[11.1] The Mission

Linda informs Durrant of five factions seeking the same forbidden lore, including themselves. Spencer and Georan investigate the temple while looking for Viatteni. The pilgrims will seek the map the possessed mercenary spoke of, along with those that disturbed Orinden's shop. Sleene, Sirilyr, Tulane, and Star are to find Orinden. 

[11.2]Cavalry

Viatteni tells Spencer his vision of the couatl was foretold. Spencer and Georan return to Tir with the cavalry to find Durrant and Arnough gone, and Sirilyr waiting for them to follow Orinden and the militia into the woods. Rath the Gray Druid visits Sleene at the camp. The cavalry encounters goblins. 

[11.3] Slaughter

Feorik tracks the pilgrims to the strung up, horribly mutilated bodies of the two black priestesses. They follow the map, and make camp that night when they are attacked by a huge, starving badger. 

[11.1] The Mission

"Easy, Tulane," Feorik instructed the startled guardsman. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder, which was quickly shrugged off. Feorik said in a tone he usually used on stubborn mules or newborn calves, "Easy there, now. It's all over. The Brigantian's will take care of you. Shamhat thing or no Shamhat thing. It got away, we'll find it.

"And as for you," Feorik rounded on the fiercely-accented Sirilyr, "don't be thinking you can understand what the Druids are about or try to guess what they know or tell what they can share. They're weird and wise in the ways of the world, and have seen many things, I don't doubt. This ... this is sorcery, or maybe, bad shaman magic, maybe the Goblins are behind it. Or it is behind the Goblins? What's a Shamhat? A spirit?" Feorik asked a jumble of questions, looking from the lady Linda to Sleene and back again.

Across the room Brian neared the man on the floor. "You are proud to have been possessed by that thing?" Brian asked amazed and angered.

The man continued laughing, "No. It wasn't me! It's not me! It's not me!"

Linda left Rasoric to follow him. Brian made to speak again, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Shamhat?" She looked at the mercenary seriously despite his laughter. He looked up to her, laughter becoming chuckles, then giggles, until he stopped. "The thing that possessed you?" That set him off again. Linda frowned and muttered a few syllables that calmed the man again.

"No. They don't know what they do," more giggling, but restrained. "It killed them. I killed them. But one got away, one got away-ay. One got away-ay."

"Which one?" Linda asked, stoking his head in a motherly fashion.

"The black one," he answered suddenly serious. "Hey, I know you. And you!" he looked at Brian who was keeping his crossbow trained. "They talked of you. Wanted you to serve them. But not any mo?re." Tulane dumped the contents of the man's pouch onto the counter with a loud clang of coins. "Those are mine!" the man yelled and spun his head from Brian to Tulane. 

Linda turned from the crazy to Durrant, "'One got away'. One who…"

"Must be stopped," Durrant interrupted her. 

"Oh, I'll agree these things must be stopped, but it would help the rest of us if you'd fill us in on what they are," Brian stated, eyeing the mysterious merchant. Linda too was looking at him sternly. 

Sirilyr softly walked to the bar, the old woman who had been there earlier was gone, probably fled at the commotion. He shrugged and sauntered around and drew a tankard of ale. The ranger turned to look at the gibbering man kneeling on the unswept tavern floor. "Soljurs, deserve soljurs..." Sirilyr whispered to himself, and drew a second.

"He is cursed," Ingend said. Seeing Muriem gone, the old villager frowned. "They'll have him burned."

"What?" Feorik spun about. Things were happening too fast, and there was too much he didn't know. "The Shamhat is what needs burning," he growled. Ingend looked lost in thought.

Darvian sitting next to Feorik nudged the ranger and asked him. "Shamhat. No idea what they are talking about, do you know what a shamhat is?" Feorik shook his head.

Ignoring Linda's perturbation at his interruption, Durrant went to Ingend's side, "He should be locked up."

He nodded in agreement, "The tower's the only place."

"We'll take him," Durrant concluded.

A large frothy dripping mug in each gauntleted hand, Sirilyr knelt beside the now silent drooling mercenary. Blowing the random hay fly from the head of the honeyed mead he placed the cool liquid to the man's lips. "'ere ye go lad. Ye look like ye be needin' it." After the man had thirstily supped his fill, the ranger quietly said to him, "There now, I know 'ow carryin' them devils can dry a man." Continuing, as he steadily looked into the man's locked eyes with his own, with the calm stated question; "So, ye got two o' the three 'oly ones," he shot a disgusted look at Linda and Storn with the slightly emphasized words, "that 'ired ye wit tha' coin there ta guide 'em. Whar were they goin' ta when ye tried ta stop 'em, an what, soljur, made ye try?" Sirilyr took a silent sip of his own leather tankard as he let his fellow soldier try an form a reply.

"Th-th-they had a map," he drank again, "somewhere in the woods nor'west. Didn't get a look at it." He got a wild look in his eye again, "It wasn't me! I woke up. The blood. The blood. Everywhere."

"I don't know you Ingend," Durrant told him, "but I need you keep what goes on here quiet."

"Hmm?" the old man looked at him curiously.

Linda came up to them, "Why? These people may be - are - in danger!"

Feorik thought the same thing. "Quiet? Quiet about what? This got something to do with the Goblins being after your cargo, Durrant?"

"Wait, let's get it out," Durrant told her then turned his stern eyes to Feorik, Tulane, Rasoric, and Darvian, "You all to, keep this to yourselves!" He looked back to Linda, "I know something was brought here, something dangerous. The last thing we need is more locals running around the woods!" A silence descended on the room.

Linda took a step back and paled. "You are the second," she said lightly. "The black priest, the third. The Shamhat - four. The fifth - the fifth? Who is the fifth?" The priestess was talking to herself. 

"You are tired m'lady," Storn said to her. 

"Five forces arrayed, five intentions displayed," she continued. "Protection, prevention, restoration, subjugation…corruption."

"They served the Shamhat," the mercenary said calmly. "Some cult out east. Worshippers of night, of death. Whatever it is, they want it. But something doesn't want them to have it. AND I AM ITS VESSEL OF DESTRUCTION!" he shouted and lunged from his knees into Sirilyr, splattering ale everywhere. Hands still bound, he only shouldered the ranger. But Feorik was suddenly upon him with a strong headlock. The mercenary started laughing again, muffled by the restricted airflow. Everyone had a frightened look about them.

"The demon is gone," Linda pronounced. 

"Gone where, and for how long?" Feorik demanded as he sat down heavily next to the man, ready to jump on him again should he move. Feorik passed his eye from the woman to Durrant and Sirilyr. They knew more about all of this than he could ever guess. Maps and things. Oh, the details be damned, he thought angrily. "How does this tie into the Goblins," he asked again.

"I don't know, could be the weapons," Durrant considered.

"Could agents of the fifth," Tulane chimed in, seemingly to add to the confusion.

"I will think clearer in the morning," Linda said to Feorik. "I have been shown many things, but this spirit, this demon, ended our ritual." The priestess looked faint. Darvian stood and offered her his chair, which she obliged. "The walls of the world have been weakened, but it is beyond us when not bound."

Picking himself up off of his backside, "Well now, tha' was a waste o' good drink. Careful lad, or ye'll be a broken vessel, I promise ye." Sirilyr said curtly to the firmly held captive as he licked the spilled remains from a wet gauntleted thumb. "Ye don't count the druids in yer equation priestess." The soldier spoke without taking his hawkish eyes from the mad man. "As the good Feorik is so quick to point out, ye should. They'd be yer fifth force, a force of restoration mayhaps? Restoration of the 'appy times this land once knew under their guidance before this ancient abomination we all seem ta be seeking surfaced an poisoned all with it's vile power and call to outsiders..." 

"They've told me nothing," Sleene pouted, "but to stay with Durrant."

"Hernry sent us to you," Tulane said. "On the road to adventure!" He went back to fiddling with the mercenary's coins.

Feorik nodded his assent. "Hernry of Bilcoven got us out of that place," he said a little woodenly, remembering the frustrating circumstances of the sewer crawl and then what had happened after. "Used magic to move us too ... and healed us. Didn't seem important at the time ...," Feorik trailed off, then he finished in a growling tone, "but maybe he wanted us three involved in ... whatever is going on." Feorik's one eye bore into Sleene briefly.

Expelling a long deep breath, the ranger looked to Durrant. "Cap'n, the five forces makin' up the lady's tale will all close together in the woods nor'west o' 'ere. They'll close tight like the fingers o' a mailed fist," Sirilyr swiftly smashed his own closed fist in a loud plate and tankard rattling emphasis to his point, "an all will be crushed beyond repair or 'ammered out anew fer the people o' this land. The first thar will 'ave the most time ta find an 'ave the item's power fer their own purposes. An the ill led militia o' this lil' 'amlet are on a course 'owever accidental, straight inta it's path..."

"What lies there?" Durrant asked Ingend. "Think years back. Did someone come here? Go into the forest? An old merchant?"

Linda said softly, "Raymon."

Ingend nodded his head and took a moment to recollect, "He was here. Seven years ago. Came by few times, but some of the men that came in his caravan stayed..." The old man looked suddenly very nervous.

"Is that his name?" Durrant asked Linda astounded she knew it.

"Raymon Knobly. My father."

"That your mission?" Durrant asked getting angry again. 

"It has NOTHING to do with what he brought! I know nothing of that. He disappeared ten years ago. I don't know where he was or what he found!" She paused, "But I am afraid of what he has done, he practices the art of Mathonwy." She looked at Darvian, "A dangerous art." Another silence descended.

"Mylady, naturally everyone is afraid of the forces he or she doesn't understand, might they be beneficial or dangerous. But what I have seen tonight in this inn were not the powers of Mathonwy," Darvian pointed in the direction of the tied warrior.

"Is that some kind of sorcery?" Feorik asked Linda, while passing a glance over Darvian. Suddenly Goblins seemed to be the least of his worries.

"ALL sorcery is from the hand of Mathonwy," she stated.

Sirilyr's frosty mist gray eyes swept across all of the players of their deadly game challengingly. "I propose we turn the five inta two, the forces o' evil purpose versus those o' good intent." Smiling wickedly at the Brigantians, "even though they say the path ta 'ell be lined wit' good intentions. Thar do be strength in numbers when close fightin's to be done. If we survive, then we can squabble o're what's ta be done wit the bloody thing. 

"My own feelin' is that it be returned ta it's long dead creators an 'idden away where they an it can no' be found again. No man, nor earthly force," the ranger's gaze danced from soldier, to druid, to cleric as he finished, "should e'er 'old tha' much power. Tha' too may be yer fifth force m'lady, fer should the druids by thar very nature remain neutral in this 'igh stakes game o' chance, the power o' the item will surely corrupt those who claim it." 

Now hot in pursuit on the trail of his line of thought, Sirilyr said eerily, "Or yer fifth force could be the original owners themselves. After all, they've been seen walkin' about quite a bit o' late. An, our friend 'ere, an poor Geo an Spence, are proof tha' they can take a body when they 'ave the need o' it." Smiling coldly now towards his Captain, "What say ye Durrant, do we join an march 'ard after tha militia?" Who looked hard back, then turned to Jack hanging back at the wall.

"You must leave soon," Ingend said obviously upset. "Do not stay in Bilcoven."

"Whatever's goin' on; we should get out of here. Whatever's out there has gotta be stopped," Rasoric said taking chair across from Linda. Gods, but this is friggin spooky," he said to Linda, "I am your man in this."

"Let's lock this guy up and get some sleep," Durrant said. "We'll talk about it in the morning, we're all tired, and I've more questions for you Canon." His tone was almost derisive. The priestess glared back at him, but did not say anything, realizing she did indeed need to sleep, to gather the images her goddess showed her. She could only hope that the monster would stay away.

"Sirilyr, take him to the tower where we can lock him up," Durrant commanded. He then looked to Ingend who had moved behind the bar into the kitchen. "You've a key?" Durrant called to him.

"Oh, oh. I'll be right there. I'll just lock this place up behind you," the old man called back.

"Come on then," Durrant said as Feorik and Sirilyr picked the guy up and lead him cooperatively out of the tavern behind Durrant. Jack, Karod, Sleene, and Stellan headed back to their camp, and Darvian went to Arnough. Rasoric and Tulane followed, and Linda, Brian, and Storn came out last. The village was quiet under the cool night, wafts of cold air spread across the valley. They set the man at the table under the flickering light of the tower's fire waiting for Ingend to show them to the lockable room. Shadows surrounded the weary and spooked party. Quietly Linda, Brian, and Storn lit a candle and climbed the stairs towards their third floor rooms. "Can I count on ye to help watch this man's cell?" Durrant called up before the pilgrims disappeared down the hall upstairs. Durrant's southern accent slipping out in his tiredness.

"Of course," Storn called back, "I'll be down in a moment."

"Ye three. Ye seem to be assigned to me. Keep a watch in here, we'll be outside." The door creaked open, Arnough, Darvian, and Ingend came in. 

"Upstairs, a cell," Ingend said. "The last room there." He indicated the last door in the corner off the balcony opposite the stair. He climbed slowly, and Storn returned by the time the prisoner was secured. "I shall retire now," the village elder said when he made it back to the main floor. "Perhaps, one of you could see me home?"

"I'd be happy old sir," Rasoric volunteered. Feorik gave him a glance, but didn’t say anything. 

"You and Brian will share the night watch I assume?" Durrant asked. Storn nodded. "One of these three shall stay awake as well. I'll have my watch outside."

"I too," Arnough announced.

"Good then, we'll get some sleep and decide what to do in the morning. 

"Aye, we'll be up early to eat and prepare to follow Orinden. I'll be at your meeting," Feorik declared. "Oh, and Durrant," Feorik said gruffly, standing and fixing the man a level gaze. "You can command your men to bide their tongues as you will, but remember, a Watcher's duty is foremost to the People of the March. Not all of us are as yellow-livered as bastards like Calgurn," he added in a heavy voice.

"As do I, Watcher. Come along," Durrant clapped Sirilyr on the shoulder and they left. 

The door shut behind them. Tulane had already slipped back to their room, and Arnough and Darvian headed for the other. Darvian pointed the shield of Hescovar out to Arnough, "This shield contains more than meets the eye. Ingend told me a long story about it. There is some magic stored in it, but I only had very limited time to check it out. It might not have a connection with the evil magic out there, but I cannot exclude that there is a link to the ongoing events. It might play a role in their resolution." 

That left Feorik and Storn alone, "Guess I have first watch," Feorik said looking at the stoic holy guardian. He could not help feeling odd around the man.

"I'll be upstairs," Storn said and headed that direction. Feorik took the time to himself to reflect on how his life had changed since he had left Dir. Walking back and forth in the tower, and casting surreptitious glances beyond the dusty wooden shutters from time to time, images and people flew by in a pageant of reverie: Dayla's young, impressionable face, stern Calgurn, fresh-faced Deein and the rat-nosed Colbern, Druids and tree-magic, horrible Goblin mutilations, and that unforgettable voice of the Goblin Shaman, cut short by a well-placed arrow in the gullet. And now, that poor man at the bar and his spirit-possessed face. Faces of new friends too: Sleene, Durrant, Sirilyr, Linda and Storn... Then banging on the door brought Feorik back suddenly to the present. 

Ingend did not live far from the central village street, in fact just beyond the workshops across from the tower. He dismissed Rasoric at the front door, and Rasoric turned to return, or not. He glanced at the dark shadow that was the mysterious cavern beyond the cistern. It's light was gone now. Rasoric was more curious in Orinden. He walked to the large building that was home and workplace to the town's renown artisan. The windows were shuttered, and inside was black with darkness through the few slits he found. He crept up along the porch at the northern end of the main street and approached the large double door. He moved quietly and slowly, staying crouched and unseen by the eyes of the caravans at the other end of the street, and from the tower across. The doors were indeed locked, but crudely. Rasoric smiled as he thought how easy this would be. 

And indeed it was no problem to get the simple wooden lock to rotate the bars within. But the doors would not move. They held as firmly as if jammed. Then the hair on Rasoric's neck stood out with a creepy feeling that something was watching him. He turned, not too suddenly, but saw no one. Then, fear not subsiding, Rasoric glanced up. A myriad of little eyes gleamed down at him. The rafters above were decorated with many small stuffed animals, like the interior of the Rabbit. Just when Rasoric thought he could relax, his eyes were drawn to a glow standing out in the shadows above. A green light seemed to ooze from the eyes of an animal facing him, and the door. Eyes dead but for the sickly light. Eyes that watched him. Rasoric ran straight to the tower, like the hordes of the abyss were behind him. 

Rasoric fumbled with then threw open the door, "Feorik! Feorik! Come quick. Evil here in the village. Orinden evil." Pale as a ghost and staking, he began stammering. "Eyes. Door. Closed. Green." 

Seeing Rasoric so spooked alarmed Feorik, considering the boy's toughness. "Tell me about it outside. Let's go," Feorik commanded gruffly as he hefted a javelin and drew his long sword. 

"No! Not without the priestess. Dark. Need good magic. Get them all," Rasoric continued, walking toward the stairs as if to rouse everyone. Darvian opened his door to the main room and peered out curiously while pulling on his cloak. Rasoric dashed up the stairs. 

Feorik shrugged and stepped half in and out of the door, looking up and down the dark street. "Darvian. Some kind of trouble," Feorik said to the man from the corner of his mouth as he watched the shadows intently for movement, but seeing none.

"Linda, Canon Linda. Please come!" Rasoric voice echoed down from the hall and stairs beyond. Brian was just getting to sleep when the commotion started again. 

"Stop there!" Brian heard Storn intercept. "What? Calm down. Slow down." Storn tried unsuccessfully to get control of the babble.

"It's alright Storn," Linda said, "Let us see what he has found. Take us there Rasoric." Brian roused himself, grabbed what he could and followed. 

Storn saw him come out and said, "I'll stay here," looking annoyed at the young rogue's hysteria. Feorik and Darvian were on the porch, Arnough sitting at the table, head in his hands.

"Now then, Ras, what's going on?" Feorik asked seeing him lead Linda and Brian down the steps. 

The boy had calmed some, "Orinden's shop, I passed it on the way back from Ingend's. I, uh, passed by the door. When," he blanched, "the animals above - they were watching! Green eyes glowing froom the rafters. I - I - I felt the evil. The fear. He is hiding something in there!"

"But how can stuffed animals be watching? Are you sure of this? Let's take a closer look and see what this is really about," Brian said skeptically. Rasoric nodded, but stayed close to Linda. Looking across the street, the workshops were dimly starlit, foreboding.

"Bring the lantern," Linda said to Brian. Arnough looked up as he approached the table with the unlit lantern. Arnough looked tired. 

With lantern lit, they walked across and down the street to Orinden's workshop at the northern end. Linda walked boldly up to the boardwalk in front. "See the animals, like in the tavern," Rasoric said. Brian shined the light upon the rafters of the roof overhanging the porch. Sure enough, the furrier had adorned the boards with a variety of his taxidermy, mostly worse for the wear and strung with cobwebs. But they were still, silent, their glass eyes frozen in endless blindness. "They were watching!" Rasoric claimed a bit unsure. He stepped toward the porch, but stopped and made sure Linda followed closely. The windows were shuttered. Rasoric and Linda approached the double door. Rasoric turned and nervously looked up, Brian kept the light on the rafter. Rasoric's eyes got big and he pointed up.

"Oh my!" Linda exclaimed. A large raccoon faced the front door from the street side of the overhang postured in a defensive stance, with mouth in a snarl. It's eye sockets were empty. Darvian's jaw dropped and he took a step back when he saw the thing, not realizing yet that the abomination was unmoving and not some undead thing.

"That is a strange decoration! Was that there before, Rasoric?" Brian asked somewhat nervously.

"A totem. A ward," Linda said studying the raccoon.

"It was there, with eyes, right there. I swear," Rasoric said surely.

"Green eyes?" Feorik muttered, looking about skeptically. "Does anyone feel anything? I don't." But he kept his eyes on the raccoon, in case something was going on. The boy must have seen something, he thought. Now we have to find out what.

Darvian stepped closer, "Eyes are an important component of many detection spells like clairvoyance. It might well be that Orinden or a very powerful wizard used this stuffed animal as cover to have a clear look around this place. Rasoric must have seen him or her in the act. If that is the case the caster probably is quite far away from this place and there should be no immediate danger, on the other hand I at least have no possibility to find out who was behind the spell. If indeed a magic user is behind the evil around this place, as Linda suggests, we have to assume that he is aware of all our moves."

"What I don't see ... what good is using this thing's eyes to see in the middle of the night? It's dark, and no one is about!" Feorik asked, hoping that Darvian could point out something, perhaps obvious to him, that Feorik did not understand. 

Brian pondered the question. "Perhaps there is something of importance in this hall. What is kept here?" He shined the lantern about the porch and front of the workshop, the extent of the raccoon's field of view.

"You know a lot about sorcery," Feorik commented to Darvian. "A good thing ... up against the Shamhat, someone who understands its powers is a good ally. But," Feorik continued, "I've talked to Orinden. He's just a man, not a bender of forces. But he seemed so insistent and adamant about leaving ... maybe he was under some spell or trick," Feorik trailed off, musing more or less to himself.

Darvian smiled at Feorik. "Indeed I know a few things about sorcery, as you call it, but I don't know what or who a Shamhat is. Could you tell me what you think we are up to?"

Feorik stared at the man as if he there was some kind of joke that he didn't understand. "You were there, at the Rabbit?" Feorik asked the question, but it was rhetorical. He looked hard at Darvian, who shrugged slightly.

Brian continued dubiously, "If this raccoon is a ward, it is guarding the front doors. What happens if we try to enter? It's not that I want to trespass, but then suppose there is something supernatural here. I think we ought to have a look."

"There might be something important stored around here," Darvian commented. "But depending on the power of the caster a divination spell using the eyes of this raccoon could reveal some information about everything that is going on in Tir to the caster. But then again I think it would not hurt to have a good look around this place.

Linda nodded, "Let's see if they are open."

Brian approached the door and pulled the handles. There was a keyhole, a simple lock, probably latching the two doors together. The doors did not open. In fact, they did not budge, not a bit. "Well, let's try another way in before we break down any doors. How about a window?" Brian led the group to the side and held up the lantern while trying to pry open a shutter with the other hand. Brian commented on the woodwork and estimated it would be easy to be broken with a pry bar if it is barred. 

Before anyone tried using more force, Feorik stepped away from the lantern. "Hold a moment," he said, and he moved off into the blackness of the night, heading around the building to see if there was a rear entry. The moonlit gloom made shapes appear larger and blurred, but Feorik could make out wire boxes and the sharp smell of animal dung, although it did not threaten to overwhelm the pervasive stink of the tannery next door. Feorik moved past shuttered windows along the side wall and made out a door on the rear wall. He was rewarded for his efforts by an angry chitter from caged squirrels that caused a jump. Ignoring them, he moved towards the door and tried the handle. Locked. Or barred. 

The squirrels complained again, then a whisper, "Locked?" that startled the ranger. Darvian had followed him. Feorik did not answer. The door did not move at all. It was all getting stranger and stranger. Flexing a little, Feorik gave the handle a little more force. The fact that it did not move at all was evidence of something unusual. But what? Feorik grunted from the effort and swore darkly before moving away and back to the front. Darvian tried the handle too.

Feorik and Darvian returned from the dark shadows into the light of the lantern. Feorik wore a grim expression. "Unless someone's got a way around the locks, we'll have to kick in the doors," Feorik growled. If they can be kicked in, he thought worriedly.

"I'll pry a shutter up if you take the light," Brian offered. "If we find Orinden innocent, I'll apologize for the damage and personally rebuild the shutter."

"No. No. I don't like this," Linda said. "Obviously Orinden's got something to protect or hide. If he has put spells on the place, we are not prepared for them," she shot Darvian a glance noting his weariness. "We are tired. We should do this tomorrow, with Ingend's blessing." It was Rasoric's turn to get a look from her.

Darvian responded to Linda. "Mylady, I believe the entire place is sealed by strong magic. It is beyond my powers to detect it today or even do something against it. But if the raccoon totem really is connected to the place we might try to turn it around and see if that has any affect on the doors." 

"Okay. Help me up," Linda agreed. Feorik leaned down and locked his hands for her to step onto and lifted her up. 

Rasoric stepped to the door, "Here let me look at those door again, maybe stealth can get us where muscle won't." He began inspecting the door, jams, and seams. 

"Ug," Linda groaned, "It's nailed down." She struggled with it while Feorik tried to keep her balanced.

With a disappointed sigh, Brian set the lantern down on the porch. "I am not one to go breaking into people's houses," he told Darvian, "but Ingend would not likely agree to our search, and we won't get the bottom of this unless we have a look." He stepped around the side and to the first shuttered window. He lined up his axe to strike at the center latch, glanced around to ensure he had room to swing, then expertly struck between the two shutters, breaking the latch and sending splinters showering to the ground. Brian pried open the shutters with his axe blade. "Well, let's have a look," he leaned in to the dark opening. Silence and blackness.

The others on the porch heard the blow from around the corner. Feorik knew that whatever disapproval Ingend may have would be aggravated a thousand times by a man like Orinden, and he hoped for the sake of Durrant's reputation that what they were about to do would turn out to be warranted by what they found inside. He also felt Linda stop her attempts to loosen the raccoon. Feorik lowered her and grabbed the lantern. The three of them went around the corner to see what Brian had done. "Brian!" Linda exclaimed. Brian was leaning in to a dark window holding his axe, shutters moved aside.

Brian turned to them, more to request the light than defend himself. Just as he started to say something, a small black form flew out of the window and hit him on the side of the head. "Ahhg!" he called out and grabbed at it, dropping his axe. It latched on to him. Another zipped out and grabbed hold of his arm with oddly mobile arms, or wings. Feorik momentarily startled, got the light on the man. "Get it off, get it off!" he cried. Brian finally pulled it off his face, leaving several bleeding bites and scratches. He flung the bat against the wall and grabbed the one on his arm with his meaty hand. The bat had wrapped its wings around his arm. "It bites!" Brian grimaced as he tried to squeeze the life out of the thing. It felt like cool meat, despite its continued clawed grip on his arm and its chewing on his arm. It made no sound even as Brian knew he was crushing bones and organs. "Eoo. Its dead!" He claimed as he retched and nearly vomited. "I can't get it off." The other one was unfolding itself from the tangle it landed in in the dirt. 

Feorik, slammed the lantern into the gapping Rasoric's chest, and dashed over to help. "No! Get away from the window!" Linda called out a moment too late. 

"These are not what I would call pets!" Brian exclaimed as Feorik approached and he finally peeled the bat from his arm, tiny claws raking through his garment. It continued to try and grab onto him as he balled it up like some sort of living piece of fly paper. When he looked up to Feorik, two more bats had flown out and were silently attacking him. The one eyed ranger was taken by surprise, but they had not landed on him yet. They flew with oddly slow and mechanical movements. Their mouths opening and closing, claw tipped wings grasping. Feorik batted at them, hitting one, but it recovered before it hit the ground.

"Crush it!" Feorik barked as he egged on Brian. Not really too sure what these things were, he reached for his knife, but frowned as he remembered that that most trustworthy of companions was not with him anymore. Making fists, he was determined to swat the things from the air and crush them underfoot.

Brian needed no encouragement, he stomped down on the bat he just managed to throw to the ground. "Where I come from bats only eat insects," he said in a slightly high pitched nervous voice as he moved quickly over to the bat struggling on the ground by the wall. Brian's fear and disgust redoubled as he felt the crushed thing still twitching intently beneath his boot. The other crumpled bat also still wiggle about. Giggling unintentionally, he got down on his knees and grasped his axe and hacked at it fervently from his knees, "Die, you infernal creatures!!" He stopped when it was a pile of black goo, then spun away and retched. "Ughh... Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

Linda had joined Feorik's futile attempt to thwart the two flying creatures' attacks. Pale and wide-eyed with fear they smacked at them, but somehow the things maintained their jerky flight. A bit dazed, with pounding head and watering eyes, Brian watched them fight. They swung and jerked their own limbs trying to avoid the bites and claws of the little flying demons. Rasoric, club in one hand, lantern in the other, had approached the window and was peering in.

"NO!" both Linda and Brian exclaimed at once. Whether that startled Rasoric or he sensed the bats, the boy jerked back and ducked suddenly as four bats swooped at him through the window. Setting the lantern on the ground, Rasoric sprung back up and swung his club as the creatures turned back toward him. The blow was wild and smacking the wall leaving his arm exposed where on of the bat landed on him and sunk its teeth through the fabric. Brian pushed himself up with his ax and watched the bat's motion; it was not feeding, it was just inflicting pain. It did not bite and suck, it kept biting, gnawing, clawing. On his feet he paused to look to his own wounds, which were superficial but streaming with blood. "Ow!! What vicious teeth those little monsters have!" He moved toward the window along the wall. One of the bats trying to get through Rasoric's flailing defense suddenly zipped at him. Somehow the sudden jerk of his ax intercepted it, and it bounced to the side. Brian gripped one side of the shutter and flung it over the window where it managed to hit Rasoric and bounce back. "Move!" Brian shouted at him.

They all heard shouts for help, but were too busy fending off the abhorrent bats to worry about that. Rasoric finally pulled the unnatural creature from his arm after repeated heavy but awkward blows did not deter the thing from pulling his skin and veins apart with its needle sharp teeth. His motion had taken him out of Brian's way; who again swung the shutter over the opening with a crack. Another bat flew out the other side, and, crack, the closed side suddenly vibrated as it was hit from within. Brian put his hand on it and pressed it tight. Whack, the other side was slammed shut by Darvian's staff. He held the hefty pole against both shutters, sealing the horrors within the dark furrier's shop.

A cool move, but Darvian was anything but cool. He was yelling, looking back to the street. "Hold the shutters, Darvian!" Brian positioned himself where he could defend the other man.Hands choked high on the axe for a quicker and shorter swing, he raised his axe and waited, timing the swing until the next bat swooped in to bite. It impaled itself on the blade, at least a half inch into its body. Heedless of the pain of what should be a mortal wound, the winged arms continued to reach out and claw at Brian's arm. Brian smashed the axe into the wall, cleaving the bat in two.

Feorik sensed as his periphery made out the two holding the opening to Orinden's shop closed. It was a good thing, who knew what else could be in there. It was clear now to Feorik that Orinden was no mere furrier. These beasts seemed possessed as opposed to highly trained. How does one train a bat to be a guard, anyway? These thoughts whirled through his head as he tried to rid the night air of the pests. He and Linda's attempts to knock them down had been futile and they had many scratches from the things' claws and teeth that seemed ever extended. Linda screeched and spun about, a bat attached to her lower back. 

Feorik ripped the bat off her, leaving tears in her heavy robe. He tossed it to the ground and quickly stepped on it. While he ground down on it, he went for his sword. He grimaced as the wings attached to the crushed body continued to wiggle and grab onto his boot. Then two sharp small sharp pains stuck the both sides of the back of neck. Linda was batting furiously at two bats flutter about her. Feorik reached over and grabbed one of his bats and squeezed and pulled. It was quick to grasp onto his hand with its clawed-finger tipped wings. He felt them both mechanically chewing on his neck. 

Since throwing one bat to the ground, Rasoric had managed to keep the other off of him, but before he had a chance to smash it, it jerkily leaped back into flight. He managed to get his back to the wall defensively back toward the street. Rasoric kept his club swooping back and forth. Darvian look about at the morbid battle around him, the nature of these bats dawning on the mage now that his initial fear and panic had subsided. "We've got to get out of here!" Darvian shouted.

"I'm with you Darvian, let's get out of here," Rasoric shouted as he continued backing out of the alley along the wall. 

"Nnnnng!!!" Feorik agreed through clenched teeth, although he wasn't sure just how to get moving with the things still biting him. He ripped the cool bat from his neck and threw it to the ground. He stomped at it while trying to poke the other biting him with his sword. The one on the ground flopped away and if the thing on his neck felt the pain of the blade pushing through it, it did not show it. He shoved the sword through it, impaling the creature and tearing it off him, again leaving scratches where the needle shard claws and teeth had sunk through to flesh.

Linda was running from the alley. Seeing her, Brian called to all, "Run to the tower!" Seeing Darvian hesitate, Brian backed against the shutters and nodded for the mage to run. Feorik quickly scraped the squirming mess off his sword with his boot and begun swinging the blade about in a defensive pattern. He and Brian shared a knowing look. All bats where airborne at the moment, unable to penetrate the axe and sword defense. As if on a telepathic cue, the two fighters bolted for the street. Rasoric and Linda were almost across, there was a group of men coming from the warehouse encampment. 

A small stair spiraled down in an alcove beyond the monastery's door. Spencer descended with Georan behind looking nervous. It ended in a stone corridor running north-south under the monastery above. An occasional candle sputtered in sconces along each side of the wall. A short distance south of the stair's arched point of egress the hall teed to the east and west. Alcoves also lined this hall. Getting frustrated with the complexity of the place, they saw the priest's curious boys peak out from two shadowy openings. They looked nervous. "Viatteni?" Spencer asked.

William beckoned Joanor back into his cell and came to them. "I have not seen him. He returned to his chambers a short while ago, then went somewhere else." 

"Where?"

"I did not hear him leave."

"What is down here?" asked Spencer looking around, "Just quarters?"

William nodded.

"Surely he's not gone outdoors? Where do you think he is?"

Shrugging William said, "Sometimes he goes away for awhile."

"Are these stairs the only exit?"

"There's another at the end of the hall," he indicated back the way he had come.

"Where does it lead?"

"To the kitchen and stores."

"Well, I'm going to look around for him, if you don't mind," Spencer said, then turned to retrace his steps. He figured this to be a good excuse to explore the complex in a bit more detail.

"Would you like a guide?"

"We'll find our way, thanks."

He walked down the long hall, passed Joanor's cell and his wide eyed stare to the stairs at the end. They led down to a cool store room and up to a large kitchen. Even in the orange light, the place was clean. The stove still radiated warmth, but its fire was out. A door led to a large room with several tables pushed against the wall, an arched opening opposite led into the hall where the soldiers were bunked. The two at the distant table looked their direction, but did not move or say anything. They decided to avoid them. Another door off the kitchen was barred; it opened outside north of the stables. The grounds were dark, moonlight washed across as gray clouds sailed by silently.

The stairs continued up to the next level, offering another exit. The spiraling stairs ended there at a wooden door. It creaked loudly as they pushed it open revealing a large, dusty dining room. An iron chandelier hung above the table; its sockets empty of candles. Cloths covered the table and chairs. A chest of drawers against the wall was decorated with an old glass lamp and a couple vases. The drawers contained a set of fancy dishes, utensils, candles, incense, and a linen tablecloth and napkins.

The dining room opened on a chamber furnished with padded chairs and couches with carved wooden legs and arms. The cloth coverings showed the decay of age. Georan slapped his hand on one seat and sent up a plume of dust and broke several strands of the cushion's cover. Empty bookshelves lined the paneled wall of the sitting room. It took a few moments to locate the exit door in the dim light; it was concealed along the lines of the paneling. Beyond it, a hall of many doors. The rooms along the hall were sleeping chambers, dusty and unused. The hall ended at Georan's room, with Spencer's around the corner.

Passed Spencer's room, the hall opened on a balcony looking over the nave. The stair across from his room also let up to next level. There were a series of interconnected rooms, all dusty, unused, and barren. Every other one had a curtained balcony to the nave. Nothing of interest, and no sign of Viatteni. They climbed back down to the main floor and crossed the echoing temple to the hall opposite. Many openings to small alcoves lined both sides, most occupied only with a stone prayer bench. A spiral stair led up to two other silent and empty floors of room after room. The place was obviously meant to house a great many monks or clerics, but it had been a long, long time since then. With nothing more to see, they returned to their rooms. Alone, Spencer sketched the temple layout, and Georan halfheartedly looked through his notes and sketches before stretching out on the comfortable beds to sleep.

Darvian stopped mid-street and turned as the fighters ran up, "Wait! Wait! They'll not follow." He looked scared, pale, but sure of himself. "Look," he told them nodding toward the alley. Barely visible, but under-lit by the lantern left behind, the remaining few bats fluttered about randomly, then flew up to the peak of Orinden's' roof and disappeared through some unseen crevice. 

  Gasping for breath, Brian managed to overcome his fear. "Obviously, those are diabolical creatures and Orinden has something to hide."

"My gods!" Durrant exclaimed as he bounded up with a few of his and Arnough's men, weapons drawn. Feint padded after them. After a brief look at the five blood smeared victims, they squared off on the alley. "What is going on?" the burly merchant asked any of them.

Brian rushed to explain, "We went to look into Orinden's shop and found it guarded by some unholy creatures! "

Feorik in a half-crouch, blade bared, and bleeding said at the same time while breathing in ragged gasps, "Guardians," he panted, "horrible bat-things!"

"Darvian understands them better than I..." Brian trailed off as his fear and nausea returned, staring at a still-twitching finger from the dead bat he had cleaved in two. The gruesome appendage was wriggling on the haft of his axe just below the blade, a tiny portion of leathery black wing dangling from it like a shred of half-rotted carrion. With disgust he flicked it to the ground and stepped back.

Laying a steadying hand on the man's shoulder, Feorik grimly ground the remains under his heel and spat before standing and inspecting his wounds more closely. Luckily, nothing seemed too serious, just a lot of surface wounds and ripped clothing; he hoped the same was true for Brian. He flashed the axe man a grin, as post-battle relief flooded through him. Feorik rounded on Darvian. "You know what those things were," he stated. "They weren't alive, were they?" Feorik asked, a little afraid of the answer.

Darvian shook his head, but Linda spoke before he answered, "We must clean these wounds." She headed for the well not too far away in the center of the street. 

"They've flown back into the shop," Darvian assured the Durrant and the guards before he hand the others went to draw buckets from the well. Arnough and Storn opened the tower door, Arnough approached.

Sirilyr half-heartedly laughed, "Well Cap'n, it looks like we found our missing mage eh?" Exhaling heavily he then stated, "If'n I be right about the location o' the items we seek, it be no wonder Orinden pushed ta lead the militia into the woods in tha' direction. The town should be safe come first light. We should pursue 'im now an make up some time. We could burn the wizard's shop an 'ave a few o' us sift through the ashes in the light o' day. Anything worth a look, you can bet the bastard put in a iron box in case o' fire."

"He ain't our man," Durrant stated, "but there's more to him than we knew." 

Interest peaked, and believing Durrant to be unforthcoming on all he knew of the mysterious magic user they had been seeking, the seasoned ranger prodded. "So now the missin' mage is a man, eh? Ye know that much now than ye did before we got 'ere. What else do ye know of 'im 'Captain' an when are ye goin' ta share yer knowledge wit the rest o' us? Damnit Durrant! We're facin' spirits an the undead now. No' flesh an blood! Any bit of information a body 'as on 'and might save a life, maybe yours..." 

Durrant suddenly reached out and grabbed Sirilyr under the right arm. He squeezed gently, but sent a tremendous pain up Sirilyr's side, Sirilyr had not experienced this before. The hold was so subtle that it was not even obvious Durrant was doing more than resting his hand. In a calm but stern voice Durrant said to Sirilyr only, "Orinden's a local, prominent at that. Famous. Probably makes most the furs in the March." The Bilcovs wore lots of fur Sirilyr quickly visualized his encounters the last six days in the Marchy. "The man's barely old as Linda, and if her father is the old trader Ingend and the Mayor of Sola recalled - and a wizard - than he's our man! Now don't go accusing me. Your tired. Been on the road all day, scraping with goblin scum, insane mercenaries." He released the hold. "You, Sleene, and those new boys will head out after Orinden in the morning," Durrant said matter of factly as if nothing had happened.

Aye, I'm tired. And I'll serve ye. But, you better be right, an hope it's no' spell work fer changin' appearance or Linda is no' 'ere ta collect 'er dowry! Cause there'll be blood spilled if'n yer wrong!" Frustration vented, Sirilyr fixed Durrant with a hard glare, cursed, and shaking his head walked over to where Darvian was standing washing flecks of blood from himself. Darvian spoke with Arnough as they all took turns pouring water over and rubbing their scrapes and small bites.

"The furrier has animated bats. It is a lost, forbidden, practice. It can be done to any dead flesh," Darvian glanced hard around to his audience. "But it is not life, not intelligent. Simple instructions. The bats were to attack anyone coming through the window and remaining in the alley. They will do the same over and over until destroyed. There may be worse within."

Spitting upon the dusty ground, Sirilyr replied with great disdain, "Necromancy! No decent 'umanbein' would be caught dead workin' magic the likes o' that." He finished with a mischievous grin to the group assembled around the well.

Feorik spat too. "Aye, sorcery is foul."

"He could have brought that spirit creature into this world," Linda said. "Intentionally or not. But it is linked to my father. We must find out more about Orinden, but leave his cursed shop alone."

"What's this about your father, then?" Feorik asked curiously. And then he added as a side note, "When I met the man, Orinden I mean, earlier today, he seemed...I...uh," Feorik paused, grasping for the right word, "a little too intense, too focused. Maybe it was not the Orinden of Tir that lived here as a furrier. Maybe it was someone else. Or someone possessed." The memory of the Shamhat was still fresh in his head. Linda shook her said to fend off the inquiry.

Brian had loosened the buckles on his armor and revealed a few more scratches wherever he was not fully covered by the thick leather. "I am not eager to find what other horrors Orinden has prepared unless we can find a way to undo their magic. Yet before we do anything as drastic as burning down his shop, we should go to the village elders."

"Yeah. Orinden, his family, have been working here for as long as I can remember," Arnough offered. "I can barely believe he'd be doing something like this."

Feorik spat again, and said nothing, intent on his own thoughts for the moment.

"Well lad, when the elders in their infinite wisdom say the time 'as come ta take a looksie in tha' lil' shop o' 'orrors, then it'll be a case o' after you!" Whistling loudly for the hound, as the exasperated ranger turned away shaking his head at the foolishness of someone willingly going into a dark building known to have undead infesting it. "Feint, come on boy. Let's reacquaint ourselves wit those blankets."

"Say a prayer tonight, all of you," Linda advised. "I will talk to Ingend in the morning. But we all need sleep now."

"Bah!" The ranger retorted. The exasperated Sirilyr could be heard muttering to himself halfway back to the merchant's camp. Feint lowered his head and stayed well behind in difference to his master's mood.

Ignoring him, Durrant growled, "Ingend will have t' answer my questions too." He waved his guards back to their camp and they followed Sirilyr and his attentive dog. Arnough told his guards to go back too, but he lingered with Darvian. Feorik, Rasoric, Brian, and Linda returned to the tower. Storn upset at Linda's injuries, minor though they were, advised Brian that he would keep watch on the ground floor until morning and allow Brian to rest. 

"Wake Tulane if you need him," Feorik suggested despite having no doubt that the big paladin would have no need of relief. Tulane was sleeping soundly, an occasional snore erupting. He was definitely a city guard, no field soldier.

Brian helped Linda climb the stairs to the third level. The boys keeping watch from the upper floor were sneaking peaks at the two slightly wet, scratched strangers from the top of the stairs. They ignored their curious stares. Brian peaked in to see Mellody, but fortunately she seemed sound asleep breathing deep and steady. 

Morning came too soon for all. The many cocks throughout the area of scattered huts west of the village proper announced the new day loudly and often. Feorik woke from a half-remembered dream with a start, and forced himself up. His head throbbed from sleeping in the Tower. Taking a deep breath, Feorik shouldered into his armor, which carried a deep stink from constant use over the past weeks. He wrinkled his nose and vowed to visit a stream at the first opportunity. He gave Rasoric and Tulane small kicks. "Wake up!" he commanded then headed outside the room and went to check on the possessed man before he did anything else. He hadn't made a fuss all night, but he was still bound by the hands.

Morning preparations were made in a somber mood as everyone thought of what had transpired of late, and making little sense of any of it. At least the goblins and spirits had not returned. The air was chill, but the sky clear. Durrant, Sirilyr, and Sleene came to the tower and let them know that a breakfast was on the way, the tavern was a bit busy this morning as rumors of last night's events spread and the villagers gathered to enhance them. 

"Ingend will be here soon with a few of the other villagers. We'll explain what happened last night, and get some answers about Orinden," Durrant said.

"I don't trust Ingend," Feorik breathed. "There's something ... I don't know what. But for one I think he knows much he is not telling."

Darvian slowly shook his head, "Most people here apparently know more than they let on. I have this terrible sinking feeling that I am the only one who doesn't have a clue what is going on. Durrant talks about some power, possibly evil. The lady Linda thinks the mystery is somehow connected to her missing father. Sirilyr seems to know where Orinden led the villagers the other day and even you seem to grasp the horrendous happenings of yesterday much better than I do. So isn't it only natural that Ingend has a few secrets as well?"

Feorik couldn't refrain a tired-sounding throaty chuckle, "I assure you than even I know very little. I can total it in one word: Goblins. But there is something very much more important going on here," Feorik said to Darvian, and at the last he passed a significant look to Durrant and Linda. "I want to help ... you can trust me."

"What if he knows about Orinden? What if the whole village knows?" Tulane asked just hearing the story himself.

"This place has secrets. Last night Sirilyr and I saw a cave outside the village, with torchlight within and a man on guard without. I don't know if that's significant, but I certainly want to know what is in there," Feorik scratched his brow in recollection of the strange scene.

"Their water supply - an underground lake. They did not guard it while I was here though," Sleene explained.

Feorik nodded at the explanation. "Makes sense," he growled. 

"I'd be willin' ta wager there be more'n jest water they be guardin' in tha' hole. This business wit' spirits a roamin' the local woods an' undead creatures in the town proper 'as gotta be connected. I'm thinkin' Orindens' got 'isself inta more'n he can chew. I'll be surprised if'n we don' find 'im dead before this is over," Sirilyr said the ranger as he squatted down to rub the hound's ears and belly while talking.

Rasoric said to Sleene, "Well its certain that this village is not all that it seems. I think if you scratch the surface of this place, it , well it just smells that's all. I think we should go up to that cave now and find out whats goin' on."

"If they've got something to guard, and they left able bodied men to do it when most of'm headed off with Orinden," Durrant mentioned to Rasoric, "then they left enough guards to deal with trespassers. Suspicious or not, we are guests in Tir for the next hour or so, and we'll try not to anger our host. They've enough reason to pillage my supply of weapons already.

"We'll get what get from Ingend," Durrant continued, "and I plan to head to Ziret with my load. Arnough?"

Arnough nodded, "And I to Sola."

The door creaked open and three boys laden with food entered. A smile broke upon Sirilyr's face as the dog licked it's master's hand and washed away the worried continence he had borne. "Let's talk more o'er some breakfast!" Sirilyr suggested hungrily. Flock Master, Ingend, and Master Tanner, Kipp, followed with a woman about Linda's age, Star, Kipp's eldest daughter. The food was set up on the large central table and the boys were sent upstairs to watch out the tower. Linda said a prayer over the meal and thanked the Tirian's for the food. The ranger arched an eyebrow at the priestess's sanctimony and began to eat before she had finished her prayer ignoring Storn's displeasure of his actions.

"Our pleasure! For you help keeping the goblins from the village," Ingend concluded with a wrinkled smile. There was an awkward silence as the rest began to eat. Feorik attacked it, not really talking or even looking at anyone until he was done. No doubt he seemed an uncouth barbarian to these others - dirty, unshaven, foul smelling and with an appetite of an ox. 

"So I see the rumors are true," Ingend said looking at the red scratches adorning Linda, Brian, Feorik, Rasoric, and Darvian. "From Orinden's?" He seemed calm, masking any anger at the trespass. 

"Yes," Linda acknowledged. "Apparently the Master Furrier has employed some magical wards that frightened Rasoric as he passed near on his return from taking you home." 

Sirilyr choked on the bite he had been swallowing, wolfing it down with a grimaced look at Linda. Taking his plate of hot food and cup of steaming tea, he rose from the table with the words, "I ne'er thought I'd see the day when 'good' church goin' folk would be found openly practicin' the arts o' theivin', as Orinden's damaged shutter' latches tell upon ye an all who took part in last night's shenanigans. You an Storn there really re-enforce my faith in the Druid's way, they don't tell much. But, they don' lie an then cloak their deceit in sanctimony either. I'm goin' fer fresh air Durrant." The ranger spoke without breaking eye contact from Storn and Linda. "Ingend there be undead in Orinden's shop. You'd do well ta burn it ta the ground by light o' day fer the safety o' yer women an children. I'll be on the porch o'er yonder Cap'n."

"Ye complain about not having all the information then try to storm off when we're all here to get it on the table! Sit down and listen! No need to anger and disrespect anyone at this table," Durrant said loudly and red-faced. Sirilyr went and stood in the open doorway defiantly.

"Now is not the time for discord or secrets," Brian advised, "Canon Linda may have some personal reasons for being here just like Darvian does or Sleene does, but she is primarily interested in restoring peace and godliness to Bilcoven. Let us all do what is best for the Marchy and the world around. The gods are watching us now, we must stand up to the test." The others stared or raised eyebrows at the exchange, but an amused smile touched Sleene's face, quietly munching on dried fruit to the side, as the humans argued.

"The intrusion was unwise," Linda glanced at Brian, "but not an attempt at burglary," returning Sirilyr's hard stare across the room. "That does not change the fact that Orinden is using magic, foul magic, to protect and defend his shop."

Kipp shuffled in his seat, but Ingend just nodded and said, "Something attacked you, something he keeps in his shop?" 

"Necromatic bats," Linda told him flatly. The Tirians got wide eyed; Sleene grimaced with revulsion.

"I assure you, we had no idea," Ingend glanced from Linda to Durrant. Feorik harrumphed at that, but said nothing, watching the conversation develop.

"As we told you last night, I believe my father passed through here. You recalled him. May he have had contact with Orinden?" Linda asked him.

Ingend looked at Star. She seemed to take that as a cue, "Nay. Raymon spent little time here. But some of his guards came here to stay. One of them, Jayep, befriended Orinden. They were good friends, young then. Until, like the others, Jayep died."

"All those that came with this strange merchant are dead or missing," Ingend told them. "Then those that came looking. Someone, or something, wants this man's secrets buried," his eyes indicated the seriousness of the warning.

"And would that not be the man?" Feorik asked directly. "Or do you know, Master Ingend, who?" As his eyes met the old man's, Feorik passed his own seriousness back to the old man - a serious desire to uncover this plot.

"My father was a good man," Linda said defensively, but without conviction.

"No," Ingend answered Feorik, "It's been many years since we've seen Raymon."

"But only a couple since some others came looking," Star interjected, their fate obvious by the look on her face.

Durrant furrowed his brow, "These men died how?"

Kipp answered very unhappy at this situation, "Nay murdered outright. Accidents. As if fate herself snipped their thread. The rest just went away, fearing the curse they brought."

Linda watched Star. "Did Orinden change after that?"

Star nodded, "Began to take his position seriously. His family died in the early winter - before his father completed his training. Finished his training himself, been wholly successful. But a different person," the woman was obviously saddened. 

"Taken no apprentice, no wife," Kipp said harshly. 

A moment of quiet. 

No one would keep a sorcerer's secrets long, Feorik thought, understanding that last part of the puzzle at least. "Ingend," Feorik said, "It's important to get inside Orinden's shop. Or destroy it, before whatever foul things that are in there, whether they be animated or just lost and despicable knowledges, hurt anyone else."

"We shall deal with that," Kipp said.

"And Orinden now he leads your village into danger," Durrant said. "And the Shamat clerics - heading the same direction."

"The mercenary said they followed a map," Linda said. "He did not have the map?"

"No. Just some weird coins I had never seen before," Tulane said.

"Coins? What coins?" Feorik asked, looking at Tulane. 

"Those coins in his pouch. Ingend took them last night when we brought the guy here," Tulane answered.

Ingend looked confused a moment, then nodded, "I just scooped them up. Were they odd? I left them at home."

"I must find that map," Linda concluded . "My divination tells me they and I seek the same thing. You too Durrant. 'Knowledge damned by the damned.' And a warning about a union of evils."

"Alright," Feorik said evenly, "I want to know about this map, and about what this has to do with Goblins, Black cultists and that Shamhat Spirit." Inside he doubted they would tell him much, as he passed his gaze from Durrant to Linda, but he had to ask.

"The mercenary called the death cult 'Shamat'. I think the spirit demon is something else. Something my father, or Orinden, has done," Linda corrected. "Of the goblins I have no guess."

"Goblins in the sewers. More followed us here," Durrant pondered. "I don't know," Durrant shook his head. "Pawns? Or nothing? 

Feorik took a deep breath, "My thinking...something's stirred up the Goblin filth…made them wiser than they should be," Feorik almost spat on the floor remembering the Shaman and its trophies, and the darkness, but he just bared his teeth in an ugly snarl. "The Druids know what's going on, but they can't ... or won't interfere openly. But that doesn't mean they can't help indirectly. Also, somewhere they're foul men with rotten hearts involved, from scum in Bilcoven," Feorik looked at Rasoric, "to here in Tir, or elsewhere. I can't help understand the religious significance," he admitted. "But rotten hearts can spread into any man," he said, not looking at either Linda or Storn. "Or maybe possess them."

Sleene started at this mention of the Druids and looked sharply at Feorik. With sharp resentment, the druidess said, "I have asked the Elder Druids for help. I think they know what is going on but don't believe it will affect the balance." She lapsed into silence but Feorik's words have put an unwelcome thought into her head, but why am I here if we have chosen not to be involved. For some reason, this thought disturbed her.

" The druids very lack o' specifics, even ta one o' their own," Sirilyr nodded to Sleene, "leads me ta believe they are not the fifth force o' which ye refer ta. Although, aye do think they 've an interest in what 'appens. An they'll probably withdraw the curtain on their show after the sought item 'as been found by others." 

"And then only if the elders believe it will affect the balance," Sleene amended.

"Goblins matter not," Durrant stated noting Sirilyr taking a step or two closer to the table. "The 'Knowledge' is what must be found. If it is what was brought here from Kantar, it would be very old, very dangerous. I think you should go for the map," Durrant looked at Feorik, then Tulane and Rasoric.

"'The gobbos'r wantin' Durrant's wagons, I wonder if the powers o' the artifact can aid in the creation o' magic weapons? The 'eathens need the iron in the Capn's care ta equip a large force o' 'em. Whoever controls the item probably doesn't care which o' 'em weilds the things as long as they serve their malevolent purpose. 'ell, beggin' yer pardon ladies, even if the artifact canno' create magic weapons, those green devils won't know it, till they're killed with iron in 'and. Then what're the buggers ta do, complain? Hahaha!" Sirilyr laughed.

Turning to Durrant Darvian asked, "Kantar? What is the link between the disappearance of this merchant Raymon and the mysterious object of power you and our obsessed prisoner are talking about?"

"Please, tell what happened in the past," Feorik requested.

"An ancient kingdom - a ruin - far to the northeast, of even Bilcoven. An expedition of unknown sponsorship went there. This is the tale of one of them, a monk, Riotta, that returned with the warning that the expedition had discovered something, became corrupted by this 'Knowledge damned by the damned' as it is," Durrant glanced at Linda, "and brought it back here to Bilcoven."

"With the thief Frobert an 'is motley band," Sirilyr said looking over to Brian. "Maybe for that bloody bastard o' the Goblin War Ahkinar. Ay've a gut feelin' the mage in Riotta's party was Ahkinar or Ahkinar's minion. We don' even know if Riotta's mage was male or female, an all o' 'e's party are supposedly dead. But I believe one o' them, probably the mage, is still alive and runnin' around as someone else." 

"I was my father in Kantar, I am sure of it," Linda said.

Darvian just gasped and looked to Linda. "And you are afraid that he went to look for this power and got corrupted himself..."

Linda nodded, "And perhaps this very land."

"Eight foreigners died while either in Tir or in Ziret, ay've seen their graves," Sirilyr said.

"And we know they were Frobert's," Durrant interjected.

"But we do'no know 'ow many were," Sirirlyr finished.

"The only people travelling these parts that haven't all died mysterious deaths are the bandits who some people call Kildarae. I think maybe we'll find some of them there, if we go into the woods." Brian's voice trailed off, and he looked imploringly at the group for more information.

Feorik felt a chill at this news. He had hoped for a simple explanation, such as a Goblin chief calling the tribes together against the Tirians who had extended their hunting areas into their territory. But this ... this was something totally foreign to the Watcher. Trying to tie it all together, Feorik sighed and rubbed his eye. "So .. so, someone explain, then, what Orinden, or perhaps someone possessing Orinden, wants of the villagers of Tir?" 

The two men looked a bit nervous at the question. Durrant pressed them, "Orinden roused the men's pride, not wanting the Marchion involved. Is there more to it than that?"

"No," Ingend said unconvincingly after exchanging glances with Kipp. "We've not gotten along with the Marchion lately."

"Whatever his motive, he is not to be trusted," Linda stated looking between the two locals. 

"What to do about him and your villagers?" Durrant asked.

"We've sent for the Marchion, despite Orinden's protests. If he responds, his cavalry will arrive today. We can warn them to be wary and take Orinden into custody," Kipp said.

     "If not?"

Kipp shook his head.

"Then some one must wait to see if the cavalry comes, and set out to keep watch on Orinden, or warn the villagers, if they do not."

"Delak, our Chief Watcher, is with them. He is strong and good," Ingend said. "He will know what to do." 

"But, Orinden's ward consumed the eyes of the raccoon; he may be aware of the intrusion," Darvian commented. 

"And suspicious of any of you who would approach," Storn continued the thought looking around at each of the would-be intruders of last night.

"With so many at his command, too dangerous to send any of you," Durrant concluded. 

"We go for the map," Linda reminded them, "but we'll need to track the mercenary, or take him with us."

Brian nodded his head to the priestess, "You need only tell me what must be done, and I will see to it. With Brigantia's blessing, our ultimate victory is assured." Sirilyr rolled his eyes with a pained look skyward at the comment.

Feorik growled. He didn't like the fact that he couldn't go after the villagers, but he couldn't argue with the logic that Orinden could already know they were onto him. "That man would only slow us down, or be a dangerous tool of the enemy," Feorik decreed when the conversation shifted to the mercenary. "I say we leave him in Tir's gaol."

"Feorik, Rasoric, you'll accompany the Priestess with Karod," Durrant instructed. "Sirilyr, Sleene, and Tulane will wait for cavalry and go with them or without to find Orinden and Delak."

"I will too," Star stated, "Orinden and Delak know me." Kipp started to protest, but did not.

Nodding his head, the ranger asked Durrant, "'ow long do ye want us ta wait fer the soljurs before followin' ye if'n they don't come as planned Cap'n?"

Durrant looked to Ingend who answered, "If his men do not arrive by this afternoon, they'll not be coming. Durin and Beowert should be back too."

"Head to Orinden this afternoon if they don't arrive," Durrant told them.

Durrant thought a moment, "My mage is missing as well as my map-maker. When did those two say they'd get back?" Durrant asked Sirilyr.

"They didno' say Cap'n. If'n they be possessed by the spirits, an' I think they be, then they'll like as not return when the spirits be through wit' 'em." Sirilyr answered in a monotone and avoiding the accusatory look he felt like giving the church folk.

"This is not your concern Arnough, but I think it best for one familiar with magic go. Could I hire Darvian from you?" Durrant inquired.

Arnough looked at Darvian, "He's proven his worth to me, and there still goblins about."

"Eh, money's not a problem. For you either Darvian." 

"It's up to you Darvian."

Darvian looked from Durrant to Arnough. "No, money is not the problem. I would like to find out more about this mystery. I will join Canon Linda and follow the map. Arnough, I am sure my ward would like me to go."

"I am sure he'd be more than interested," Arnough agreed to wit Durrant gave him a hard stare.

Feorik shifted anxiously, like a caged bear. "I'm ready to be off, let us get supplies and leave while the sun is still low," Feorik said. He set in motion the end of the meeting, every one looked worried and thoughtful as they pushed away from the table. Linda thanked Ingend for the meal, and headed upstairs with Mellody, Storn, and Brian to gather their belongings. The three from Bilcoven went to their room to equip. The rest headed for the warehouse.

As they donned their armor, equipment, and weapons Feorik told Tulane, "If the Marchion's men ask about me," he said quietly, "tell them I'll be back in Dir when this is over. And you take care of yourself. Listen to Sirilyr and cover his back." 

Tulane nodded. "Not sure who's got the better mission," he added with his usual touch of sarcasm. They finished and stepped back into the common room. The pilgrims were noisily climbing down the wooden stairs. "I think I'd rather be with Priestess, odd as she is." They noticed Master Kipp upstairs checking on the prisoner. 

He came to the balcony as the pilgrims entered, "Sleeping soundly still."

Brian called across to him, "I too was quick to turn on him when I first learned of his evil actions, but he was possessed by an evil spirit that is now gone. Let him live and when we return, we'll see what we can learn from his poor soul about this evil!" 

Master Kipp looked suspicious but replied, "If you wish it Lady of Brigid, we will hold him for you."

Linda nodded, "Please. If he regains his senses, he may tell us more about the clerics he was with."

The villagers were nervously watching them from the alleys and sidewalks as they made their way from the tower to the warehouse barn where both caravans were assembling. The men were quiet and serious, intent on getting out of the village filled with spirits and undead. Better to face squat, ugly goblins and their dull blades, at least they bled and died. Ingend went to the Rabbit and spoke with the knot of villagers hanging out front. Muriem was one of them and the old man appeared to be trying to convince them that the spirit was gone, not haunting the place.

The pilgrims retrieved their animals from the stable behind the warehouse. Brian made a feeble attempt at brightening the mood with small talk, his usually cheery smile much less convincing this time. He soon gave up and became lost in his thoughts as the merchants completed their preparations; his eyes lowered, and he slowly turned his axe-head in the dirt as he stood with the others. The animal stood with its head bowed, apparently matching his somber mood. 

Sirilyr and Feint approached the patient pilgrims and goblin hunters as the oxen were trying to pull the heavy wagons from the dried mud into which they had sunk deeply. "I'll go with ye' and show you the camp," he told them sternly. He looked down to see Feint sniffing at Brian's axe. He had drawn the outline of a bat on the ground and was drilling a hole through its breast.

Brian looked at the tall young ranger, "I never thought I would be breaking into houses, but there was something wrong about that place, and we needed to know if Orinden could be trusted. Now we know he cannot be. At least we will not be completely caught off guard." Brian brushed the dirt off his axe and snapped on its leather sheath before stowing it in a saddle bag, only then fixing his weary, bloodshot eyes on Sirilyr, "Dark magics are not something I was looking forward to finding, but it seems that is what has cursed Bilcoven for these many years." 

Sirilyr turned thoughtfully to Linda, "Priestess, ye said last night that yer Da' followed the way o' Mathonwy. The ol' witch woman an 'er idiot son back in Cinclair tol' me the Bilcoven curse was brung by outsiders. She also warned me tha' there be more'n bandits in the Bilcoven 'ills, an' tha' the weapons o' man were weak against it. Twas the weapons o' Mathonwy we'd be needin' ta survive, she warned. 'ow is this art o' Mathonwy dangerous?" Sirilyr felt the weight of the hag's charm against his chest and was strangely comforted by it. 

"It is power not meant from men. Even the best intentioned can be tempted and corrupted. But she may be right, if my father brought this curse with magic, we may need magic to undo it." She mounted her mule as did the others, "We must find the magic. Before the likes of Orinden." When Brian mounted his horse, the old mare came to life, sensing the dangerous mood of the rider. Brian adjusted the shoulder straps of his crossbow and quiver so that they would not be loosened by the ride.His leather armor creaked as he donned his helmet. He drew a sharp breath. "May Brigantia guide us safely," he reverently kissed the wooden holy symbol hanging around his neck and rode up to flank Canon Linda and Mellody.

Sirilyr looked at the three from Bilcoven, "Durrant's extra horses are with Geo and Spence. You can walk with me. The wagons 'r slow." 

The two caravans were on the move. The excitement of their exit that they had experienced in the other village was gone. The villagers, mostly women, children, and elderly watched them go. Frightened that they were losing defense against marauding goblins, but suspicious that the armed men and the wares they guarded were the true targets. Arnough headed south to Sola, without Darvian who accompanied Durrant northward on the road to Ziret. 

The march along the road was also solemn. The guards were wary of goblin ambush, Jack keeping them busy in the woods along the road and further ahead than usual. The signals and calls of all clear were unnerving reminders that all was not well. Sirilyr approached the pilgrims, "The camp is near."

Storn nodded and turned to Linda, "I think we should walk into the woods. Feorik won't be able to ride while he tracks." 

"I need Gert," she patted her mule. "I don't want to be without Brigantia's blessings. Sirilyr, please take our horses for Tulane and Star." Sirilyr had left his horse in the village. "I'll leave Pat with Durrant Mellody, Gert can carry his load while I walk." The caravan paused while the pilgrims shuffled their loads. Sirilyr and Feorik went into the woods to the campsite. Wendle took Pat to the dwindling herd of animals Durrant had with them, and Brian and Storn handed their horses to Tulane who looked a bit nervous with them. 

Brian laughed, "Take mine. He's smart, gentle. Not aggressive like that one." The bearded man suddenly looked sad. "He's been with me for months now. Ah I suppose its for the best. We'll catch up." 

The rangers emerged. "They took no care to cover their trail," Feorik announced. "I'll have no trouble following them through the wood."

Sirilyr took Storn's horse, but paused before mounting and turned to Linda, "After seein' the scores o' spirits roam the woods followin' Feorik an I last night, it strikes me 'ard that they are in fact yer fifth force. After all, not all undead are evil, anymore than all people be evil. Thinkin' o'that, I remembered tha' I'd seen where Spence an Geo 'ad messed with a tall obelisk rune stone in the cemetery near a ancient temple; rubbin's they'd been taken afore they ventured inta tha' vile feelin' place. When they came out, they was 'different' from when they went in. But, whether the change came from touchin' the stone or from the temple I canno' say." Deep in remembrance Sirilyr offered, "the entire place was fey. An I still don' understand why the grave o' tha' cleric o' Lugh was dug up when those o' the other foreigners were left undisturbed. All in all, the place was bereft o' disturbance, but it was disturbin' if ya understand me. Watch yerselves in there." 

"Thank you Sirilyr, and we will. You take care too," Linda offered.

"Be well," Brian said to them, "and watch Tulane on that horse, he looks scared of it."

"I'll be fine," Tulane said annoyingly as he tried the third time to get in the saddle. They shared a laugh. 

Durrant strode up from the lead wagon then. "I appreciate what you're all doing," he said seriously looking hard at each. "Be careful, and meet me in Bilcoven as soon as you can. They're in good hands," he said taking Linda's and bowing. "Don't dally," Durrant said to Sirilyr after Darvian, Rasoric, Linda, Mellody, Storn, Brian, and Karod followed Feorik into the woods. I do think Orinden is out for the prize. Stall him and let the clerics find it. Karod will keep to them until we meet." Seeing Sirilyr about to condemn them and their church, Durrant added, "I'd rather they have it than Orinden. I know them, and where they'll go. Get on back and wait for the March's men." Sirilyr and Tulane headed back to Tir. Durrant led his wagons away leaving the two strangers and brown dog plodding along through the cool morning.

[11.2] Cavalry

[a]

Spencer awoke suddenly to the sound of shuffling in the room and sat up while reaching for his close by dagger. His sleep blurred eyes could see a form lit by a candle flame. Blinking to clear the vision, the shadowy, underlit face of Viatteni camp into view. His aged features, looked large and abnormal; a vision of the death the old man was soon to encounter. His eyes glinted seriously from the deep shadows his high cheekbones cast. "What is it old man?" Spencer snapped, gripping his blade unsure at the old man's motives.

"You have seen the Guardian, the couatl!" Viatteni exclaimed stepping nearer. 

Spencer scooted away from the cleric, who stank of incense, and got to his feet to stand threatening, "What are you talking about?"

Viatteni set the candle on the table and reached out with open hands to settle Spencer's nerves and explained, "I read of the Guardian many years ago. It protects the ancient place. The elves, and those that came before, knew of it, and buried their dead so it would protect them too. They wrote that the appearance of the Guardian heralds a time of conflict, between this world and the next." Viatteni was stepping nearer, excited but non-threateningly. "Whatever you are doing in Bilcoven, it is about this." The old man's breath smelled.

Relaxing, Spencer shuffled slowly as far from the crone as possible."Old man, your attempts to edify beget naught but confusion," Spencer sighed."I know little enough of this world, let alone any others or the conflicts in which they may be engaged.If you'll not clarify that, perhaps you will tell me where you've been this night?I searched long for you to no avail."

Ignoring him, "You were chosen by the Guardian, I am sending William with you for I am too old. He is young, but has the blessing of Arawn. He will protect you and do the Lord's bidding," Viatteni told Spencer. "You must go back to Master Durrant, continue his mission. The soldier's are preparing to leave." Viatteni left the room muttering, "There is more to do."

"Chosen for what?What is there to do?Bah...Crazy…" Shaking his head in frustration, Spencer grabbed the candle and went to rouse Georan wearing a grim expression. It was early, but there was no light from outside to judge the time. "Get up. We have to leave before…We have to leave now. The soldiers are on their way, man.We should ride with them."

Georan turned and blinked open his eyes. He suddenly hopped up and went to the table where his notes and sketches were spread and shuffled the obelisk sketches to look at. Excitedly he said, "I think I can read this! Instructions for those who come. Magic - a spell maybe!"

Spencer was about to say something when William entered with some warmed cereal. He left suddenly after a brief greeting and a warning that the soldiers were already preparing. "It will have to wait," Spencer told him. They ate and packed quickly then went to the stable where the soldiers were mounting. William was there with their horses in a suit of chain mail too big and heavy for him. A heavy mace further weighted him down. He looked resentfully at the pair, knowing he looked ridiculous. 

"You're to protect us, are you?" Spencer chuckled briefly, shaking his bald head."Go back to your temple, moppet."Spencer looked at Georan to judge his feelings - and share his distrust. The boy was obviously of no use to them as a bodyguard.Is he of some other use?To Viatteni, maybe. That being the case, his only plausible function would be as a spy.

"I must go with you," William said innocently and handed Pradareus to Spencer and the roan to Georan. "Master Viatteni has told me."

Spencer, more insistent, stated, "Stay with Viatteni, boy.We've no use for you." The young cleric mounted an old plow horse, adding to his outlandish presentation. 

The soldiers were already riding off, completely not interested in waiting for them. Beir's Watchers must have left too. They rode hard through the forest, never catching up, but staying within earshot of the pounding thirty strong cavalry. William's steed, old as he was, kept up with them. "Be gone, moppet!"Spencer yelled again and urged Georan to ride quickly and put distance between themselves and William.The horse was steady, but not so fast. They put enough space to have a private conversation. 

"How is it you can now read those letters?"He asked."I was hoping to decipher them, but you've made quick work of it!How did you do it?"

"I can recognize most magical runes." Georan stated. "I can read the spell but not the rest of the text."

"That fool priest said I've been 'chosen.'He calls the snake I...think I saw...a couatl...or some such. Says it protects the dead...and something about a struggle with the next world...bah, who knows what he's talking about.I think he wasn't quite in his own mind, if you take my meaning," Spencer says, smoking an imaginary pipe with his off hand. Gesturing toward William, a wry look on his face, "This one's to protect us in the name of Arawn...."

Georan looked back at William trying to catch up. With a slight shake of his head he said, "Let him. Either his master sent him to help us, meaning he might be of help, or his master sent him to spy. If he's here to spy then he must know more of what's going on and we'll be able to dig it out of him."

"Ah, Georan, but don't make assumptions," Spencer warned. "It's a costly mistake to underestimate an adversary.If he and his master have motives contrary to ours, they may not be so easily discovered.He could be a saboteur for all we know."

Tir was as they had left it, smelly and dirty. From the eastern hill overlooking the valley village, they did notice that Durrant's large wagons were gone, and there was not sign of Arnough's. In fact the place looked deserted. The valley floor pastures were crowded with animals, but no one shepherding them. The cavalry ran right in kicking up dust that blew over the druid's shrine. Spencer cast a curious glance at the cistern and its dark neighboring cavern. No one stood nearby. 

The three of them rode down into town at a more leisurely pace and dismounted at the warehouse/barn. It was indeed empty. There were deep ruts where the heavy vehicles sank into the wetted ground. Durrant headed north, Arnough south. Scents from Georan and Cecilia's concoctions still lingered inside. There was no note or anything. Captain Stargt had dismounted and was talking with two older villagers. They seemed to know what was going on. The three approached innocuously. 

[b]

As soon as Sleene gathered her things from the warehouse she headed to the camp to look for Nip and Snap. She feared the worse, that they had been usurped by the strange power of the goblins. The others were busy packing up and preparing the wagons, no one paid her any attention. As she climbed the hill, she got a strange feeling that she was not alone. Gripping her staff, she approached the lookout rock cautiously. She saw Nip and Snap watching her from the trees. They were sitting, wagging their tales excitedly, but not running and jumping on her like she expected. Then motion to their left caught her eye. A figure in a hooded dirt gray cloak was rising from the corpse of the sheep. 

He turned to face Sleene. All she could see was his black bearded smile; eyes and nose hidden in the shadow of his hood. His hands were free, but the hilt of a weapon hung on his belt. Sleene faced him defensively with staff in both hands. "Sleene Faunne," the man announced, "I am pleased to meet you. I am Rath the Gray. R'hanna S'oran," he stated in the odd syllables Dricka had taught her only true Druid's knew, the words were 'fellow Druid' but Druid's took no titles Sleene thought as Rath added, "but not of Gendle's circle." Dricka had told her that Gendle was the elder Druid, but she had never met him.

"What do you want?" Sleene asked not letter down her guard.

"To speak with you about your mission," Rath answered. "Come, sit. You see your friends realize no threat. I've known you a long time. In fact, practically fostered you. I did not want Dricka to take you, but like I said, I am not of his Circle. But I still think it was wrong, and that they are wrong in protecting this place. Bilcoven is a bad place. Cursed by ancient evil and ritual. The elves will not stay here themselves. They gave it to us Milar to protect," he practically spit that last word. "Who is to protect us? Gendle does not appreciate the extent of the evil that taints this land, but my warnings fall on deaf ears. So I come to you, Initiate, perhaps not yet blinded by the traditions that are leading the Bilcovs astray." Rath removed his hood, and shook his head of straggled, curly hair. He did not seem that much older than Sleene, but his eyes seemed wise, serious.

"Blinded? I am not blinded. I am kept ignorant of the danger and the reasons why we must help save those who live here. You want trust? Show some yourself. What can you tell me of the evil I face?"

"I've only touched the surface I am afraid; I do not fully understand the things I've seen. I do know there are ruins of cities below ground as well as above. Cities of the different peoples that have come to Bilcoven throughout time." He looked over the village, "All brought low by wars and natural disasters. There is something trapped here that manipulates." 

"So, you would change that which you do not understand? How can you be sure how that would alter the Balance? Not a usual druidic response," Sleene observed.

"Ah hah," Rath chuckled, "But I try to understand more than - well more than your circle which has been here much longer."

Sleene puzzled over this for a moment before responding. Had this Druid just admitted that he was from somewhere else? "And yet you seem to do nothing yourself. The evil spreads, the humans spread, and you do nothing either," the young druidess said bitterly. 

He looked at her calmly ignoring the bitterness, "I've got plans. My own manipulations. Some in the works now, but I cannot convince the Circle alone. I am hoping you will be my ally. I watched you battle Beir's hunters and trappers. I know you still resent what is being done here. Look at what the Tirian's have done to the game. And some foul beast roams the woods," he turned to the carcass, Nip and Snap had gone over to it and were eating of it again. "I removed its taint," Rath explained. 

He turned back to Sleene, "I wish to see this land abandoned. Left to nature to cover, age, destroy, and birth anew. But I cannot do it alone. I want you to think about what you see our fellow humans," more sarcasm, "doing to the land. Realize there is an ancient evil here, reaching out to corrupt, for that sustains it. Nature is pure and incorruptible. Left alone, this evil will die; but as long as humans, elves, or others, stay, the evil will live on."

"Are you saying the humans are evil? Or that the humans feed the evil?" 

"I think any soul can be corrupted. And whatever curses this place uses them to bring about chaos and destruction." 

"So, the humans pillage. The goblins plunder. The druids manipulate. Some even seem so bold as to give themselves titles for their own glorification. Does not that make us no better than those you would evict?" challenged the young woman.

"I suppose not, in the short run," he considered. "But the Balance here was tipped long ago. It is what brought me here many years ago now - only to find the Druids complacent." He studied the cute druidess closely for a moment. "I am glad you are have a questioning mind. And do not make up your mind about my mission. Take some time, observe what is going on here. Murders, intrigue, war on the horizon. And some foul wizard brought something here that further feeds the Beast. I think you come to see that I speak true."

Rath stood, "Do not speak of me to anyone. I will come to you again." He patted Nip on the haunch as he passed by and walked into the woods away from the smelly valley of Tir. When the wolves finished eating, Sleene played with them, but was thoughtful of the strange Druid's visit. She watched the ugly village from the rock with Nip and Snap panting hot breath on either side. The caravans had rolled out. Not too many people were milling about. The rumors of spirits and undead bats probably scared them into their hovels. It was mid-morning when she saw two riders return from the north road, Sirilyr and Tulane. No sign of the cavalry until about noon. Sleene rose from her contemplations with a heavy sigh. No answers were to be found here today. She strode down the mountains, inviting her friends to follow, knowing that this would further frighten the villagers but not caring at the moment, and sought out Sirilyr. 

[c]

The village had remained subdued as the morning rolled on. Sirilyr and Tulane spent the time in the Rabbit. They were joined by Star, fitted in a suit of leather armor with a short sword and dagger on her belt, short bow over her shoulder. She did not look quite so innocent this time, but seemed a bit nervous around them. Sirilyr, seeing the girl's skittishness, waved the barmaid over and ordered a round of drink for the three of them. "No sense in bein' uncomfortable while we wait, eh?" The young soldier smiled.

"Thank you Dalia," Star told the young server. When she retreated Star added, "Muriem won't come in this place. She, and all of us, are afraid of what Orinden had done to the village. Dalia says she believes the priestess that the spirit is gone."

Just before noon a shepherd boy opened the door and shouted, "There coming, there coming!" and ran off. Soon, the pounding of hooves was rattling the tavern. Little stuffed creatures jiggling on their permanent perches.

Sirilyr raised his mantle saying, "I'll be back." Rising from the table he left the cool interior of the inn and made his way to a shaded corner of the front porch, a place where he could unobtrusively view the approaching column. He passed a soldier's appraising eye over the rattling short row of troopers and the large black cloaked and armored Captain at their head. He noted how the blue silk lining of the officer's cape contrasted sharply with the otherwise drab figure he cut on the prancing black mare. This one would bear watching, as he liked to stand out from his soldiers. A dandy, can either be dangerous or a fool. We shall see... thought Sirilyr. The others though, they were mounted versions of those lackadaisical young gawkers who had responded to the goblin assault back in Bilcoven. "Bah, green as grass." The ranger whispered as he marked the loosely cinched saddles and ill secured personal gear. "At least their spearpoints ain't rusty."

Master Kipp emerged from the tower and Master Ingend from some alley down the street. The soldiers rode up to meet the two in the center of the street. Leaving Sirilyr staring at the flank of the formation, and getting stared at himself. Then Sirilyr recognized Georan, Spencer, and another had ridden in behind the soldiers and were heading toward the warehouse. Not knowing whether or not they were indeed who he hoped they were, Sirilyr decided to sink back into the shadows of the alley and drop around the concealing comfort of the tavern's wall to watch for a bit.

From the around the back corner of the Rabbit, Sirilyr watched Georan, Spencer, and their companion dismount and look around and in the warehouse. The third wore a chain mail jacket awkwardly. He was riding a farm horse. It was William, the old priest's apprentice. Looking puzzled, they walked down the street toward the soldiers. Sirilyr sidled along the wall and looked down the street to the formation again. Tulane and Star had come to the front porch and were watching too. No one, except Feint, had noticed him reemerge from this side of the porch. Across the street, he saw Sleene approaching the stables. He could not believe it, but she was returning with the two wolves. Feint noticed too and darted off across the street barking.

Muttering, "Damn dog!" to himself Sirilyr boldly strode out into the street. He crossed with a look at the curious trio and soldiers and disappeared between the shops and warehouse. Spencer ignored Sirilyr, spitting on the ground as he passed and hurried towards Sleene with his hand raised in a hearty greeting, "Well met Sleene! How goes your day?"

Sleene was worriedly trying to keep the dog, Nip, and Snap settled. "Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea," she thought. However excited Feint was in his approach, he seemed more interested in greeting the wolves in traditional canine fashion. They did not seem to mind, but it may have been Sleene keeping them calm. But, realizing that it was too late to change her mind now and not being so much concerned for Nip and Snap as for Sirilyr's pet, she turned her attention back to the ranger. "Educational," she replied. "And disturbing," she trailed off for a moment, lost in her thoughts. Suddenly frowning, she looked back to Sirilyr and said, "I was under the impression that some cavalry was coming? Not that you are not welcome, but this force is...underwhelming..."

With an agreeing bob of his mantled head, "Aye, they aren't much good judging by their portage. All save a few be no more'n raw boys. Geo an ol' Spence rode in wit' 'em." A concerned expression passed over the ranger's face. "They did no' look 'appy, an' tha' cemetery keeper's assistant is also present." Sirilyr speculated to himself as to why this was so? Displacing his introspection, he asked, "What did ye learn?" 

Sleene's expression went distant as she sunk into thought. "I learned much and nothing. Nothing, certainly, that will help us today. Overall, I'm afraid my morning was not well spent in pursuit of our goal." The druidess returned to the present. "On the other hand, I called in my own reinforcements," she smiled radiantly as she indicated Nip and Snap starting to playfully gang up on Feint who retreated toward his human.

The soldier gripped the bouncing brown hound by the scruff of the neck and forced the joyously flirting critter to unhappily sit by his high-topped mud splattered boot. Running his gaze over the druidess, Sirilyr noted the tale of her travels by the color of the dirt and stain on her garb. This, with the dampness and the odd leaf type draped upon her, made her much different than most women, and appealing. He thought briefly of doing a bit of flirting, as he rather liked what he saw standing before him and how the woodswomen had handled herself since they had met. When this mess was over he would ask to call on the young and wild beauty, he thought to himself. A slow gentle smile crossed Sirilyr's countenance as he listened to Sleene's answer to his question. 

After weighing the druidesses words, a serious tone came to the ranger's voice as he inquired, "Durrant is taking a point o' view that it'd be better ta let the Brigantian clerics obtain the items o' power, rather than let the likes o' tha' mad taxidermist 'ave it." Allowing the words to sink in to the woman, he continued evenly "I do no' agree wit' 'is reasoning, though I do understand it. 'ow would the druids react to this Sleene? And what would you 'ave us do?" 

"The druids would not share with me their thoughts," Sleene replied bitterly. "I would not have items of power disturbed or, if they are, I would have them watched carefully. Balance is difficult to maintain when one constantly adjusts the weights on only one side of the scales."

During the conversation Sirilyr kept an eye casually but intently around the corner of the hovel which sheltered them from the direct view of the new arrivals. He wanted to know what they were about, and until he did, he would not rest easy. "I an those two on the porch o'er yonder must guide these 'soljurs'," Sirilyr said the word with more than a bit of woefulness, "ta Durrant and the others. Come wit' us?" He asked, hopeful that she would, as allies they had a better chance of somehow preventing the magic from falling into the wrong hands. 

"Yes," Sleene Answered. "I will come with you. At least you understand the ways of the forest."

Reaching into his doeskin haversack, the ranger pulled out a package wrapped in parchment. "I must ask a boon of ye M'lady. Please carry these in yer pack. Ye musn't let no one see 'em or know ye 'ave 'em. They belong ta one who is tied to this quest we be on. And, they may be o' some 'elp later. Open it in private only if somethin' 'appens to me. Trust me on this. Others may seek these under false pretenses. Take 'em ta Durrant if'n I fall, an' give them to 'im if 'e 'as need of 'em. Will ye do this fer me?" The sincerity and pure intent of the young soldier's face was boyishly angelic in it's expectant expression towards the burgeoning druidess.

Sleene's eyes went icily cold, "M'lady I am not. Do not insult me by implying royalty or privilege," she said coldly. A moment let the words sink in and let her demeanor soften, "I will do as you wish with your package. It will stay safe unless you fall. You should, however, know better than to assign titles to Druids. Please do not do so again." She took the parchment and placed it carefully in her pack.

With a contrite smile, Sirilyr handed the package to the steadfast woman. As she finished tucking the small bundle away, he said, "I ne'er confuse what is noble wit tha' which is royal. Yer endeavors Sleene 'ave been tenacious, gallant, an' honorable in tenor an dealin' tha' I 'ave seen. In short druidess, ye 'ave acted nobly. I, a common man, entitle no one ta that but wha' is their due. A mere title can be given by king an clergy, but irregardless o' the stations o' man, true nobility an' respect is earned... an tha's the beauty o' it, an it shines through ye." The ranger's eyes glowed with the light now washing the alleyway as he met Sleene's even stare, "ta my view ya are a Lady, even if ya would 'ave me as a frog fer it." 

Sleene eyed him coolly, without acknowledgment of the compliment as a pregnant pause passed between the two. Sirilyr began to think she might actually be considering a damper change of habitat for him. She decided to spare him such a fate. Accepting that he would live and thinking, "now I know why ol' Da' spent so much time out in the woods..." He said, "Shall we join the others on yonder porch an see when this bard's troupe can get a move on?"

"That would probably be a good idea," Sleene replied. As they turned towards the main street, Sirilyr missed the appraising glance the druidess gave him. Sleene's thoughts roiled in new turmoil. Having shunned humans and lived her life in the woods, she simply did not know what to make of this kind of human interaction and was rapidly trying to fit Sirilyr's words into her recently fractured view of the world.

[d]

One of the older men standing with Captain Stargt beckoned to two people standing on the porch in front of the Rabbit, a young woman and man armored like a guard under his traveling cloak. They approached along with Georan, Spencer, and William. Stargt was digging in a pouch for something, Master Ingend was looking annoyingly where Sirilyr had gone. He noticed villagers, kids mostly, starting to fill the alleys gaping at the armored riders. "We should go inside," he suggested. "You're with Durrant?" he asked Georan who nodded his answer. "Where Sirila go? Come, the tower," he indicated. 

"Master Tanner Mikael Kipp," the other elder extended his hand to Georan, Spencer, and William in turn. He gave William a curious double-take.

"Master Viatteni sent me," William said.

"This is Flock Master Ingend," putting his hand on the flustered looking man, "my daughter Star," the young woman dressed for travel, "and, uh…"

"Tulane," the young guard answered. "From Bilcoven."

"Georan."

"Spencer."

"William."

"Let's look at this map," Stargt said impatiently. He barked at his men to stay and they all crossed to the central tower. Sirilyr and Sleene came around the corner as they were opening the door, two wolves and Feint following nervously. Star waved them to hurry up. Inside the Captain spread the map on the table. He gave Sirilyr and Sleene a dark look as they came in. Spencer tried to catch Sleene's glance, giving her a slight nod and smile when he did.After that, he turned his attention to this conference, keenly interested. Stargt directed his attention to the village elders who pointed out the path Orinden took and answered some questions about what has been going on. When he heard that there were goblins around yesterday, he got very curious.

"That one," Kipp indicated Tulane, "and a two other from Bilcoven tracked and ambushed them following the merchant," there was a bit of an accusatory tone to the statement. 

"My job was to hunt down these vermin, not chase some fool into the woods," the captain said as he eyed Tulane. Turning back he announced decisively, "I'm leaving ten men to patrol the village while we go bring Master Orinden back. He going to give me trouble?"

The elder's exchanged nervous glances. 

"Maybe."

"No," they said simultaneously. 

"The villagers won't fight you," Kipp explained. "But Ingend may be uncooperative. My daughter and he are friends, she'll come to talk to him."

Stargt passed his judgmental glance over Star. She stood strong against it. Sneering, he looked around at the rest of them standing around. Sleene stepped toward him as his glare came to her. "I disagree. Things here are not what they seem. The villagers, of their own accord are farmers and ranchers, not fighters. But I have seen enough here recently to think that they may not act of their own minds."

"What do you mean?" Stargt asked.

"A, uh, stranger came into town last night. A mercenary," Master Kipp answered before Sleene could. "A priestess, claiming him to be possessed. We have him locked upstairs," he nodded his head toward a door in the shadowed corner beyond the balcony ringing the room.

"Priestess? Where is she?"

"Gone to discover if the mercenary's claims of murdering his employers are true," Master Ingend said. 

Spencer leaned back and sighed.He passed a hand over his baldhead, clearly frustrated.This was an overload of information that was hard for him to accept.A month ago he'd have laughed at these madmen, but now he just sat there, dazed looking at the map.

"There be somethin' else," Sirilyr added. "They were a well 'eeled and armed party, a holy order perhaps, clad in black an red livery. Wiped out yesterday eve. Their death cries were 'eard from the tower."

"Where from?"Spencer asked.Bilcoven wasn't prosperous enough to have too many well-armed orders riding about.

"They snuck from Ziret in th'dark o'night," Sirilyr reminded Spencer. "Brian told us 'bout them. An' I found their camp as we came back to Tir - about right here," Sirilyr put his finger on the map.

Stargt listened, but turned back to Ingend, "The merchant has left the village too?"

"This morning, leaving Sirila and Tulane. Delak asked Sleene to follow, to help with any casualties," Ingend tried to explain.

"You all can get on off after him then," the captain said to Spencer with a glance at Sirilyr. 

The young, but battle-scarred woodsman parried the Captain of Horse's appraising stare with a steady look of his own as he spoke, "Somethin' deadly lies a waiting in yon woods where the Tir militia went a followin' a madman. Will yer men follow you in there? 'Ave yer men been bloodied before?"

"Perhaps not as often as you," the captain answered. "You suspect more'n goblins then?" 

"Aye, there be more. Over fifty people, good woodsfolk most, 'ave been swallowed up by whatever it is we face. Not including the militia an' that black an scarlet party. That demented taxidermist dabbled with the undead. I think it would take sometin' o' tha' nature ta 'ave 'im take the risk o' exposure at 'ome ta get it. We should pursue the clerics tagether, join 'em as quick as we can before we meet the milita. Only then can we face this thing as strongly as possible. I'm surprised Georan an Spencer 'ave no' mentioned spirit work ta ya. 'Ave they?" The stern ranger's gaze cut to his two old companions. "What did these two tell ya? An why is William the grave keeper's assistant accompanyin' the column, could it be ya think we'll 'ave need o' 'im boyos?" While Sirilyr's voice was low and he smiled easily, his eyes were as untrusting as a hungry wolf's taking meat from a stranger's hand.

"I think you talk too much, you lout," Spencer declared, his patience with Sirilyr completely exhausted.

"An' I'll not be chasing yer clerics," Stargt stated, "and they're not with us." He nodded at the confused looking trio Georan, Spencer, and William. "I think Tir's got a goblin problem, probably fell in with some ogre's, bugbears - some big nasty making them come of their holes." He turned back to the elders, "Orinden into dark magics?" They nodded solemnly, glaring at Sirilyr. Scowling, Stargt turned to Sleene and Star, "We leave as soon as you're mounted." 

Star responded, "My mount belongs to Master Durrant. Tulane and Sirilyr are to accompany me."

He growled. "Fine, get ready all of you." 

Spencer stepped quickly up to the map, he crinkled an eyebrow at its poor quality, but said to the Captain, "If it's ogres and other beasts you're after, you'd best ride the other way," Spencer swepr his finger from Northeast of Tir down, off the map toward the heart of the Marchy, reminding Stargt of his encounter in the cemetery."Ride up there and Tir shall be almost defenseless.Ten men is as good as none.If you want Orinden back, send a few riders; this is pointless." 

Captain, reddening, said, "It’s not Orinden I'm for saving. Buncha armed men walking 'round the forest'r gonna stir up something more'n they can handle. Ten of my soldiers can handle any goblin threat here," he looked darkly at Spencer, "and Beir's Watchers will get help from the March. Let's get going," he stormed out.

Georan had listened to the whole conversation trying to figure out some of the gaps. When the Captain left he turned to Sirilyr and asked, "Goblins followed the merchant? Which one Durrant or Arnough? And what happened with Orinden?"

Sirilyr answered as he walked to the door motioning for the others to follow, "There be a strong gobbo presence in this Marchy, especially strong in these parts o' it. Seems ta me a band o' 'em trail all parties wit' enough weapons ta protect sometin' worth while. An ambush was set by a few wit' o' Arnough's bunch. They dropped some."

"Me 'n Feorik 'n Rasoric followed the goblins that attached you in Bilcoven from the sewers," Tulane explained to Georan proudly.

"Goblins and...something more I think," Sleene said."they performed some kind of ritual that created a darkness of a sort I had not previously encountered.Sheep have been ritually killed, Orinden dabbling with the undead, and Nip and Snap have occasionally seemed to be...protecting I guess is the most appropriate word, me from something.Trying to keep me from meeting it."Sleene shook her head, obviously trying to put something into words but finding it hard.

"Two men mutilated on the road between here and Sola," Tulane added.

"Something is not right here.Something that..." Sleene sighed and shook her head again."Something that even nature seems to fear."

Master Kipp motioned Star over to them while the rest exited to the porch. The wolves and dog had seated themselves and were watching the villagers and soldiers with an air of superiority. Sirilyr, on the way toward the warehouse and stables, spoke lowly to Spencer and Georan, "Our priestess an some o' her lot set to pokin' around Orinden's home late yesterday eve. Tried thar 'and at burglary those goodly folks did." Pausing to chuckle, "theyfound more'n they bargained fer... A flock o' bats was livin', er, existin' in the 'good' taxidermist's place. Undead bats, guards. Our sourly tavern keeper's a necromancer o' sorts it seems. An' near as we can figure, 'e's led the whole Tir militia out after wha' we signed on wit' Durrant ta find." Casting a sideways glance at Geo and Spence, he added, "an 'ow 'ave you two been feelin'?"

"Just fine," Spencer said curtly, obviously still sore about their run in yesterday morning.

Pausing at the alley to the stables, the ranger whistled for Feint then added, "There be more 'bout the undead. Spirits walk the woods around 'ere as well, lots o' 'em. One came out o' tha mercenary rogue locked up in the tower. Left 'im mad it did..." Sirilyr again looked hard at Georan and Spencer. 

"You saw these spirits?" William asked incredulously. Spencer inhaled coarsely, an expression of exasperation, and rolled his eyes.

The ranger answered with a single tense nod and said, "Legions o' 'em wander the woods. Wha' Sleene said about the gobbos be dead on. Think o' all we've seen; spirits in the graveyard and forest, undead bats, the spirit or demon tha' came from the chest o' tha' poor bastard locked in the tower, and gobbos worshipping an sacrificin' in ways I ne'er seen before. And let's no' forget the creature tha' stalked our camp in the boulders on the ridge, it wern't no animal. And I can't say if'n it were alive..." Inhaling deeply, "no lads, somethin' o' great powerful magic 'as disturbed the rest o' the dead, maybe loosed the gates o' 'ell.

"And we still 'aven't 'ad a chance ta search tha' damned cistern cave. I know sometin's inhabitin' the place, an' the woodsmen o' this pigsty keep it guarded. But, only by day. I want ta take a scout in there, after I pin one o' these fellows down as ta why they watch it so." 

Spencer raised a finger, instructing Sirilyr, "Don't say a thing about that cave, mind you.We can know all we need without alerting anyone.We're making spectacles of ourselves.We're supposed to be a merchant caravan, remember?"

Sirilyr nodded slightly, "To little time, everythin's 'appenin' fast 'round 'ere. Not right, not right at all. Ya comin' along?" The small brown hound placed his muddied front paws up along Spencer's thigh and gently poked his warm wet nose into the mapmaker's hand. "I see 'e's no' forgot ye," laughed Sirilyr, for the first time taking ease with the two errant company members. 

"Bah, get down!" exclaimed Spencer, lifting the dirty mutt from his leg.He petted its head and slapped its flank to get it moving, then brushed at the mud on his clothing.

"Let's get saddled 'fore the bastard leaves us," Sirilyr said still chuckling.

Sure enough, Captain Stargt was getting ready to move off. He did not even let his men, or his horses, rest. "Damn the bloody..." Georan's voice trailed off as he tried to hold his language. "We shouldn't be leaving yet. I need to examine Orinden's house. I need to study the runes I found." With an exasperated sigh Georan got to his horse with Spencer and William, all the while muttering under his breath about "rushing headlong into a dark cave" and "no respect for the art". Sirilyr responded to the cursing with a broad smile on the way to the stable, it was good to have Geo back again.

"This is madness," Spencer said spurring Pradareus toward the cavalry column equally as reluctantly as Georan; too much evidence in Tir and no desire to get clubbed by an ogre. Tulane, Sleene, and Sirilyr dashed to the stable to get mounted. Star came running up too and gave Sirilyr an angry look as she proficiently saddled up. Sirilyr returned an impassive, yet knowing glance.

[e]

Captain Stargt led twenty of his thirty up the northern road out of the valley. The ten soldiers left organized a patrol around the valley; six remained in the village ready to ride out to the four patrolling the rim. They played catch up as the cavalry drove hard off the road and through the northern pastures, easily following the trail of the village militia. 

As they followed after the column Georan rode next to Sirilyr. "I'll do better in thinkin' o' all we've seen if I know more about it," He said with a southern accent. "Now...What spirits have you seen in the forest and graveyard? What spirit or demon came from whose chest? And what creature stalked your camp?"

Without taking his sight from the methodical task of sweeping both sides and ahead of the trail they followed, Sirilyr replied dryly in a low voice. "It be like all o' the dead tha' e'er died in this Marchy now silently roam the wilds o' the place. Followin' after any livin' folks they 'ave the fortune ta find." Hawking and spitting into the loam along the way he continued his answer to the mages inquiries, "A demon-like spirit, the Brigantian priestess knew as a 'Shamhat', was thought ta 'ave possessed the mad mercenary now 'eld in the tower o' Tir. It made 'im murder all save one o' 'is employers.

"They were the scarlet an' black clad cultists which I believe are also on the trail o' wha' it is tha' we seek." A deep frown came over the ranger as he spoke. "Ay've wondered 'ow that one man got away, when all o' the others didno'? Maybe 'e knew they were goin' ta die? Maybe 'e 'elped it ta 'appen? Bah!" Shaking his helmed head. "It was what I feared 'ad become o' the two o' you after the graveyards..." 

With a sigh and a shrug of his broad shoulders, Sirily said, "as ta the creature that visited us durin' tha' last storm up by the rocks on the ridge...I felt it before I saw it in the flash o' the lightnin'. It was...malevolent. Tall like a three or four year old tree, yet covered in horrid long sharp spines. Dark and broodin', like it wanted ta stalk us til the rain an' the wind 'ad quenched all the fires o' 'ell." 

The soldier gave a slight shudder at the unpleasant memory before continuing. "I walked up the ridge where it 'ad spent a long moment in a leerin' game o' starin' one another down before it disappeared. I be a good tracker, an yet I found nary a sign o' it's presence or passage!" He looked disgusted with himself, "tha' is why I say I know not whether it be alive or dead. The only thing left up on tha' wind blown ridge was Sleene's sheep's carcass lyin' in the bloody leaves o' a couple o' Elms. Her wolves 'ad fed on it." The man's words came slow as he finished his tale.

"They wouldn't go after it either that morning either. I wonder..." The druidess lapsed into thoughtful silence.

With long and well-practiced motion, Sirilyr quickly filled and lit the bowl of his old briarwood pipe in a moody silence broken only by the jingle of cavalry horses. Georan absently noted there was no sound of a match being lit as he pondered over what he had been told.

Georan rode on for a few moments wondering what the conversation was nagging at the back of his mind. Suddenly he realized what was missing from the picture. Glancing at Sirilyr he dug out his own seldom-used pipe and filled it. Pretending to be engrossed in his thoughts he patted his pockets and handed the pipe to Sirilyr, "Don't have a light," Georan muttered, "can you light it for me?" 

With the slight raise of an eyebrow the ranger replied, "Why sure." Taking the mage's proffered pipe in one of his gauntleted hands, he readily flipped it's bowl over on to his own and puffed deeply four or five times and handed it back with a smoldering glow.

Still trying to put it all together, Spencer asked, ignoring the tall tales of monsters, "Why did Orinden go off into the woods? - With troops from Tir?"

They all exchanged glances wondering who was going to answer. Star took it upon herself as the only true Tirian present. "We don't like to have depend on the March. Our village is mocked, scorned. But we get by. To have these troops come here shows that we cannot handle ourselves." She did sound and look sincere.

"This was before you discovered he was into necromancy?" 

She nodded, "Now I fear he has used our pride to some foul purpose."

They had reached the forest and had kept going. It was becoming thick, and Stargt finally called a halt and a rest nearby a crick, running cold and a bit high from the rain a few days back. He approached Star and Durrant's contingent. "I know you elders would not tell me everything about Orinden, but your father says you know him well. What is he capable off?"

"He has become distant, but I do not think he knows much. What of magic he has learned, he must have taught himself. I do not think he is very powerful," Star explained as much to herself as the imposing Captain. 

"Unless his father taught him," Stargt said accusingly.

"Of course not!" Star retorted. "Orinden's loss hurt him, but this is a surprise to us all." 

"Hmmm. Tell me what happened with him, and the goblins," the Captain peered around the small group.

Tulane spoke first, "We followed the goblins from the sewers. Ambushed them, but they had a shaman who brought darkness upon us. Sleene and Delak stopped it."

"An' I chased off a pack o' the buggers last night," Sirilyr said. "I also hit a bunch of a dozen or so worshippin'. The critters be sacrificing living sheep ta some bloody deity. Ritual blood letting means powerful magic made, if the ritual be completed. Thar was a shaman present, I put an arrow into it. I could no verify a kill due ta the circumstances."

"Orinden rallied the men after Beowert and Durin left. Delak, Ingend, father, even Sleene and the merchant tried to stop them. But they stormed out her wanting to be heroes. Then, the other from Bilcoven, decided to check out Orinden's shop," Star added suspiciously looking at Tulane who did not seem to disagree, "and triggered his guardians."

Captain Stargt considered and nodded as they explained. "I don't think its goblins that have plagued Tir's hunters. They're tough men, as are the Watchers. Something more is out here - something smart enough not to leave survivors. You all stay close, we're going fast but cautious - not stopping 'til we find the villagers, so eat 'n piss now." He went back to his men who were watering themselves and their tired horses.

"Charming..." Spencer said quietly, turning away from the man. "It was a mistake to rush off like this," Spencer lamented, stretching his legs after riding all morning. After some rest, Spencer mounted Praedarus."I'll be back," he told his companions, and headed forth in search of a high point from which he could survey the territory.Not only did he wish to apprehend the lay of the land, but to scout the territory ahead for possible danger.

"I'd better scout ahead a bit too," Sirilyr stated. He hopped on his horse and kicked it into a gallop while unslinging his bow. He paused briefly enough so that the troop's officer could see him, but was soon out of sight before the man could shout at him to stay near. They could almost hear the cursing as Stargt went back to eating his dried meal.

The two were still gone when Stargt's troop saddled up and headed out bringing an abrupt end to their rest. They quickly packed their food and mounted.Georan looked around uncertainly as they started riding hoping to catch a glimpse of Sirilyr or Spencer. Riding next to Sleene he asked her, "Shouldn't we wait for the others?"

Sleene was looking at the forest thoughtfully."No," she began uncertainly, "No," she continued a moment later, apparently making up her mind, "Sirilyr, despite being quite annoying, can take care of himself and, most likely, Spencer as well."

They followed closely, spurred on by two of the soldiers who fell in behind them. Sleene could see them giving Nip and Snap wary looks as the wolves shadowed her. Feint had fallen in with them, at least he thought he had. The small dog pretended to be a wolf and managed to keep up. Sleene rode sullenly. Listening, lamenting the quiet forest's lack of life.

Spencer rode north awhile looking for a height with a good view. The trees were thick though, and climbed right up most of the rocky slopes. Spencer and Praedarus carefully ascended one when assaulted by an awful stench. Looking around, it seemed to emanate from a large hole in the side of the slope a short way off to the west, a burrow of sorts, four feet wide and two tall. Something dead and rotting was within, but out of sight.Spencer looked around to ensure that he was alone. The stench was unbearable, but times were troubled, so he decided not to let it go.He was hard-pressed to think of a predator that would choose to build a den on a slope such as this.It would also be rare for a kill to go uneaten long enough to rot, especially with winter setting in.There were other possibilities. He decided to climb on to the top to survey the area, then return here with a torch. The trees, taller here than around Tir, did much to conceal the landscape, but Spencer got the general lay of the area: a topographical mess of randomly undulating rocky hills. He could see the peaks of the western mountains nearing. 

He made his notes then walked down leading Praedarus. He climbed up to the burrow through some thick brush, knife in hand, the other alternately pressing cloth to his nose and mouth. Spencer cautiously approached the opening and peered inside. It was some big creature's burrow. Claw marks in the rocky dirt were clear, but the hole was huge and receded into darkness. 

As Spencer was lighting his torch, Praedarus nickered. Stopping, Spencer could hear the cavalry taking off fast, and further away than they should have been - they probably left the resting spot while Spencer was noting the landscape. Spencer sighed when he heard the cavalry on the move, but decided to quickly examine the cave; it would only take a minute or two. He crouched down and leaned toward the opening, straining to hear any noise came from inside. Silent. He shuffled forward, ducking to clear the two-foot ceiling and holding his torch in front of him. The smoke torch flame did little to abate the thick stench. As Spencer crept fully into the hole, the torch revealed a branch ahead. 

He neared the two tunnels. The right sloped more steeply downward, and looked like it dropped into a natural stone pit. The smell was coming from the left, but that dirt and root walled burrow continued sloping down into darkness. Spencer decided without much thought to take the left tunnel.He looked back at the entrance and shook his head...this was probably simply a waste of time.He pressed on in his awkward crouch, trying to picture how Georan and his lanky frame would manage in here. Soon he was emerged in the hillside, the entrance lost behind the turning burrow. The smell was bad, causing a gage reflex more than once. About twenty feet ahead, the tunnel opened.

Spencer neared and could make out a mass of dark fur curled in the far end. The opening was an ovoid about ten feet wide and six deep. Creeping closer, the mass of fur was about four feet long and two high; its back was to Spencer so he could not make out the species. The nest was lined with grasses and twigs and riddled with insects and worms glistening in his torch light. Spencer inched toward the creature as silently. The orange light bathed the noisome burrow. Almost inside it, Spencer could see the pelt moving. A sudden weight of fear dropped upon him, as his mind raced at the best way to get the hell out I a hurry without waking the beast. 

But the fear was supplanted with sudden nausea as he realized the motion was not rhythmic breathing, but rather an odd undulation, the random motion of a mass of feeding worms under the furry pelt. He nearly dropped the torch when the fur split, releasing a terrible smelling gas along with hundreds of pasty worms. They were huge, at least bigger than most maggots Spencer had the displeasure of encountering in the least pleasant times of his life. Gagging at the smell, Spencer realized the mass was moving toward him, straight for him. Worms wriggled over each other amazingly fast, like an ooze they came as one.

What the hell?! Spencer thought backing away awkwardly, suddenly fearful he could not out-squirm them. He held his torch towards the mass, hoping the flame would deter it, and used the wall of the tunnel to guide him out, pushing desperately with his other hand.He could not bear thought of coming in contact with the thing; trying not to retch has he watched the glistening mass of flesh eaters loll toward him, not in the least disturbed by the flame; in fact they seemed to shimmy towards it as he waved it.

"RAAAH!"he yelled trying to intimidate the mass by loud noise, "AWAY!"All the while he kept up his mad backward scramble for the entrance to the cave; it was still gaining."EHH!" he exclaimed and jabbed it with his torch. There was a wet sizzling, but the flow was not ebbed. He pulled the flame back, and saw a crust of scotched worms, but they were quickly absorbed - Eaten? Uhh! ? by other eagerly wiggling larva. 

Spencer, realizing he would be overtaken before reaching the exit, made a desperate move.He thought he had seen the mass of worms bulge in the direction of his torch...it was difficult to say, as his light was between he and the glob and he was frenetically crawling in the opposite direction.But he saw no other choice; he tossed the torch towards the opposite wall of the tunnel, hoping the heat would draw the worms and stall them so he could escape.He threw it and turned full around, so he could crawl forwards as fast as possible. Gruesome visions of trying to fend off the mass with his knife flew through his head ? none ended well. 

The light was just ahead and looming larger. Spencer burst out and rolled a bit through the clinging undergrowth. He fully expected an explosion of worms to come raining down upon him, but the forest and the hole were quiet. After being in that stench the cool air felt much better, but the rotten smell lingered. Slowly Spencer rose and started to peer into the burrow, but began to rethink such curiosity. A distant roar made up his mind - a battle cry. He headed down the slope with a frequent glance back at the opening, not wanting it to disgorge the pile of worms onto his back like some heaving throat.Upon reaching Praedarus he climbed atop the horse, whipped the reins and spurred the him to a gallop.Relieved to be safely on his way, he uttered an oath for his foolishness and tried to banish the silly visions from his mind.

Sirilyr got a ways ahead of Captain Stargt and his soldiers before slowing. He walked the horse through the sun-dappled trees, studying the place. Peaceful. An occasional bird call. Slight breeze rattling the few dried leaves still clinging to their dormant branches. Too peaceful. There was still a distinct lack of critters. No squirrels skittered around looking for nuts to add to their winter stores.Sirilyr heard the troops start up, their clanging carrying away the quiet. Two lead men were galloping toward him. The ranger stayed ahead, keeping his own gear quiet and trying to direct the obedient horse along a quiet route.

In a dense copse, Sirilyr picked up the sounds of movement. Stealthy movement. He stopped his horse and peered around trying to place it. All was still again, but shadow motion drew his eyes southwest. The bulge of a black cloak sticking out from behind a thick tree. The familiar sense that eyes were upon him. Laying the knocked bow across his lap, his other gauntleted hand slowly, ever so slowly, moving under cover of his heavy cloak to firmly grasp the shaft of the wicked broadhead. It's razor sharp barbs glinting with the occasional rustling of the forest canopy when the slight breeze allowed a ray of sunlight to fall upon it from over the soldier's shoulder. He sat easily with the afternoon sun behind him and allowed the dapple-gray mare he had taken to calling "Shroud" to graze the grass on the trail way. With an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders he said in a normal way as if he was lamenting to himself, "Ooh! My achin' arse..." Sirilyr's eyes swept the woods, they in their element noted every broken twig, each blade of grass bent the wrong way, a turned stone. The militia had made mince meat of the forest floor.

He spoke in a matter of factual tone, "Care ta join me fer a drink? Yer no spirit ta be so plainly seen, an ye be no woodsman ta be tryin' ta 'ide in the manner ye've done. I'd say yer friendless, an this is no place ta be alone..." The ranger's legs tightly gripped the horse's ribs, ready to hold him to the beast if a quick booted kick was needed to carry him forward, or away. His ears strained to hear every sound around him, especially from those areas he could not see. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils as he willed himself to breathe slowly. The cooling autumn air blew as dragon's breath in steaming billows from horse and man in the damp forest.

The copse was suddenly filled with motion. It seemed every tree and patch of undergrowth hid a small dark form. Silhouetted, pointy-eared heads emerged. Six, eight, twelve, Sirilyr mentally counted, more.Clenching his jaw in a hard bite on the stem of his pipe, Sirilyr tried to appear calm and gambling his life on the fact that the mare was not fearful, purposefully removed his hand from the shaft of the arrow and relit the old briarwood with a steady golden blue flame dancing from his finger. The effort of concentrating on holding the flame to be as long and bright as he could make it under duress had made small beads of perspiration break out upon his worry-wrinkled forehead. He maintained the broadhead's position of readiness with the grip of his other hand. He didn't notice the muscles in his arm knotting with the undertaking of both tasks. 

Exhaling a long bluish plume of pipe smoke, "well now, not quite friendless are we." With a smile only slightly forced, the ranger drew the wine flagon from a loop along the saddle and pulled the cork with thumb and forefinger. "Since I'm not full o' arrows I be figurin' ye want that drink, or do ye prefer we get down to the business o' dyin'? I be Sirilyr Graymantle, an I got time fer either..." He lifted the flagon in salute and broke wind in a thunderous manner. Shroud lifted her head at that. One of them yelled and Sirilyr was suddenly the target of several shafts of wood. Several flew by or landed short, but the ranger felt a couple welts of pain [5HP] as the points stabbed through then bounced out. Shroud jumped too as some of them hit her, two embedded in her side. 

The goblins were prepared for an ambush. More were appearing in the shadows. The closest, those that hadn't flung their javelins, stayed near the trees for cover as they waited for the command. Sirilyr could not identify the leader. Those that had thrown, were pulling morning stars from under their grubby cloaks, sneering at the mounted man. With a pain filled vile oath against the mothers of all green humanoids and dropping the javelin pierced flagon, the ranger pulled hard on the reins and savagely booted his wounded horse to leap as it wheeled, his cloak billowed from under the large round targe slung from his back.Confident Shroud had her head, Sirilyr released the reigns and grabbed his precariously balanced bow and arrow. He turned in the saddle, aimed, and fired the shaft at the most over eager pursuer. The shot went wild as Shroud bounded away, the short-legged goblins left behind.

Laughing like a lunatic, Sirilyr laid himself low along the running horse's neck and gave the disgruntled greenskins a universally understood gesture of contempt. "I'll be back!" The soldier called as he swiftly rode away from the pre-maturely triggered ambuscade. Once they had traveled a far longbow shot from the goblins, Sirilyr slowed the bleeding horse to a halt and dismounted. Ignoring the irritating stabs of pain from his own wounds, he looked to the quivering, and sweating horse. "Tha'll teach ya, ta use them big ears an nose o' yourn." He spoke soothingly as he applied bandages to the animal's wounds.

He heard the approach of two of Stargt's soldiers. They rode up to him and noticed the bloody patches on his horse, "Heard you shout. What happened?" 

Tossing the reins of his wounded animal to one of the troopers, Sirilyr spoke quickly. "Take 'im back to yer Cap'n an tell 'im thar's less then thirty gobbo's wit' javelins, sidearms an' shortbows milling round a long bowshot down this road ta both sides." Pressing a gauntleted hand against his chest to stop the bleeding of one of his own hurts, he continued his instructions. "Tell 'im I'm circling around this way," pointing a bloody finger northward, "an will take them from the rear."

"You're hurt," one of the soldiers observed.

Sirilyr shrugged and continued, "Gobbo's lack guts when they be flanked. He'll 'ear it when I go in. But, I won't strike until I 'ear 'im attack down this road. Tell 'im tha' the last man o' tha' scarlet an black lot was either wit' the goblins or was kilt by 'em. Also, thar be a draw tha' leads up the southern side o' the ambush site, four or five o' ye could 'ead up it an 'it the Gob's from tha' side as well. I sprung thar ambush, an they be pissed an confused 'bout it. I did see a small reserve o' spears or javelineers bein' 'eld back in the shadows o' the trees, not many, though 'e should watch fer 'em. 'Ave 'im form up 'ere an strike 'em now! Strike 'em 'ard in line o' battle! It'll be slower in these trees than a column down the road. But yer 'orses will give ye an edge against the infantry rabble tha' lay a'ead. Take 'eart! An ye'll win the day."

Casting an eye down the path to where the greenskins were, he tied a goblin shaft to Shroud's rein and slapped the horse's rump."Off wit' ye now git goin'. An good luck lads!"The soldiers spun their horses with Shroud in tow and started away. One paused and turned back, "Any sign of the villagers?"

Sirilyr replied, "they went this way, tore up the road in thar passin'. The gobbo's did no' take 'em 'ere. They lay beyond." Waving his hand in farewell and dismissal, he did not watch the cavalrymen go.

The ranger set himself in a hasty natural blind made from the lower overhanging branches of a large fir. Sirilyr watched as he took a moment to hurriedly patch himself up by shoving shirt wadding against his two wounds to staunch any further bleeding. Satisfied with the quick job of tending his own hurts, he readied his bow and put his plan in motion. "I'll circle around an get behind tha' black cloaked Bastard!" He said with feeling to himself. "We'll settle this on my terms..." The soldier hoped Stargt would bring his troop up to keep the attention of the small creatures fixed on the road until he could wreck vengeance upon their rear.

Two lead soldiers galloped back to the Stargt leading the column. They had Sirilyr's horse with them. They spoke quickly with the captain, who called a halt. When he had heard his scouts' report, he spun his mount and grabbed the reigns of Sirilyr's horse before coming to Sleene. The could see two crude bandages stuffed like patches into holes in her flank, centers turned red with fresh blood. "Yer boy caught some goblins ahead," the captain told them. "He's hurt, but okay. He can probably handle it. That bald guy I aint so sure of," at least he acknowledged that he knew they were gone. "There's a battle ahead. The goblins 'r blocking the trail," he paused to judge their reaction.

[11.3] Slaughter

[a]

The woods were peaceful, filled with clear clean air, refreshing after the stench of Tir. Feorik was leading, quietly studying the plants for signs of the clerics' passage. Rasoric stayed close behind him, signally the others to approach when Feorik was confident they were on the right track. Storn and Brian walked on either side of the Linda and Mellody pulling Gert along behind them. Darvian walked behind Brian, Karod behind them all. All the warriors were wary of the wild forest stretching around them dimly lit even in the sunlight. The trail led an almost unwavering line northwest. 

"I don't understand how the 'spirit demon'... did what it did," Feorik asked looking at Linda. "Can you tell me anything more about it? Can the thing be killed?" He had been thoughtfully quiet since Sirilyr's warning.

She shook her head, "It is of the land of the dead, a lost soul - corrupted with evil. Not a living creature. It can only be banished from this world if bound to a living body. The vision, and the knowledge, came to me as we prayed for guidance last night. The strength of Daghdha in Storn should protect us from possession, but not from its possessed."

The terrain became rougher and rockier. They traveled all morning and afternoon before Feorik spotted the clerics' second camp. He was squatting, noticing a heavily traffic area, when he looked ahead and turned gray. The sun was low, and shadows under the canopy long, but the grisly scene was unmistakable. He even heard the buzzing of flies, before Rasoric called from ten paces back, "What is it?"

"I think we found them," Feorik answered standing up, steeling his stomach. "Stay back," Feorik warned. He circled the close in trees and faced the horror the mercenary had wreaked. Rasoric waited, fighting morbid curiosity. "They're dead," Feorik called out thickly. "Not much left...nothing else here," he finished. Feorik stepped around the trees, looking even grayer. Linda and the others were near and looking worriedly at the shaken ranger who said, "We need fire ... this has to burn ... burn," he mumbled, eyes somewhat glazed as he numbly started to collect dry wood.

The boy-turned-man from Dir showed little emotion on his face as he keenly selected non-green wood and ripped it form the underbrush with ferocity. To see another pair of people so mutilated so soon after the others was quite horrific. He felt sick and ill at ease. What kind of evil was this? What kind of twisted things were at work in the world. He thought of everyone in Bilcoven and Dir, blissfully unaware. Or so he hoped.

Out of the unsure reactions of the others, Darvian reacted first. He had been melancholy during the walk; not well rested and feeling that he had slightly betrayed Arnough. He pushed forward around the trees and brush that surrounded the small clearing the cultists had chosen for their camp. No matter how grisly the sight might be, he had to know what was going on here. Especially if indeed powers of Mathonwy were at work here, he had to learn more, much more about it.

The horrendous murders did give him pause. What had been two young women were strung up between barren trees. Branches had been used, twisted around their arms, to hold them upright. Their heads lolled back, black splotches of dried blood stained their pale necks. Below was a mess of spewing organs and broken ribs crawling with flies. Both had their clothing ripped open along with their skin and ribcage. Gore spackled the campsite in front of them. The tents were collapsed and kicked around in a struggle along with packs and other equipment. The buzzing seemed to get louder. Darvian could feel the back of his throat contracting. Everyone else had to see too, leaving Feorik collecting wood and muttering to himself. They pressed against and around Darvian, but no one wanted to immediately step further into the tainted clearing.

Brian approached the horrible scene slowly, almost too afraid to look. "You may not want to see this, ladies," he said. 

"Terrible," Linda said despite his warning. "We must get them down. The map may be in their packs," she told Brian and Storn. "Come Mellody." The ladies went to the body on the right and grim faced, began untwining the branching from its arms. 

Faces also ashen with horror, Brian and Storn bent to the campsite and looked through the scattered equipment. The packs contained nothing but common traveling gear. Darvian approached the other body, and holding his bile, studied the wounds. No blade was used, but incredibly strong hands had ripped through cloth, flesh, and bone almost as if in a frenzied, grotesque search for something. The priestess had extracted the other and laid her on the ground. Darvian helped Linda get the other body released from the branches; Mellody retreated from the scene.

"Nothing," Brian announced from their search through the gear.

Rasoric had been standing with Karod in shock. "Their pouches," he said stepping up to the first mutilated corpse. Amid the tatters of their black clothing, their belt pouches still hung. He bent and extracted it. "Coins."

Fighting hard not to loose his latest meal Darvian laid the body next to the other and studied the wounds with Linda. He realized a horrible truth. "This was no accident, no unexpected attack by a crazed animal. This was a well-planned sacrifice," he told Linda. "The two women had a male companion. There is no trace of him now. He must have tied them to those branches as easy pray for a vicious animal like monster. Probably the one Sirilyr talked about a way back. What could that monster gain from such an onslaught, what did it look for? It wasn't meat, but maybe it was a soul?" 

Linda nodded, "The mercenary said he did this. But I don't think him capable, even if possessed. There is more to this."

Darvian fumbled with her pouch. Coins clinked and a crumpled parchment. He and Rasoric handed the pouches to Linda. 

Brian standing next to Storn said, "We should check their pockets for magic components or mystic symbols, and examine them for any identifying jewelry or tattoos that might identify what deity or spirits they worshipped." Storn looked at him obviously not relishing the idea, but willing. They each took one. They were so young with such looks of terror. He could see them as he had in Beir, wide-eyed nervous and pale even in the orange flickering light of the inn's torches. Brian had to cover her blue face. Storn did the same. 

In a pocket on the inside of her cloak, Brian found a black leather scroll case and several small ceramic vials. Storn found the same vials as well. Crude skeletons were etched into the vials. There was no sign of a symbol of their cult. They showed them to Linda, who was still looking at the strange coins from the pouches. She had given the parchment to Darvian who had unfolded it. "We have our map. Crude," he told them.

Linda poured the coins back into the pouch, "These are odd coins, also crude, not the Kings. Can we follow the map?"

"Landmarks mark the way," Darvian answered trying to line it up with their location mentally.

Linda took a vial from Storn and gave it a disgusted look. "Smash them." Brian held the case up for her with trembling hands. She considered it and put it in her pack, "Later."

Brian muttered a question, half to himself as he saw the branches hanging, still warped, "What could have turned these branches like this? Could the druids or spirits of the wood be involved?"

Linda looked at them too, "I don't know." She had tears in her eyes. Brian's pillar of strength was nervous. He sought Mellody standing back to a tree sheltering her from the scene. He looked apologetically at her, "I am sorry that you had to see this. Hopefully, Linda knows what she is doing and we will be able to stop it before things get any worse." He let her bury her face against his shoulder. For a moment the two took comfort in the embrace.

Karod and Rasoric were clearing the equipment from the clearing, making room the first load of wood Feorik brought and dropped. Karod returned to the woods with Feorik who barely acknowledged his presence as he tried to gather the wood as quickly as possible. Rasoric continued inspecting their stuff. "We should make camp," Storn suggested to Linda still staring at the warped wood.

"Yes. Yes. But away from here," she answered distantly. "What is next on the map?" She asked Darvian.

"Northwest until a river, then west to a, to a, probably a bridge? Way out here?" Darvian questioned out loud.

"I want to be away from this. Feorik is right, we must burn them, consecrate this corruption."

"The red priest is still on the run, and the 'monster' most likely also not very far," Darvian surmised, "I definitely don't want to stay here much longer." 

"Camp will not be hard to find. Let's burn this now," he said will a dull edge to his words as he dropped a load of wood. Darvian put the map away and helped to build the stake from the dry wood Feorik and Karod were bringing from the forest. After several more loads, there was enough wood set the length-wise against a hollow spot so the flames would burn upwards instead of outwards. He swept the area clean of kindling, and then walked to Linda. "Give them your blessing, send them to peace in death," he said to her, and waited for her to complete the ritual that would send the souls to Brigantia in peace. Feorik looked carefully at the bodies, but he did not see them.Instead he remembered the other corpses, similarly carved. Organ harvesting, he thought.

Darvian stood respectfully quiet while Linda led the prayer. Just to think that the two women had been, well, maybe not well, but definitely alive, not so long ago made Darvian shiver. Did they knowingly run into their doom? Was the sacrifice their choice? Just how twisted could human endeavor get? What dark powers would corrupt souls in such a way? Darvian felt small and helpless in the mighty struggle for power that was developing around him. 

When Linda was done she nodded; it was upsetting for the woman, Feorik could tell she was on the verge of tears. He would cry too, if he had any feeling left but his tears were long since shed. Silently he lifted the bodies onto the wood and piled a bit more on either side to make a proper pyre. Carefully wiping his hands clean and then rinsing them with water, he stroked a spark from his flint and set the bodies alight. He took a step back, somewhat suddenly afraid of sorcery that these two cultists may have used to cheat death, somehow. How he hated magical things and things he did not understand. The sickly sweet smell of the burning flesh wafted into their faces, but mercifully the wind changed often.

They all did their best to ignore the sickening sight. Darvian now had a careful look at the map with Feorik, Linda and Mellody. This map was strangely old and travel worn, containing a few unexpected details. A bridge out here in the wilderness? Who might have built it? Had there been so much traffic out here once to justify a bridge? Was it still intact? Darvian proposed to walk at least as far as this bridge before building a camp. He wanted to know more about it, examine if in detail, if time allowed.

Feorik pointed out that to camp near a bridge was dangerous - bridges and other crossroads were predictable places for ambush and trouble from Goblins or bandits. Storn had scowled and Rasoric had guffawed, but mostly everyone else had shrugged. But, in any case, judging by the distance shown from the road to the as yet unseen river, the bridge could be several hours away and the sun was getting low.

Storn and Karod patrolled around the camp, staying clear of the foul smoke. Rasoric and Brian were cleaning and salvaging gear from the cultists packs both in a daze. Not for the first time Rasoric wished he were back in town, but with Feorik here and now Linda he felt safer. If they were not around he would be definitely bugging out of here. He was not a map-reader and mystical symbols were not something he had had dealings with; he was a fish out of water. The mercenary's pack was there too, probably his anyway, whetstone and caltrops not typical clerical gear. Most of it was fine. They felt a bit like they were robbing the dead, but "there's no point in letting it go to waste," Brian said to the nervous looking city boy.

The flesh had gone, the bones black and brittle. The blackening char was quenched with sand and Feorik looked to the others, "Either a grave or a stone pile; we have no tools, I suggest a pile," he said simply, and looked to Linda for confirmation. With her sad nod, they started the task of collecting rocks. There was not going to be much light left when they finished. They set off through the darkening wood.

Despite unfamiliarity with maps, the images from the crude map were clear in Feorik's head. The path indicated would take them northwest to a river, then west to a swamp, and finally up into hills where a bridge crossed the river. North of that was only a mysterious X.He scouted ahead, thankful for his Watcher's training and trying to keep as quiet and as alert as possible. Feorik wasn't comfortable in taking the lead, and he waited for Linda's decision, ultimately. The wise woman agreed, but she wanted to be close to the bridge so that they would reach it by the early morning. As he moved through the underbrush, Feorik wondered if that new woodsman he had just met, Sirilyr, was doing the same thing, far away. Intent on spotting any tracks or signs of others movement, he also kept a close look for a nice defendable hollow. 

Darkness was coming and fatigue was setting in his companions, and in him too. Crossing a small stream, still a bit high from the recent storm, the place was made obvious - a sandy area with much heather and an overhanging moss-covered hill, into which a natural depression had formed. The place was secure and defensible, and many meters away from the thick forest. Feorik stopped and inspected the place for any signs of habitation - perhaps a forest cat used this as a lair or local bears fished here. Something had lived there, but whatever it was, it was gone now leaving a tangle of small brittle bones and nesting. Feorik hunkered down and waited for the crashing and creaking noises of the others to grow louder. Assembling camp was not difficult. Brian, Karod, and Tulane were eager to help. Storn patrolled the perimeter.

Everyone's bellies were rumbling. Feorik offered to hunt. The pilgrims had traveler's food, but Feorik wanted meat and he could tell the other men did too. The waif Mellody kept quiet, evermore so after witnessing the grisly scene earlier. The weak-looking Darvian also kept to himself, which was just as well in Feorik's opinion, sorcerers were dangerous allies.The Watcher roamed around the quiet still forest. Only an occasional bird called out lonely in the deep woods. Even squirrels were hard to spot. He soon gave up on finding anything larger. The wooded hillock he just climbed looked westerly over a marshy landscape. It was just possible that that stream was the river on the map. Three squirrels dangling next to his goblin scalps, Feorik decided to return and let the others know.

The sun faded, leaving them huddled quietly around a warm fire. Storn requested the four warriors rotate a watch until dawn. Linda said prayers over them all before wrapping herself in her heavy blanket. Brian took the first watch and sat with his back to the fire, listening to the occasional scurrying of some small animal in the leafy underbrush.What was it looking for among the leaves? he wondered.Then there was a quick scampering and it was gone.Another sound, a broken twig, perhaps? Something larger?He reached for his crossbow and cocked it, the mechanism clicking into place and his leather armor creaking as he raised it to face the shadows.He waited, but there was nothing for some time.His nerves grew as tight as the bowstring, waiting for a chance to release.

"Did you hear something?" he heard Karod ask from hid bedroll nearby.

"Hopefully just an animal hunting.Should we wake the others?"

"Looks like we already did."

Mellody, who had been tossing and turning through the night, leaned up on an elbow, her blanket still tight around her shoulders, "Brian what is it?"

"Probably nothing. Animals hunting at night. They won't approach our fire," Karod said tucking himself back in. 

Though the other fighter sounded confident, Brian admitted his fear, "I don't like any of this, going up against some spirit that possesses people - and kills others, something that twists tree limbs like ropes and does gory human sacrifices.What do you think? The worst thing is we don't know what this spirit is or how to fight it," complained Brian.He looked for hope in Mellody's sympathetic expression.Linda was still under her blanket, probably sleeping.

Mellody's voice was soft and reassuring, "Linda knows something.She had a vision when we prayed in the town.She hasn't said much, but I know we can trust her.Have faith in good Brigantia.When the time comes we will know what to do."

"Why can't you tell me more about what Linda saw?You were there.What of the prayers?"

"Brian, I was assisting, helping give her strength.The chants I made were only a small part of the ritual.I am not a full priestess like her. I only know that she saw something awful, and she was frightened.Her father may be a part of this, and she'll tell us when she is ready.We can't push her."Mellody glanced down at Linda, who had not moved.They all wondered, was she feigning sleep or truly unconscious? Mellody came up close. "I'll watch with you." It was better with her, the rustling seemed more mundane, more natural. They slept close to each other after waking Karod for second watch.

[b]

Feorik walked quietly around the sleeping party sometime deep in the night. The slimmest waxing crescent moons had long set, leaving the stars to compete with the embers of their fire. The soft burble of the cool stream the only pleasant sound until a nearby noise disturbed the quiet.Something was shuffling through the fallen leaves toward them from the south, from whence they came. This was different than the small noises of night scavengers. Slow and deliberate it stepped, paused, stepped. Nearer. But Feorik could not see. A predator, hunting by scent, creeping along their well marked path. Something too big to move quietly like a fox. 

Feorik, having frozen at the first sound, sprung into motion upon hearing the deliberate noises of something coming closer.Moving like a shadow, Feorik quickly stepped to Brian and Storn, tapping them on the shoulders until they awoke, peering over them with a finger on his lips and pointing towards the direction of the sounds.He did likewise with Karod, and then, with the others all coming awake due to the commotion, signaled that he was going into the wood. The one-eyed Watcher faded into the night silently, almost unnaturally. 

Brian put an arm around Mellody and whispered a suggestion that she and Linda gather the packs and break camp while the men stood guard.He stood up and cocked his crossbow again, waiting in silence for stealthy Feorik to discover who had followed them.She quickly gathered the bedrolls and packs together, her boots only half-laced and her long hair flying across her face as she tiptoed hurriedly about the campsite in the flickering half-light of the dying campfire.Linda rose with a worried frown and gazed in the direction of the mysterious footsteps.

Crossing the stream dexterously, and stepping lightly and softly on the leaf strewn ground beyond, Feorik snuck south among the trees pausing as often as the thing coming toward him. Probably only a handful of yards away, thought Feorik as he leaned back to a large tree between him and the animal, if that is what it is. He could hear it sniffing now, rooting what must be a very large nose around on the forest floor. Feorik cautiously peeked around the tree. It was almost total dark, but his wide pupils took in the subtle shades of black - a large black form, he swore waist high and wider than his armspan. It suddenly looked up, and Feorik could see three distinctive swaths of white decorating the triangular head.

Feorik could almost feel traces of his scent leaving his body and wafting toward the monstrous creature as he listened to it inhale deeply the air. It was biggest brock Feorik had ever heard of. He had seen normal badgers on occasion - too many of those were vicious fights for the entertainment of his oafish fellow Dirians. Even a small one would devastate most any other animal thrown into the ring. Feorik felt a pang of dread as he realized it was him this time, especially when he perceived the mouth full of spiky teeth drop open as his scent reached it. It started panting, then was suddenly rushing his direction.

It was not too surprising the animal was attacking, as after all these woods seemed devoid of wildlife and predators would be hungry, Feorik reasoned in that split second of clarity he always seemed to have before he fought.Keeping silent, he moved away from the trees slightly, launched a javelin at the thing, then drew his blade in one sinuous motion. The slim steel tipped weapon sailed through the air and stuck the charging animal [4HP]; it did not slow, but let out a half roar half scream that carried through the forest. It lumbered forth, the javelin dropping out, then lunged grabbing hold of Feorik's left thigh with its strong teeth [5HP]. Feorik's own cry of pain erupted.He slashed down with the sword, but the thick fur damped the blow.

In a frenzy, the creature, half on its hind legs raked with its huge clawed forepaws and bit at its prey. Feorik felt one of the creature's claws catch a seam; he heard the rip just before the pain [7 HP], and staggered back. The giant badger, blooded, crouched with wild eyes for another lunge. Growling, it leapt and pummeled Feorik with its damaging, amazingly strong limbs. Giving the night air a snarl of his own, Feorik met the thing in his own animal-like frenzy.The horrors and frustrations of the last days' events exploded out of him as he chopped and sliced and screamed, trying to cut the beast in half.He didn't see animal, but the saw the faces of others - Orinden, Calgurn ... even Goblins, as he continued the attack. But his blows fell harmlessly on the enraged swatting, nipping monster. Claws and teeth seemed to be everywhere [14 HP]. 

The cry of a wild animal filled the night. The rapidly preparing campers, paused in curiosity and fear. Then Feorik's cry of pain spurred them into action. Brian called out, "Feorik! What is it?" He sidestepped for a better vantage through the trees. 

Karod and Storn dashed off into the dark. Storn shouting back to Brian, "Stay with the priestess!"

Rasoric had gotten a torch quickly lit from the fire. Brian nervously handling his crossbow asked, "Darvian, Linda, can you help locate our enemy with magic?" Then more ominous sounds broke out, like a bad alley cat fight.

"Let's go!" Linda said pushing Rasoric off over the stream in a run. The rest followed looking for the battle. 

The monster was not tiring, and Feorik could do little to parry the ferocious attack. He was giving ground, bleeding, and cursing unable to concentrate and deliver any damaging blows. Suddenly two shadows dashed over on either side of the beast. Feorik only half saw the figures begin bashing the thing with weapons [15 HP]. The beast barely noticed in its fury continuing to assault the wounded ranger with claw and bite [10 HP]. 

Feorik grinned as the thing gave as good as it got.Combat was a primal process - coherent thought, and all the hallmarks of a 'civilized' existence were dashed away and replaced by heart-pounding fear and the need to kill!Kill or be killed!Feorik wasn't sure if he was going to survive this battle.Blood was everywhere, and the thing moved faster than a rabbit and was stronger than a bear.And it lacked a man's caution and respect of a naked blade as it sprang past his guard again and again to bite and claw. 

Taking his sword in both hands, the weakening ranger screamed out and plunged the weapon down into the black snarling mass in front of him [8 HP]. The stinging blow finally caused it to back off - a bit; it spun on one of its other attackers. Feorik stepped back a few steps and toppled over on his left hip, hard and painful. Through bleary vision he saw a torchlight heading his way; the snarling and fighting continued, echoing, far away, then black… 

The others ran up to the battle, to Feorik laying on the ground, Storn and Karod were about ten feet beyond him fighting a huge dark-furred animal. It was swatting at Karod with tremendous clawed paws. Storn, behind it, smashed it with his mace [6 HP]. Brian, amazed and horrified at the sight, let his bolt loose at it sticking it through the fur [2 HP]. Karod brought his bastard sword down on the thing with both hands [8 HP], finally damaging it unconscious. 

Rasoric ran up to Feorik. "Feorik!" he gasped as he knelt by his fallen comrade. Feorik's one eye went to him, but seemed unfocused, barely conscious. Rasoric tried to stem the flow of blood tearing a strip off his shirt, but it seemed hopeless with all the blooded rends from the waist down and both arms. Feorik lay there his life-blood pumping onto the ground, black in the torchlight. "Lady Linda, do something he's dying." Linda was close, she began a hurried prayer of healing.

Feorik looked to her, seemed to recognize her as she incanted. Suddenly a white light sprang from behind his eyes and a searing yet painless flash spread through his battered body.Everything took on clarity and focus as he saw Linda, above, close, touching him.Rasoric and Mellody were next, fear and uncertainty in their eyes, clear as day.Some power was there ? something was transferred, either from her to the ground, through him, or the other way, he couldn't tell that.The pain, numbed by its sheer intensity, seemed to vanish to a warm glow.It slowly returned as Linda seemed to step away, and the electric tingle of her hands also disappeared as she removed them.Feorik was awed.It was like what Hernry had done, but different somehow.

"I . I'm alright," Feorik breathed, but he could not sit up for a few moments.The scene had shifted. the beast was dead a few feet away.Karod stumbled away from it, his own legs ripped open by the giant badger's claws. Storn went to him and helped him sit. The monster took a sudden last breath and expelled a glut of blood. "I hope that was just a wild predator," Brian said as he prodded the dying beast with Feorik's bloody javelin."I have never seen such a large badger." He studied the monster.

Rasoric watched in amazement as most of Feorik's wounds began closing unnaturally fast. Linda stood suddenly. "Bind the deepest," she told Rasoric and went to Karod. Mellody knelt next to Rasoric and helped him with clean bandages. 

Darvian approached the badger with Brian. "No collar," the stout man told him.It clearly was a wild animal, but what could have made if grow to such a proportion. 

Looking at Brian the mage uttered a dangerous thought, "Orinden's work?" Could the furrier with his affinity for animals control living creatures as well?

Then a scared look crossed Brian's eyes. "Listen. Quiet!" Linda finished her prayer over Karod, and a hush fell except for a low sound rumbling through the trees and night shadows. Then a shrill cry followed by a louder, but still distant, flurry and commotion: splashing and things taking wing, sounds of the swamp being stirred.