Mialee's eyes were still closed. Her head pounded. Her stomach was in knots. She was one hundred percent sure that she was about to die, and she cursed her weakness for musicians.
Mialee, please.
The wizard forced her eyes to open, bringing fresh agony to her skull. The sky was growing slightly brighter in the west, although the rain continued unabated. Mialee couldn't guess how long it had been since Devis made his escape, but she felt like she'd been lying there for hours.
She pushed herself to the side of the bed and onto her feet. Her legs gave her roughly a second of good, solid support before giving out. She crumpled to the floor, clutching her head. The image of the screeching, gray monstrosity from the night before flashed behind her eyelids, and her stomach twisted.
Just a minute, Biksel.
With great effort, she stood next to the bed and wobbled to the window. With a weak tug, she pulled open the shutters.
"Thank you," the bird said, then flew out to find some breakfast.
"Go choke on a grub, Biksel," Mialee replied as she dragged herself back to the bed. The bard's clothing, along with a few traveling packs, lay mingled with her own robes and equipment. She tripped over the pile and heard the jingle of coins. "Dwarves wanted that, you ass," she said to the absent Devis. "Why dincha just..." but the effort of speaking brought more pain, so she cursed the bard silently instead.
She pulled herself up to a sitting position and stared at the rain gusting in through the open window. The wind and cold water helped clear her head, and she swung her legs off the bed and stumbled back to the window. She marveled at the accomplishment.
The wind was refreshing, but was quickly chilling the room. She closed one shutter and reached for the other. Biksel would let her know when he needed back in.
A tiny ball of black feathers careened into her forehead beak-first. Mialee fell flat on her back. She stared at the ceiling—spinning once more, just like old times—and felt blood well up from the new gash in the center of her temple.
Mialee's right hand balled into a fist. She was going to do the unthinkable. She was going to kill her familiar and sort out the consequences later. Why had Biksel attacked her?
I didn't. What are you talking about?
"Mialee," the shape squawked in a raspy, feminine bird-voice.
Mialee reached down and cupped the tiny, battered, avian body and lifted it to eye level. The elf woman blinked blood away from her eyes.
"Mialee," the bird repeated. "Help."
The raven, who probably weighed only a third as much as Biksel soaking wet, began shuddering uncontrollably.
"Hold on," she said with soft urgency.
With one foot, she kicked at the pile of clothing and gear. Her wand with the red tip clattered to the floor, one of Mialee's extra pieces of traveling security. Her spell components, she noticed gratefully, hadn't been disturbed. Still holding the bird in two hands, she kicked again at the pile, scattering a fan of gold pieces across the floor.
Valuable as the gold was, it wasn't what Mialee was looking for. She scattered clothing, packs, some rations, her rapier, and a long sword—had Devis been wearing a long sword?—across the wooden floorboards.
Healing potions weren't there. She never traveled without a few.
Hound-Eye. She had no idea how long he'd been lurking under her stool before Devis nabbed him. She still suspected Devis of fixing that little encounter.
A pitiful warble escaped from the bird in Mialee's hands. She had to do something or she'd never find out how the creature knew her name. She had a sick feeling she already knew. She had not chosen a raven to be her familiar by accident.
Catch up with me, Biksel. My potions were stolen. I'm taking her to that temple we passed on the way in, if I can find it.
Her?
Mialee raced down the stairs, leaped over the last few and skidded into the dark and mostly empty tavern. Gurgitt stood behind the bar wiping a glass.
"Morning, mistress elf," the barkeep said cheerfully.
"Don't you ever sleep, Gurgitt?" Mialee asked.
"Oh, now and then," the fat man chuckled. "Can I be getting you something? Bandage? Towel?"
"Which way to the nearest cleric? I passed a temple on the way, but the streets are so crooked."
"That'd be the Temple of the Protector, I imagine. It's an elf temple, too." Mialee's eyes and the blood running down her face told Gurgitt she wasn't in the mood for a travelogue, and he cleared his throat. "Anyway, you came in from the north, yes? You walked right past it. Head right out the door, there, and go north up the street, take a right, two soft lefts, another right, curve around the hangin' tree to about three o'clock and head straight past Cam's All Night Clothier's. Temple's got a big silver crescent on top."
"Right," Mialee said, utterly confused but hopeful that Biksel could find the place. They'd both seen the out-of-place structure, and the raven was not confined to these malodorous streets.
"Mistress elf?" Gurgitt called as she neared the doors.
"Yes?"
"Might I recommend Cam's Clothier's? Always open," the barkeep said. "He's my cousin's sister's boy."
Mialee glanced down and noticed for the first time that she was still stark naked. A small warble came from the injured raven in her hands.
"No time," she called over her shoulder.
She kicked the swinging doors open and stepped out onto the boardwalk that lined the muddy street. Mialee considered clothing purely utilitarian, anyway. The wild bears common in the northern forests didn't care about how nattily their victims were attired, but if their victim had a pocket with a knife in it, they might take notice.
Of course, Mialee thought as her teeth began chattering, it's early autumn and it's raining. Staying warm was a perfectly acceptable utilitarian purpose.
Arc you trying to freeze to death?
"N-n-no," the woman stuttered as she ran, hoping the exertion would warm her. The few citizens of Dogmar awake at this hour gaped as the shivering elf passed.
I shall fly ahead and let them know you're coming.
"D-d-do that," Mialee said.