Spencer
and Georan observe a crew of orcs searching the ruins. A larger goblinoid,
an ogre triggers some trap and releases a flood of snakes. Spencer witnesses
the frightful couatl guardian. They retreat to question Viatteni.
Sirilyr
returns to Tir with the pilgrims and merchant Arnough. They meet Feorik
and companions. Sleene discovers Durrant is the merchant buying the wood
of her golden oak grove.
Viatteni
has visitors, Watcher's from Beir who have tracked orcs to the cemetery.
Spencer and Georan make their report and demand information. The Marchion's
calvary comes to the temple. Goblins attack another sheep.
The
mercenary wanders into Tir looking dazed. He tells them of a cult of death
worshippers.
The
overgrown road continued south. About a mile further, ruined stone foundations
and walls became visible back in the trees on either side of the road.
They seemed to be entering an ancient city. The stepped pyramid became
visible through the mostly barren branches of the trees. It was at least
twice a big as the one they explored this morning. The place was serene
under the bright blue afternoon sun and rustling autumn breeze.
The
road was soon bounded by stone platforms and column both toppled and upright.
A market place? Ahead the forest broke entirely as the road ended at the
top of a stone wall that dropped down to a weed filled rectangular arena.
It stretched south several hundred feet to the base of the massive stepped
pyramid. The blocks that formed the wall of the sunken arena, and those
that formed the base layer of the pyramid were etched with reliefs that
were too distant to make out. A stair rose from the ground to the summit
where a stone structure with two dark openings stood intact. On the east
and west sides of the arena rose much shorter long rectangular stone structures,
topped with stone shelters whose dark openings looked over the arena below.
Georan and Spencer stopped there, not only to admire the unfathomable construction
before them, but also because several darkly clad figures were moving about
the eastern edge of the arena and at the northeastern corner of the pyramid.
Spencer
put his hand to Georan's chest, indicating that he should stop and be silent.He
gripped his staff and flexed his ankle, feeling the knife he kept there
since the attack in Bilcoven."Could
this be our den of thieves?"Spencer
whispered quietly. "It looks more like a leper colony," he added, noting
the hoods and strange gaits of the figures. Spencer counted the men; eight,
six, fourteen total."If they are
hostile, we've no chance but to flee. Should I hail them from here?" he
asked Georan, "We'd have a head start to run."
Georan
motioned to Spencer and ducked back behind the nearby stone columns out
of sight of the darkly robed figures. Georan whispered at him, "I'm not
sure we want to draw their attention." He cautiously peered around the
cover at the figures. "I don't think they're thieves though, or lepers."
Georan thought for a moment while fingering the crone's amulet. "I can
think of a few things that they might be and each one is worse than the
other. Then again," he added after a pause, "I have a big imagination."
Georan motioned to Spencer and whispered, "Let's get out of here. I think
we've found something important at last and we'd better get back to the
others. We can all return and investigate later with more ease."
Spencer
rolled his eyes as he watched Georan fidget with the witch's symbol and
could not help but feel his face redden at this stupid innuendo about supernatural
threat. A load of drivel.
It was all Spencer could do to prevent
himself from screaming or hitting something. He managed to constrain his
outburst to a fit of heavy breathing. After a few seconds of this, he points
forcefully away, indicating that Georan should go. Spencer strongly desired
to see the new structures and speak with the beings; however, his quick
mind agreed that there was no rush to do so, especially given the distinct
possibility that the hooded figures represent a threat.His
quick temper, on the other hand, is further enflamed by Georan's aloofness
and talking down to him like he's some kind of child.
He
turned and on his stomach moved back behind the stone platform, carefully
peering around the stones over the arena.He
studied the robed men, looking for clues as to who they were. All of their
faces were shadowed. They seemed to be just milling about. They looked
nervous, or curious; looking about the place. Waiting? As they moved
about, Spencer saw they carried swords and had large sacks or backpacks.
And wore gloves. Or had very dark skin. Their clothing was crude too.
Then
a figure emerged from one of dark openings on top of the building. All
the figures turned. The biggest man Spencer had ever seen stepped into
the light. But it was no man. Its arms were too long and bulging with muscles,
its head was bulbous with a gutting chin, and…tusks? Spencer squinted,
trying to make out more details, but he was too far. Its flesh was tan,
normal, albeit hairy. It had armored itself with patchy looking leather
pieces and metal bits and wielded a huge spiked club. It said something
to the figures below and pointed to the large pyramid.
Then
the abnormality of the beast sunk in as two more stepped out of the shadows
behind it. Two humans. A woman and a man. It stood at least three feet
taller than them. It stepped down from the building amongst the smaller
hooded ones and walked with them toward the group waiting by the corner
of the pyramid. The two humans stood watching, apparently talking, but
Spencer was too far to hear. The woman had light brown hair, a blue cloak,
and seemed to be wearing a chain shirt, she had weapons dangling from her
sides, but her cloak concealed their nature. The man wore a brown cloak
without hood, of material of much better quality than the others, but the
blade in his hand was definitely red with blood.
Spencer
turned to lean against the stone, taken aback by what he had witnessed.He
contemplated what to do next...to retreat to safety, or to investigate
further?He could try to get within
earshot, but there was no guarantee they were even speaking the common
tongue;most of them didn't seem
to be human, after all.Besides,
getting that close without being spotted would be difficult, and that bloody
blade didn't bode well for trespassers.Yet
he had an urge to learn more.After
some thought, Spencer decided to circle around to the east side of the
arena, to the back of the building from which the enormous man and two
humans had emerged.
Georan
had remained behind cover, waiting Spencer to see what Spencer was doing.
It was quiet and he had grown curious and impatient, so he peaked around
the stones. He saw the huge figure leading the northerly group of cloaked
ones to the corner of the large pyramid. As he watched the assemblage,
the big one, pointing and probably shouting, directed small groups of cloaked
figures around the arena, including sending a few their way. Spencer crept
back along the stone platform and approached Georan and quietly said, "Go
back to the horses and wait for me.If
I don't show up in an hour, get to Tir and warn the others."
Georan
gave Spencer a worried look, "What are you planning to do?" he whispered,
"We'd better not do anything rash right now and let them know someone's
looking for them."
"Don't
worry," Spencer told Georan, "they won't be the wiser."He
then backtracked northward slightly before slowly, carefully and watchfully
heading east.
"I
really wouldn't recomm..." Georan started. Seeing that Spencer was not
going to take him into consideration he sighed and said, "Will you be needing
any help?"
Spencer
waved his hand to silence Georan, no longer caring what he did as long
as he stayed hidden. Back far enough from the open arena to be concealed
by the trees and ruins, Spencer cut east. He walked cautiously paying attention
to the view to the south in case a field of view opened that may reveal
his position. When he judged he had gone far enough to be beyond the eastern
edge of the long structure, he started south. There were several crumbled
stone buildings on his way. He found a place to observe the rear of structure.
Like the arena side, this side had openings interspersed all the way to
the end. No light was visible within indicating a wall divided whatever
interior space there was.
At
the southern end, a cloaked figure watched eastward from the shade at the
last opening. There was plenty of cover to proceed unseen further south,
but the watcher would see anyone attempt to climb the steps of the eight-foot
high platform.Spencer proceeded
southward. He got to a point about fifty feet from the watcher. Studying
it, Spencer realized there were two more in the dark room behind it. The
guard seemed to be paying particular attention directly east with only
occasional glances north and south. They were on the shaded side of the
building, but looking up at the creature Spencer could see the flesh under
the hood was not fair but very dark complected. Curious as to why the guard
focussed on the east mainly, Spencer looked in that direction.Nothing
was apparent. But with its dutiful eastward watch and the apparent lack
of cover on the south side of the long building, Spencer realized he would
not be able get around to see the pyramid unseen unless he went deeper
east and circled around. He decided it might be worth his time to find
out how this group came and went from their wooded hideout.
He
retreated eastward until the trees masked the building beside the arena.Then
he moved south to search for a track.He
came upon a swath of beaten down undergrowth. The whole gang probably came
this way. It was impossible to tell whether there was a track there to
begin with. Making sure the watcher would not be able to see him cross,
Spencer darted across and made to circle south and back west to the pyramid.
After making his way only a short distance, he heard something running
from the east. He dropped and got behind a tree and went completely silent.
The
running stopped it seemed just north of Spencer. It felt to Spencer like
it just on the other side of the tree. He could hear it sniffing. He knew
his sheltering tree was visible from the path; he dared not move. He tried
not to think about what it might be that was looking for him, but visions
of dark skinned, cloaked, goblinoids kept popping up. Mansized goblinoid
- orc, hobgoblin? Spencer had not encounntered either. Spencer stayed
perfectly still and barely breathed.No
doubt this creature's sense of sound was at least as good as Spencer's,
so he made not the slightest sound.He
could only hope he was upwind of it.He
began examining the ground to either side of the tree, planning where he
would step if his rival moved.It
was useless to try to climb a tree; it would take too long and be too noisy
and would leave him few options were he discovered.Spencer
could only hope against hope that the thing would move off without spotting
him.He held his staff ready to strike
if it came close, and he feared lest that should happen.
He
heard the thing take a step. He held his breath, clenched his staff. Another
step. Then a shout almost caused Spencer to jump. More shouting, screams.
The ruckus was coming from the group at the pyramid. Spencer tried to concentrate,
to separate the noises from the sounds his enemy would be making nearby.
He grew fearful that it had taken more steps when he was not concentrating.
He thought he could sense it just on the other side of the tree, but then
he heard it running west toward the commotion.
Georan
had started to follow Spencer while thinking of something to say to dissuade
him. When Spencer darted across the road, Georan lost the will to follow.
He looked south along the road to the arena thinking of the four figures
headed their way. He scrambled back to the platform at the edge of the
arena and carefully peaked around to check their progress. They were almost
to the northern edge, only about thirty meters away. It looked like they
were definitely heading for the road. Worried, Georan crept further into
the trees to the west and put some distance between himself and the road.
He debated whether to stay around or head for the horses. The horses won,
damn if he would be caught for Spencer's foolishness. Slowly and soundlessly
as he could, Georan picked his way north though the ruins then the underbrush.
He thought he heard shouts and screams filtering, but he convinced himself
it was his imagination.
Fearing
the road would be watched Georan kept in the forest west out of sight of
the road. He picked his way north through the seemingly endless graves
of the ancients. It seemed like hours. Then he stopped suddenly as through
the trees before him, another ziggurat rose up. It was practically identical
to the one that they spent the morning inspecting, but Georan knew he had
not crossed the road. The structure at the top was destroyed too, but more
columns remained standing. Feeling that he was taking too much time staying
in the woods, Georan passed the structure with only a visual inspection.
Exhaling
a sigh of relief, Spencer peered slightly around the tree and saw the cloaked
figure lumbering toward the pyramid.What
was happening? He hoped it had nothing to do with Georan.Spencer
made sure the path before him was clear in both directions before moving
back east a little, then north making every attempt to go quiet and unseen
while moving at a quick pace while the clamor lasted. When he was north,
beyond the arena, the ruins were quiet. He turned west and made for the
track in search of Georan.There
was no sign of him. He sneaked up to the cover they had used earlier; thence
looked out on the arena. The walkway around the sunken arena was now vacant
except for three fallen cloaked bodies at the foot of the pyramid stairs.
He
had to squint to prove it to himself, but he was seeing several dark snakes
slithering over the bodies, blocks, and steps of the pyramid. Then motion
south the eastern structure drew his focus. More astounded than he had
been looking upon the foul ogre, Spencer watched the largest snake he had
ever heard of wind its way in front of the pyramid. Its body folded and
extended rhythmically. Spencer guessed the thing would be forty feet straight.
Then as it neared the first of the bodies, it did a very strange thing
- it lifted its head, probably more than sixx feet in the air, and stood
there, wobbling, and watching the structure at the summit of the pyramid.
The
small snakes were doing it too, and Spencer felt a chill watching the reptiles'
ritual. Spencer looked to the summit too - nothing but a decorative assembly
with two dark openings. Then Spencer thought he saw the blue sky darken
above it. The darkness took the form of a gargantuan snake coiled atop
the structure and standing twenty feet in the air like the other snakes.
Then bleary darkness congealed into solid form, the monstrous snake was
looking down upon its brethren. Stunned and scared, Spencer just watch
unable to move. Then its head lifted and seemed to look his direction.
Glancing at the snakes across the arena, Spencer saw that they too had
turned to look north. But they were looking at him, Spencer ducked back
suddenly breathing heavily.
He
did not believe it. He looked again - just a stone pyramid. See, no
giant snake god sitting on the pyramid, he thought, but the snakes
at the bottom were still there and still looking at him. Incredulous and
almost was swooning with confusion, Spencer came back to his senses.Whatever
was going on here, he didn't want to be part of it any longer.After
glancing about him and listening for any signs of hooded creatures, Spencer
flew down the northward track. All that he could think was, "I've gone
insane..."
The
forest was still and the afternoon sun sprinkled the grown with light.
A strange beauty to the horrors that this place held. Spencer had grown
quite winded and was far enough away to convince himself that whatever
danger lay behind was far enough away to be either imagined or not interested
in him. He almost did not want to look back, but he forced himself. Nothing
visible was following him, but he could not shake the feeling that he was
being watched by things that should not know enough to watch him. He moved
on before he visualized the giant snake forming out of thin air yet again.
He hurried through the region of foreign graves.
Georan
finally got to the fence. As old as it was, he did not find any breaks
as he followed it east toward the gate. The gate in sight, Georan watched
from some bushes for signs of cloaked humanoids. The horses were there,
flicking ears and tails, but otherwise undisturbed. Just as he decided
to step out of the bushes, motion caught his from the road. He stayed and
watched. It was Spencer. Alone. Sirilyr's warning of spirit possession
crossed his mind. He watched to see what Spencer would do.
The
bald map maker went to the gate. He looked and smiled at his dear Pradareus
and Georan's nag standing peacefully. Pradareus gave him an impatient stomp
and nicker. Spencer was just starting to figure out how to hop the fence
without Georan when the mage decided to step out."I
thought they caught you," he said, torn between being glad Spencer was
all right and mad that he had gone off on his own. "I thought I heard screams."
"Caught...almost...I
was almost caught," stammered Spencer."I
was afraid they saw you."He held
a hand to his forehead and leaned against the nearest support.After
a few seconds, he looked up again.He
looked back and forth, seeming not to remember where he was and looking
as though something troubled him greatly.Finally
he stuttered, "We, uh...we should go," and made to go over the wall.
When
they both negotiated the wall, they greeted their horses. Spencer was definitely
out of it, Georan just watched him suspiciously. They mounted and rode
north to the track that circled the strange ancient cemetery and ruined
stone city. They took the westward track that had come from the day before,
riding silently for the first few miles. Georan broke the silence, "To
Tir?"
Spencer
shook his head, "I must see Viatenni."
Georan
considered asking for more information, but let it go seeing Spencer's
mood had not changed.He did want
to tell him about the other pyramid though, so he let a few more minutes
pass and said, "There's a third pyramid; opposite the first. Looks the
same."
Spencer
turned his head sharply to face Georan."Did
you examine it closely?Is it exactly
the same?"
"I
walked by it. Same dimensions, orientation. There were more columns still
standing at the top, but no roof stones." He explained how he stayed off
the road after seeing the cloaked ones approach it. He estimated that it
was as far south and west of the gate as the other one was south and east.
"What happened back there?"
"I'm
not sure," Spencer spurred Pradareus on.
Sirilyr
tracked across the pasture, pausing and stooping often. He went out of
sight into the woods on the far side for a minute or so. He then came back
toward them, puffing on his pipe leaving plums of thick smoke wafting behind
him. When near, he paused to tamp his pipe then spoke to the group. "Tha'
track was cut by a group o' bout a score an a 'alf o' militia from wha'
I can tell. They was tryin ta keep some sort o' formation five abreast
an six deep or so, an they knew 'nough 'bout drill ta change inta a tighter
three wide column as they entered the wood," nodding his head into the
far treeline at a point near the center.
"They
were armored and or loaded fer a trip, either a 'unt or more likely a search
fer those missin'. A few o' them was young lads, probably elder sons or
a couple o' well heeled females. No children an no animals or carts with
'em." The ranger put away his pipe and continued, crossing his arms as
he gave his report. "They wern't in no hurry, so they wern't bein' chased
or in pursuit yet, as of this mornin' when they passed 'ere. They passed
inta the woods thar."
Darvian
listened carefully to the explanations Sirilyr could read out of the mud
trail. "I just hope we will not have to hear soon that a third hunting
party is gone missing," Darvian thought aloud. Sirilyr took back his sorrel's
reins from Darvian.
The
caravan moved on up the rise. The small village of Tir sat in a bowl valley.
Even from the surrounding ridge its dilapidation was apparent. There were
two large buildings and a tower dominated the middle cluster of structures.
The road headed down the ridge toward the middle row of shops where the
stone and wooden tower rose. The rest of the buildings were wooden and
aging. "They was given a good send off, a gaggle o' villagers comin' out,"
Sirilyr said looking at the ground and detracting their attention from
the disappointing village.
Sirilyr
looked up at them and to the village, "Looks quiet, we should be fine fer
now. That is 'till dark." He shot a pointed look to Eldun. Turning, "Ay've
got ta find my own Captain so he can meet ye when ye come in. Pull yer
wagons in 'longside the open barn near tha' large open fire pit when ye
git in ta Tir. Durrant 'ad 'is there when I left. It's what this place
offers fer a merchant's stop over." Taking a deep breath and smiling to
the guards, "Take a good wiff o' that clean air boys!" Tipping his helm
to Darvian and with a nod to Jerr as he rode past, the soldier galloped
into "tha' stinkin' cesspit o' Tir!" His dog bounded after him not keeping
up.
"Fellow
likes to talk a lot," Jerr mentioned as the slow moving carts followed
the ranger's path. They entered the village greeted by the dark and suspicious
stares of dirty women and children peeking out of their hovels. A small
group of older men greeted them at the center square around a well. Their
leaders were Ingend, Flock Master, and Kipp, the tanner whose large shop
gave this village its fame and its stench. Brian saw that the youngest
of the group was Stellan.
Arnough
called out, "Well met good Ingend! For once this smelly place is a pleasure
to behold. There is much fear about, makes the traveler nervous."
"There
is much to fear about," Ingend said. "You and your companions are welcome,
although there's another in town."
"Heard
ALL about him," Arnough said with a smile at Brian. "Can't wait to meet
him."
"I'm
his assistant, Stellan. I'm sure we'll spend some time together soon. Come
let's to the warehouse."
"And
I'll warn Jennine at the Rabbit she'll have many mouths to feed," Ingend
told them. The rode to the south side of the village where the barn-like
warehouse sat. Brian greeted his comrades cheerily with an eye out for
Durrant, but he and Sirilyr were not around. Despite, his face beaming
with joy at seeing his comrades safe, Brian dismounted quickly enough to
take the reigns of Mellody's horse and help her dismount, giving her a
little hug and exclaiming how lucky it is that they made it safely this
far. Then he proceeded to slap his old friends on the back and shake their
hands. They all politely greeted the priestesses too. Storn had gone off
somewhere.
The
bustle of activity getting the two merchants settled next to each was quickly
over. The two sets of guards greeted each other tensely, but politely.
Durrant's massive wagons dwarfed Arnough's almost comically. The sun low
and the day over, a group of folks headed to the Rabbit across the road
where already the fires were stoked and sending an aromatic plume of smoke
into the sky.
Sirilyr
had ridden directly into town watching to see any clues of what has transpired.
Everything seemed normal for Tir, villagers peered at him suspiciously,
mostly women and children. The huge wagons were still beside the warehouse
and Sirilyr rode by the curious bystanders along the main row of buildings
despite that some of them rose to greet him. He found his comrades giving
him the eye that warned him that Durrant was not pleased. He slowed and
dropped off the horse. Kort took the reigns, "Boss's not happy with ya,"
he issued the unneeded warning.
"There
you are you god damned adventurer!" Durrant exclaimed. "Where's them other
two! Do you have any idea what is going on here? Lucky that mob din't up
and take e'rything I got!" Durrant walked up to Sirilyr glowering and red
in the face. Sirilyr calmly pulled down his saddlebags and gave the horse
a pat.
Seeing
a full crew of guards, no Sleene though, Sirilyr motioned to the yard behind
the warehouse and the stable, "I've returned ahead of our pilgrims and
a merchant called Darvian. They're just outside town now. Let's talk about
it yon."
Durrant
puffed and eyed the ranger darkly, "Ehh." He turned and walked toward the
yard through the warehouse where he grabbed his wine bottle.
"Something
useful then?" Durrant asked.
"Don't
know. Strange things. Even Georan agrees wi' me; there's an evil presence
here. 'Specially at that burial ground, ther's more to it than a place
fer Bilcov's to lay their dead. An ancient place. Stone builders." Sirilyr
was slowly rummaging in his bags, then cautiously drew out the cleric's
mace, symbol, and ring. Durrant hefted the mace and looked it over. "A
cleric of Lugh buried there recently ‘ad attracted some attention." Sirilyr
demonstrated the symbol."The only
other bit was this," Sirilyr handed over the iron ring.
"There's
probably some magic in that. There's somethin' disturbin' goin' on out
'ere Cap'n. Geo was sure o' it as well. He wanted me ta tell ye o' the
burial grounds and that there's a palpable evil presence there. That's
where I think Spence got 'isself possessed by a spirit. They was leavin'
'im notes ta 'free 'em' our last night tagether. The priestesses blessed
'em wit' a bit o' prodden' from me. I 'ad ta knee ol' Spence in the ballocks
ta make 'im do it."
Durrant
chuckled, "Am I gonna hear it for that!"
A
brief look of distaste washed over the young man, "Spencer and Geo went
ta investigate further rather than come in wit' me. They are ‘oping ta
spot something we might 'ave missed in the dark at that damnable 'aunted
temple." Sirilyr suppressed a shudder at the thought of the place. "They
might also try ta check out the cave 'ere, near the cistern above there,"
pointing off in its direction as he spoke, "if it be possible for 'em ta
do it before they rejoin us. If they rejoin us that is."
"They'll
be along," Durrant said distractedly, "Hmmm. This looks familiar…I can't
place it though. I'll have Stellan look at it," Durrant pocketed the ring.
He was much calmer now, Sirilyr could not tell if that had been an act
or if this was.
"Strange
things indeed. Your goblin friends followed us here," Durrant said flatly.
With
a low grunt, Sirilyr replied, "They ain't no friends o' mine. Yer still
standin' so things could na' 'ave been too disastrous. Any o' ours 'urt?"
Pausing to hawk and spit into the dirt at his feet.
"Naw.
Three from Bilcoven tracked them down and ambushed them just south of here.
They were pretty torn up; there was shaman with them. Probably'd got themselves
killed if Sleene and Delak hadn't put an end to the battle. One's a Watcher
from Dir; all three are restin' in the tower."
"Three
from Bilcoven? And who's Delak?" The soldier replied puzzled at the news
of trackers from Bilcoven.
"Tir's
Chief Watcher. He and Sleene went to investigate a sheep kill last night
and heard the battle," Durrant saw the questions in Sirilyr's eyes. "Told
ya things are going on." He looked hard on Sirilyr, "The goblins mutilated
four sheep and two men as they followed us."
"The
sheep was fer eatin', the men were fer fun. I doubt that they followed
us, with little or no ta keep 'em in check, this whole region is their
stompin' grounds." Replied the ranger.Sirilyr,
eyeing the half empty bottle in Durrant's grimy paw then quipped, "Ya gonna
share that or jest check it fer color?" Accepting the shared bottle with
a long pull and smack of his lips, the soldier asked, "I take it their
raid was the cause o' the military like procession into the woods north
o 'ere this mornin'?"
"Naw.
Orinden got them all stirred up yesterday."
Grimacing
at the memory of the vile taxidermist, Sirilyr asked, "What's that creepy
wort spewing about?"
"Pride
seems. They want to take care of this 'problem' without Terradule's help,"
but I think there's more to it. Why not wait another day for Durin to get
back with a company of riders? I think he wants something out there for
himself."
Sirilyr
thought about it and said, "Ya familiar with a clerical order that wears
scarlet an black?" Seeing no confirmation from Durrant, Sirilyr continued,
"Four o' 'em, two bucks an' a couple o' does cut northwest a few miles
march o' 'ere. Arnough was a little tight lipped about what lies out that
way, said there was nothin' worth a merchant's bother. I found out talkin'
to some o' 'is men, that a lot o' folks ‘eaded into the forest durin' the
famine, probly turned bandit, cooperat'n wit' goblins o' the wood. Despite
the best efforts o' Lord Cinclair ta get rid o' 'em, they're rumored ta
still be endangering the East Road and 'ave all but stopped trade there.
These bandits were called the Kildarae and they may 'ave been behind the
deaths of several foreigners who crossed their path over the years. One
o' their leaders may 'ave been a whoreson named Frobert…"
Durrant
got a look on his face and reached into the shirt pocket he had dropped
the ring into. He looked at the symbol sternly, "Frobert. Bastard." Durrant
was distraught and fought to contain his anger. Red face he exhaled, "Gahhh!"
Breathing deeply he asked, "How'd you come by that name?"
"Brian,
the priestesses' crossbowman named 'im ta me. He'll come in with Darvian.
He also let slip that Frobert seems ta be linked ta the death o' a young
cleric many years ago, name o' Steven Riotta."
"No
wonder my information on Riotta was sketchy," Durrant complained. He handed
the ring to Sirilyr, "This…this is the symbol of the Sheck Mercenary company,
a group Frobert often hired, until they vanished."
Sirilyr
nodded, "Riotta, 'is fighter friend Jeason, and several other young men
who 'ad the misfortune ta 'ave accompanied ‘em met deaths made ta appear
accidental. Steven drowned in a well, another fell off a roof.These
were 'ealthy young lads, and it's far too much o' a coincidence ta 'ave
all o' ‘em die by accident the same year. Is it not? The locals are embarrassed
ta even speak o' it."
"Riotta
and his friends died at Ambronnay," Durrant gave a puzzled look, "a long
way from here in Brendil proper. But you found the Sheck ring here and
more accidental deaths?" Durrant pondered the information and muttered
to himself, "The Church connected Frobert and came here. Hmm."
"The
young cleric who was done in by Frobert 'ad wrote a formal request for
Inquisition to the Church. They, in their infinite wisdom," Sirilyr went
on sarcastically, "did no' grant it. Even though the lad 'ad warned 'em
o' the awakenin' o' an ancient evil." Thoughts of Spencer and the disturbed
spirits crossed the soldier's mind as he spoke. "The lad an 'is friends
all died before they could tell a soul the details o' what they 'ad stumbled
across. I think that's why there be clerical parties, good an bad, poppin'
out o' the air. In killin' tha' priest, Frobert raised more attention to
'isself, an what's goin' on 'ere, than he or anyone else bargained fer.
I'd say ye know 'im. What's 'e like?" The road splattered ranger's eyes
watched his captain, closely studying his face to help him gauge just how
well the man in question was acquainted with the leader of the merchant
venture. And for a clue as to why this man was significant.
Durrant
refocused his eyes on Sirilyr, "A back stabbing rogue who's stumbled upon
too much money and too much power."
"There's
thought ta be a good chance this Frobert an 'is motley crew run wit' the
Kildarae. They may go ta Bilcoven fer the Samhain Market Festival, if Frobert
be there, we can learn more about 'is activities. Interested?" Feint ran
around the building and up to Sirilyr who scratched his ears and looked
around the area.
"Frobert
here? Not likely to get him off his pillowed chair. Perhaps a henchman
oh his," Durrant corrected. "That one pulls strings from a distance, his
days of getting his hands dirty are passed."
"So
we grab 'is 'enchmen an persuade 'im ta fill us in on 'is nasty employer,
an action fer the 'greater good' o' the local populace eh?" Sirilyr said
with an evil twinkle in his eye.
"First
I got'ta get to the Market Festival, and I don't want Orinden or anyone
else getting their hands on whatever it is out there in the woods. I've
asked Sleene to go with them, but she needed rest after the goblins."
"Where's
Sleene got to?" Sirilyr found himself wanting to see the fiery young druidess.
“Was she ‘it in the fight?”
"No,
but cast some spells or something. She's out with her wolves I guess. They
said some goblins got away, so hope she doesn't go far. Will you follow
Orinden with her tomorrow? I'll get the carts to Ziret and on to Bilcoven
and meet you there at the Festival." They heard commotion from the other
side of the warehouse. “Aye, that I will. Providin’ ya make it clear to
‘er I’m in charge fer this lil’ venture.” Pausing a moment, Sirilyr asked,‘xactly
‘ow far do ye want me ta take it, should the wort find what ‘e’s lookin’
fer?” The clatter of incoming wagons and horses reverberated throughout
the inside of the large structure and out into the coral where the two
men talked. Acknowledging their arrival, the soldier said, “Arnough and
the priestesses. They want a word wit' you on our business 'ere."
"And
I them."
They
asked the three o' us back in Ziret what it was we were lookin' fer. We
tol' 'em they'd 'ave ta ask you. They be lookin' fer the same thing Cap'n.
An as much as I 'ate the idea o' a church layin' 'ands on that kinda power.
We might need 'em ta 'elp us find it. We'll surely need 'em ta 'elp us
keep it."
Durrant
frowned, "I gotta get my head clear. Let's take a walk and find Sleene.
I don't want her to stay at that camp t'night. Nor any of you; smell or
no." They walked west behind the stable and around to the trail leading
to the valley pastures and their camp. Sirilyr could tell Durrant had been
drinking, probably most of the day.
They
walked in silence until well away from the hovels when Sirilyr spoke, "I've
got somt'in' else fer ye ta think on. Someone, or thing, 'ad dug at the
cleric's grave. They removed the marker that 'ad been placed upon it, but
did no' touch the body lyin' within. I decided ta try a little ploy. I
fashioned a new grave marker fer the priest, based on 'is 'oly symbol.
I added a wee personal touch as well." Smiling, "I added the words 'I know'
ta the center o' it. I figure eventually someone might come an ask me what
I know." The ranger chuckled. "Then we'll 'ave a good idea who's behind
the cover up o' what's goin' on 'round 'ere."
"What
do we know," Durrant sighed.
“We
know enough ta, make someone mighty uncomfortable. An we’ll know more soon
enough.” The ranger slyly replied, as the pair sauntered up the long ridge
in search of the lithe druidess.
Durrant
broke the silence, "You an' Sleene keep your eyes on things, but don't
git yourselves killed. If we know who, we can track them down later. I
need information, not dead scouts."
Sleene
had left the warehouse feeling tired and drained.What
a morning! she sighed and walked to the campsite.Standing
a moment, Sleene stilled her mind and waited.Grass...a
bit trampled but healthy.A breeze...not
clean. Accursed town.The
forest nearby...unnaturally still. Lifting her hands to the sky, the young
Druidess felt the air brush her skin and move her hair.The
moment stretched on as Sleene stood still, just feeling.Finally,
she lowered her arms and let herself return to the present. Sleene tilted
her head back and let out a long, low howl, then sat and waited.
The
wolves heard the distinctive cry and started toward its source. They were
off to the west lazily prowling in the cool shade of forested hills. Excited
to see the woman that had been with them their entire lives, they bounded
over each other trying to be first to get to the tiny woman.Sleene
opened her arms and let them bowl her over, smiling and laughing.The
three played together for some time before Sleene's thoughts turned serious."It
has been an awful morning," she told them. They looked at her panting and
drooling. "I need to rest, relax, and just...be for a while.Have
you found a safe place?"
They
stopped panting and looked at her. She could almost hear them say that
they had not. Sleene stood and wandered into the forest with her friends
as guardians until she found a pleasant enough hillside clearing with a
view to the west. The horizon jagged with the distant peaks of mountains.
She slept there with an unknown world spreading before her.
She
awoke with Nip nudging her and Snap in tense stance growling lowly at the
forest to the east. Frightened, Sleene hopped up and looked around the
shady woods. The sun still hung above the horizon, but it would set soon.
Nothing stirred, adding to her tension. She patted Nip and said, "To camp,"
as much to herself as to the wolves.They
backed down the hill, then circled around the hill to the north. The wolves
stayed wary until they returned to the camp. Sleene lowered herself and
gave the animals hugs. They both looked east drawing Sleene's attention
too.
"All's
well Sleene?" Durrant asked, Sirilyr was close behind him.
Sirilyr
gave the druidess a wide handsome smile and a friendly nod towards her
pair of wolves. "They're lookin' 'ealthier than the las' time I saw 'em."
That reminded Sleene that the wolves had not touched the sheep carcass
since the night she killed it, despite plenty of meat remaining. Sirilyr
was doing his best to hide a near empty wine bottle behind his back, it
wouldn't do for her to think that members of the company were overly given
to drink Sirilyr thought to himself wryly.
Sleene
looked at Sirilyr with a bit of disgust and turned her attention back to
Durrant."No...No I do not think
things are well.I went to the forest
to rest.When I awoke, both Nip
and Snap were very nervous and the forest was quiet...far too quiet."The
young druidess shuddered."We came
back quickly and, although we didn't see anything unusual, I couldn't escape
the feeling that something was wrong.Were
the two of you out in the forest today?"
"Had
a look at the battlefield earlier," Durrant said. "We came to invite you
back to the village. It's not safe to stay out here t'night. Not even the
shepherds'll be out."
They
all heard a clanking approach along the ridge from the south, where the
wolves' sheep carcass lay. They all turned to see Storn riding through
the trees led by the shepherd boy Duncan, "Strange place," he commented.
"Good
to see you again Storn!" Durrant smiled up at him, "Strange indeed."He
turned back to Sirilyr and Sleene, "Let's break camp and go get some dinner."
He grabbed the poorly concealed bottle and stuffed into his baggy shirt.
"I'll
be along," Storn said and urged his mount forward again. Duncan was leading
him around the ridge of the oblong valley.
Durrant
even pitched in and helped dismantle and fold up the tents. While they
worked, he asked Sleene, "Still willing to go along with Sirilyr and those
boys from Bilcoven tomorrow?"
Sleene
sighed, "Yes.I promised to go and
protect them from themselves. They do not know what they are getting themselves
into."
Sirilyr
cast a sideways glance at the young girl and asked only slightly sarcastically,
"Mayhap ye could share some o' yer infinite wisdom on what's out there
in them woods, an fill us all in on what ye know that we all don't. We
got ta Bilcoven jes' fine not knowing the benefit o' yer wisdom missy.
An I spect, it'll be me lookin' after you... Bah!" Shaking his head and
muttering to himself about the strange nature o' girls in these parts the
irritated ranger hefted his load.
Sleene
turned coldly to Sirilyr.Small as
she was, her gaze was penetrating and her presence at a time like this
could be intimidating."If I knew,
I would tell you.Some among my
kind know but they choose not to share this with me.You
think you will protect me?I think
you are an arrogant fool! Not one of us will survive what is out there
unless we cooperate, however distasteful that may be."The
druidess turned on her heel and made herself busy elsewhere.
"Uh,"
Durrant said with a chuckle to Sirilyr, "The fair maid promised Delak she'd
go for the sake of folks of Tir. 'They' do not know what they are getting
themselves into."
With
a snort Sirilyr replied, "I do 'ave a way wit the 'fairer sex' don't I?"
And then as a hurt look flooded across his face. "Cap'n, you don' think
I'm arrogant do ye? Fool I'll grant ye, as I'm goin' inta the woods wit'
tha' moody girl! No wonder her betters don' tell 'er anything."
"I'd
say your lips flap a bit too much," Durrant said picking up a rolled canvas.
Looking
back over his shoulder the ranger grinned, "No' when it counts Cap'n, no'
when it counts..." Then more somberly, "She'll come out o' the forest alive
Durrant. I promise you." Sirilyr grunted and readjusted the weight of his
load. They headed back to the smelly village and Sirilyr whistling a well-known
funeral dirge. Two sets of guards watched each other outside the warehouse,
they indicated the principals had gone to the Skin of the Rabbit as they
threw down their loads inside. Across the street, a steady plume of smoke
wafted skyward promising a warm meal. After dropping the heavy canvas,
Sirilyr set to attaching one side of roped ends to the front yard facing
wall and setting up a pair of fence posts to act as the collapsible legs
of a "shebang" lean-to. When he had finished tying off the legs' guidelines
he asked his two companions, "Anyone fer supper?"
Linda
with Mellody beside came up to Brian and said lowly to him, "Storn is looking
around. We need a room, but I've seen no inn. See if you can find someone
with a private room to rent, the more private the better for the ritual
we are to perform."
That
took the edge off the temporary pleasure Brian had felt reuniting with
the southern caravan. He looked around the dingy town becoming shadowed
by the setting sun and a chill feeling crept up his spine. "I have a very
bad feeling about this place and about this night. The last time I felt
this way my family was in great danger and someone was killed."
Mellody
placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. Linda nodded, "I feel it to. We'll
beware, but let us eat and settle in."
Brian
agreed, "That tower'd be the only place I'll feel safe tonight. I know
I won't sleep much tonight." They followed the others into the Rabbit.
Although
the roasting food drove off the smell of the village, the interior décor
was particularly disturbing to the priestesses devoted to man's partnership
with nature. The large common room was filled with preserved animals of
all sizes. Linda gritted her teeth, and entered silently.
Ingend
was showing everyone to tables lined with bench seats. Talon was already
making a fool of himself, but that was his purpose in Durrant's retinue.
There were only a few locals in the place: two shy serving girls; two old
woman, one looking after the girls, the other cooking; Ingend; Kipp; and
a couple young shepherd boys giggling and making fun of the girls. Ingend
particularly greeted the priestesses a bit too politely, explaining a probably
stretched truth about maintaining a personal shrine for Brigantia to keep
his flocks blessed.
They
all found seats along a long table and began small talk as the large wooden
pitchers of warm beer were brought out. Talked turned to the merchandise
the two merchants brought to the Marchy. Arnough's wares were the practical,
everyday, affordable bric-a-brac and utensils for his clientele; the common
folk and pioneers of the wilderness to the east. Durrant, Stellan explained,
had mainly a load of raw metals, but also many finished metal products
including weapons. He glanced at Ingend, "Of which the village of Tir purchased
many of late."
Ingend
looked uncomfortable, but he knew the questioning looks of the present
company had to be addressed so he drank deeply and explained. He picked
up and fidgeted with a squirrel as he spoke. "Three times this year, each
season, a group of hunters has not returned from the deep woods to the
northeast. They were not large parties, but good, experienced men." Three
of Tir's five Watcher's went looking for them and were due back a few days
ago. Delak, the chief Watcher sent his last comrade, Durin, and a the Hunt
Master, Beowert, to seek aide from Marchion Terradule three days ago. "This,
of course, was not popular; for it will cost us in taxes as well as in
reputation; and we are short of both," he explained with a knowing look
at Kipp.
He
continued to tell them how Orinden, the Furrier, and incidentally the artist
responsible for most of décor, was furious and convinced most of
the able bodied to dash of into the woods to rescue or redeem our missing
brothers. This very morning as Orinden's militia was forming, Delak returned
from investigating a sheep kill with three men from Bilcoven who had ambushed
a pack of goblins. They were injured and now rest at the tower.
The
food came and everyone ate
heartily. "So what of Durin and Beowert?" Arnough
asked.
"I
expect them at soonest tomorrow."
"Yet
Orinden still went ahead?"
Ingend
nodded. "And our shepherds are afraid to guard the flock tonight." He indicated
the two boys who weren't paying attention. "Two watch from the tower, but
none beyond the valley."
Brian
visibly did not like what he was hearing, "Boys watch from tower while
there are goblins about? I would rather keep watch myself than toss and
turn all night trying to sleep when I don't know I'm safe. Can we stay
in the tower Master Ingend?"
The
old shepherd seemed to take some offense to the concern, but kept his tone
polite, "You may. There are bunks there as well," he said looking at Stellan
and Arnough.
Brian
fingered the wooden symbol of Brigantia about his neck, "I am sorry, but
my concern is for the safety of my charges. I would like to take a look
at the tower after we sup."
The
door opened and Sleene walked in with a disgusted look at the surroundings,
Sirilyr followed, and then Durrant who had held the door for them. A cheery
round of greetings and introductions followed, seeming to take the edge
of the conversation, and space was made at the table for the three newcomers.
Jennine was roasting lamb and bringing tasty pieces on platters spilling
over with bloody juices.
Sirilyr
settled in between Durrant and Sleene and looked hungrily at the lamb.
He was about to take a succulent morsel, when a thought crossed his mind
regarding the sheep killings, prompting him to stop and ask the druidess,
"Sleene, those lads o' yours must be eatin' well wit' all o' the sheep
kills lately. They must'a gone through three or four by now 'aven't they?"
Helping himself to a load of heavy brown bread. He broke off a piece and
offered the remainder to Sleene as he waited for her answer.
Sleene
shook her heat, both to the bread and the question."It
is hard to understand.There have
been no signs of them eating the dead sheep, but they are obviously finding
something to eat out there.I hope
they will come with us tomorrow when we move off." The druidess pulled
some grain and dried fruit from her belt pouch and settled down to listen
to the conversation.
"Ya
know Durrant, I may have found a use for those wagons of yours," Brian
mentioned.
"That
so cooper? An' just how much work will ya have to do on them? You been
eyeing those monsters since we left Dann," Durrant laughed. "He'll have
his hands on yours too Arnough. What'cha got?"
"Lumber.
In Beir. Old growth." Sleene bristled when she heard this from Brian, but
remained quiet.
Durrant
kind of stopped chewing and looked at looked curiously at Brian, "You'd
make a good merchant Brian. Good idea, but I've already an appointment
with our friend Tomman. Actually, never met him, its an arranged transaction."
Brian
nodded thoughtfully, "Well you've a bargain. The wood is of high quality.
I inspected it myself. Golden oak of good size and hardness."
"You
are taking this lumber south?" Darvian asked.
"Not
likely 'til spring."
"Is
this wood already cut?" Sleene asked coldly.
"Don't
worry Sleene, the wood is already cut, and the farmer who cleared the land
had discussed it with his lord and the local druids first.He
needed more land for pasture, since there is precious little in that village,"
Brian answered not realizing the true nature of the cold stare.
Sleene's
eyes go colder, her glare bright with growing fury."And
this wood is stored where?" she asked in a deadly calm voice."And
do you know where it was cut?"
Placing
his hand gently on hers, his blue-gray eyes gazing deeply into hers, Brian
added, "There was no irreparable harm to the forest.The
local druids were aware of it, I assure you.Besides,
extending the edge of the wood provides more sunlight for shrubs and browse
for deer and rabbits. Pheasants will make their homes at the edge of the
clearing too.I don't need to tell
you how Nature needs clearings as well as forests for all the plants and
animals."
"That
wood will never see a mill and you will have no need of taking it south.It
will be returned to the earth before I see it mutilated as lumber for dwellings,"
the druidess said, venom dripping from every word.
Everyone
kind of looked on in surprise at the threat. Situated behind Sleene's glassy
eyed glaze, the ranger smiled slightly and slowly shook his head. He gave
Durrant a look of wonder at the young druidess's ranting as he spun a finger
around in a circle against his right temple before looking up and briefly
closed his eyes in a brief moment of silent prayer.
Sitting
across from Sleene, Brian watched Sirilyr's gesture which went unseen by
Sleene. Brian smiled and leaned back from the table and waved his hand
around at all the people."Seriously,
there must be some place on this earth for the humans, don't you think?After
all, you are one."
"There
is no place on this earth for those who think only in terms of what can
be cut or hunted for their own gain.Human?In
form perhaps.I do not seek personal
gain or wealth through plunder." Sleene
paused a moment to catch her breath.
Darvian
almost chuckled at Brian's comment, but then thought better of it and turned
to Sleene and Brian simultaneously, "I don't know why Sleene is so upset.
Surely the few logs you are talking about, Brian, can't be the real reason
behind that anger. But maybe Sleene has an idea that the disturbance of
the wood might be in connection to the problems we are currently facing.
All these rumors of monsters on the loose, evil things waking up and people
gone missing. Sleene, could you tell us why the news of these logs angered
you to such an extreme?"
Sleene
fumed and glared at both of them across from her, she stood suddenly pushing
her chair back with the loud scrape of wood on wood. "Only the evil WE
humans do." She spun on Durrant, "I will not help you." She moved toward
the door, and Durrant hopped up to catch her. He grabbed her arm, and she
stopped and pulled her arm back and slapped him with the other. "Don't
touch me!"
Unfazed
by the attack Durrant blocked her from the door. Face red with anger, Durrant,
"Listen." She tried to go around him, but he moved just as agilely. "I
don't what Dricka has or has not told you, but this not about trees! Come
sit with me, calm down." After another couple of feints and attempts to
get to the door, Sleene gave up with a scowl and Durrant led her to a table
in the corner where Durrant talked at her quietly.
Durrant
regarded Sleene appraisingly, "You are a fiery lass." Sleene just stared.
"I've been open with you about my, our, purpose since we got to Bilcoven.
I did not mention the wood…well I thought you knew. The wood is needed
to cover our true mission. What merchant would drag my heavy load across
the nation just for coins? What has Bilcoven to offer a greedy merchant?"
Seeing Sleene thoughtful, but not ready to respond, Durrant answered, "Golden
Oak. It grows only here. I am sure Dricka selected the trees for a purpose
that will serve Nature - and Brendil. Please I need you with Sirilyr tomorrow."
"Further
mindless plunder aides Nature?" the druidess responded with a mirthless
chuckle."What possible use can
you have for one who so openly despises your methods?Sirilyr
does not seem to think he needs me, why do you?"While
the anger is clearly still present, Sleene's natural curiosity is also
starting to assert itself.
"Not
aide their mindless plunder, but make sure that whatever is out there is
not what we seek, and, if it is, keep it out of their hands or keep track
of it." Durrant looked at her again making her feel a bit uncomfortable.
Then he said, "You are part of the deal. I thought Dricka wanted you with
me as eyes and ears for the Druids. But I think there is more to it than
that."
"If
there was more to it than that, I wish somebody would tell ME what it is,"
Sleene said with resignation."The
druids tell me little or nothing and, in fact, seem to be divided on the
issue.I'm not even sure you are
telling me everything I need to know."She
sighed."Yes.I
will go tomorrow as you request.I
do not promise to be happy about it, or even pleasant, but I will go.Is
there ANYTHING else you know that may be useful?" she almost plead."I
feel like a bear constantly waiting for the end of winter but there is
always one more snowstorm."
"I
told you what I know before we left Bilcoven, and what I found out in Sola.
Other than the bit about the oaks and Dricka telling me to keep you near,
you know what I know," Durrant said looking as sincere as a scruffy merchant
could look.
"I'll
be making another run to the east before the winter. I think I'll head
to Sola tomorrow," Arnough said breaking the awkward silence and drawing
everyone's gaze back to their table. "We'll have a chance to trade at the
Festival, yes?"
"Indeed
friend!" Stellan answered loudly. "We'll not stay in this place another
day, now the mud has dried."
Brian
added, "There is a slight shortage of grain in that village, if not all."
He noted the shortage of bread to sop up his juices. "I had a nice conversation
with the baker, should you pass his way." Storn entered then, not saying
anything as he took in the ambiance. He took a seat at the end of the table
and nodded to Stellan, Jack, and Talon. He filled his plate with cooling
slabs of meat.
Sirilyr
was sitting quietly chewing the tough bread slathered with churned butter.
Dipping occasionally into the mulled wine he had ordered after speaking
to angry druidess. Shouldno' 'ad been so sharp wit' 'er. He thought
absently, finally asking himself lowly and out loud, "Why ain't the wolves
eatin' the sheep carcasses? An' should we be payin' 'eed to 'em?" He watched
as the hungry paladin piled on the rich red meat to his platter. Nodding
to himself, better safe than sorry as he tore another chunk of bread from
his shrinking loaf. With a shake of his head, the ranger stabbed a large
piece of the lamb with his sharp dagger and rose from the noisy table.
"I'll be right back."
"The
sun sets, I would like to take a look at the tower. Would you mind Ingend?"
Brian asked.
"Not
at all. Let's go." They stood.
Darvian
said, "I'd like to also."
"Sure,"
Brian clasped his shoulder. They walked out behind Sirilyr and watched
a small excited brown dog bound up to him. He lowered the meat to the ground,
"No 'arm intended ol' son. But I figure yer nose will sort out if'n this
is fit ta eat er not better then I can." Feint quickly gobbled it up.
The
sun dipped into the treeline as they walked to the tower. Rubbing the hound's
ears and watching them go, "I'll be joinin' ye in the doghouse tonight
ol' friend." The Flock Master pulled open the heavy wood door and led them
inside. An interior framework of thick wooden beams bolstered the stone
block wall of the lower floor. Logs supported a balcony around the central
chamber, reached by a stair to the left of the door. At the foot of the
stair was a room with a closed door where the goblin hunters from Bilcoven
slept. Under the stair risers a hall led alongside a large fireplace whose
stone mantle rose up and became a stone chimney that rose through the floor
of the third level of the tower. A beautiful shield hung above the fireplace.
Two rooms opened off the right side: a bunkroom and meeting room with a
large table. Doors lined the walls beyond the balcony above.
The
hall led to a rear door barred with a heavy plank; beyond was an alley
separating the row of businesses from the run down homes of the villagers.
A cord of wood filled a thin hall between the rear wall and the stone hearth.
An opening in the hearth allowed the wood to be thrown in from behind.
They then climbed the stairs to the balcony and Ingend showed them the
spiral stair that ascended to the third and forth floors of the tower.
Two
shepherd boys where watching from the fourth floor windows. Brian and Darvian
circled the watch floor looking out the windows in each direction. The
tower did not rise above the treetops of the surrounding ridge, but the
entire bowl valley was visible, although becoming increasing shadowed.
The north-south road was also clearly visible. A ladder to the fifth floor
revealed just a bat infested dusty attic around the stone chimney. The
third floor had two unused rooms off the rear hall. Simply furnished and
dusty, they still would serve to house them for the night safely and privately.
Although old, the tower was soundly built.
Brian
asked if his companions could use the third floor room to which Ingend
agreed. They descended to the main hall and Darvian peaked into the bunk
room. Ingend offered it he and Arnough. As Darvian crossed the hall he
asked about the shield over the fireplace. Ingend looked at it and said,
"Hescovar's Shield. There are many stories about him, and it. He was one
of those the elves brought to Bilcoven after the Exodus. He was killed
here, defending Tir. Orcs and ogres."
Rasoric
was suddenly awake. He didn't know where he was. It was dark and there
were footsteps, then voices. Then his waking confusion faded and his memory
of the day cleared. He had no idea what time it was; he did not recognize
the voices. Nervous, Ras felt around for the pile of his stuff and closed
his hand around the base of his club. He spun and put his feet on the floor
and felt the dull throb of his wound; it had been stinging when finally
got to sleep.
Creeping
to the door he listened and heard that orcs and ogres killed someone. Concerned,
Rasoric went to Feorik. The ranger had no idea when he had fallen asleep,
his thoughts and dreams mingled. But Rasoric was now whispering and shaking
him, "Get up something's going on." Feorik drew a deep breath, but suppressed
the stretch and groan he desired. He got to his feet and was surprised
to find the effort much less painful than expected. He twisted his back
slightly, knowing that such movement should have aggravated the puncture
greatly, but he felt only an ache. At least until he went a bit too far
and shot a spear of pain up his back. Feorik was starting to think, in
a detached way, that he had been dreaming until then.Had
he been healed, he wondered?He
remembered the talent at Hernry's hands.Sleene?
Rasoric
was rousing Tulane. Feorik went to the door and listened. There was a conversation,
but he couldn’t follow it; it did not sound rushed or excited. Feorik turned
to Rasoric, groggily running a hand to his mouth to as he yawned, "So,
what's going on?Doesn't sound like
a problem to me.Sounds like someone
else is here, though."He grinned
as Tulane told the boy to shove off in a colourful fashion. Still trying
to shake off the deep sleep, Feorik pulled on his breeches and put on a
fresh slop shirt, or at least as fresh as possible considering everything
still smelled a little of the sewers in Bilcoven.He
fingered his stubbly chin, and vowed to shave in the morning, even if it
was with his hand axe.We'll look
no better than the scum themselves if this keeps up, he thought with
a surprising amount of anger.
Just
to be safe, he propped his spear up against the wall next to the door.
Rasoric sidled up behind Feorik who pulled opened the door it to see who
was beyond. Waking up more fully, Feorik realized how spry Rasoric seemed
considering his wounds.He's
been healed too, Feorik thought.
"They
were out for revenge," Ingend continued. "Allinyll had brought us here
to drive the goblinoids from Bilcoven, of which there were many. After
the initial successes, there were several years where one tribe or other
of the foul creatures would try to reclaim the land. Sometimes they dragged
foul monsters with them. Hescovar battled a foul black wyrm from the depths.
Although he was mortally wounded, so too was the dragon." Ingend turned
from the shield and looked at Darvian who studied the object. It was black
with four quadrants, chevron, sword, green, and a dragon; the heraldry
was lost to him, but it was beautiful.
Darvian
envisioned the time of elves and dragons and had a thought. Seeing the
others looking to the shield while Ingend spoke, he uttered an incantation
that made his eyes blink and shine briefly in strange light. When he finished,
he looked at the shield brightly glowing with an aura of strong magic surprising
the young mage.
"Of
course some say the dragon was not killed," Ingend continued, "but rather
at the end of his life, Hescovar understood the black was enslaved and
somehow freed the bond allowing the dragon to attack his captors and spare
the village in return. About Hescovar there are…"
The
door at the foot of the stairs opened slowly with a quiet groan. In the
dim light from Ingend's lantern, a shadowed figure was seen. A large patch
over his left eye dominated their first impression. The tall man was wearing
a slop and sported sleep mussed hair. In the short moment of silence Darvian
looked from the newcomer to Brian, then Ingend and back to the black patch
adorning the entering man.
Three
men were in the main hall looking at the black shield that hung over the
stone hearth. An old man with dark gray unkempt hair and a heavy brown
robe was speaking to a boyish rather short, slender man with dark, curly
hair wearing a gray green robe and holding a quarterstaff loosely. A backpack
and a leather girdle supporting a few small belt pouches, a small sheathed
dagger, and a pair of dusty black riding boots identified him as a traveler.
As was the third man, not quite as short and certainly sturdier. He wore
reinforced leather armor and had a crossbow and quiver strapped to his
back. At his belt was a whittling knife and in his hand settled on the
floor, an old wood-axe.His smile
was already to beginning to broaden softening the hard initial impression.
Feorik
took the three men in with a long glance, "Sorry to disturb your talk ...
" he said, his eyes finally resting on Brian.A
wise man, and maybe a scribe, and someone who looks like a Watcher,
Feorik thought.
"Not
at all. So you came from Bilcoven?" Brian asked.
"Yes,"
Feorik said tentatively. "You're one of Delak's men?" he asked as he stepped
into the room.
"Ah,
no," Ingend said, "They, like you three have arrived just today. I am Ingend,
Flock Master," the old man announced and helped Feorik see the family resemblance.
"This is Darvian who comes with the merchant Arnough, and Brian traveling
with two fair priestesses of the great Brigantia." Brian arrived and gave
Feorik a hearty handshake with a strong sure workman's grip.
"Feorik,
Watcher of Dir," Feorik returned the grip with impressive strength."Well
met, then," he said gruffly."Most
of the townsmen have left, as you probably know," Feorik's eye passed over
Ingend and Darvian, "and we're marching in the morning to help Orinden,
Elgend, and the others."
"What's
going on?" Tulane's call from the dark room was one of annoyance.
"Come
'n see for yerself, lazybones," Rasoric called back as he followed Feorik
into the room. He was a little scrawny and below average height; his fair
skin had the look of too much sun. Most of his longish light brown hair
worn had escaped the bounds of a pony-tail. "How do. Name's Rasoric," he
said with a smile and assessing eyes.
Relieved
to see that Ingend seemed to know the stranger Darvian greeted the two
young men from Bilcoven. Feorik nodded at the robed man.Perhaps
the merchant's number boy, Feorik thought. "Tulane's the sleepy head,"
Feorik said nodding backwards at the room.
"I
hope your wounds will not trouble you long, though I must say it looks
as though you had quite a fight," Brian said reminding Feorik to look about
his self in the light. The bandages over the nicks and gashes on his arms
had stayed intact and concealed the wounds from inspection; but they certainly
did not sting, itch more like. Rasoric had a large rend in his slop shirt
with a visible bloodstain although the garment had been washed. The thick
bandage wrapped around his midsection was visible through the hole.
Feorik
shrugged, "We caught some murdering Goblin scum and returned them to the
earth.These scratches'll heal."Feorik
glanced to Darvian and back to Brian."It
is dangerous near Tir now.Did you
see any signs of Goblins as you approached here?Dead
sheep, maybe?"Feorik's lone eye
glinted eagerly at the prospect of hearing the answer.
"We
had no trouble on the way, nor did we see signs of goblins," Brian answered.
"I admit I was a bit nervous, though, for our ranger Sirilyr had seen a
monster in the woods, humanoid with horns atop its head and a great fanged
maw that had been eating some stray livestock from nearby." Feorik frowned
deeply."We shall keep a close watch
tonight in case it followed us.Something
evil is afoot, for sure."
"The
only disturbance we noticed was the mud trail left by the hunting party
of Orinden on its way out of Tir," Darvian added. "Where did you catch
these goblins, and how many were there?"
Feorik
regarded Darvian gravely, "There were at least six come from Bilcoven ...
I tracked them to outside Sola over several days.We
three attacked in the day, but a foul one called darkness on us in the
melee.It was a user of magic ..."
Feorik scowled and trailed off, "somehow the scum have become wiser."
Feorik
passed a glance to Rasoric and went on, "Delak of Tir and the girl Sleene
helped us finish them, saved us."Feorik
gave Brian a hard glance, his anger at the Goblins plain for all to see,
"The scum killed two, we found them near Sola.Sheep
as well.Used their innards as trophies."Feorik
spat out the last sentence.
"Two
people killed by goblins?" Darvian asked rhetorically obviously in shock.
"And you say one of them used magic? There really is something afoul around
here when even creatures like goblins start to dabble with magic."
Brian's
face darkened with concern."Who
were the two they had killed?Did
you know them?"
"No."Feorik
took a deep breath, "Aiden of Sola said two pair had left Sola....two to
Tir and two to the March, Durin and Beowert.The
men we found were between Sola and Tir," Feorik shrugged with anger, "I
didn't know them."
"It
is well that you put an end to their murderous desecrations, then!You
are both brave and righteous in your battle against the goblins, Feorik,
as are your comrades."
The
third one from Bilcoven appeared at the door holding a morning star and
a shirt half thrown on, "No danger then?" He asked but observed the answer.
"Tulane," he announced himself as he walked over bouncing the weapon in
his hand. He was shorter still than Rasoric and Brian, but had the tough
look of a trained soldier or guard. Standing next to Feorik and Tulane,
Rasoric certainly did not.
"Did
one of your mates get killed? I wasn't sleeping well and heard someone
speaking about orcs," Rasoric asked looking puzzled.
"A
story about Hescovar's shield," Ingend smiled as he indicated the ornate
decoration above the fireplace.
"It
is really an interesting story you were telling us Master Ingend. Please
continue. How did the shield end up in here, and why is nobody using it?
Did the elves also build this tower?"
Ingend
answered, "The foundation and probably the wall stones, although I am sure
they've been rebuilt a few times."
Feorik
had apparently become angry about the murders, the deaths of those men
had sunk in and he was not interested in tall tales. Too late to save
them from the scum, he thought.Another
time...arrived too late.A horrible
chill ran down his spine as he thought of arriving too late to help the
villagers.He felt guilty, panicky,
helpless. He felt a rage inside, and tried to clench down on it.
"I'm
thirsty," Tulane said then looking surprised said to Feorik, "You know,
I'm not near as sore as I thought I'd be."
"Perhaps
we should continue our tales at the Rabbit?" Ingend suggested.
Feorik
frowned, not following the conversation for a moment, "No...no we need
to sleep, it's the middle of the night."He
turned awkwardly, trying to hard not to meet anyone's gaze as he struggled
with his emotions.This feeling hadn't
been with him for a long while.
Ingend
said, "No, its only sunset...," he looked at the Watcher with an insightful
gaze."Are you all right, my boy?"
Feorik
shook his head, but answered, "Yes...I...am fine.Just
thought it was later on."He turned
and answered Tulane, "None of us are as wounded as we were...look at Rasoric.Someone
has healed us, I think."Feorik blinked.Who??Sleene?
he thought again.
"Well,
I'm still thirsty, and I can eat a horse, bit, bridle, hooves, shoes and
all," Tulane repeated."This Rabbit
sounds good."
Darvian
chuckled at Tulane. 'I hope you will not have to go to that length. If
we hurry a bit there might be some roast mutton left. That is if Storn
didn't manage to eat the rest of it."
Rasoric
chimed in, "Sounds good to me. I've need to be somewhere, with a warm fire,
a cold pint and a hot wench."
Feorik
seemed to sag, "Fine, you go and I will catch up."He
turned and walked away, back to the room without looking back.
Prepared
to leave and eager to hear the continuation of the story Ingend was telling,
Darvian raised an eyebrow at Feorik's antics. Turning to Tulane Darvian
asked, "Did he get a blow to his head?"
"Goblin's
killed his family. Took 'is eye."
They
headed back to the Rabbit. Rasoric hung back and decided to check on Feorik.
The watcher was in their room at the foot of the stairs. He was digging
somewhat agitatedly at his pack finally producing his breeches. He took
a deep breath and pulled them on. The anger still burnt within, the feeling
he had first discovered, years ago when he found his family dead.It
was something which he hated, the primal anger...the goblins were to blame
for it.He wiped his mouth and turned,
he noticed Rasoric at the door as he took a few coins from his pouch. "I
said I'll catch up," he growled, and then he sat down and closed his eye.A
busy inn with people was the last thing he wanted to face.Slowly
the angry feelings passed.Perhaps
Sleene would be there, he suddenly thought.He
needed to thank her again, he realized.
Feorik
opened his eye and managed a grin to Rasoric, who had not left, nor softened
his curious gaze."Are you alright,
then?" the boy asked.
Feorik
grunted as he stood, "I'm more right than the Tirians marching as we speak.Well,
then, to this Rabbit, before Tulane eats it all." Outside it was the end
of dusk. At the end of the row of buildings the merchants' guards had built
campfires and stood watching the pair curiously.
Sirilyr
came back in and returned to his seat where he stabbed another chunk of
lamb and ate the rest of his meal in a matter of minutes. He had not eaten
since that morning and was famished. The ranger swallowed the final dregs
of his wine still puzzled by the abnormal behavior of the wolves. What
had they been eating? "Gobbos," he said as the thought struck him.
A look of distaste overcame him and a shudder ran up his spine at the idea
of such repast. Rising, Sirilyr said his goodnights, with a parting "Yer
pardon" to Sleene.
Stepping
out onto the inn's porch, Sirilyr walked with Feint back to the lean-to
that would be his home this night. The young soldier removed his helmet
and filling it from the cook wagon water barrel, gave the dog a good long
drink. He and the hound settled down at the crackling fire. Filling his
pipe as Feint laid his swamp dragon shaped head up on his lap and dozed.
Sirilyr looked up at the twinkling sky that had been the only roof he had
known since the death of his family. "Let tomorrow take care of it's self."
A long blue gray plume of smoke disappeared into the darkness.
The
two sets of guards were bantering back and forth sharing tales of the good,
the bad, and the beautiful women every one of them claimed to have had.
Sirilyr finished his pipe by the fire and started cleaning and polishing
his weapons, armor and gear while listening to the banter. Arnough had
apparently a run in with hobgoblins and bandits out east. Durrant's men
told of their battle with the gnolls. They mentioned Georan's wizardry
and that seemed to set Arnough's guards on edge. Apparently Darvian too
was more than an assistant. He dropped five of the bandits at over twenty
yards away. Sirilyr noted the guards grumbled that he had not used such
power on the hobgoblins when Fenn was killed.
The
sun had left only a slight purple glow in the sky when Ingend returned
with Darvian and Brian and Tulane. The merchants' guards had set campfires
and were watching them. Sirilyr was there, sitting a bit to himself, sharpening
his blades. "Do you know the Bilcoven well?" Brian asked Tulane, "I suppose
many of the merchants are gathering there already."
The
Samhain Festival was near, but merchants typically did not show up until
a few days before. "Not yet. A few more days."
"Know
a man named Frobert?"
"No.
A merchant friend?" Tulane never really cared to get to know the men who
showed up and wanted to haggle over everything.
"No,
I do not know him at all, but he owes a friend of mine..."
Ingend
opened the door and they realized Rasoric had not come. They rejoined the
party at the table. A last platter of meat was there, and Tulane, after
the introductions dug in. Brian told Linda that they could use rooms the
tower. She eagerly announced that would retire there immediately. "I shall
walk you there and show you in." The four pilgrims left together. Darvian
told Arnough that they too had a room there, but he wanted to hear more
of Tir's history, and Hescovar's shield from Ingend. They ordered a round
of drinks.
Sirilyr
had let the time slip as he honed his blades to razor sharpness. He looked
up to see Brian, Darvian, Ingend and another man, much shorter than even
Brian, cross the street to the Rabbit. Then a short time later, two more
men came from the tower, one of them stood out, a tall barrel-chested man
with a large patch over his left eye. He had thrown on a woodsman cloak
against the chill of the evening. The other was shorter and wrapped in
a cloak, darker than the other's. As they walked to the Rabbit, Brian came
out again leading the priestesses and Storn. Sirilyr watched them greet
and separate and decided it was time someone patrol the now dark valley.
He did not like the enclosed nature of the village; the dark ridgeline
loomed all around offering any enemy excellent observation of their activities.
Sirilyr pulled the last of his tobacco into smoke and tapped the ashes
away as he stood.
As
they neared the tavern across the street, a plaque over the door bore a
stretched and weather worn rabbit skin declaring it the Rabbit. Brian suddenly
came out leading two women. The one behind him was probably in her thirties,
very serious looking. The one following her was young, plain, and nervous
looking. Both wore simple peasant's cloaks. Behind them emerged an armored
man who regarded them coldly. Brian introduced Cannon Linda, her Acolyte
Mellody, and the Hand of Daghdha, Storn. The holy guardian did not looked
pleased at the moniker, but he probably never looked pleased. Brian introduced
the "other two heroes of Tir." Linda thanked and congratulated them and
gave them Brigantia's blessing.
Feorik
stopped, and regarded the three god's men as politely as he could, considering
his foul mood had not lifted completely.He
had never paid much heed to things holy...his father hadn't believed in
anything besides his two hands and what grew out of the earth, and Feorik
had more or less grown up with the same opinions.Feorik
respected the Druids, but the others ... they were unfamiliar at best.
Rasoric looked awed or nervous himself.
Storn
looks as pleased to be out here as me, he thought.Feorik
himself rankled at being co-named a 'hero' of Tir, he grimaced, then said
to Linda, "No my Lady, not heroes.Not
until the militia of Tir are safely returned." Feorik nodded to Brian,
and the others, and waited for them to pass before he and Rasoric entered
the tavern.Lot of good the Gods
are going to do those folk out there under Orinden ... if they are walking
into a Goblin trap, he thought cynically.Feorik
decided he needed some wine, badly.
They
joined Tulane, Darvian, and Ingend who introduced them to Kipp, Master
Tanner; the merchant Arnough. Also enjoying a round of drinks was Stellan;
Jack, and Durrant's entertainer Talon Windfellow. Durrant sat at a table
in the corner talking with Sleene. A final plate of mutton was cooling
on the table; Tulane had already partaken. Muriem was directing two girls
who did not seem interested or experienced at taking care of the tavern.
The cook, a woman younger than Muriem, came out and recruited the two young
shepherd boys to clean the kitchen.
Feorik
felt the pain of a headache and tried to shrug it off.Perhaps
a week of little sleep, malnutrition, a battle and constant toil and more
than a little tension were starting to take their toll.Feorik
grimaced at the thought of the overland journey to come at dawn, and passed
a long glance towards Sleene and Durrant. At Muriem's direction, a shy
serving girl approached them for their drink orders. She shyly looked at
the big one-eyed man as he ordered a bottle of strong red wine and gave
a wink. Rasoric asked how much for the beer. She looked to Muriem who nodded
indicating to the girl to make the meek offer, "Free to you," with a forced
smile to both. He couldn't pass that up. With drink and food, they settled
in to listen to Ingend's stories. Sitting next to Ingend Darvian asked,
"Master Ingend, what was the fate of the black dragon Hescovar released
from captivity?"
"The
story for the children says it limped away and died. But we all know that
dragons do not really die," he gave a grandfatherly smile. "Folks from
the other villages claimed to have seen it hunting, but it has stayed away
from Tir. I never heard anyone make the claim in my day." Talon had heard
stories of Hescovar and shared a tale of his exploits, but it was not so
grand and not so credible from the youth. Rasoric, apparently having heard
the stories before, went and struck up a conversation with the girls, despite
that they were years younger than himself. Others had not heard the tale,
so Ingend told how Hescovar had defended the village against orcs and the
enslaved dragon.
The
sun was low when the spires of the black stone temple came into sight.
It would be evening soon. They had ridden briskly, stopping only a couple
times to give the horses rest and drink. The mausoleums watched them pass
silently. They rode toward the stables and were greeted by William as they
neared, almost as if they were expected. He directed them to the door at
the opposite end of the long stable and took the tired animals' reigns.
"There is news from Beir; two Watchers are within," he told them.
Beside
those they had seen the day before, there were no other horses in the stable.
The Watchers must have come on foot. They passed through the shadowy silent
stable to the door to the temple. The hall stretched darkly away, lit by
the small steady flames of a few candles placed in sconces irregularly
along the many door wall. Deep voices reverberated, echoing through the
main chapel and back into unintelligible babble. The door at the end of
the hall, to the room where they met with Viatteni before, was lit with
the yellow light of a lantern within. They came to the room to see the
strange old priest and two woodsmen, whose bows leaned against the wall.
They all looked to the two young men. Viatteni studied them intently as
he stood then said, "Welcome again travelers. It is good you are here,
for there are trespassers in the March, and very near I am to understand."
He motioned for them to sit at the table, which they did. "These two travel
with the merchant from the south," he told the warriors, "excuse me," he
said beaconing them to give their names."
"Georan."
"Spencer,"
said the other shaved man who did not looked pleased to be there.
"Marcus
and Pridane," Viatteni continued indicating each. "Watchers, uh, look-outs,
from the village of Beir east of here. "They have tracked a band of orcs
to the grounds, a small group, not a war party," he added seeing the surprised
reaction on Spencer's face. "They are on the way to warn the March as well."
Georan
said, "We have seen them." They all looked at him surprised themselves.
The two Watchers looked back to Viatteni, still silent, but obviously curious.
Viatteni nodded studying Georan closely.
"As
I thought from what William told me of your curiosity." Viatteni then looked
to his other guests and added sternly for their benefit, "The ancient grounds
remain closed but for once a year. A trespass punishable by a period of
servitude. But given the circumstance, that shall be overlooked for now.
Tell us what you've seen."
"We
explored the cemetery, and found the stone structures that stand century
at the road. We saw the orcs, and, well, something bigger, with them where
the road ends, at the…arena," Georan really did not know what to call the
strange architectures.
"An
ogre," Marcus nodded his head. "As I told you," he told Viatteni, "in the
sacred grounds." The news, and its confirmation, did not sit well with
the venerable priest. Then quick footsteps echoed into the room.
They
continued for some time and Viatteni said, "Joanor comes from the tower
to alleviate their curiosity.
"Someone
comes Sir! From the south road!" Joanor called out before he reached the
room. He came in out of breath. "Many, with torches."
"Tell
William to show them in when they arrive," Viatteni snapped obviously annoyed
at all the intrusion. The boy ran off.
"I
came across a track heading east from the pyramid," Spencer told them nervously."I
encountered one of the hooded things by the track.I
hid, but still it sensed I was there.A
tumult at the pyramid drew it away or I should have been discovered.Then
I retreated to search for Georan. Where did your track end?" he asked Marcus.
"The
east end of the sacred grounds, at the iron fence where they broke through."
"Is
that fence all around these ancient ruins?" Spencer asked Viatteni
Viatteni
nodded, "As far as I know. It gets broken in places."
"The
gate, and lock…" Georan started.
"Are
maintained, but we do not walk the fence often," Viatteni said a bit curtly.
"How
did you discover the orcs?" Spencer asked of Marcus.
Marcus
eyed him suspiciously, but a nod from Viatteni elicited his answer, "Pridane
spotted their passage north of the village, following the north of the
stream. They came from the east and knew to avoid the road from Mascen,
and how to get between Beir and Ziret."
"So
they weren't exploring. Sounds like they were heading straight for the
grounds," Spencer stated. "Why would that be? Any rumor of anything amiss
in the forest of late?" he asked the priest directly.
"There
is much mystery about that place." They all felt the pounding of hoof beats
passing by the temple.
"The
pyramids. What were they for? Who lived there?" Georan asked wondering
if there were answers to those questions.
"An
ancient city, lost to history." Viatteni answered.
"We
felt an evil presence as night fell," Georan told the priest whose eyes
widened.
"It
is not an evil place," Viatteni told the Watchers quickly, but his reassurance
did not work. The door to the stable opened, and heavy booted footfalls
and the jingle of armor followed. "Let us see who comes." A man came to
the door, large and outfitted with blackened armor. A heavy black cloak
with blue lining adorned the figure. He removed his helmet to reveal a
head of long black hair and a long mustache on a pale face.
"I
am Captain Stargt. I will be housing my men here tonight. With your permission,"
he added with false politeness.
"By
all means Captain, the halls of the monastery have been empty for years.
But come sit, tell us what brings the Marchion's guard from the walls of
Bilcoven."
"Trouble
in Tir," he stated. Georan and Spencer exchanged glances.
"Trouble
here as well," Marcus told him with a degree of reverence. Stargt acknowledged
him by looking his way. "Orcs and an ogre, from the east, into the sacred
grounds."
The
Captain eyed him, "You are reporting this to Bilcoven?"
"In
the morning Sir," Marcus answered quickly.
"Perhaps
they are the bandits, with a spell caster that they might be connected
to the 'curse' orthe disappearance
of Tir's Watchers," Georan suggested.
"Come,
I'll show you all to rooms," Viatteni stood cutting the discussion short.
He led them all back down the hall. One of the doors opened to a long hall
that extended the length of the temple. It was dark within so the priest
lit a torch hanging inside from a nearby candle."The
quarters are along the wall.
"Come
with me," Viatteni bade Georan and Spencer. He brought them across the
hall and up a flight of stairs where another long hall stretched northward.
Viatteni opened a door to a chamber, comfortably furnished with a bed,
desk, and chairs. "You may rest here, and next door," Viatteni told them.
"Relax, I will be back with some food shortly. I must talk with you about
what you've done and seen." They obeyed, quite eager to lose their loads.
Viatteni
came to Georan, who rested on the bed, almost dosing. "That place," Viatteni
said as Georan ate the watery stew, "is good and evil. A city of the dead.
The walls between this world and the next are weak at that place."
Georan
recalled to the priest, "Spencer found writing on his sketches, 'Free us'.
It may be some enchantment…or possession?"
Viatteni
looked angry, "As I said. Good and evil. The spirit world is not to be
tampered with. You should not have entered the grounds without protection."
The old man left to take Spencer his stew who sat at his desk looking over
the sketches and notes they had taken. But his mind was preoccupied by
all of the unnatural, irrational things which had happened to him recently.
"You
really do not know about the pyramids?What
were they built for?"
Viatteni
said, "What I know is my speculation. Temples to some ancient gods."
"Look,"
Spencer pushed back at demonstrated the papers on the desk. "Can you read
any of this?"
Viatteni
looked and observed, "Very good reproductions.I
cannot. The elves brought us to this land, and told my order to care for
these burial sights. But nothing of their past." Spencer, frustration building
put his head in his hands. Memory of the morning's scene had returned full
now, and he was none too pleased with it.The
pyramid the night before, the snake-hallucination, everything was combining
to torment him.Unless something
grabbed his immediate attention, his mind was oppressed by his encounters
with the inexplicable.He was subdued
in manner, solemn and quiet.The
most likely way he could fathom to explain it all was that he was losing
his mind.Explain, he thought
wryly.Observe, reason, conclude...does
it have meaning?Either 'explanation'
was possible, or it wasn't...he was sane, or he was crazy.He
needed to take council with someone soon, and Viatteni seemed a good choice. Most
of his troubles had started on arriving at Bilcoven, and Viatteni was at
the heart of the Marchy.The offending
pyramids were under his jurisdiction, and he was a 'spiritual' man.Talking
to him couldn't hurt, if it couldn't help.
Spencer
spoke softly, brokenly, to the priest without looking at him. "I...saw
things at the pyramids...last night and today.I
don't know what is going on...I'm confused.I
think I'm going insane," he told Viatteni.He
felt foolish and disgraceful to be speaking so, but he couldn't simply
deny or ignore the things he had seen.
"Tell
me," Viatteni requested. He slowly closed door.
"The
orcs. I think they were killed…by snakes, giant snakes." He heard the priest
gasp and turned his head from the shelter of his hands to see the priest
who had taken out an iron ahnk.
"Protectors,"
Viatteni explained, "and messengers between this world and the next. That
place is a place for the dead. A city of spirits in the next world, and
the walls between here and there are weak, and weaker still as Sam Hain
grows near. You are not mad, but blessed that you have left that place."
"Atop
the central pyramid. A huge snake," Spencer said not wanting to accept
the explanation.
At
that Viatteni dropped to his knee and said a prayer to his symbol. Spencer
looked on aghast, fighting the urge to toss the crazy old man out of the
room. But the old man finished, and looked upon Spencer. "You have seen
the couatl? I thought it mythical." He grunted as he stood. He was quite
excited. "If this is true, I may be able to decipher more than I thought."
Spencer had no idea what the priest was talking about. "We were instructed
to keep the lands around the ruins, but not to enter the ancient sites,
that they were protected by the couatl. I must go to my study." He left
suddenly leaving the door open.
Georan
peaked in, "I..uh…heard some of that. We should head to Tir and tell Durrant."
"Hrm,"
Spencer groaned, frustrated almost to the last."To
Tir we will tomorrow, and Durrant will hear his fill ere long."Distracted
from his sorrows, he recalled the abrupt end to the recent meeting."I'm
going to look for our Captain friend from the Marchion.He
had some news from Tir, if you'll recall."He
also wanted to find Viatenni, and have a look around on the way. Getting
up, Spencer opened the door and held it for Georan, with a look that asked
if Georan would be joining him. Curious look in his eye, Georan nodded.
They
took the hallway to the stairs eyeing the gloomy and dusty surroundings.
Descending quietly, they felt like they were sneaking. The hall below was
darkened except for the light from under the soldiers' door across the
hall. They were making noise. Spencer opened the door. Four soldiers sat
around a table rolling dice. They looked at him curiously, a bit challengingly.
"Captain Stargt." Spencer said boldly.
"Cap'n.
Those two 'r here," one them said.
"Eh?
Oh," came his voice from somewhere down the hall. He emerged from the shadows.
"Well
met, Captain," Spencer extended a hand and shook firmly."Our
discussion was too brief, sir, for we have companions in Tir and should
like to know what news of it you may tell."
"The
priest, he is strange. More Watchers gone in Tir, they fear goblins. We'll
drive'm out. Who're you two?"
"We
are cartographers and historians traveling with a merchant from the south."
"More
goblins found under the town since their attack," Captain Stargt offered.
"Yer on own?"
"Bilcoven's
history is very rich; the ruins are quite unique," Spencer answered. Stargt
eyed them suspiciously. "Seems like you've got your hands full these days,
eh? What's going on around here?"
"Watcher's
don't patrol as deep or often as they should. Creatures think Bilcoven
weak," the soldier scowled. "Ya shouldn't mess around this place," he said
after a moment.
"Why?"
Spencer asked.
The
man chuckled curtly. "Ghosts. And mean old priests that steal children."
Hoping
to get on the man's good side, Spencer leant in close and quietly husked,
"Enjoys his time with the boys, does he?"Then
he smiled and backhanded Stargt's chest.
Obviously
the grim captain had little in the way of humor, "He takes orphans that
git themselves into trouble. Most of 'm run off, n're to be seen again."
Changing
the subject, to hopefully something the man liked to talk about Spencer
said, "The Watch must be lax indeed if the enemy's to be found in the heart
of the Marchy," Spencer pressed once more.In
an attempt to sound more innocent, he added:"We
could have been killed out there!"
Stargt
eyed him and nodded, "And lucky the old man does not sentence you to servitude
for the trespass. Ah, the forests are big, and Watcher's few. We are the
March's fist!" The proud warrior announced loudly and elicited a cheer
from his men.
"Right...well,
you can't hit what you can't see, as they say," said Spencer sarcastically
as he turned to seek out Viatenni.
"You
two sleep well," the Captain said as the left. They could feel their stares
as they left, and heard some chuckles as they walked down the hall to the
study next to the nave. It was dark.
"I
don't like this place," Georan whispered, but it still sounded loud in
the quiet looming place. They had not seen where Viatteni got off to when
he left them. Spencer went into the study and fumbled for the oil lamp
and finally got the flint to light the wick. He brought the lamp out and
shined it into the nave. The pews silently faced the altar lost in the
darkness. Across the way another hall extended perpendicular to the long,
tall chamber. Overhead, balconies and dark openings beyond. The cathedral
was huge. Spencer shone the light back down the hall toward the 'barracks'
and the stairs up the next floor where their rooms were. There were a few
alcoves they had not paid close attention to before.
"This
way," Spencer nudged Georan and they headed back the way they came, away
from the echoing expanse of the temple of death.
Brian
was edgy. He showed his companions to their third floor rooms in the tower.
He took Mellody aside as Linda entered the room, "I do not like this place.
It seems there is evil lurking in the shadows. Something is terribly wrong.
That is why I worry. I couldn't let any harm come to you so long as there
is a breath left in me, but I won't rest easy in this town. Do you feel
the danger?" She nodded. "I want you to be careful, that is all, I'm not
trying to scare you." He took her in his arms for one last embrace and
said goodnight with a kiss.
He
took Storn up to the shepherd's watch and introduced them. Seems one of
them knew the paladin already. They warned the boys to stay alert and call
them if they saw anything. Storn and Brian decided to keep watch outside
the priestesses room and on the first floor in one hour shifts until the
ritual was complete. Brian took the third floor watch first. He paced about,
looking out the windows of the hall and his room often. He seemed to hear
every footfall and dog barking.
After
about an hour a strange cry came from the south and west. At first Brian
thought it to be an alley cat, but as he listened to the few following
shrieks he realized they were much too distant. It was a tortured shrieking,
but the star lit sky revealed nothing of the dark landscape spread around
the tower. A silence settled over the nightscape. If the shadows were not
concealing some foul act it would have been a beautiful scene. As Brian
went to the stair, Duncan came down from above, "I think that was one of
our flock."
Brian
replied to the young shepherd, "Did you see anything?I
heard a sort of scream.Is that a
noise sheep make when they are in pain?" He nodded. "I will go up and have
a look.If there is anything dangerous
within range, my crossbow may convince it to leave." With that, he bounded
up the stairs to the top of the tower, pausing only to grab a small candle
and an oily rag from his pack. Duncan headed down. Billy was upstairs looking
to the southwest.
"Where?"
Brian asked.
"Outside
the valley. Really loud."
"The
flock there?"
"Nah.
We brought some in to the pens, but most 'r still in the pastures 'round
the valley. I found the dead ones this mornin'," he announced.
Brian
looked out into the starlit valley. Strange place for a village, surrounded
by high ground. The shadowy village spread out under the silvery light.
Brian could see and hear the bleating of the nearby sheep just west of
the dark neighborhood of hovels. Building clouds sent the scene into darkness.
"Damn," Brian cursed the darkness and strained his eyes staring into the
blackness, looking and listening for clues.After
another minute or so, Brian thanked Billy and went back downstairs to advise
Storn of what was happening.Storn
told him Duncan went to tell Ingend. It was about time for them to switch
anyway, so Storn headed upstairs leaving Brian to watch the first floor.
After
adjusting his gear so it would ride comfortably and quietly on his patrol.
Sirilyr paused to allow the sorrel who had carried him so well over the
last few days to drink the remaining water from his kettlehelm. The ranger
gave the beast some more hay and a gentle rub on the muzzle before quietly
walking to the warehouse's backdoor. Taking a piece of chalk from his pocket,
he scrawled on the weathered dark wood; 'On scout around rim, back in about
2hours. If not, stand to as I've run into whatever has been making my hair
stand on end tonight - Sirilyr'. Standing his round shield by the door,
he waited for the village to settle under the dark of the new moon, admonishing
Feint to stay. The saddened creature lowered his ears and whimpered, laying
down next to his master's targe. The soldier quickly ran in a low crouch
away from the cluster of buildings into the dark shadows of the night.
The hound yawned and took a moment to urinate on the brown leather front
of the worn shield, before sauntering off to curl himself in his masters'
bedding and await his return. The vigil kept by all good dogs left at home
while their masters away.
From
the cluster of large rocks he waited and listened. He heard nothing but
crickets and night birds. Catching his wind, he crawled forward on his
belly so he could see what the starlight would show. Nothing moved, not
even sheep. The shepherds had taken them into the pens at the edge of the
town because of the events of the past day. He picked his next concealed
stop from the relative safety of the rocks.More
clouds were building to hide the stars, offering cover for the ranger's
movement to the next vantage point, from the cover of a recently storm
toppled fir tree he saw the ground became more broken and provided better
concealment than the relatively open area immediately surrounding Tir.
War
experience had taught him to move at the times when the wind blew to cover
his scouting. He moved at a long gated deliberate and slow pace, pausing
to listen every twenty paces or so. When the terrain opened and provided
less cover, he would slowly drop onto his belly and stealthily creep ahead
until it closed in and he could walk with more confidence in not being
spotted. In this manner the ranger methodically proceeded along the valley
rim. All was calm and still. He could hear his breath and at times, when
he would crouch and be still, his own heartbeat. Sirilyr searched the earth
in vain for sign or track. He found none.
A
little over halfway through his own planned patrol circuit, he was silently
cursing himself for acting like an old woman when an ear piercing shriek
tore at the silent night. Dropping like a stone, the soldier swiftly rolled
to the base of a nearby pine. His eyes swept the darkness, trying to cut
the black ink of the autumn evening. His longsword and handaxe were gripped
tightly in his gauntleted hands. All of the normal night sounds had ceased,
as if the world had stopped in horror of that terrible sound. A few more
tortured cries rose up from what he could now judge was somewhere southwest
of the small village. A cold sweat rolled down the ranger's brow stinging
his searching eyes. As if on queue, the silver light of the stars broke
through the rolling clouds. Sirilyr wondered what had become of the village
militia that had marched out so boldly the day before...He forced himself
to breathe normally.
"Surely
ta the gods they would'no' 'ave swung that far south. They'd 'ave 'ad ta
'ave got themselves completely turned around!" He whispered to himself
as he lay unmoving. "I wonder... More likely tha' was the black an scarlet
garbed bunch gettin' 'it." After a moments contemplation, "Oh well, one
less thing ta worry 'bout." The soldier remained vigilant watching to the
southwest. Spotting a bit of higher ground, he began slowly and quietly
to crawl forward to the better vantage point. Sirilyr looked over a pasture
sparsely dotted with sheep. The villagers must not have had time, or room,
to gather all the flocks into the valley. Motion at the opposite side caught
his attention. Five or six small dark shapes were dancing around in a circle.
A gentle night breeze carried their eerie chanting. The high-pitched voices
sent a chill through the ranger as did red-tinted glints from their brandished
blades, reflecting the demonic red glow of their eyes.
The
ranger settled silently down onto his belly again near the old tree's trunk.
Concealed well by the tall meadow grasses and low old forest scrub growth,
Sirilyr tried to recognize the small humanoids. Not being able to completely
make out their shapes in the darkness, he listened to see if he could identify
their whining sing-song speech, committing their chant to his memory in
the process.
Eyebrows
raising in recognition, Sirilyr whispered "Gobbos!" Smiling evilly, he
slid fully behind the cover of the tree. Sheathing his weapons, he drew
two arrows from the quiver at his side and slipped the large bow from his
shoulder. Thinking to himself, "Where thar's one, there's a 'undred. But,
it'd be a damned shame ta not see 'xactly 'ow many there be." He wet the
goose feathered fletching of both shafts with his tongue before knocking
the first arrow. Then, rising like a forest spirit from the mist, the soldier
knelt on one knee and waited at a half draw for one of the hated critters
to assert itself as the leader of the dancing mob on the meadow.
Their
evil ritual went on several frustrating minutes. The creatures seemed to
tire and slow. Finally some sort of argument broke out and the dance became
a chaotic shoving and shouting match. The soldier snickered watching the
immature, undisciplined creatures. He wanted them dead, but he decided
not to take a shot at any save the party's leader, so the ranger used the
cover of the confusion to slip through the dark shrouded trees lining the
glade's borders and circle around the bickering goblins. Sirilyr felt surreal,
as if he were stealthily floating through the foggy gloom. His world was
now a dreamlike place in which only shadows lived... The soldier knew that
there was little chance of his being spotted in his shadowy flanking movement
with the screeching little monsters drawing the short attention spans of
any cohorts lurking about.
Thinking
of cohorts lurking, Sirilyr snapped back into reality and decided not to
enter the woods near the bickering goblins. There were sheep milling about
the long grass, so Sirilyr decided to cross into the pasture crouching
low and using the sheep as cover. He mingled with the sheep who, being
used to the smell of men, accepted him as no threat. He got close enough
to the goblins for a fairly sure shot; he could even see the faint red
glow of the night creatures' eyes. He edged slowly right up to an interposing
sheep, whispering softly to keep it from bolting. Slowly and evenly, he
readied his bow and nocked an arrow. He watched relying on the darkness
and the innocent animal to keep him hidden from the goblins' dark vision.
No
bully emerged, but two seemed to be competing for the fatal title. At least
he went unseen as nothing more than a part of the herd. One pushed the
other, the winner - at least in Sirilyr's mind. He focused on the target;
a large hunchbacked, green mottled beast, who sneered defiantly at the
others through his snaggled tusk-like rotting teeth. Visualizing the motions
necessary, Sirilyr moved fluidly and let the arrow go beneath the sheep's
neck. The missile whirred at its target and struck home. Sirilyr had just
as suddenly ducked back so he only heard the uproar. He got another arrow
nocked and swept out to make another shot. The first arrow was surprising
not fatal; it stuck in the thing's neck and it was spinning, screaming,
and trying to pull it out. Sirilyr let loose as straight and true an arrow
as ever flew and dropped it. The others were running to the woods and Sirilyr
had no shots.
Not
a one of these shall leave alive, he thought. Seeing them without fight,
Sirilyr stood and moved toward the retreat looking down his next taught
arrow. Their dark clothing made them hard to spot, but Sirilyr let loose
at whatever motion got his attention. Not hearing the pleasant yelps of
pain, he nocked and shot again, and again. They were into the trees now.
Cursing, Sirilyr took aim again and launched. There it was, a cry of pain.
Then what he was sure was cursing in the goblin tongue. "Shit," he cursed
himself; his arrow had not felled his target. They were too deep in the
trees now. "Shit," he cursed again. He looked down at his only kill. It
lay near a badly mutilated, bloody sheep. They had been dancing around
the thing.
He
bent and searched the thing's grimy body. It smelled bad, though not as
strong as those that attacked in Bilcoven, it smelled of sewage. Sirilyr
found just a few coppers. Pissed that his hands were befouled for such
a small pittance, Sirilyr took his hatchet and severed its head. He heard
something about a bounty. He tied it by the hair to his belt. He watched
the woods; he thought he could hear movement there, whispers maybe. He
decided not to go searching for his arrows until the light of day.
He
left the open ground of the pasture without turning his back to the goblins
concealing copse. "I'm runnin' later than I thought now." The ranger spoke
lowly to himself. "Gotta git back to Durrant." If the goblins were to follow,
he would lead them down the ridge rather than to the village. He went to
finish the last part of his patrol of the crestline surrounding Tir, hoping
he would come across more goblin scouts before finishing his circuitous
route. The soldier was not bloodthirsty, but he was a professional and
did not like leaving anything undone. In fact, everything he did as a soldier
was done well and with pride.
The
ranger continued on his "walk" in the same methodical manner as he had
begun it, as if nothing untoward had happened, but his eyes and ears were
tuned to hear any approaching animal or monster. Arriving at the ridge,
he saw a lantern leading a small group toward him from the village. The
ranger stopped and took a seat with his back to the approaching group,
letting them come to him, holding the high ground in case the gobbos had
decided for a rematch.
Ingend
was beginning another tale of the settling of Bilcoven, when the shepherd
boy, Duncan, came into the tavern from the tower excitedly, "Ohh Master
Ingend, is it the Goblins! The flock…cries of pain. "
Ingend
immediately lost the air of a kindly old grandfather and cursed, "Damn.
I did not bring in all the flocks." He looked to at Feorik, Ras, and Tulane.
"I had hoped you chased them off. I will lose more sheep tonight," he resigned.
Feorik
stood up immediately, surprising them all. He had been dosing off trying
to listen. It was a clumsy move, and he knocked his empty wine bottle where
it had been perching on the corner of the table onto the floor it broke
with a crash.Cursing darkly, he
stood and quickly placed enough coins to cover the bottle and then some,
and then asked the boy, "Where ... where was this ... ?" Maybe the thing
the other men had seen, he thought quickly, picturing a large horned beast
rending sheep in the bier.
The
boy, deep blue eyes wide with fear and cheeks flushed with excitement,
said, "Southwest, outside the valley."
"What
would you do Watcher. It is night, we have no idea how many…"
Feorik
breathed deeply and steadied himself on his feet - for the strong wine
had been just that. "Yes, it is night.But
we should at least ... at least see what is amiss.It
may be just an animal," Darvian stood too, and Rasoric came over.
Arnough
nodded, "I'll check with my guards."
Tulane
rose, "You've got yourself a patrol Master Ingend." He did not look all
that interested in leaving the warm room and strong wine.
Durrant
and Sleene came over too, "Let's go. We'll get a lantern at the warehouse."
The whole group left the tavern to the women to clean. Ingend told one
of the boys, Denn, to go to the tower to take Duncan's place. They crossed
toward the merchants' alerted guards. More distant cries drifted across
the village street. All of them thought of the men out in the woods that
night. "Damn," Durrant cursed looking at the wall of the warehouse, "He's
out there." On the wall next to a targe was written in chalk, 'On scout
around rim, back in about 2 hours. If not, stand to as I've run into whatever
has been making my hair stand on end tonight - Sirilyr'. Karod said he
left about an hour ago, before the cries.
"We
should go. He could be in trouble," Durrant decided. Duncan would lead
them to the southwestern pasture. Rasoric offered to scout, but Jack told
them to stick together, this might be a diversion to draw the villagers
out. In fact he told Durrant he should stay with the wagons. Durrant agreed
with an annoyed look.
"I'll
go," Karod offered.
Duncan
led Feorik, Rasoric, Tulane, Darvian, Karod, and Sleene into the darkness
beyond the village. They passed between pens stocked with the livestock
that had been brought in. Their shuffling and noises sounding strange as
the group walked through their domain. The lantern cast dancing light and
shadow oddly through the pickets and over the restless animals. As they
climbed the slope of the ridge, Duncan swept the lantern back and forth
ahead of them. Suddenly a shape moved from behind a thick tree startling
everyone. Duncan got the lantern trained on it. The man exhaled a plume
of smoke and smiled at the group. Karod, relaxing with a sigh, "Sirilyr!
Damn it!"
"Youn's
worried 'bout me, er jes out fer a moonlit stroll?" The ranger replied
in greeting with his Cheshire cat grin and a glance and moonless night
sky. "You'll be wantin' ta be careful, thar's Gobbos 'bout." He stepped
away from the tree and everyone saw the gruesome decapitated head of a
goblin hanging from his belt, still dripping ichor.
Feorik
grinned himself as he saw the trophy - suddenly his headache was gone and
the melancholy mood was lifted, and he felt much better - out in the wilds,
in the dark, breathing the fresh air, with Goblins to be killed nearby.
"So ... how many are there?" Feorik asked eagerly, forgetting to introduce
himself.
Sensing
an immediate kindred spirit an taking a liking to the man immediately,
the soldier pushed back his warhelm. Darvian stared open mouthed at Sirilyr,
"Did you kill this one just now? Are there more of them around?"
Feorik
asked, "And is it only Goblins?"
Sirilyr
answered in a soft low voice, "Aye. Thar were 'alf o' dozen wit' this un.
'E was the leader. Found out why the green 'eathens 're killin' the sheep.
It's fer some sword rite, they got a catchy lil' chant ta go wit' thar
ring dance as well." Pulling off a grimy gauntlet and extending a hand
to Feorik, "Name's Sirilyr," and Rasoric and Tulane.
"Feorik
of Dir," Feorik answered, returning the grip with strength.
Sirilyr
continued as he stepped out of the ring of light cast by the lantern, back
into the concealing shadows of the fir tree. Positioning his back to the
trunk, "Ye may want ta shield tha' lantern. I've patrolled almost three
quarters o' the rim round the town. I 'it this bunch," slapping the lolling
tongued cheek of the bloody spotted head at his belt, "a wee bit o'er twenty
minutes ago in a meadow on the ridge thar." Feorik grunted in approval.
Yes, the Goblins could see very well in the dark, but he doubted they
would attack a large band of men with their leader dead.
Lowering
his arm from pointing, "The ones tha' got away 'id in the woods an chattered
like 'ell. Wasn't 'bout ta follow 'm in thar though. Not tonight. I plan
on finishin' my constitutional 'round the rim 'ere for I 'ead in." Again
smiling, "I scared the color out o' 'em fer tonight. Jes' want ta keep
the buggers 'onest, maybe a few more out scoutin' up a'ead. Yer light is
sure ta draw 'em if they be about. An I want a word wit' 'em bout thar
thievin'." Knocking out the old briarwood and replacing his gauntlet, Sirilyr
asked,"Durrant send ye out?"
"We
were alerted by the shepherds from the tower. They heard some sheep crying
out. We guessed it was the work of goblins," Darvian answered.
Sirilyr
nodded, "I think might ha' been yer scarlet an black clad friends. Maybe
'avin' a direct chat wit' their god right now."
"Jack
thinks this might be a diversion so they're staying alert back there,"
Karod added.
"Maybe.
Maybe not. Thar's a few about, not enough ta make a full blown attack.
A small raid fer grabbin' what's not nailed down, but nothin' serious.
Unless whatever caused them clerics ta scream like that 'elps 'em.
Feorik
grunted, then he said, "They're sly bastards.Best
to go about in a large group.Want
me to come with you on the last of your patrol, Sirilyr?"Feorik
looked eager to try to bag a few scalps himself. Darvian's eyes were wide.
He looked incredulous. Did he just misunderstand what Sirilyr just said?
Might they be directly linked to the goblin attacks?
Pausing
but a moment to size the other woodsman up, Sirilyr replied. "As long as
you move when I move, and we act together should we run inta somethin'.
An if'n I say we run, we run. Right?"
Feorik
nodded, "Sounds good."To Tulane
and Rasoric he said, "I'll get back to the tower when we're done."Then
he looked about the darkness, ready to move.More
shaman Goblins, he thought.What
are the bastards getting those sheep parts for? he found himself wondering.
Looking
from Sirilyr to the others Darvian asked: "What are we going to do now?
Continue to investigate or follow Sirilyr on the last quarter of his tour
around the town? I personally would like to head on and see the place where
the sheep were killed, and, Sirilyr, you could show us where those goblins
disappeared in the forest."
"The
shepherds brung in most o' the flocks," Sirilyr told them. Thar be a few
scattered still o'er yonder, where I made 'em bleed." He indicated the
darkness to the west. "The Gob's took one more tonight fer thar dance.
We're even though, as I took one o' them! Think it'll look good on the
tavern wall?" The soldier said with a low throated, hearty laugh. "I'm
goin' ta finish the patrol with Feorik; I would'no mind the company. I'd
appreciate it, if'n you'd cover tha' light, er 'ead back down now so's
me eyes can readjust ta the dark. We'll 'old 'ere, til yer out o' bow shot
from the 'igh ground."
Feorik
readied two of his small javelins and waited for the others to move back
to the town. He looked away from the lantern so as to begin to adjust his
eyes to the dark, watching for any movement in the shadows.More
of the scum about, he thought.More
of them to kill. Darvian grinned, though that was hard to see in the
dark. " I am going to join you on the last part of the trip." Seeing Sirilyr's
look he added, "I am very good at running, should you say so, Sirilyr."
Duncan
held the lantern down and said he'd go back to town. Tulane and Karod went
with him and let everyone else know what was going on. Rasoric said he
would stay with Darvian and follow the two rangers. Sleene said, "Me too,"
quietly; any excuse not to be in the smelly village proper.
"Stay
back, and quiet," Sirilyr said looking unhappy about it. "At the foot of
the hill, we'll patrol the top," he added then noticed Sleene staring worriedly
towards their campsite of the night before, probably thinking about her
wolves. She was indeed fighting the urge to give them her usual howling
call - which may just draw more than their attention.
They
let Duncan get away from the ridge before Sirilyr started them off. He
showed them his pace and asked for a few minute start.When
the three others made it to the foot of hill, Sirilyr asked Feorik, "Standard
Dulany patrol?"
"Criss-cross
and signal," Feorik answered knowing Sirilyr was probing his knowledge,
but glad he knew the answer and glad to know Sirilyr knew the question.
They began as clouds shrouded the nightscape in deeper gloom. It was difficult
to move quietly on the newly fallen and drying leaves, especially under
the unsteady nightlight of the clouded sky. But they were quiet enough
that the gentle breeze rustling the evergreen boughs and few sparse leaves
that remained clinging to their branches was at least as loud. They could
even sense how far behind the three shadowed by the noise of their motion.
Both men of the woods worked well together. Every so often, Feorik passed
a look behind to make sure the others were still there.Rasoric
and Sleene he wasn't worried about as much as Darvian.The
bastards see well in the dark, Feorik reminded himself looking about
and even sniffing the air for any sign of the scum.
The
clouds were gathering, making the darkness deeper as they crossed the south
road. Still all was quiet among the dark trees that guarded Tir's valley.
Expecting to come upon a goblin scout or sentry behind any trunk or boulder
kept them alert. More thick clouds cast the forest into near blackness.
As they waited for the starlight they could not help but look down upon
the clustered village buildings only visible as shadows around the few
street lamps and fires the guardsmen had build near the wagons. There was
distant motion of torch bearers from the encamped caravans to the tavern,
then the village returned to its steady stillness.
The
stars, revealed again, and they moved on. Sirilyr scanned the way ahead,
now moving north along the eastern ridge. A dark form seemed to be standing
between trees ahead, taller than a goblin, and thin. Unmoving. Facing them?
Sirilyr signaled a halt and hunkered closer to the nearest tree. He looked
to study the figure, but it was gone. He glanced to Feorik, hunkered by
his own tree a short way back, two shadowy shapes right behind him, but
Feorik had not noticed their approach.
Calmly
the ranger motioned for the other woodsman to follow him before moving
as if to pass the old fir providing him cover. However, rather than continue
on he rapidly side stepped and pressed himself against the far side of
the tree's gnarled dark trunk. Sirilyr forced himself to breath slowly
and silently through his mouth as he held his hand axe and longsword close
and ready while waiting for Feorik to pass. His hard eyes swiftly swept
the surrounding woods for movement. He was completely still, as if a part
of the ancient tree. Feorik moved by adequately silent. Sirilyr closed
his eyes and paused only for the heartbeat it took to confirm an enemy
by noise, smell. Rather than scent or sound, his senses revealed nothing
but the instinctual chill of fear on his neck.
Sirilyr
spun from the other side of the tree to confront the dark figures and his
annoying fear. Ready for a quick strike, the ranger was taken aback to
witness the ilnature of their stalkers. Two forms of black fog floated
silently through the darkened woods. They flowed as if on some ethereal
breeze, but maintained the vague shape of men walking. A cold sweat of
fear chilled the soldier as he took in the phenomenon in that instant.
And in the next, the mists dissipated and were no more. Fighting an urge
to flee the haunted wood, Sirilyr wide-eyed and alert with adrenaline,
stared through the trees in a last rational attempt to see fleeing substantial
forms. At the same moment the night dimmed further, and the woods seemed
filled with misty, dark forms.
"Bloody
'ell." Was all the ranger could think to say as he accepted the reality
of his situation. A violent shudder ran down the length of his spine as
he took a deep breath and wrestled with the urge to run. "'ad ta be spirits,
didn' it." Tightly clasping his weapons in clammy hands, Sirilyr turned
to see Feorik looking at him, javelin raised and scanning the trees.With
the low whistle of a nightbird, Sirilyr signaled the other woodsman, and
Sirilyr approached him. "'ave ye seen anything in the mist fer the last
few minutes lad?" He asked trying to conceal his shaking and glad the dim
starlight hid his pallor. "Sorry fer duckin' back thar on ye, but did ye
know ye were bein' followed?" The ranger kept a guarded vigil around them
as he spoke, "Where are the others?"
Feorik
frowned, his one eye reflecting the glint of the javelin's steel in the
dim light.He whispered to Sirilyr,
"No, I haven't seen or heard anything.The
others are at the base of the ridge." Even as he spoke the words, Feorik
turned to look at his trail, trying to pierce the gloom and detect the
telltale noises or movements of something following him in the dark.He
liked the dark, normally, but after the harrowing battle with the Goblins
just the day before, where the Shaman had so horribly occluded the Sun,
he felt a chill crawl along his spine.
Sirilyr's
face bore an expression that foretold only the truth as he quietly hissed,
"There be spirits in these woods...an somethin' else, a man size humanoid
stood in front o' us fer a bit. I thought it might be a wood elf. Now I'm
no' so sure." Taking a deep breath, "Let's move on and finish the patrol,
stay close."
"An
Elf??" Feorik's incredulity was carried in the sharp hiss of the whispered
word.It was rumored that once,
long ago, Elves were to be found in the woods. But now you'd more than
likely stumble over a dragon, Feorik thought."Maybe
it's a Goblin leader, or a Human mercenary.I
don't know ... wasn't there something you said earlier, some sort of man
with a headdress of antlers?"
With
a disgusted shake of his head Sirilyr, lowly replied. "Bah! Tis' truth
I canno' be sure. I do know it stood on two legs, it wore antlers or branches
about itself, an' it was bigger than any gobbo I've e're seen. It be too
light as well from what I saw fer a greenskin. And no human I know o' would
be in the company o' what's walkin' these woods after dark. Let's see if'n
it left any tracks." Slowly kneeling and scanning the surrounding woods,
before pointing. "There it'd been. C'mon an watch me back."
The
soldier's weapons were held tightly in his gauntleted hands and sweat stained
his clothing even though the night was cool. Sirilyr circled wide of the
spot where the thing had stood and slowly tightened his ringed walk in
towards the center, carefully watching the ground for sign or trap as Feorik
eyed the trees surrounding them and above them for any movement. When they
reached the intended spot, he read the sign as carefully as he had ever
done before, but found nothing to indicate an earthly passage. Methodically
shrugging off the childish fear that emanated from the forest, the ranger
worked his way outwards, again in a widening circling pattern. Anything
out of the "natural" state of the forest caught in his steely gaze. A bent
leaf, a snapped stick, a partial animal track, a turned stone. All were
noted. A thought crossed his active mind, "were the nightbirds singing?"
Sirilyr signaled his fellow woodsman to hold, and froze in a half crouch,
he listened to an unnatural stillness that seemed to amplify the footsteps
in the fallen leaves of those that followed. The woodsman sniffed the air
like an animal but caught no trace of unnatural scent.
Sirilyr
could not shake the feeling that the shadows had eyes, and even Feorik
felt suspicious of the gloom and twisting shadows in the starlight mists.
They continued northward in silence and in a tighter, quicker pattern.
When Sirilyr began to hear the incorporeal whisperings, he used all his
will power not to flee the haunted place. Feorik did not seem to perceive
the ghostly emanations.A low cavern
opened under a rock overhang in the northeastern corner of the slightly
oblong valley. Outside its dark mouth a wooden cistern held a dark pool
of water. They rounded the hill above the cavern mouth, glowing orange
from torchlight within. A lone silhouetted figure stood watch just inside.
The
rangers proceeded above the cavern and westward. The three that trailed
them neared the opening, but the guard retreated down the stone stairs
hewn into one side of the tunnel leading into the earth. Although curious,
they passed the strange place and rejoined the rangers coming down the
northern road. Feorik had allowed himself to relax somewhat as they came
down the road, although he kept silent until the buildings loomed out of
the darkness.Then he turned to Sirilyr
and said, "It was good patrolling with you, Sirilyr.I
look forward to doing it again sometime."
The
soldier replied to the compliment with a curt nod and "any patrol ye walk
in from is a good 'un. I've a feelin' we'll be a doin' it again." Smiling,
"but no' until after a tankard er two."
One
of the boys from the Rabbit knocked a few minutes after Brian had thrown
a log on the fire and taken a seat to stare at its flickering flames. Brian
had been pondering what Mellody was doing, what power the priestesses were
tapping into to aid them on their quest, what power was against them in
the distant land. He looked out the spy hole to see the shepherd and let
him in. "Denn," he introduced himself. "Duncan's taking some folks to investigate
the noises," he said as he went upstairs to continue the watch with Billy.
The
next hour passed uneventfully, Brian was squirming in his uncomfortable
wood chair. Steps from above brought Brian to attention and he looked to
the balcony where Billy appeared then descended the stair while telling
Brian excitedly, "Someone's comin' down the north road!" They opened the
door and looked out into the starlit night starting to cloud up. They watched
the north road patiently and soon a lone figure walking slowly entered
the village. It passed the dark workshops and neared the tower. "Don't
know him," Billy said when the dim lantern light illuminated him.
But
Brian recognized him; the mercenary that had been with the pale trio in
black and red. He did not seem to realize he was being watched. He just
trudged along the middle of the road until he saw the Skin of the Rabbit
and directed himself there. "I don't know him either, but I have seen him
once, and I don't trust him. Not a friendly fellow.I
appreciate your warning me of his arrival.Could
you do a big favor and stick your head into the Rabbit just to see what
he is doing, and then come right back?I
can't leave my post here."
"Thought
he was one of ours," Billy said disappointed. "I go see."
Brian
watched anxiously as the boy went down the street. He glanced down the
row to the warehouse and the guards, still at alert. He went up to exchange
posts with Storn. He was restless, alternately peering out the windows
and listening at the door to hear if the ladies were near the end of their
ritual.He put his ear to the wall
and strained to hear their words, hoping to get a clue what the secrecy
is all about. The prayers and chants he heard earlier had subsided. Now
he could barely hear Mellody repeating a phrase he did not understand every
now and then. Linda was silent.
The
wait was maddening. Finally Brian heard footsteps coming up the stair.
It was Billy, but he looked pale. "The man. He's just sitting there staring.
I…I…I think he's covered in blood."
"Covered
in blood? Is anyone talking to him or helping him?"
"
He's just starin'. Drinkin' and starin' like no one was around him. Master
Kipp was going to talk with him. He sent me back here. Everyone's scared
of him."
"Thanks
for looking in on him for me.I hope
his being here is not bad fortune...You best get back to your post." Brian
again stared out the window into the darkness, muttering a prayer against
the goblins and demons in the darkness. Nervous but exhausted, Brian began
to get drowsy in his chair.Resting
his head back against the wooden wall and listening to the growing quiet
of the night, he wondered what events will occur the next. Will he be driving
out with the caravan?What was that
awful shrieking in the darkness?What
will the search party find?Who is
that strange mercenary and whose blood covers him? The night went on.
The
scouting party returned to the little village lit by only a few sputtering
lanterns swinging and creaking in the gentle night breeze. The caravans
were still alert awaiting their return and report. Arnough was among the
guards, and after Darvian told him what transpired, he told them that someone
wandered into the village. It was not one of the village militia. "Ingend,
Durrant and couple of his men are in the Rabbit talking to him. He's seen
battle," Arnough added seriously.
After
Sirilyr reported to Jack he heard Arnough's news and Feorik's exclamation
and query, "Battle! Is he hurt?" that went unanswered has the one eyed
Watcher jogged toward the tavern. Rasoric shrugged and followed him.
Sirilyr
inquired of Arnough, "Did 'e wear an antlered 'elm?"
"Nay,"
Arnough answered. "But he was well armed and bloodstained from what the
kid said."
With
a "Harrumph" of disappointment Sirilyr said, "Jack, ye an Arnough best
come wit me ta see Durrant. There be bigger problems than we 'ave thought.
An enchantment is upon the forests 'round 'ere. And an un-natural silence
be upon the woodlands durin' darkness. I believe it's got the gob's in
an uproar 'cause they kin feel it on the air, like blood in the sea ta
sharks." Holding the pallid bloodstained head of the speckled large greenskin
up in his leather gauntleted hand by it's gore matted hair as proof of
the green menace's presence hard by, "the bloody 'eathens think it be gods
sign!"
After
hawking and spitting upon the ground Sirilyr continued with a visible shudder.
"Disturbed spirits by the score walk yonder through the trees, jus' two
o' the many I seen tonight followed silently after Feorik there fer a good
bit at a distance of a long arm's reach, an 'e never knew they was be'ind
'im! I 'id an leapt out at 'em face ta face as close as we are ta each
other now, an they turned from solid ta mist afore me very eyes! I feel
as if I've aged ten years this one night. Spencer would'a loved it!"
Despite
the humor, an air of dire earnestness was upon the ranger as he spoke.
"And there is death upon the wind, and not the death wails o' sheep either.
Many screams o' folks a dying came from what I first thought might'a been
that black an' scarlet clerical party. But the direction 's off a wee bit,
unless they pushed south 'ard. Tir's militia will probably run inta that
bunch. The cries came from the southwest o' 'ere, an west o' the road ta
Sola. Do ye know what's out that way off the beaten path to Sola Arnaugh?"
Sirilyr paused for a deep breath.
"We're
at the edge of the world here. Nothing but hard land, forest and hills
to the very mountains."
"There
also be a strange 'umanoid wit' an antlered 'elm, er branches secured about
'isself, who moves like a ghost through the woodland stalkin' 'bout in
the night. I 'ad me a thought that per'aps 'e was a wood elf, er the shade
o' one."
Sirilyr
shot the senior guardsman a steady stare. "Somethin's caused this Jack.
Feorik an' I also passed o'er the top o' the cistern cavern on the way
back. There was someone a watchin' the town from just inside the cavern's
mouth. 'e retreated deeper inside as we passed by, an I did no' see 'im
again. Now, will ye go wit' me ta speak wit' the Cap'n?"
"Of
course," Jack answered evaluating the young ranger with his dark eyes.
"I'll
see what this visitor is about," Darvian addressed his boss who nodded.
"Spirits?
Elves?" Sleene asked herself quietly as she followed the men.
Inside
the Rabbit was a brooding silence. The mercenary was at the short bar,
back to the room, arm rhythmically moving a large wood mug from the counter
to his lips. Tulane was next to him, mimicking his motions. Ingend, Durrant,
Stellan, and Karod sat watching at a table obviously ignoring Tulane. When
Tulane turned to see who was entering, he smiled and waved at Feorik and
said, "He's not saying a thing!" indicating the silent armed man next to
him. Tulane apparently had a few too many, he stumbled a bit when he got
off the stool and approached his friends.
"What's
going on here. What have you been up to?" Rasoric asked Tulane. What
indeed? Feorik's thoughts echoed Rasoric's query precisely.
"Thuh
guy there, 'is armer's covered with blood stains. Won't say a word, just
starin', slammin' 'is mug when he wants more." Tulane belched loudly, "I
tried to keep up wid him."
Feorik
passed a questioning look to Durrant, they were all looking back, waiting.
So Feorik and Rasoric approached the bar with Tulane telling them, "It
ain't no use."
"'Ow
do," Rasoric said as he neared. "What gives mate? Let me buy you another."
The man slammed his mug without looking at Rasoric. Looking timid the elderly
Muriem approached and filled his mug from a small keg. She looked at Rasoric,
then at Ingend, she retreated without collecting.
"Well,
then, friend," Feorik said, "What's your tale?Been
fighting Goblins?"He inspected the
man from the side. His cloak was thrown back over his backpack. He wore
well used studded leather armor, and along with a pouch had a scabbard
and sheath hanging from his belt, the sword and dagger were missing. He
had a tough, rustic look; not a city man, probably from the wilderness
villages east of the Marchy. He did not seem wounded, and no large rents
had been torn in his armor, although it was missing a few studs here and
there. He just stared over the bar into the wall. Feorik took out some
coins and slapped them on the table, to cover some of the cost, and indicated
he wanted an ale as well.He said
nothing for a while, continuing to examine the man, waiting for him to
speak.
The
door opened again a few minutes, drawing eyes away from the man. Tulane
turned to see who was entering, he smiled and waved at Sirilyr, Sleene,
and Darvian then put his finger to his lips and winked at Sleene before
turning to watch his friends again. Feorik savoring his warm ale, did keep
his eyes on the stranger. There was no reaction, no hint of curiosity,
or even recognition that something was going on behind him. Feorik grunted
to Tulane standing behind him quiet, but wobbling slightly,"Keep
your wits, and keep this seat."Feorik
passed a frown to Rasoric and made a confused face as he stood and headed
to Durrant, where Darvian was seating himself. Sirilyr was headed toward
them at the bar.
Sirilyr
tossed his grimy trophy upon the bar not far from the man with a loud meaty
thud. "Tha's fer ye wall," he called to the barkeep. The stranger shrieked
and jumped suddenly away from the decapitated head toppling over his stool
and bumping clumsily into Rasoric, startled by the unexpected outburst.
Then he found himself being buffeted by a flurry of blows as the stranger
started punching him. The man was enraged, anger contorting his face into
an inhuman visage of hate. He attacked like an animal, unorganized and
rapidly. Rasoric was able to fall away causing the rest of the stools to
fall like dominoes; he ended up on the floor, but out of fist range.
The
man spun suddenly looking for an upright target and spotted Tulane staring
wide-eyed at the spectacle. Throwing his arms over his head and making
his thick hands into claws, he jumped at Tulane as if rip him apart. Inebriation
aside, Tulane sidestepped and tried to get to his morning star, but crashed
into a table. The madman was just behind.The
sudden violence ripped through the common room like a delayed blast of
thunder driving everyone from their seats. Tulane wrestled with the ferocious
man barely keeping the strong hands from his neck. Rasoric sprung from
the floor and brought his club down, but missed and harmlessly struck the
man's backpack.
Feorik
spun to face the commotion and seeing Tulane struggling, ran to his aid.
Sirilyr, nerves already strained from patrolling, also made an angry rush
to the wild and out of control stranger's rear. Feorik a moment before
him, grabbed an arm from Tulane's strained gripped and spun it surprisingly
easily behind the stranger's back and forced it up under his backpack in
what should have been a painful arm lock. Sirilyr drove his booted left
foot in hard behind the berserker's right knee and with a whip like motion
wrapped his left arm in a chokehold around the falling neck. The four of
them were surprised to see the man unconscious and peaceful. The room was
again quiet.
Sirilyr
arched his right eyebrow, and giving Feorik a look that was equal parts
shock, surprise, tired annoyance, and embarrassed chagrin said, "Oops!"
A wide sincere smile washed the seriousness away from the dirty soldier's
face. "I guess tha's what ye meant by the finger to yer lips? I thought
ye were blowin' Sleene a kiss!" he joked with Tulane who still looked spooked
by the assault and unappreciative of the jest.
Feorik
took several deep breaths. "Keep him held," Feorik growled, "we don't know
what possesses him."Supporting the
sudden dead weight as best they could, they made sure to keep their grips
as they laid the prone fellow out on the floor. Darvian chuckled slightly
and a huge smile flashed across his face when he realized that his spell
had been successful. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed; Durrant
to his left was giving him a curious look, but did not say anything. Darvian,
face now serious, made his way over to the heap of flesh on the ground
with the others.
Durrant
told them that he had seen the man in town the day before, listening to
Orinden stir up the locals. Darvian nudged his way through the crowd to
see the face of the stranger, and recognized the man that had accompanied
the red and black clerics in Ziret. "I guess we better tie him up quickly,
before he does any more damage," Darvian commented.
"What
happened?" Rasoric asked, club still held ready.
Feorik
ignored Rasoric for the moment."If
he's not a Tirian," he said to Durrant, "then where did he come from?Bilcoven?"
"He
is not from around here," Ingend agreed.
"Looks
like he's been in a fight," Feorik muttered the obvious to himself, then
he said, "Rasoric, keep that club ready.I'd
like to wake him.Maybe he'll talk
now."Feorik looked to Sirilyr and
Tulane briefly.
Sirilyr
called, "Don't just stand there, one o' ye fetch a bit o' 'emp unless ye
want us ta turn the likes o' this one loose on ye again?"
"Here
ye go," Jack tossed him an end of rope between Darvian and Tulane. Feorik
held him while Sirilyr bound his arms behind his back.
Darvian,
seeing Tulane and Rasoric still in battle pose and threatening to blows
on anybody coming too close or moving hastily, told them in a mild, comforting
tone, "I don't know what enraged the stranger. Maybe the goblin was his
friend. But during the fight noting extraordinary happened. I was just
afraid that one of you lads might get hurt again, just after you barely
recovered from your trip. I decided to end the violence in my way and convinced
our unconscious guest to let the sorrow of this world slip for a short
while. But he will not stay like this for long, he appears to be deeply
troubled. We can question him in a few minutes."
"What
do you mean?He just fainted."Feorik's
one eye challenged Darvian to provide an alternate explanation.
Darvian
just smiled at Feorik, but didn't comment any further on the subject of
the unconsciousness of their foe. Feorik blinked a few times then shrugged,
whatever had happened, it didn't matter. The man was down and out, and
that was what was important."Anyone
o' ye know 'im?" Sirilyr asked half hearing the explanation as he finished
the binding.
Again
looking at the unconscious man Darvian answered, "I don't really know him,
but I have seen him before. He was the bodyguard of the strangely monochrome
clad clerics back in Ziret. Brian will know him too; he tried to have a
chat with this guy, but didn't get much out of him. "
Feorik
frowned down at the man as he asked, "What kind of priests?And
are they not here in Tir then?"
"Back
in Ziret's inn, we saw a strange bunch of clerics. Two women, one man and
their bodyguard now lying here." Darvian pointed at the still unconscious
stranger." The first three were all strangely pale and dressed in rather
unusual fashion: the women exclusively in black, the man exclusively red.
It appeared that they spent the entire day in their room, only to leave
the inn in the middle of the night. They gave me the creeps just looking
at them. I haven't seen them around Tir, but Sirilyr mentioned them on
our tour earlier this evening, maybe he has spotted them somewhere close
by?"
Feorik
knew of the gods but he wasn't really all that familiar.This
faith sounded quite odd."Red and
black," he muttered."Some kind of
cult?" he wondered out loud.
Sirilyr
looked puzzled as he eyed the sleeping stranger. The ranger deliberately
shook his head in a negative response. "Not spotted lad, I suspected they
were the source o' the screams some 'ere in town thought were sheep a bleating.
But, the direction wasn't right. Unless they were able to travel south
more rapidly than we. And that would mean they were trying 'ard ta avoid
the militia as well as the town o' Tir, before they ran inta sometin' rather
unpleasant." With his brow arched in thought, the soldier asked, "anyone
see by which direction this 'un came inta town?"
"He
walked down from the north on the road, not a ten minutes before you all
came back," Durrant explained.
Sirilyr
grunted in response. "Tha' makes sense o' where 'e came from. You!" He
looked around for the old woman who was serving drinks, but he could not
see around the people gathered around. He nodded at Ingend, the only local
in sight, "You've lived 'ere a bit, do the sounds in this valley do fey
things, like comin' from directions they should not?"
"At
times," Ingend acknowledged.
Then,
Sirilyr exhaled heavily as he bent at the waist, "We must search him ta
see if 'e 'as any clue on 'im 'as to who 'e is an' why 'e's 'ere." He turned
the unconscious man's hands open in inspection. "Yeah, see 'ere?" He called
as he pointed a gauntleted finger towards the exposed palm. "This man makes
'is livin' by the sword, probably a mercenary. Ya can tell a soldier by
the shape o' the calluses the tools o' 'is trade leave be'ind on 'is 'ands."The
woodsman began to explore further saying, "I also want ta make sure 'e's
not wounded under all o' this blood an filth." Kneeling to the task, "Feorik,
'lend a 'and will ye?" He asked.
While
still face down on the dirty floor, Feorik virtually sat on him while Sirilyr
moved his cloak and opened man's backpack. It was mostly filled with a
smelly damp wool blanket. Beneath that was a small supply of trail rations.
The two turned then him over. Again they noticed the empty dagger sheath
and sword hanger, a mercenary without his tools. As Sirilyr reached for
the pouch, the man started to tremble slightly, then suddenly violently.
As
if boiling out from within the man, he began to shriek again. Feorik and
Sirilyr grabbed him tightly, surprised at the strength of the convulsions.
Then all nearby witnessed a macabre transformation that sent those nearby
jumping back and the two struggling rangers fleeing. The man's head literally
became that of a corpse, horribly twisted with rage but shrieking still
with dead eyes gleaming with hate. They ran into the others who stopped
their involuntary flight. Feorik bit down on the panic as the chaotic eruption
of motion and noise faded; somehow he knew it was just a trick.Sorcery,
he realized with his heart hammering in its cage. Holding Sirilyr tightly,
Durrant, fear in his eyes too, said, "Hold there, it has passed." He spun
Sirilyr around to look at the man who again appeared normal, but was now
conscious sitting up, legs akimbo, and eyes on the floor muttering, "It's
not me, it's not me, it's not me," in a scared voice.
The
door opened suddenly and swung to the wall with a slam that nearly sent
Brian off the chair he had propped against the wall. Snapping alert, Brian
looked to see Linda standing in the door looking worried and commanding
at the same time. "Its here," she said flatly coming out of the room and
looking at Brian. She turned to Mellody coming around Linda's billowing
cloak. The younger priestess clutched a holy symbol and was chanting a
prayer over and over. "Go to the children upstairs. Keep them close," Linda
commanded. She gestured sharply to Brian and started to the stairs, "We
must go to Storn." Brian scrambled to his feet and followed the determined
priestess down the echoing wooden stairway.
Brian
followed Linda stammering, "Wh- What is here?"With
his helmet, axe, quiver, and crossbow clumsily tucked under his arm, he
tried to look brave as he entered the lower room in front of the formidable
Storn.Storn rushed to the foot
of the stairs as the hurried priestess descended. "There is an evil presence
here Storn, we will need Daghdha's strength to hold him back. Brian, stay
near Storn at all times." Brian nodded nervously as he took the moment
and straightened out his equipment. "Something has come into town, a murdering
evil that has found its way from the afterlife. We must stop it. Has anything
happened this evening while we were praying?"
"Well...There
were screams from the pastures outside of town..." Brian swallowed hard
and continued, "The shepherd boys thought it was a sheep being attacked
again.They sent word to the flockmaster
and I think someone went out to have a look.Shortly
after that a strange man came into town all covered with blood and sat
down for a drink at the tavern.I
would almost swear that he is the mercenary that was traveling with the
black and scarlet-clad people we saw in Ziret who left in the dark of the
night."
"They
did investigate, and are back now," Storn informed her. "They're all at
the tavern." Linda, nodded, something made sense to her. Come let us find
this man, he may be the gate."
"Another
bad harbinger if you ask me..." muttered Brian. Linda led them out of the
tower and began a prayer as they crossed the dark street. The night wind
was cold, as were the stares from the wagon guards fire lit faces. As
they neared the door, a sudden exclamation from within startled them and
Linda rushed forward.
The
door outside flew open and banged loudly causing another leap in the scared
patrons of the Rabbit. All eyes turned to the dark opening to see the priestess
Linda standing tall and forcefully brandishing a sickle, the goddess Brigantia's
symbol and weapon. She was uttering a prayer in loose syllables they could
not understand. She stepped into the room and began looking intently from
person to person. Storn and Brian followed her, weapons drawn, and took
positions just behind her on each side. Suddenly, she look frightened for
a moment as her eyes followed something unseen flying through the rafters
above. She regained her stern look, but kept following the motions of whatever
it was. "It has escaped," she said, "I cannot bind it now." Then she looked
down and over to Storn. "Gone. There is no finding it in the night." Turning
back to the stunned crowd, she asked, "What have you seen?"
Durrant
let loose of Sirilyr, "Canon Linda, we are pleased for your presence. This
man here," Durrant indicated, then stepped forth and moved Darvian, who
had staggered back in shock as the horrible transformation of their captive
took place, out of her line of sight. He was pushed into the nearby table,
and Darvian. shaking sat down and took a deep gulp of beer from someone's
mug next to him. "He came in quiet and not speaking. Then when Sirilyr
set his trophy there," Linda looked upon the leaking and drooling goblin's
head upon the bar with undisguised disgust, "he leapt up and attacked these
young men. Arnough's man here," Durrant put a strong hand on Darvian's
shoulder, "put sleep on him as he was tackled." Darvian looked up again
with a faint smile and greeted the priestess of Brigantia and her two followers.
Durrant took a breath.
Rasoric
came up to her, "It were 'orrible. He was mad. I thought I was gonna die.
You saved us." He bent down on one knee and took to take her hand. She
down smiled down at him.
Durrant
continued looking annoyed, "Suddenly, a visage of death o'er took the man.
Scared us off our feet. It passed leaving him as you see." The man was
quiet now, he had gotten to his knees, hands bound behind his back, head
hung low. Feorik was starring at him in thought or shock.
Sirilyr
gulped down the hot bile from his throat and squared his shoulders back
before answering quietly, in a vehement almost whispering yet crystal clear
voice that echoed into the enclosed electrified silence. "The same as I
saw in Ziret with Geo an Spence. Remember? Ye let 'em go, even after I
tol' ye they weren't right! This un on the floor was jus' like those two
poor bastards... sobbin' not me! It's not me! Only in their case it woz
'HELP me' scrawled in frantic 'and on a scroll! What did ye see as ye looked
upwards now, wit' yer face all ashen? A spirit? It be a FINE night fer
them!" Sirilyr swung his outstretched hand through the heavy air towards
the crying man on the common room's floor pointing, "I went ta search 'is
beltpouch an 'is 'ead became that o' a livin' skull! Look to 'e's pouch
I say! Then 'elp 'im if ye can... or end 'is misery." The soldier was visibly
shaking now in his anger at what had to him been an abysmal failure at
the town of Ziret that may have cost him two comrades. "Ay NEVER should'a
let them leave tha' room! Should'a sent word back ta Durrant for the 'elp
o' the druids. They know wot's goin' on, don't they Sleene!" His hard accusing
eyes scythed onto the young druidess. "But they don' share anythin' wit'
you or us do they..." The fury of the ranger's vexation was plain and harsh
to all in its blunt hushed honesty. Sleene, shaken herself blushed red
with her own anger and frustration. Feorik opened his mouth to say something
in her defense, but suddenly the crazed man spoke again.
Tulane
had moved forward to cautiously grab the man's pouch. The man stayed as
he reached for it, but when Tulane's hand had loosened it from his belt
he suddenly turned face to face and shouted, "Y'll find no answers there!"
Tulane jumped back with it, and man turned to the priestess, "or protection
from the Shamhat." Eyes large and wild he concluded, "One of 'em got away!"
before bursting into hysterical laughter.