle. Have they followed through and attacked her home?

I am still tired. My eyes are hard to open. But at least I am no longer cold. Or to be precise I am no longer only cold. I am running a fever. This is bad. I am aiming my power at bacteria. A hand is running a wet cloth across my face. Water! Another hand gently lifts my head, while the first hand has exchanged the cloth for a beaker gently pressed against my lips. I drink eagerly. It is a kind of sour liquid not pure water. Very refreshing. I mutter „Thank you“

„The ring works! The third language is your tongue. It is me, Anjali. Is your mind clear? Do you remember what happened?“ a female voices says in my mother tongue without an accent. „Yes, I owe you my life. Thank you. I am so tired.“ I reply. „All will be well. Sleep.“

Zewrepa is composing a funeral song, just in case. She rechecks the wizard’s pulse. Slow. Too slow. The skin is cold and sweaty. They need to wake him up. This will need a spell to cure. Having the healer fall ill is a conundrum she’d be readier to appreciate in the abstract than suffering it. Her allies reluctantly nod. She flicks his nose.

I wake up. Why is my bed rotating? Of course the planet is round and rotating. Wait this makes no sense. Why is the light so bright? Why does my nose hurt again? An annoying voice sounds demanding. I ignore it. I should do something amusing. I can make pictures. I make a picture of a shrimp hunting a smurf. That is amusing.

„His mind is not clear“ Anjali says. „Can you make him want to fight the infection?“

„How?“ Zewrepa answers. Anjali takes that as a literal question. How about … „Sing him a song of wrath and retaliation!“ she bursts out

A heavenly host is declaring holy war on my smurf. It announces its intent with trumpets and flutes. I need to fight. The smurfs need me. This makes no sense. What is wrong with me? That triggers my special sense. It tells me that I am infected. But I fought the bacteria. My special sense answers. A fungal infection. That is disgusting. But now I have aiming information. The power believes in biological defense by mounting an offensive.