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“Speak, sahuagin.” Angharad took the lead in the interrogation, locking eyes with its own.
The sahuagin chittered in return, its face clearly panic stricken as its eyes darted from Angharad to Ifan and Rhian.
“Do you speak Inarellian? Or any other language besides your own?” Angharad flitted through a variety of other languages quickly, hoping to find some common ground with the creature.
“I… I can speak your tongue. Not as well as my own. But I… should be able to… struggle through.” The Inarellian was broken and disjointed, and the creature’s mouth was clearly not designed to create the requisite sounds of the language, but the group managed to work out the gist of its speech.
“Good. Why were these two attacking you, and where is your home?” asked Angharad.
“They… they consumed some of the magic. The magic from the troll-stead.”
Gustov was inspecting his handiwork, looking over the corpse of his victim, before he interjected, “He is telling the truth. This one,” Gustov gestured to his kill’s torso, prodding at a pulsing mass growing out of its left rib cage, “it’s mutated. Seems like tainted arcanum.”
“The others… My family, friends, and the priesthood. They all partook in the magic. I did my best to retreat, but those two caught up to me. It was… horrifying.” The sahuagin scratched at his neck, and some of the scales flaked off under his webbed claws.
“Why didn’t you partake?” Ifan lowered his sword, holding it at his side.
“I’m the youngest. Of the entire tribe. I was last in line to receive the magic.”
“So, you waited for your share and then saw everyone else turn. I see.” Angharad sighed, turning to Ifan. “If they’ve all turned, the likelihood of them continuing their thievery in Aberhaf is low, but they pose an imminent threat to the town’s peoples. Shall we consider this a job done?”
“We could still retrieve whatever is left of the clean arcanum,” replied Ifan.
“If there is any left. Why would they so greedily consume the tainted arcanum if not for having depleted their other stock? You. Does your tribe have any of the old magic liquid left?” Angharad turned back to the sahuagin, wincing a touch at the sight of his ugly scaled face.
“Maybe. But there’s probably not much. That place should be forsaken… As much as I regret saying such things.” The sahuagin hunched its shoulders, sliding up closer against the damp cave wall.
“No, or little, arcanum. And a batch of feral sahuagin. I say we return to Aberhaf, suggest contacting the capital for more guards and be done with it.” Angharad polled the group, “What do we think?”
“I suppose there is little reason to continue in that case. The best we could do is thin their numbers. Sahuagin, how many does your tribe number?” questioned Ifan.
“Including myself there is about fifty. And most all of them drunk the bad magic.” The sahuagin patted down the pouches on his belt, the only piece of clothing the creature was sporting. Rhian watched closely as Ifan and Angharad continued their discussion.
“So, we’d be walking into a cave system these sahuagin know far better than ourselves, while vastly outnumbered, and have to deal with hyper-aggressive foes? I’d be hard pressed to disagree with leaving now.” Ifan stepped backward, giving the sahuagin a bit more space and leaving Rhian to keep it guard.
“Rhian, Gustov? Are you in agreement?”
“Blown through a tight cave passageway for no more than one kill? An upsetting turn of events but I agree we would face great difficulties fighting these creatures on their home turf.” Gustov stood up from the sahuagin corpse and began pacing around the cave.
“I’m fine with – what have you got there?” Rhian glimpsed the sahuagin rifling through a small pouch, a small glint shimmering out of its opening.
The sahuagin hissed and snapped the pouch shut, “None of your business, hume.”
“Lower the aggression little man,” Angharad turned and pointed her spear at the creature’s throat. “I think you forgot what situation you were in. What did you see, Rhi?”
“Something small… And shiny in his belt pouch.”
“Carrying treasures, hmm? Anything you can trade for saving your life?” Gustov stepped over the sahuagin’s right, his massive size casting a shadow in the dim glow of the cave flora over the creature’s body.
“No!” the sahuagin snapped at Gustov’s question, and Angharad’s spear pressed up into its chin.
“Show us. We can decide for ourselves.” Gustov gripped his axe, flashing its blade towards the creature.
The sahuagin relented as the cold steel caused its jaw to ache. It reached into the belt pouch and revealed a small yellow crystal, covered in small spikes and bumps. Holding it in the palm of its hand, it slowly offered it up to the group.
Gustov snatched it from its hand, raising it to his eye and screwing up his face as he tried to appraise its value.
“Be gentle with it!” The sahuagin chittered something in its own tongue, and Angharad pressed the spear into its throat once more.
Gustov struggled to understand what was so important about the gemstone. Its yellow was rather dull, and while it was relatively large, its insides were cloudy and riddled with imperfections. As he held it, he could feel his grip weaken. The muscles in his arm ached and soon enough the stone fell from his hands involuntarily. It bounced off the cave floor with a dull clank, and the sahuagin let out a pained hiss.
“You idiot! That was my saviour! If you’ve damaged it…” The sahuagin reared back as Angharad pushed the spear against its neck, barely cutting the creature’s flesh.
“Calm down.”
Ifan reached down and collected the gemstone, placing his other arm on Gustov’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”
“I feel… weak. That stone sapped my strength.” Gustov looked at his hand as he tried to make a fist, and his forearm shook under the strain.
“Strange… it’s not doing anything to me.” Ifan held the stone in a closed fist, waving his arm around as he waited for the weakness to set in.
“It saps magic from the body. From anything.” The sahuagin offered the explanation up half-heartedly as the blood trickled down his neck.
“I’ve never heard of anything similar… Again, it would be nice to have our magician with us especially for times like this.” Disheartened, Ifan handed the stone over to Rhian, who was holding an open palm to him.
“It looks pretty. The imperfections are dancing inside it like smoke.” Rhian peered into its surface, watching the swirling clouds within.
“Really? The cloudiness was stationary for me,” said Gustov.
“The stone is reacting to their lack of magic. The spirit that lives inside wants desperately to feed on it.” The sahuagin slowly calmed as the others handled the stone with care, and Angharad lowered her spear slowly, before being handed the stone by Rhian.
“The spirit inside?” Angharad joined in peering into the stone, its cloudiness still twirling around its insides.
“We never discovered what it was. Just how it responds to magic. It could be the stone itself, but it seems to have… moods. The stone changes colour under some circumstances too.”
“What are you doing with such an odd stone?” asked Ifan.
“I swiped it from the temple when the tribe drank the magic. That may have been a big reason why I was being followed.”
“So you stole from your own people?”
“Stole? No, I made sure our treasures weren’t left to be discovered by some overly curious seal or hume. Plus… It is enchanting. It’s had a hold on me ever since I first held it during daily rituals.” The sahuagin’s eyes tracked the stones movement during the entire conversation, watching intently as Angharad passed it back to Ifan.
“What were your plans with it? Why is it so important to a lone sahuagin?” asked Angharad, leaning her weight onto her spear.
“Very inquisitive, aren’t you, humes?”
“Just answer the question or you’ll see the business end of my spear.”
Hissing, the sahuagin responded, “Such a treasure would put me in good stead with the local merfolk. I was hoping they would provide me housing and protection. And hopefully magic. It won’t be long before my gills close for good.”
“Well how about you get all three by coming with us? And for the stone of course.” Ifan tossed the stone in his hand, smiling as the sahuagin unknowingly nodded while following its path.
“There’s no trusting terrestrials. You plunder our homes and abuse our waters – I’d rather drown in these caves.”
“Come on, besides being a little rough with you to get information, you’re safe and sound. I’m sure the trolls of Aberhaf would allow you to take refuge there, with me vouching for you.” Ifan stuffed the stone in a leather pouch on his hip, smirking at the sahuagin’s snarl in response.
“What sway would you have over the trolls? They are not the greatest fan of you humes, or so I’ve heard.”
“Not that you’ll believe me, but I’m the prince of Inarell. His Highness Ifan ap Rhydian. Inheritor of the Divine Breath and next in line to the throne.” Ifan bowed dramatically, flashing his eyes white as a flourish.
“Prince Ifan? Those eyes… I’ve heard story of your father and those eyes. What is a prince doing hunting sahuagin thieves for trolls?”
“Community service. Proving the worth of the royal bloodline to the people of Inarell.”
“You have to prove your worth? The current holder of the Divine Breath? Your father killed all manner of ruinous beasts.”
“The people have chosen self-determination. And someone with such a… fearsome power as his highness must gain the people’s trust else they’ll revolt even further and lock him away for life. Or worse.” Rhian looked over to Ifan and exchanged a glance and a weak smile, which was reciprocated.
The sahuagin broke out into a grating chuckle, “The terrestrial’s have rejected the royalty of Inarell? No wonder the surface world is experiencing this strife. Such a shame your affairs have so much influence over the depths.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Ifan paused, “We never got your name. As I said, I’m Ifan, this is Rhian, Angharad and that big man is Gustov.” The group all waved to the sahuagin; Gustov had barely managed to regain his strength, resting on his axe as the conversation continued.
“An’kachat.”
“Bless you.” Ifan laughed as An’kachat stared blankly back, “Sorry, nice to meet you An’kachat.” Ifan offered a hand to the sahuagin, hauling them up off of the cave floor. Their webbed hand was cold and damp, and left a slick slime on his hand. Wiping it off on his clothes, Ifan smiled at An’kachat.
“I’d have preferred it to be on better terms. Your highness.” An’kachat sighed, “Held up by terrestrial royalty on the same day my tribe was cursed. The gods surely look down upon me.”
“We’ll get you to safety, you have my word.” Ifan patted Gustov on the shoulder, “You feeling better?”
“Yes, barely a problem.” Gustov’s brow was wet with sweat, and Ifan could see the paleness in his skin in the dim fluorescent light.
“You look like hell.”
“I will just need a smidge of arcanum when we get back to the surface. Fingers crossed they have some to spare in Aberhaf.” Gustov wiped his forehead, “Second dose since the magic stopped; I am due my share.”
“I told you to take some for the road.” Angharad tutted at the goliath, collecting her spear, and heading to the mouth of the cave.
“Ok, Captain Hindsight.” Gustov followed close behind as the group reassembled into their marching order. An’kachat slipped behind Ifan, and Angharad lead them back into the network of tunnels.
“If we take the next left, we will end up back on the surface. Near the quarry.” An’kachat spoke up as the group approached the fork in the tunnels, and Ifan communicated it down the chain.
“Thanks, Ank. We had some fun getting through from the coast,” said Ifan.
“I nearly lost all of my chest hair. Some fun.” Gustov shook his head, rolling his eyes as Angharad chuckled ahead.
“You’re welcome. The sooner we get out of the caves the less likely you terrestrials are to get stuck by hightide.” An’kachat looked over his shoulder, “I think we might be being followed still too. We should hurry.”
“Alright, picking up the pace.” Angharad quickened her step, being careful not to slip on the slick wet stone floor.
