Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part eighteen)
Rating and Warnings-- PG; mild language.
Species and Characters-- Rai Gerring, defected black magician (human man); Brandon "Exile" Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human man); Lhafa Softstep, possessed spirit warrior (baghan woman); Kerrek Rockhide, dead holy man (baghan man).
Previously-- Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen.



Lhafa stared at them both as though they'd just sprouted wings, horns, and a second pair of arms. Rai smiled sympathetically, then elbowed Brandon when the larger man chuckled. "If spirit warriors are the women who are attuned to magic," the magician murmured, "then it seems that the only difference between you and a holy man, other than gender and social standing, is your training. In fact, I wish Kerrek had been more cooperative... I would have liked to see if he could use magic through your body. It would let us know just how much you're capable of doing..." He looked thoughtful. "Pity you can't access his tricks without having to, well, talk to him."

The baghan woman didn't seem to track on what he'd said, eyes wide and startled. "How can you be sure it is my magic?!" she blurted out, one hand pressing against her hide-wrapped amulet, silver light leaking through both her vest and her fingers.

Rai smiled. "Every living creature has their own kind of magic. Maybe you're used to hearing it called spirit, or soul. But I can recognize your spirit and tell it apart from Kerrek's, and that's your spirit filling your talisman right now. Not his." He tried to avoid listening to the niggling voice in the back of his head that whispered about non-interference and not causing radical social change on a world not his own. After all, after being one of the "bad guys" for years, he had left all of those traveling guidelines behind, sitting in a dusty heap with his morals and his reservations against killing people.

"So, lemme get this straight," Brandon began, gesturing expansively as he spoke. "Women can't be hexers, but women can use magic just the same. So the hexers train the women to feed off their magic, rather than teaching the women how to use their own? That seems pretty shitty."

"I can't help but agree," Rai muttered, "but it isn't our place to--"

"--Rai, if you quote that hellspawned law of non-interference at me, I'm going to punch you. In the face." The exiled paladin waved a scarred fist at his companion, only half-joking. "Anyways, what's stoppin' Softstep from learning all the spells or rituals or whatever that a hexer knows? Other than, er, the hexers themselves."

Lhafa looked horrified at the suggestion. "I would be exiled from--..." She trailed off as her own words sank in.

Brandon laughed. "Exiled from your people? Kinda like you are now, helping outsiders, going against the wishes of your tribe's hexer? Yeah. Try again. You'll need a better excuse than that." He ignored Rai's long-suffering sigh.

"I would have nowhere to go. Holy men would want me dead for being so presumptuous, trying my hand at their sacred duties. Besides..." She sighed, eyes downcast. "I used anger as fuel for my power. I am sure that holy men strengthen themselves more nobly."

The two men exchanged knowing glances, and Brandon guffawed and slapped her shoulder. "Softstep, you'll fit right in. Anger's about the best way to call power as any. Righteous anger, protective anger, fighting anger, what have you. S'all good stuff." He grinned at her startled expression.

"So long as you control it," Rai hastily amended, shooting the exiled paladin a pointed look. "We can help you. Teach you." For a moment, his brain stalled. Did I just really offer to...

Lhafa glanced between them, one brow raised. "...I'm going to wind up a berserker," she lamented. She looked puzzled when both men burst into uproarious laughter.

"So, uh." Brandon looked at Rai, a grin still splitting his face. "What do we call a baghan woman who's gettin' trained by a paladin and a black magician?"

"Dangerous," Rai replied with a laugh. "But, in all seriousness, we can worry about that after we save the world." He cracked a grin as the paladin rolled his eyes. "Lhafa, can you speak with Kerrek? Or, really, will he talk at all now?"

She paused and closed her eyes, concentrating. Even her tail's restless swaying slowed and stilled. "He... is... unconscious?" she finally said, perplexed as she glanced at him. "It is as though he sleeps, but I cannot rouse him."

"...hmm." The black magician tilted his head. "If you had somehow killed him, I don't think you would sense him at all. Perhaps you... knocked him out." He tried to hide a wicked grin. "Can you get into his memories and knowledge?"

Quietly, Lhafa closed her eyes again. It was a full minute or more until she opened them once more. "No. It's like trying to move a dead body, wanting to see the organs without cutting into the flesh." She smiled very slightly. "I have no knife in my mind."

Rai nodded. "So much for that, then." He gestured deftly at the coccoon of woven shadow around them. "If I keep this up much longer, somebody will notice. Will you be able to... actually, what will you be able to do, Lhafa? We're going into the lion's mouth, here."

"Someday," she murmured, "one of you must explain to me what this 'lion' is." She allowed her hand to drop from her talisman. "Kerrek did not think to bring one of the weapons from the battle, so I am unarmed. I will go with you and take a weapon from one of the Ironhooves. After that, you will not need to worry. I will fight the Ironhoof spirit warriors for you."

"I get the feeling," Brandon drawled, eyeing her, "that there's some importance, some hidden meaning, that we're missing about that." She looked at him impassively, and he shrugged. "Alright, alright, don't tell me, then. But, no offense... the Ironhoof tribe. One of the big boys, right? One of the strong ones. Doesn't that mean their spirit warriors're gonna be pretty, well, tough? Last time you were outnumbered, too."

"--Actually," Rai interrupted, "we don't need to touch the Ironhooves. Last night, I found where the ritual will be held. It's in the territory north-east of this one. Do you know which one that is, Lhafa?"

"I remember the holy man explaining to me these lands, yes." She nodded slowly. "The Tarblade tribe. They are known for using poisons and curses against their enemies, which is why no one wishes to fight them." She paused, then smiled sadly. "Many regard them as the strongest tribe on Jubagh."

Brandon eyed the smaller man. "Rai, you got anything to nullify poisons and guard against hexes?"

The magician shook his head. "You're the paladin. Shouldn't you be the one taught to ward that stuff off?"

"Like I paid attention to protective magic," Brandon snorted. "I was the warrior, not the saviour." He sighed. "Guess it's our loss now. Well, shit. I can heal poison, f'course, but I'd have to--"

"--be coherent to do so?" Rai smirked, but the expression swiftly faded. "I don't know that we can defeat the strongest hexers on the planet without you letting loose, Brandon."

"Ah," Lhafa held up a hand to cut into their brainstorming, "I know how to protect against simple poisons." Both men blinked. "There are many venomous snakes and insects in my territory," she explained, "and so we are very resistent to them, and we make potions to help ward our children. They are easy to make, but the holy man is the one to empower them. If you can do that..." She looked at Brandon expectantly.

"Uh, sure," he shrugged. Rai veiled his concern.

She smiled. "Then I will make these potions, and we will not need to worry about the Tarblade venom."