She walked toward the staff slowly, despite her excitement at finding it. The druid would have run, but a sense of torpor had taken root somewhere deep within her. Marissa hadn't lied to Roberc. She was feeling much better-physically. The scars of her torment, however, went beyond flesh. The hag and her dark priestess had taken something from Marissa. The chill of her captivity had sucked something essential from the marrow of her spirit. Here beneath the citadel, trapped in the cold embrace of the earth, the half-elf felt half alive. She longed for the touch of sunlight and the caress of a spring breeze the way a wounded falcon longs for open sky and the touch of warm air upon its pinions.
When at last she reached the staff, Marissa hesitated before reaching out to touch it. It lay quiescent, silent for the first time since she held it beneath the shadow of the Red Tree. The druid recalled the layers of spells that her captors had woven over the captive artifact. She was no expert in arcane magic, but she knew the ways of the gods, and it seemed to Marissa's senses that the dark priestess had held the foundation for the "house" of spells that they had built. With the half-orc cleric's death, the house simply collapsed.
Or so she hoped.
Reaching out at last to the seemingly inert length of wood, Marissa carefully picked up the staff and cradled it in her hand. The moment her fingers closed around the length of wood, she felt an explosion of power. Light filled the room as waves of arcane energy radiated from the staff. Marissa knew that she had fallen to the ground, buffeted by the power of the staff, yet she felt nothing. The now-familiar voice of the artifact buzzed in her mind, swelling angrily as it searched through her memories, recalling what she had experienced during their absence. At times, she felt as if it clucked angrily at her, the way a mother hen would chide her chicks when they had drawn near something dangerous. She would have laughed at that, but three sets of hands grabbed her and lifted Marissa to her feet.
"Is little witch, all right?" she heard Borovazk's deep voice rumble at her.
She concentrated on the sound, and all at once the voice of the staff fell to a tremulous whisper. When she looked around, once more in control, Marissa saw all of her companions gathered around gazing anxiously upon her.
Taen's eyes were narrowed, his mouth pinched with obvious concern. "We heard you cry out and fall to the ground," he said. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "The staff and I were just getting reacquainted. I'm sorry if I frightened you."
Grasping the staff, Marissa climbed to her feet. The room threatened to spin out of control for just a moment then righted itself. For the first time since her rescue, she noticed the absence of her avian companion and sudden fear for the little creature rushed through her body.
"Where… where is Rusella?" she asked. v
The others all looked at her with the same mask of concern on their faces, but it was Taenaran, at last, who spoke. "We don't know," he said gently. "She flew away when you were taken on the bridge. I wouldn't worry too much; if anyone can find a way out of here, it would be her." He reached out to her and grasped her shoulder gently. "Rusella will probably be waiting for us when we leave this place."
Marissa wasn't as certain, but she offered a prayer for Rusella's safety just the same. If anything happened to her companion, she would never forgive herself. Then, to draw some of the attention away from her, she asked, "How are we coming with the circular inscription?"
Marissa watched the half-elf's face fall into a frown. Taen ran slender fingers over his head before answering.
"Well," he said, "I'm sure that the circle functions as a teleportation device, and I'm reasonably certain that there are no hidden arcane traps upon it. I only wish I knew where it might lead."
Roberc stepped forward, finishing off a draught of wine before speaking. "Marissa, do you remember anyone else besides the half-orc using the portal?" he asked.
She thought about it for a moment, only partially successful in repressing a shudder at the dark memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life. "I… I think so," she answered hesitantly at first then, "yes, I do remember. Most of the time, the hag walked through the doors and back into the citadel, but several times after… longer… sessions, she would use the circle."
"Does little witch know where hag go?" Borovazk asked.
Marissa shook her head. "No, I'm sorry," she said, "all I can remember her saying was that she needed to go back to the cave. If the portal leads there, then perhaps we can use it to surprise her."
"If she's there," Roberc said.
"There is that small detail," Taen commented.
The druid thought some more, trying to recall her last session with the hag. "If I'm remembering correctly, Chaul used the circle during our last session. She might still be wherever that portal leads."
"Little friend speaks truly," Borovazk said, "if evil one not have another way in to the Rashemar."
"It's a better lead than we've had," Roberc growled, "and besides, it beats slogging through this dank place, cutting our way through wave after wave of ghouls and goblins."
"Then it's agreed?" Taen asked.
Marissa nodded in agreement. Personally, she would take any chance to end this mission sooner, and she suspected that the others felt the same.
They did.
Within moments, each of them began their preparations. Marissa watched in fascination as Taen drew forth a pearl, which he then crushed beneath a heavy rock. Carefully, he gathered the crushed pearl fragments and poured them into a silver goblet.
"I need to uncover the command word to activate the portal," he said, obviously noting her interest.
"The spell I'm about to cast will take some time. You should probably rest a little bit more before we head through."
Marissa hesitated a moment before speaking. "Taenaran," she began at last, "about that conversation we need to have."
She had nearly lost him once on this journey; then their enemy captured her. Though this clearly wasn't the time for such a thing, the druid didn't want to waste another moment.
Taen stopped what he was doing at Marissa's words, stood up, and went to her. "I know," he said, drawing the slender tip of his fingers across her cheek. She shivered at his touch. "I've had that conversation a thousand times with you in my dreams," he continued. "We don't have the time now, but please understand that I do know."
Marissa felt his arms enfold her, and she yielded to that embrace. They held each other for a moment, a moment that she would have stretched into eternity if she had the power, before Taen kissed her lightly upon the lips and drew back gently.
"Now," he said, staring deeply into her eyes, "go get some rest. You're going to need it."
The druid nodded and walked toward a corner of the room, dazed by the memory of his lips upon hers. The warmth of their embrace remained with Marissa as she settled down in her makeshift bedroll. She was tired, the earlier torpor she felt spreading over her like the still waters of a mountain lake. When at last she closed her eyes, Marissa felt herself floating gently to the lake's bottom.
Restful sleep, however, eluded her. A series of violent visions hammered at Marissa while she dreamed. In them, she stood before the Red Tree, whose broad limbs lay bare, as if in midwinter. Its bark was desiccated, pitted and dried, hanging loosely upon its diseased trunk. The voices of the dead whispered around the twisted tree, and rich, dark blood welled up from the black soil.
Stumbling backward from the sight, Marissa could see the bodies of her companions, their bloated corpses hanging from the highest limbs, twisting in the chill wind. All at once, the tree's trunk began to split and tear with a loud cracking sound. A greenish shape began to emerge from the split trunk, headfirst like the birth of an abominable child.