They_Have_to_be_Worth

                                                                                                                                                                                      Somewhere in Mistledale
                                                                                                                                                                    28 Eleint, the Year of Rogue Dragons
                                                                                                                                                                                                           (1373 DR)

                                 Larithyl carefully stretched, her leg muscles tired and sore from her long vigil. Despite her cautious movements, the leaves of the
                                    duskwood tree rustled slightly, and when she came to rest in her new position a twig snapped with a jarring crack.

                                        �Larithyl!� A hoarse whisper came from the dark hollow a few feet away where one of her comrades lay hidden.

                                        �Sorry,� she mouthed silently, and then realized that a human�s eyes would never be able to make it out in the dim starlight.
                                       �I�m sorry, Awker.�

                                The old warrior quickly scanned the tree line and looked to the bows of a nearby shadowtop, satisfied once he received the all-clear signal. With a practiced silence that seemed impossible for a man of his size, he quickly came to a crouch and made his way to Larithyl�s position. As if remonstrating her with his quick, sure, and perfectly silent movements, he dropped down beside her and came to rest on one knee.

�Larithyl��

�I know, I know, Awk.� She spoke in a voice that could have just as easily been a gentle breeze as a woman�s voice. �Come on, though. We�ve been out here for hours. Are you sure they�re coming?�

Awker spoke softly, continually scanning the dark forest for hidden dangers. �Mezrin said they were coming. They�re coming.� He spoke as though the fact were self-evident.

�Do we need to wait like this, holed up like rabbits, just hoping they�ll stumble along this path? I could cast a spell that would let us know if anyone came this way, and then we could go join the festival in Ashab��

Awker�s steely eyes, sharp in the grey moonlight, snapped to her. �Listen kid, if that�s what you want to do, then maybe you should rethink your decision to join the Harpers.� He waited patiently, staring at her with eyes like daggers, as if waiting for a response.

Larithyl drew back into the shadows, a little afraid to face the grizzled veteran dressing her down. �That�s not what I meant, Awk, and you know it.�

�I know you trained with Storm, Lar. I know all the old boys think you�re hot shit. But you�ve been living in festhalls all your life, and you�ve got to learn that its different out here. No baths, no rubdowns, no breaks when you get tired. We�ve got a job to do, so we do it. That�s all.�

�Bu��

The warrior didn�t even let her begin. �I know, but your spell. Don�t trust it. Maybe the Zhents�ve got mages with them, or maybe it gets set off by a couple of deer. There�s no substitute for your own eyes and ears.�

�What in all the nine hells are you making all this noise for!?� A sharp voice cut through the air from above�and for all its urgency, the other Harpers knew that no one more than twenty paces away would even be able to hear it.

�A lesson, Leyodin,� said Awker. �And its over. I hoped we all learned something.� Without another word he crept back to his hiding place behind a moss-covered log.

Leyodin Umanthar dropped to a lower branch on his shadowtop tree and looked to Larithyl questioningly. She shrugged in reply. �I�ll shut up.�
He switched to a pidgin form of the drow sign language. Though only dark-elven fingers were nimble enough to make the complex motions with anything approaching fluency, some of the younger Harpers had begun to learn it. Many, Leyodin among them, had learned the usefulness of a covert form of communication during their battles with the dark elves in the northern part of Cormanthor. �He you arguing?�

�Again. Why yell always he?� Once again Larithyl was frustrated in the midst of her efforts by her inability to express a complex concept in the sign language.

Leyodin seemed to understand, however. He pulled his hood back, revealing his long sandy hair, silver now under the moon. �It personally not take. Elders trying your life to save. Hard the life of a Harper is. They you get soft not want.�

Larithyl smiled faintly. Drow sign was not conducive to proper conversation at all. She leaned back against the tree hollow, brushing dark hair behind her faintly pointed ears. �Who these Hand Valor?� The orders from Storm were so urgent that she hadn�t had time to ask her comrades before they had to set the ambush. All Larithyl knew was that the Zhents were sending assassins after them.

�Life mine they saved.� Leyodin almost began to explain that he had been framed for murder over a year ago by a Zhent wizard. Zenser Tem�not only a Zhent, but a dabbler in dark magic and the organizer of small terror teams that perpetrated random acts of violence throughout Deepingdale. It had been the members of the Hand of Valor who had found the deserted cottage in which he had been hiding, helping him to track down the Zhents and in one stroke prove his own innocence and to stop their depredations against his fellow Dalesmen. They had even been responsible for his joining the Harpers, in a way. While trying to find them, not knowing they were half a world away in the Jungles of Chult at the time, he had found Jhenna Iliathor. He ran through the story briefly in his mind, and then thought better of it. �Long story,� he signed. �Good men.� He paused again. He had never met these newcomers�the womanizing Cormyrean officer or the mysterious elves�and come to think of it even the ones he had met had been reincarnated into different bodies. But they were still the old Sagerious and Anacard, and as long as they remained the Hand of Valor, then Leyodin trusted them. �Opposition against Zhents leading they.�

Larithyl thought for a moment, and then Leyodin began signing again. �Not fight Zhents before you, be careful. Me attached yo��

He stopped midsign as he heard the telltale sound of branches scraping against armor. Zhent armor. He had heard it a hundred times. The brief slap and cold grating of wood against soot-blackened steel, the swish of leaves against yellow and black uniforms, the soft crush of damp leaves under heavy boots. He didn�t need to look. They were fifty paces upwind, south by southeast. �Zhents,� he signed quickly, smoothly drawing a pair of arrows as he made a low hoot to signal Awk.

Larithyl swallowed and clutched her rapier. The hilt, as well as her palms, were slick with sudden sweat and the pervasive dew that clung to everything in these woods. As the sounds drew nearer�faint rustlings, almost imperceptible wisps of air (these must be professionals, she thought)�she suddenly found her heart pounding in her chest, hammering so loudly the assassins must be able to hear it. She could no longer see Leyodin or Awk, but she knew that they must be there. She could only wait for their signal, wait for the whistle of arrows and the whirl of axes through the air, and then do her best to make them proud.

The Zhents were so close they were right on top of her. Larithyl felt a pang of fear. Surely they must see her, if they are that close!

A sudden rush of air sounded as Leyodin�s arrows cut through the misty dark to embed themselves in the throats of two dark-armored men. Gurgling blood, they fell to the forest floor. From the opposite side of the Zhents, a hatchet whirled its staccato song, ending its flight by biting through dark armor and into a Zhent chest.

Larithyl stood up as soon as Leyodin had let fly and started singing in a low, rhythmic voice. She noticed, then, that the party was much larger than she expected�over a dozen still remained�and that they were clearly seasoned warriors. Without fear or more than a moment�s surprise, the Zhents were already regrouping.

She finished her song, a single bar of a lullaby that her mother used to sing to her�before she was captured and sold into slavery as a Zhent pleasure-queen�and one man fell to the ground in a clatter of leather and steel, sound asleep. One of Leyodin�s arrows took another through the sights of his helmet, punching out the other side in a jet of blood and brains, but his next shots were blocked by shields.

�Crossbows, in the trees!� one of them shouted, and fear ran down Larithyl�s spine. They had made Leyodin�s position! Three dark shields covered nearly half a dozen crossbowmen as they readied themselves to fire at Leyodin�s perch.

The ranger bounded away, dropping from the tree in a whirl of green, landing in a crouch and rolling towards cover behind another tree. Mid-roll, he drew another arrow and sent it into the arm of one of the shield-bearers, piercing steel, leather, flesh, and bone. The Zhent bolts, aimed for him only seconds earlier, sang death through the air and ended their flight in a spray of bark and torn leaves.

Larithyl closed her eyes and sang again, feeling the Weave grow and take form around her to give her brief tunes the power to cloud the minds of men. For the first time shouts of alarm and fear came from the veteran Zhents. �What�s going on?!� one shouted, and another: �Where are they! They�re all around us!� One of them ran screaming off into the trees, hacking at every branch and bush in his path, while the other began fighting his own men. �Spies!� he shouted, �Traitors! I�ll kill you, Harper scum!�

The leader spoke again, his curt orders cutting through the confused jumble of accusations and screams. �Jalvin�s enspelled, men. Take him down.� With quick and terrible efficiency, two men whirled to face the Zhent convinced that his comrades were Harpers. One traded two parries with a short blade while the other slipped behind Jalvin and grabbed the man�s head, one hand under the chin and the other on the opposite side. By the time Jalvin had made a third slash, his neck was broken and there was a blade in his heart.

Awker erupted through the undergrowth, twin hatchets in hand, cutting through a Zhent throat just below the helm. The other ducked Awk�s furious swing and parried furiously. Steel whirled against steel as the huge Harper swung high and then low, weaving his axes in perfect harmony. Three, then four blows were blocked, and then he left a slight opening on his flank. The Zhent took the bait, thrusting at Awk�s exposed side. The Harper reversed suddenly, turning a circle as he parried the strike, hooked his hatchet under a booted foot and pulled. Before the assassin even fell one axe bit into his knee, crunching bone and cartilage, and a second slashed through blackened leather and soft flesh to lay the man�s intestines open to the cool night air.

Larithyl bounded closer to the fray, moving her rapier in a defensive circle as she dipped into the Weave once more. If this works, she thought, we can end this right here. With iron control, her voice inflected to carry sympathetic vibrations into the commander�s ears and brain, she spoke in a smooth, sultry voice. �Why don�t we stop this fighting, before anyone else gets hurt?�

The Zhent tore off his helm to reveal a wide grin on a face scarred from many battles. �Good try, girl. But it�ll be your last.� He strode toward her calmly, black blade in his gauntleted hand.

Awk cried out as he tried to move towards her, but was blocked by two more swordsmen. �No good, girl! These men are too strong for those spells! Ye�� Whatever else he was going to say, it was cut off as an assassin�s blade bit into his thigh. Leyodin�s arrows buried that Zhent, but there were still half a dozen up and fighting.

Larithyl tried to hide her fear as the Zhent walked towards her, striding slowly and purposefully, as if to show her that she couldn�t possibly threaten him. Time for one last song before he gets here... She felt the Weave draw closer to her as she sang, felt it smudge the outline of her form into an incomprehensible blur. Trying to find some indication of where the Zhent would strike, she lifted her rapier into a guard position, moving constantly to take advantage of the glamer she had put on herself.

The Zhent just smiled. He still walked with his sword at his side, without any defense. He strode straight into her killing zone as though she wasn�t there. Gritting her teeth, Larithyl struck. A black blade whipped up, throwing her rapier wide. She brought it back into position, but the Zhent just threw it aside. Each time he stepped, it placed her off-balance; each time he blocked, he made it more difficult for her to thrust. Larithyl realized with sudden serenity that he was toying with her. She was dead.

And then the short blade drew back, the Zhent reversed, catching her thin blade in a gauntleted hand, and pressed hot steel into her body.

�Good bye, Harper witch. Give my regards to Bane.� The blade twisted. Larithyl tried to scream, but only managed to choke, throwing a tiny splatter of blood onto her killer�s face. He drew back, and then up; Larithyl realized she was falling, but she couldn�t feel the wind on her back, or the damp ground beneath her, and in any case, it didn�t seem to matter much anymore.

                                                                                               * * * * * *

When Leyodin came to Awker, he was still crouched on the ground like a savage, hacking at the corpse of the Zhentarim commander. It was barely recognizable as a man anymore.

�Awk...�

He turned, eyes wide, his face a mess of other men�s blood. His hatchets still gleamed in his hands. Leyodin backed up a step, his arms wide. �Larithyl?�

Awker, chest still heaving with exertion, his face a mask of rage, seemed to come out of his fugue. When he spoke, it was with a voice heavy with grief. �There.�

Leyodin bounded over, uncapping a steel vial as he knelt over Larithyl�s still form. The cool waters of the healing potion gushed over her white cheek, her bloody lips. But she wasn�t swallowing.

�She�s dead, Leyo. The girl�s gone.� Awker, Harper commander, grizzled veteran, and bear of a warrior, began to cry.

Leyodin didn�t know what to say. This makes how many? How many friends he�d lost to Zhentarim blades? How many beautiful women he�d seen die in the mud? He�d lost count. He found it hard to feel much of anything.

Awker bawled like a baby, filling the empty eaves of the forest with his wailing. Tears streamed down his blood-soaked cheeks. �Damn it, Leyo! The last thing I said to her... was to question her devotion... I only wanted to toughen her up... help her survive this mission and the next. My last words...�

Leyodin crouched next to his friend, his teacher, heedless of the field of dead Zhentarim surrounding them. �I know, Awk. I know.� Leyodin knew there was nothing he could say.

Awker looked up at him. �Who is this �Hand of Valor� anyway? Why are they so fucking important? Huh? More important than Larithyl?�

Leyodin looked around him, at the evil men and the good woman who died because of the Hand of Valor. More would die on their behalf before this was through. Perhaps he himself would die. They have to be worth it, though, all the sacrifice. By Mielikki, they have to be. Or else war would come to the Dales, and thousands of women like Larithyl would die or be enslaved, and everything the Harpers had fought for would be lost under a yellow and black banner. The Hand of Valor are more important than Larithyl, more important than Awk, more important than him.

They have to be.

But he didn�t say any of that to Awker. �I don�t know, Awk. I don�t know.� He grabbed the huge man�s arm and pulled him up. �Let�s get back to Storm�s farm.�

They Have to Be Worth It