Contents

[13.1] The Rescue

Surrounded and taking casualties, the cavalry and militia are doomed, but cloaked druids appear with animals and magic to rescue them driving the orcs back.

[13.2] Guardian

Inside are skeletal remains, and signs of recent disturbance. A bone weird guards a trap door.

Dricka, Dainye, and Gendle bid Sleene and companions to rush north to aid Feorik.

[13.3] Adversaries

Feorik discovers Brian had run off the cliff. He then tracks Karod and discovers Orinden on the way to the camp with Nasir the red cultist. They agree to return together.

[13.1] The Rescue

            The shield wall was down to a bit more than a dozen weary, blood-soaked men. The dismounting soldiers rushed to the western end as it painfully shuffled like an old worn crone up the long slope. Seeing the orcs struggling in the woods and heeding Sleene's words, Spencer thought they should eliminate that threat lest they be surprised from behind.  "Sleene, finish those ones," he gestured towards the ensnared orcs.

            Sleene looked fearfully at the numerous struggling forms, some making progress. "The spell will end soon," she shook her head. As they watched another orc struggled free and ran at them. With some trepidation, Sleene grabbed the staff firmly and swung at the creature's head, wincing at the loud crack as staff met skull.  Grimacing she shook her head,  "I guess the balance won't notice if either of us survives the night," she muttered. The entangled orcs were making progress.

            Spencer looked to Delak and Georan, his mind racing.  Behind them, Georan bent and for the second time this day and in his life, quietly took the lives of those his magic had stunned. Their options seemed limited; they were quickly being surrounded and very soon their only course would lie through a rank of murderous orcs. "We should warn them," Spencer pointed to the opposite side of the clearing, where their archers would be exposed to orcs coming through the trees.  "Delak?" he turned to the Tiran. Nodding the Watcher went off to direct the villagers. Suddenly a thought came to Spencer, and he did not dwell on it before acting.  "Orinden!"  he yelled at the top of his lungs, not knowing why he did so.  Certainly the disappearance of Orinden and the band of orcs were not unrelated, but were they directly connected? Spencer was screaming as much out of frustration at the mess that inscrutable man had created as anything else, but he did not dismiss the possibility.

            Calming, Spencer didn't see any place he was more needed than here.  If the tangled orcs were to free themselves someone would need to protect the flanks.  But something must be done in the mean time.  He only hoped the archers would have the sense to engage hand-to-hand when the orcs had met the militia on the slope, but Delak was seeing to that. Spencer looked to the ground for any ammunition that might be at hand; spent javelins, arrows or fist-sized rocks.  These he hurled at the orcish line. 

            "Not quite what I was planning," Sleene said as she looked at the hoards surrounding her.  "I wish I knew more of these creatures.  If we can kill their leader, will they flee?  What do they fear?"  The druidess considered what she might do and came up lacking.  Mist would helm them as much as her and she was too far away for light.  She sighed and shook her head ruefully, trying to think of something to do to help as she waited staff in hands alongside Spencer.

            Delak directed some archers to fire into the woods over Spencer, Sleene, and Georan. William and Star rushed down the slope to them bearing torches. "They are using magic against us!" The young priest said, "I can not see their casters!" William handed Spencer three small stones, "If we see them, use these."

            "Here!" Sleene took one of Spencer's larger stones that he had been preparing to throw. It began glowing brightly. Spencer looked down at the stone, then to Sleene's face, eyes wide.  He made a fist, turned it downward and pressed his hand to Sleene's, giving her the stones.  He didn't understand them and he had another idea.  He dropped his staff, grabbed Star's torch,  "William, follow!" 

            "We have find their shamans!" William complained.

            "I'll do it," Star said approaching the confused looking Sleene, "Go William."

            Spencer started putting the torch to tree branches and underbrush. "Set the woods ablaze!"   he yelled and William followed suit, lighting all the dry kindling they could find.

            Star took the stones from the druid with a knowing, confident smile. She lobbed the glowing stone high over the front ranks of orcs that looked like they were preparing to advance. It arched high over the surrounding, sneering orcs. Behind the wall of greenskins the light illuminated two separate decorated orcs dancing inside rings of bobbing brethren. They held in one of their hands held some sort of totem, and in the other a severed limb still dripping blood.

            Sirilyr watched glowing rock from somewhere behind and to his right. "If there be gods o' men a watchin' now, then they needs must choose soon ta show they be mightier than the 'eathen green gods o' this massed scum! For surely ye brave lads are the instruments o' the will o' the gods o' man 'ere tonight. An if they allow the likes o' you ta die, then they're no' fit ta oversee men..."

            "Delak!" Star shouted loud to get his attention on the targets.  The light stone was quickly found and extinguished, but it had revealed the chanting orcs calling upon their evil gods to twist fate to their favor. Star took one of William's magic stones in her right hand, squeezing it tightly she too asked for divine aid. She threw the stone. Perhaps it scored, there seemed to be a yelp of pain. But her throw was followed by a barrage of arrows, bolts, and stones, including her other two. Everyone with something to launch at the abominable savages did.

            Delak and several militiamen came to Spencer and William who were not having much luck getting their fire to spread. Delak called to them as Sleene's spell broke releasing the angry orcs. They backed away from the hastily placed palisade, and prepared to meet the orcs as they passed through. Then Delak threw something. When it hit a blinding flash and wave of heat washed by, flames exploded mid-slope, lighting five orcs and causing the others to pause and shield their eyes. At the same time, on the other side of the open slope behind them, a similar flash lit the eastern woods. "Take your torches over the crest, light woods around the horses!"

            William nodded. Seeing Spencer hesitate he said, "Star and I already doused the woods with oil." William set off up the slope followed by Star, Georan and Spencer. Sleene both cringed at the wanton destruction that the fire would create among the trees and plants and wished she could create a breeze to fan the flames.  The entire situation seemed at odds with maintaining a balance of nature and yet with a sigh, the druidess followed along, thinking that she would eventually find something useful to do. Delak and his men formed a line of defense against the flanking orcs. A similar line was being set on the eastern flank.

 

            Sirilyr too had sheathed his blade and unslung his bow after seeing the orc shaman illuminated. "'Old fast fer jest a bit now boys!" The ranger ordered. Drawing one of his few remaining arrows he sighted the first to fall where he had seen the two notable greenskin leaders. He slung his bow as he listened to the rain of shafts and howls from the orcs. He again drew his silvered bloody longsword and trusty wicked handaxe and retaking his spot in the thin red stained line of woodsmen and herders. Fire flashes to the east and west told Sirilyr that the orcs had flanked them too, and Delak had used his oil to slow them. Glancing behind him up-slope, Sirilyr saw the ranks of archers splitting, forming perpendicular lines, one at each of the ends of his to defend against the flanking woods.  The palisades would prevent an en mass charge, but not infiltration. He had little time to worry about the flanks now, the enraged orcs from below charged up the hill through the ten or so yards of cat holes.

            The soldier's fiery pale eyes stabbed at each man still standing, holding that small obstinate line of iron by force of will at that point, with his dire words. "My blood oath, as an example ta cowardly and shamed men an deities old an new, before I'll break an run I'll no' leave a one o' you brave men 'ere this night whilst a one o' us still draws breath ta stand fer 'earth an 'ome! Are ye with me?" With a rebellious cheer the dirty battered group cried "Aye" as one! Tossing aside the remains of his smashed targe and standing tall, pointing with a grimy stained gauntlet up the hill, sword held steady in the face of his foe, Sirilyr called out to those in safety above. "Rally or remember!" His arm flung forward down the slope towards the frothing mottled green menace lapping toward his gallant men. For the first time in Sirilyr's life, he felt no fear of the future. This moment was the crowning achievement of his few full years.

 

            Hearing the uproar of the charge from below those scrambling over the crest looked backed, over the militiamen and the dark surge of orcs. The firelit night again erupted in the vicious chaos of melee. More orcs were pressing the flanks. "William, the woods!" Spencer pointed eastward then ran for the western.  With outstretched arm he quickly probed the earth with his torch, waiting for the oil to catch and spread, helping it along.  Satisfied with the fires, Spencer turned. William's fires were burning high as well. Spencer started to return downslope to bolster Delak's line, but the suddenly skittish horses drew his attention.

 

            Orcs tripped up by holes and stumbling brethren met the men of Tir and soldiers of the March who held their line despite the press. Sword, sickle, hammer, and axe tangled with club, maul, and spear. Blood and spit flew as weapons and foreign curses clashed face to face. There were few of these orcs with the hard steel that the others had; and Stargt or Sirilyr fought their way to engage these deadly foes. But men were falling, the line was breaking. Militiamen from behind dropped their crossbows, and rushed down to slay the breaching orcs and fill the line.

            The orcs were breaching the flanking palisades too. But the militiamen were holding there as well. The orcs were not coming through the woods in any organized way, and the trees and stakes of the palisades split them up enough to allow a couple of men to react and slay the infiltrators. More orcs were filing through the woods beyond the stakes however. From the crest of the ridge, Sleene saw how well Georan's light spell gave their western defenders an edge. The eastern militialine could not see much into the trees, so she set off to get them more light. Georan followed.

            As Sleene neared the end of the line of eastern defenders, a group of orcs sprung out of the trees. A couple men scrambled over to her defense, but Georan again released a flash of light that sent them to the ground. The surprised villagers watched the young mage with suspicion, but Sleene dashed over the fallen orcs and laid her spell upon a large knot in the closest tree. The illumination revealed not only the orcs coming through the spikes, but also many moving up the slope.

 

            Star attempted to corral the nervous horses, but kept glancing fearfully at the battle. Sleene picked her way behind the dwindling number of archers. It amazed Star to see so few hold back so many, but she knew it would not be for much longer. Although nothing but shadows, she knew more orcs were massing on the trail at the foot of the ridge. A cool gust of wind blew by her, a swirl of fog wriggled among the horses and turned into three dust devils spinning in the growing orange glow of the surrounding forest fires. Star was suddenly afraid.

            The mists thickened and took on humanoid shape. The horses skipped away from them. Star faced them bravely, but her voice revealed her fear as she called to Spencer and William. Spencer ran towards the apparitions, "What the hell is that?" Nearing the mist-beings, Spencer swiped his torch at them. They retreated from the flames; dispersing and reforming further away. "They flee from fire!  Surround them with torches!"  Spencer exclaimed, moving in a circular path to the rear of the specters.  He tried to drive them in William's direction.

            William rushed over, "What foul demon works are these? Quick, push them with your torch towards the fire wall, perhaps the rising flame wind will tear at them!" The forms were separate, and moved further apart while Spencer and William tried to herd them together. The third whirlwind got further away and suddenly became solid; a darkly cloaked figure stood upon the crest with them.

            It drew back its hood as it strode back toward Spencer and William revealing an angry, familiar face. "Stop this! We are allies!" It was Dricka. Spencer stood in place, dumbfounded.  Suspicion mixed with hope and confusion as he simply stared between Dricka and the other form waiting for something to happen.

            William had also stopped harassing the wind shape, looked around to get the bearings of his friends. With a suspicious tone he asked, "Who are you then?"

            "Later," the man said as the two other forms became corporeal. Those two did not reveal their faces, but moved silently passed Spencer and William to join the first.

            Spencer grunted his frustration as he returned to the scene of the battle.  He headed to the crest to look over the battle and seek a way to take the orcs unawares.  For this purpose he would perhaps need to ditch his torch; an orc's eyes would be the ideal disposal site.

            William moved over to Star while keeping an eye on three new men and asked, "Do you know the look of these men, can we trust them?"

            "That is the Druid Dricka," Star told him also watching the druids, but with more hope than suspicion. The sounds of the battle below crescendoed, the orcs were pressing the men back up the slope, most of the archers had joined the melee. At each flank, a bright point of light in trees revealed just how many orcs had infiltrated the woods. As many orcs were picking through the palisades to engage the lines of men defending the flanks, as there were heading up the slope to the crest. Only the flames Spencer and William had set delayed the encirclement of the men on the ridge. The sight was hypnotizing

 

            As he severed the hand of a maul wielding gobbo with a swift chop and blocked the sweeping slash of a spearhead with his sickly wet blade from another, Sirilyr watched a wave of fear pass through their foes. The orcs looked over the heads of the human warriors, uncertain, hesitating. An odd silence interrupted the melee. Sirilyr threw a quick worried glance back over his shoulder back up the ridge. "What the Devil?" He exclaimed hurriedly.

            Three cloaked and hooded figures stood at the crest; green fire swirled about them, outlining their forms against the dark sky to those below. "Not Natural," Sleene thought, looking around warily at the sight. Georan did not look up until he slit the throat of the orc. Then he began another spell. William stood with Star and watched the glowing druids. The forms pulled curved swords and held them over their heads as the central figure began shouting loudly. The words were gutteral, foreign, the language of the orcs.

            The druids' words angered the orcs, a challenge perhaps. The creatures shouted in reply and resumed their attack, confident that the few humans were soon to fall. But another sound accompanied the resumed battle, a low sound, rumbling barely discernable. But it quickly grew louder, higher in pitch, the sound of thousands of insects.  With surprise and fear on his face, William took a startled step backwards, muttering a prayer to Arawn, " Almighty ... fear ... guidance ... protection..."

 

            "A spell," Georan told Sleene as they watched a dark shadow descend from the starlit sky. It landed upon the orcs at bottom of the slope accompanied by an uproar and chaos. The swarm quickly spread over the massed orcs; covered with hundreds of insects they had no choice but to flee slapping and clawing at themselves. The dark mist of insects spread up the slope seeming to devour the orcs pressing behind the melee. The terrified yells of their brethren behind scared the battling orcs who had not seen the swarm as they fought the humans.

            Sleene looked to Georan.  "Friends or enemies?" she asked.  "I might be able to disrupt one or two but...those insects...I couldn't do that..." Yet! She thought with determination.  Georan shrugged bloody dagger in hand. They silently watched swarm disrupt the main battle. But the orcs in the flanking woods made an angry charge as they realized the main of their force was breaking. They breached the palisades in several places, throwing spikes aside. The men who had been quick to put down the infiltrators soon found themselves against too many. They were not as prepared for a line of defense as the men on the central slope. One of the cloaked figures moved toward each side.

            Hearing the uproar of the incoming orcs, William and Star followed as one of the druids moved by them to eastern flank.  They neared the end of the line of villagers where Sleene and Georan stood ready to face the orcs. The druid stopped a few paces behind the men. With a white knuckled grip and fear in his eye, William took a tentative step forward and brandished his mace, "Even that magic is found wanting in making you culls flee.  Come then, Arawn is waiting!"

            Georan released another burst of colored light at the nearest orcs coming at them. Three of the orcs fell over in the trees, but four others climbed through behind them. The druid raised his arms and shouted an invocation that only Sleene understood. The power of the call was great, much greater than hers. She spun to watch its effects. The entire eastern woods, throughout the illuminated area and beyond, erupted in writhing tendrils of root, weed, and branch. The carefully charging orcs were suddenly caught in the wild growth wrapping leg, arm, and weapon. "Slay those near, but keep from the woods!" the druid called to the line of defenders down the slope. Sleene recognized Dricka's voice.

 

            Bounding down the slope, Spencer heard the speech of the druids above, but he had picked victim and path. Orcs were engaging Delak's line downslope to his left. Spencer could flank the orc at the end of that line, then dart into the shadows between the light spell and the fire above to go after more orcs as they moved against the illuminated line men outside the trees. He practically leapt upon the orc, adding his full weight to the force of the blow. The torch exploded on the back of its thick neck sending a burst of sparks and embers across its wiry hair and mottled flesh. It shouted, more with surprise than pain, and lost its defense. The villager cleaved an axe into its chest.

            Quickly, Spencer backed away from the melee and went upslope a bit to hide in the trees and get the drop on another orc or more. He heard the odd sound of insects then watched the dark cloud descend and send panic throughout the orcs. Amazing. He looked up at the druids. The three of them were glowing with a green fire. Then the woods erupted with a battle cry to answer the screams coming from the main force of orcs. One of the druids ran his direction.

 

            Arching an eyebrow in surprise, the ranger was too tired to much care who the trinity of green swathed figures were. He assumed the druids had finally cast their lot in with the forces of man. Then the first of the fleeing orcs burst between their brethren.  A fearfully screaming orc rushed forward, leaping over the bodies of her slain kindred for Sirilyr, two wicked scimitars swirled in her clawed hands. The young soldier bellowed loudly back in defiance as his own swirling blades met the ferocious challenge. The pair's weapons chopped and slashed at any foe unlucky enough to get in the way of their private battle.

            "This un's mine! Stay clear!" Shouted the dueling ranger as he leapt back to avoid a swiftly kicked foot aimed at his groin. "Bitch!" He growled as he worked his hand axe to ensnare the female's extended leg in an attempt to put her slimy green butt into the crimson blood soaked ground, as his long sword parried one of the wicked curved blades whistling through the air around him. The orc was good, perhaps a shamaness. Sirilyr flinched as a razor sharp blade lay open his right cheek just under a squinting fire lit eye. She was really good.

            Sparks flew as the soldier's riposte ground across her mailed breasts. Damn! She's got 'er a 'auberk on made o' the same iron as me blades, Sirilyr thought to himself grimly, gotta take 'er in the throat, or up the legs! He ducked under a scissors move that came close to separating him from his head, the blades sang as they slid along his rounded war helm. "An be quick about it!" He noted. Insects were starting to get thick. The orc bitch was indifferent to the things landing on her. They pissed Sirilyr off, making him flinch and twitch, throwing his off his rhythm.

            "Back away!" Sirilyr heard a command from behind. It was authoritative, but not Stargt. He took another cut on his arm, one of many this night. The female screamed at Sirilyr, blades wide, but body taught and crouched. Sirilyr recognized the ploy and kept his own defensive stance. Insects were now crawling all over her shoulders, massing and taking flight at Sirilyr, getting tangled in her wiry hair. She bit down and chewed a bug in half. Her eyes locked defiantly on Sirilyr. The drone of the swarm was loud.

            I'm stronger, but am I quick enough? the soldier thought. We'll les' see... Swinging the iron shod hafted hand axe in a high arching over handed, all crushing chop, Sirilyr drew the female's crossed blades upwards to hold the mighty blow. She grunted in fury as she used her knees to flex upward to aid in absorbing the block's shock and set up a parry for the man thing's sword thrust to her body. The axe fell, was caught with a crisp clanging of iron. The shamaness's counter, a scissoring move which caused her right held scimitar to whistle through the empty air where the soldier's arm had been holding the heavy hand axe a moment before. Her left blade's sudden off balance motion sent the now forceless hand weapon spinning away into the flame lit blackness. The orc shrieked in wide-eyed consternation.

            Twisting away and around, Sirilyr had let go of the axe's haft upon the first shock of impact with the shamaness's locked swords. This bought him the heartbeat and momentum he needed to drop and roll around the female orc's left. Grasping his longsword two handed, he swung up under his foe's fine hauberk and then slashed downwards in a bleeding, nearly joint severing cut across the orc's inner thigh from her crotch to her knee. The hamstrung shamaness leapt away from the severe stroke, saving her from amputation, but not the gashing of her femoral artery. The young veteran quickly continued his shoulder roll away from his dangerous adversaries' shrieking back handed riposte, still taking a mail breaking slash to his hip as he did so. Thick flowing, bright scarlet blood geysered from her mortal wound over her muscular thighs and calves onto the ground she still stood upon. She was almost immediately enveloped from the waist down by black shiny insects swarming to feast over the freshly spilt gore.

            "Well done man thing..." Croaked the orc shamaness in surprisingly good common, as she bled out. "We shall go together." With a howl of soul numbing ferocity the orc thrust with her fly blackened good leg and lunged with one scimitar aimed at Sirilyr's chain coifed, leather mantled, neck. And with one blade sighted upon his abdomen. "By the Gods!" Cried the battered ranger. "Thar be only one way ta finish this!" The soldier's determined growl as he purposely impaled his left thigh deeply upon the female's lower blade was punctuated by the clang of his crimsoned soaked sword parrying the orc's final deadly thrust.

            Grasping her wrist with his free gauntleted hand he sliced back evenly forward over the creature's extended arm and left a gaping gash along the shamaness's pale green throat. She was powerless to prevent her death. For a brief horrifying moment, she knew fear. Gurgleing, the orc blew crimson gore across Sirilyr's face with her last fetid breath before her writhing corpse sank at his feet with a sickly sound.  The scene was one of utter silence, exacorated only by the frenzied buzzing of feeding insects. The shamaness's shaking corpse, blanketed by a seething mass of bugs crawling in and out as the stoic, gore covered soldier stood over her with his enemy's blade still stuck in his body. His own weapon raised shining in the firelight as his blood soaked leathered hand points towards his other massed enemies. Defiantly he called out in a resonant deep voice, cutting in it's furious anger, "Who dies next!"

            The 'man things' face is swathed in mud, blood, and twisted in pain and battle rage. Despite its spouting of unintelligible, but undeniable desire to inflict pain and death, the swarm was spreading up the slope bringing a worse fate as apparent to the remaining gobbo forces still in sight of the terrible thing at Sirilyr's feet. They backed away from this shadowy minion of death and fled into the fog of insects chattering excitedly. Their shamanesses gone, fear was a palpable presence in the greenskin ranks. The surviving humans take heart at this turn of events. The Tirian line took up the repeated ancient cry of "Out!"

            Seeing the enemy ranks break, Sirilyr attempted to step forward again into the fray. Blinding pain made the world swim into almost total blackness. The young man fell hearing the voice again command, "Do not follow! Do not follow! Pull back!" 

 

            As some of the orcs passed unaffected through his spell, Georan staggered a few steps back as the last of his arcane energy vacated his body. Shaking his head as if to clear it and blinking as if to focus he looked around. Sleene too looked at the battle, trying for a moment to gauge the forces now battling.  The villagers seemed to have the upper hand at the moment so she moved over to the druid. Georan looked from Sleene, to the druid, and last at his blood soaked dagger and hands. With a wild laugh aimed at the sky he sheathed his dagger and stood arms crossed to watch the outcome of the battle.

            Her attention divided between the battle, forest, and druids, Sleene gave the mage a sidelong glance. William turned to Sleene, "Do you know these men?  What are they doing here, and conveniently when these, these creatures, arrive?"

            Sleene turned to the druid she hoped was Dricka, "I do not understand. I am grateful that I will be able to serve and learn a bit longer yet but...what has happened that we now act openly and directly?  I thought..." She shook her head, in confusion, not sure what she thought.

            Dricka removed his hood, the green fire disappeared. He studied those around him and glanced at the villagers to make sure they obeyed his direction. To Sleene he spoke. "This is not supposed to be," he gestured at the chaotic battle, "and these people should not have been put in this danger."

            Sleene looked at Dricka, her calm momentarily breaking. "Not supposed to...but..." She looked around, shaking her head.  "Is this not what you sent me to search for?  Although I did not quite expect this," she waved indicating the battle, "it did not come as a complete surprise, given what has happened over the last weeks.  Was there something I should have reported?  Or was there some word for me that never reached me?"

            Dricka smiled at her, " You have done as we wanted. And were it not for you, we would not have been able to help. But these orcs in this number were not expected."

            Questions exploded in Sleene's mind. Well, I have learned, she thought to herself.  She knew that farther questions at this time would get her nowhere. Patience. Stay calm and observe, she kept reminding herself, trying to match the bearing of the other druids as she watched the battle. William also watched as the villagers finished off the remaining orcs with a mixture of excitement and disgust.  Oh, to rid the world of such foul creatures... would it not please Arawn to have more souls? But what of my own, what cost? The druids had come somehow recognizing the ill nature of these orcs gathering.

            Below, the swarm had spread up the slope, engulfing the battling orcs and encroaching on the men still holding the line. The central druid, still bathed in wisps of green fire, had descended and was loudly calling for the men to pull back away from the insects. "Come you all! Up slope, gather! This is not over!" Dricka shouted until the excited, victorious villagers stopped their abusive slaughter and mutilation of those orcs not out of reach in the writhing woods.

            As they climbed to the ridge behind Dricka, William asked Star, "Star, what do you know? Can we trust them?"

            "Dricka has come through our village every season for many years. He brought Sleene with him this summer," she answered. The other two druids were also bringing the men from the central and western lines up to the ridge

            "What is that green light?" the curious young William asked Sleene.

            "The green is contained within," the druidess replied, a bit distracted.  "It is a visible manifestation of that energy.  You cannot normally see it."

 

            Spencer watched the green glowing druid come. He wanted to slink into the woods, but he suspected this druid would animate the woods as Sleene had so he backed away from the trees and back to Delak's line. Sure enough the mysterious druid cast the spell on the woods as the first of the enraged orcs picked through the palisade. Angry shouts filled the night, and not just from the western woods. Branches and roots sprung up at nearby orcs, Spencer took to violently swinging and bashing. The druid behind him was calling for everyone to retreat back up the slope; it was a woman's voice.

            Spencer moved upslope with other villagers that had beat several of the orcs down. They moved cautiously, keeping a wary eye out for ambush from escaped orcs.  There was not much leeway for any daring foray towards the enemy. Achieving safe ground, he retrieved his staff then returned to hurling handy projectiles, rocks, sticks, spent weapons, towards the orcs with the triumphant militia.

            The druids got a line of defense formed at the top. Some orcs struggled through the entanglement spells, but the line of humans ringed by fire and backed by powerful shamans was too daunting, especially with their own shamans and leaders fleeing from the gigantic swarm of insects.  They fled down the slope through the edge of the cloud of bugs. The central druid, face hidden by his hood, told the soldiers and militiamen that the swarm would dissipate soon and the orcs would regroup. "We must stay on the move to keep the orcs from attacking enmass." As he finished the swarm did indeed fade away. Nip and Snap snuck over to Sleene. Feint had been barking at the swarm, mostly drowned out by it. Now he ran down the slope.

            "Go, find help find the wounded. Hurry," the druid directed.

            Sleene shook her head and returned her attention to Dricka, "I have little energy left until I rest again," she said.  "But I have some.  How can I help?"

            "Help with the wounded, then we have a task for you," Dricka told her. Sleene nodded and moved with the others among the wounded. Stargt called to his soldiers to protect the villagers.

 

            William slung his mace and approached the druid he thought he was waving the torch in front of. "Sorry about the fire waving thing, but you did give us quite the fright." William caught a glimpse of the druid's features flecked by green light under his hood; he was an old man, but had a firm jaw and his leathery skin was still tight on his bones. Although his eyes were shrouded, William could feel them upon him, piercing him.

            "Your master has failed," he said with his clear, commanding voice that did not reflect his age. "You must help make this right." The words both angered and worried William.

            "What should I do? There are dead all around."

            "Yes." The druid agreed. "Say your prayers over them, they will find their way." The old druid left to help the first of the gathering wounded. William considered his actions. Viatteni's rituals were planned, organized, and for one, or a few, souls. William surveyed the battlefield. Bodies, human and non, lay about the sides and lower half of the slope. He sighed and resolved to a short prayer over as many as he could; he took a falcon feather from his pouch and begun the work.

 

            "Sirilyr," Georan said. "Sirilyr is not among us," he told Spencer who quickly confirmed. But Feint's resumed barking and growling drew their attention. Feint had indeed found his man. Sirilyr lay on the ground next to a female armored orc, a blade embedded in his leg. Bravely barking and snarling at any who would dare close upon his fallen master the animal, covered with the blood of his own battles, stood between Sirilyr's body and all comers with gleaming white fangs bared and ears down. A long tall ridge of thick fur stood in a solid single rank across the length of his arched back, his tail curled proudly as if a squire held pennon. "None may pass..." the villager nodded to the honorable hound.

            Sleene was helping prepare the wounded to move, cutting bandages from clothing and dipping frequently into her pouch for herbs with which to treat the wounds.  She moved quickly though; there were not many survivors. She kept an eye on Nip and Snap, where had they gone during the battle? She then noticed Feint's racket, and Georan, Spencer, and another kept at bay by the angry dog. "Nip and Snap," she called.  They slowly, calmly moved closer to Feint, talking calmly and soothingly, arms drawn in meekly and unthreateningly.  "You know me...come on Feint...I can help him...you know me... you know Nip and Snap", they had rolled on their backs picking up Sleene's intent. "Come on...let me to him..."

            Feint was too wild, angry, and scared that his man was dying; he knew that, and so did Sleene. Somewhat surprisingly, she found that it did matter to her if he lived or died, and that somehow he was very important.  Unable to sooth the dog, but desperate to save Sirilyr, she reached into herself, let her mind focus and calm. Concentrating, she felt the conscious minds around her, most tall and dark, smooth and mysterious, impenetrable; but not little Feint's. His was small, open, pliable. She sent her will to him, her calm, gentle thoughts of peace. The scared, excited dog was suddenly tranquil. Sleene moved to Sirilyr's side, patting Feint's head. Nip and Snap went to Feint happily, but he ignored them and took to licking Sirilyr's face. 

            Sleene examined the leg wound.  The blade was in deep; the ranger was alive, if barely.  "This is going to hurt a bit," she told the ranger, "But I promise it will feel better in a minute." Taking a firm grasp of the sword in his leg and preparing herself with a deep breath, she pulled the blade free quickly and as smoothly as she could manage. Blood spurted from the open wound; his heart was still strong. Sirilyr convulsed. Jamming her bare hands over the puncture, she staunched the bleeding and quickly began to channel the last of her manna into the torn flesh, healing the wound.  If she didn't get it closed quickly, the ranger was dead.  It had little effect on the deep wounds, but perhaps enough. "Bandage! Help me bind this," she called to anyone nearby.

            Sirilry's eyes fluttered open. He was all pain, but it was the coarse warm tongue of a loyal, small brown hound that dominated his bleary perceptions. He blinked and turned away from the happy mutt. Near, he saw Sleene and Spencer bandaging his leg; she looked exhausted, but happy to see him conscious. Spencer was all business. Further away, sounds of fighting.  "We have to go soon," Sleene told him. There were a few groups of orcs that ran at the villagers, but the professional warriors intercepted and drove them away.

            The battered but unbowed ranger smiled weakly at the angel hovering over him. His eyes winced in pain which seem to caress every inch of him. "Ye know lass, I'm gettin'  ta be too old fer this..." He rasped out to Sleene in an effort to be witty and cover the agony he felt as he attempted to rise up on his arms, he was nicked and bleeding in many places. "It seems ta me ye two are always pluggin' 'oles in me." He chuckled painfully to the crotchety but stalwart mapmaker and the lithe druidess. His eyes lingered on hers in an expression which said everything he felt for her in his heart, "not that I don't appreciate it..." Spencer scowled faintly as he caught the look between the two.

            The old villager saw and smiled warmly as he rubbed the hound's ears, "You'll live soldier. Sleene's a most gifted healer. The boys will hold 'em off while we get up the hill." He glanced to the druidess, "it is alright ta move him eh Miss?"

            He was weak, but he could stand. Sleene and Spencer lifted him from the shoulders to his feet. "Macomb, take him up. There are others that need us," Sleene bid the Tirian villager she now recognized. The three of them spread out again, and gave aid to those they found alive. But William was moving from body to body, casting prayers over the dead. Sleene was nearing exhaustion, but drew on her inner determinations to keep going with the elder Druids watching.  I am NOT going to fall over of exhaustion in front of those who made me work with these humans, she kept thinking to herself as she worked.  Still, she tried to work out her feelings as well.  Why did it matter if Sirilyr lived or died? And then, there were no more that she could help.  She looked around, found Snap, and rubbed his head tiredly. The soldiers were pulling back as the villagers helped move the wounded to the crest.  When the soldiers pulled back after the wounded were retrieved, so did William.

            Sirilyr watched from the crest with the horses ringed by flaming woods, and the growing group of tired men eager to be done with this night. Orc calls and shouts filled the woods around them, but for now they left the humans alone. The soldiers had formed a line below the crest where the ragtag militia stood. Stargt, wounded and leaning on a shattered spear, still barking directions burned into Sirilyr's memory. The three hooded druids had let their green fire quell; the moved among the villagers, quietly inspecting wounds, passing on healing magic when necessary.

            Feint had been circling Sirilyr and suddenly bayed long and mournful as any trumpet could. Sirilyr swallowed the hard lump in his throat as he watched the valiant survivors of the miraculously thwarted slaughter. Here within this defiant circle of death he had found all of the things he had ever held dear and true; brave comrades unselfish, a pure just cause, and the simple certainty of life or death. The realization made the young ranger laugh heartily with a jest, "Who needs a fickle woman and a family when 'e's got the likes o' you 'earty lads an a good dog fer company!" His small band of bloody brothers began to laugh as well, for they all knew they were as close to Death's chill touch as a man can come and still retain the warm breath of life. That torn disheveled brotherhood raucously laughed in the face of Death. And when it came time to travel that dark road, they would take many more enemies along for company... This strange noise puzzled the gobos, they did not understand it's meaning. But, they soon would. 

[13.2] Guardian

            Inside Feorik thought that somehow Darvian was key to all of this, and he inspected his face carefully in the lantern light.  Was the Shamhat spirit truly gone?  Or would it return to betray them when they dropped their guard again? Post-battle relief threatened to overwhelm Feorik as he stood in the sheltered space out of the storm.  He felt dizzy, mostly from fatigue, but also from the constant stress of the last days.  His eyes ached, and his mind was unfocused.  He found himself fascinated by each small notch and scrape along the blade of the longsword he held tightly in hand, glittering in the lantern light.  How the rainwater ran down the length in beads to drip to the floor.

            With a forcible effort, the young Warder slowly closed his eyes and cleared his mind.  If only there were Goblins here; then this would all be so much easier.  With a deep breath, he blinked his eyes open and knelt, inspecting the tracks. Booted. Human. Probably the same man they followed from the murdered cultists. Looking at the clumps of dirt, Feorik noticed quite a few small broken bones mixed among the brown leaves and grasses.

            Another weird screeching cry ripped through the wind and rain. Storn moved to the door and he and Rasoric fearfully peered out into the darkness with the lantern. Its light was feeble at the range of the tree line, but they could see that nothing was approaching. "Someone should keep watch," Mellody suggested.

            Storn turned back to the others, temporarily left in the dark and pleased that the room was again illuminated. "You stay with Rasoric," he handed the lantern to Mellody then pushed the door almost closed, scraping the dirt off the floor as it moved. "Does anyone have a torch?" No.

            There was a lamp on a table in the corner. Linda lifted it, "Empty."

            "I'll put some of this in there," Mellody concluded. The table lamp lit. It was not made for carrying around, but it would do. Linda carried toward Feorik who stood from inspecting the prints on the floor leading into the hall.

            "One to follow.  Let's go," he announced, and began to stalk after the trail in the dark, deserted place. Linda followed him, then Darvian, then Storn. Where the hall jogged, an open door to the left revealed a disarrayed storage room, and the decapitated skeletal remains of someone. A door at the far end of the hall was also open, and was apparently the intruder's destination. "Quietly now," Feorik whispered as he slowed his pace and approached the open doorway at the end of the hall.  Still, it was as if a herd of deer moved behind him, with Storn's heavy tread sounding hollow on the floor. They were not here to spy, but to finish this.

            It was some sort of workroom, but completely ransacked. A large pile of small bones lay on the floor in the center of the room as if swept there along with the surrounding dirt. There was no broom in sight. This cleaned area was roughly circular about eight feet in diameter, with the pile of bones about four feet in diameter and over a foot thick. The footprints through the dirt and filth that covered the rest of the floors in the place ended at this swept area. Whomever it was entered it and emerged from it to head back out of the cabin.

            "Bones," Feorik whispered.  "Bones everywhere, hundreds of them."  He was careful not to near the bone pile, and instead crouched on the edge of the swept area. "Came up to here, and then left," he explained to the others, pointing out the boot prints and their direction of travel. Feorik eyed the pile.  Was there something buried under there?  He found his superstitions stayed his hand, or even a prodding javelin.  He looked to Linda and Darvian.  This was for the wise to investigate.

            "I do not like this," Linda said looking over Feorik at the bones. "Let us leave this mess for now and check the other rooms." She slid the door closed, grating through the grit on the floor, as they left. The next door back down the hall was unlocked and opened to a kitchen and eating room. A large fireplace for roasting occupied the corner. Animals had invaded from its chimney and despoiled everything they could. A few small casks may not have been cracked open among the mess on the floor. It smelled of old rot and mold, and nothing stirred at their light. The corner doors across the hall was barred and opened into a woodshed, still stocked full with firewood. The wind howled across the shed's open end.

            The last door next to the shed's was locked. No one seemed to want to bash and make a lot of noise in this house, so they fiddled with the lock. Hearing them, Rasoric came around the corner. He started at the skeleton in the storeroom, but regained his composure. Smiling innocently, he took the knife from Storn and worked the lock himself. It took a second tool from one of his pockets, but the internal latch was sprung. Beyond was a sleeping room. Two beds and a cot. A fireplace was opposite, sharing the chimney of main room's fireplace.

            Animals had used this room as well, ripping up bedclothes and mattresses scattering straw about. The cot was intact, and the mattresses still had most of their stuffing. It had been a long time since; the stains were dry and the room did not smell strongly. They returned to the front room where Mellody reported no sign of the tree creature or any more of its screeching; only the hollow sound of the wind. "We must rest," Linda concluded looking around to each of them then down the now dark hallway. "As much I do not wish to in this place, we are tired, sore, scared." She then looked at Darvian and to Storn, "Two must watch together while the other four sleep.

            "And what of Brian, and Karod?" Feorik asked the question dully.  Did they just give up on them?  "I'm not tired," he lied.  "Rest here, and I will look for them again, and be back within an hour.  The tree thing, if it is still out there, is slow and I can evade it.  One hour; after that time I will know if they are in they area.  Or not." He met Linda's eyes and held them; she could tell that the Warder was not going to back down.  He could tell she was gravely concerned, a sadness revealed that he had not seen in her. But looking for lost woodsmen and people who strayed from the safety of Dir and into the surrounding wilderness was one of the prime responsibilities of Warders.  The situation was different here, but Feorik felt his responsibilities hadn't changed. 

            Rasoric watched through the door into the storm, not wanting to interfere. Mellody looked like she was keeping her tongue waiting expectantly for Linda's reply. Linda looked from Feorik to Mellody and Storn, tears welling, but the man was like a statue.  She ran down the hallway, Mellody chased after. Storn turned his eyes at Feorik and pursed his lips. "Karod and Brian could avoid the creature too. But that is not all that is out there," he looked at Darvian who was kicking around some debris. "Whatever got into him, Linda let it go. He says it showed him this place, wanted him to come here."

            Darvian came over brushing dirt off of a hand mirror, "I think - it thinks - whatever brought it into this world is somewhere here, holding it here." He took his eyes off the mirror and fixed Feorik with a hard stare, "It is unbelievable evil - hateful of life." The mage went pale, shuddered and looked scared; the mirror dropped from his hands. It hit the floor with a thud and didn't break. Darvian just stared at it.

            Storn said to Feorik, drawing the ranger's eyes from the curious and dangerous mage, "If it wants us here, it doesn't want us in that woods. Brian and Karod will be okay, or not. We can look for them together in the light of day."

            "But ....," Feorik sighed.  And he held his peace.  He half-turned towards the door but stopped.  In fact, not heading out into the storm to look for those two was one of the hardest things he had ever done.  "Alright, light of day.  But no later," he said, and it was a snarl, but one of frustration and not rage.

            Darvian bent and picked up the mirror. Its frame and handle was polished dark wood with silver inlays. Out of place in the rustic, dilapidated cabin. "Should have broken," Darvian said ignoring Storn and Feorik's conversation.

            "Then break it," the Watcher spat, and he stormed out of the room down the hallway.  Darvian watched him go, distracted from the mirror for a moment. He knew that most people around him were superstitious and hated magic, and seeing the trouble they were in, he could actually follow their reasoning. But the anger of the Watcher didn't really help either. Focusing back on the mirror, Darvian considered, The way it had dropped on the ground any normal glass would have shattered. Was that mirror an important clue? Could it be linked to the monster? Darvian suddenly felt like Feorik might have a point, and he smashed the mirror to the ground with all the force that was inside him.

            The wood frame fractured under the blow, but the glass or metal surface did not. Studying it carefully, turning it around to check it from all sides. Another blow would probably destroy the frame's ability to hold the mirror. The silver inlays held their place. It was an expensive piece, the silver quite intricate; almost or perhaps forming runes of some sort. He looked into the surface. His reflection was clear, but seemed dark, smoky. Perhaps it was the light. Words came to his thoughts as he looked at himself: a rhyme or song, a memory surfacing from his past. That fear was coming back. The thing was coming back.

            Darvian fought the building panic. He tore his eyes from the mirror and sought the stern protection of Storn. The man did not glow now, did not threaten with his very presence. But Storn was watching him closely, suspiciously. Darvian felt suddenly self-conscious. He did not know what exactly he had done that night, but he could feel the tension between the others. They did not understand his magic, and that creature had chosen him. It was gone now, Darvian was sure, but that hateful thing had not left him alone. His panic attack had faded.

            Storn told him, "Go rest. Rasoric and I will take this watch. You need to sleep." Darvian nodded. He was very tired. He glanced back at the mirror as he turned and headed down the hall to the bedroom. The hateful thing had left him with memories not his own, alien and evil. What had it done to his own thoughts?

            He almost bumped into Mellody as he rounded the corner and she came out of the doorway. She jumped, more startled than he. She went round him and pulled the door closed on the skeleton while he entered the lantern lit room. He glanced down to the door at the end of the hall. His wavering shadow stretched along the dirty floor like a crooked finger pointing at the dark opening. Linda had closed that door, but it was open now. He glanced into the bedroom, only Linda was there straightening up as best she could. She cast furtive glances at him, but tried to hide her suspicions.

            "Feorik went back in there," Mellody told him. He was standing in the doorway in a tired daze. He moved into the room and to the cot; Linda had set her and Mellody's blankets on the bed. He dropped the mirror on the cot, and unloaded mechanically. The women had already said prayers and climbed into their bed. Darvian sat, and felt the lump of the mirror under his blanket. He dug it out and examined it again. Smoky polished surface, a few linear flaws, Glass or polished stone? Then the sounds began playing in his mind again. Nonsensical. What were they?

            Eyes heavy and mind jumbling, Darvian tried to remember where he had heard these syllables before. He watched himself in the mirror while his listened to the words in his mind. "W'ha'qa jeh e'qa ar faera m'zhu sed," he unintentionally spoke the words as they came. He watched his lips move with the foreign language. His lips retracted revealing long teeth in decaying black gums. Terrified, Darvian was suddenly looking at a corpse in the mirror. His corpse. Undead. Sunken black eyes stared back at him from the smoky mirror.

 

            Feorik needed to be alone.  In the darkness he avoided the women and headed back to the bone room.  He walked in, and crept to the place where the ominous pile began, and crouched.  He had a feeling what they were looking for was here ... but he didn't dare dig down there.  Feorik spun on his heels and sat down hard, and closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. He breathed deep, let it out. Listened to the muted sound of the wind outside, to his breath, to his heartbeat. He sat in the dark lit only by a dim flicker of light from the bedroom down the hall. He relaxed trying not to think.

            He thought he heard something shift behind him. The Warder felt his flesh turn to goose pimples as the hair on his neck stood up.  He spun in place.  There, on the ground, in the dark, next to a pile of bones, he knew fear.  The fear born of dark nights, alone in the forest as a youth where the trees creaked but there was no wind, and the menace of being watched was there, but no watcher could be seen.  Feorik breathed hurriedly as his wide eyes sought for any sign of movement in the horrid bone pile or in the black around it. There was no further noise, a local silence surrounded by the dull rumble of the wind against the walls.

            He felt small in a big place with no walls, watched by distant unseen eyes.  He was in their place and they wanted him gone. A cold sweat broke out on his face. There's nothing there. There's nothing there. There's nothing there, Feorik kept repeating to himself. The bones sprung at him. The distant eyes, red with angry hate, swarmed in at him. His scream filled the cabin. His scream was lost in the big place with no walls and eyes full of hatred. His scream was not alone.

 

            Darvian was screaming. Screaming at the top of his lungs. The mirror slipped out of his listless hand onto the bed. As quick as he could Darvian turned it around to avoid another look at the shiny surface. The powers of this beast were so evil, what would it do to him. Darvian was faintly aware that he was still screaming, but he couldn't control himself. With his last mental energy the thought what he could do. He had to set the beast free, allow it to return to his home or be damned for eternity himself. Was that what had happened to Linda's father, and possibly to Orinden? What was the significance of the words in the foreign language he had been singing. Did Delmen teach those to him, or did the Shamhat place them in his head?

            "What is it?" Linda and Mellody rushed to him.  Looking up Darvian noticed them and realized that it probably might be a good idea to stop screaming. Closing his mouth the scream that persistently escaped him ebbed away. A spell had lodged itself into Darvian's brain, totally unbidden. The demon was taking him over again, or at least had the power to manipulate him to a radical extent. Only radical actions would allow him to maintain his integrity, to get rid of that evil presence! But they did not see him as a corpse. He looked down at the mirror. It held the key one way or the other, Darvian was sure of that by now. Slowly turning the mirror again he gazed at it only indirectly, while his fingers traced the rune-like symbols.

            With wide eyes, the fright clearly showing in his face, Darvian gazed up at Linda and Melody. Catching his breath Darvian almost whispered. "This mirror, it is connected to the evil of this place. It showed me an image of myself as a skeleton or worse. Please don't look at it, it is evil. But maybe it holds an important clue, maybe it was used as a component in the magical incantation that set the monster free."

            Humming a soft incantation, Darvian tried to see if he could learn just a little bit more about them. He cast a spell to read any magic writing that the silver inlays may hold. They did. A phrase became clear to him under the effect of that weird spell. As his eyes read the enchanted symbols the sounds they stored became phonetically obvious in his mind. Not unlike the rhyme that had invoked the visage of death in the mirror he realized. But the phrase the mirror stored was not the same. What magic would it release if spoken upon the looking glass?

            A commotion in the hall. Storn kicked the door open; in his hands he held a struggling Feorik, pale faced and babbling. Linda left Darvian to go to him. They got the Watcher seated on the bed still talking but his words were fast and confused. His thoughts were a dark miasma, barely coherent but strong with emotion.  Fear and anger.  A deep-seated anger railing against his failing existence.  Family, lost.  Nature, once a friend, now an enemy with the very trees rising against him.  Sorcery and Mathonwy, a dark cloud of mystery and a foul opponent instead of a wondrous new illumination.  He howled his fury. And the dark chaos behind his thoughts receded. The racing emotions stilled. He focused on Linda's face. He heard her soothing words, words that chased away the fear.

            Like a tree that bends too often in the wind and finally breaks in the storm, something in Feorik snapped, that night.  He was miserable with fear, guilt-wracked for the fate of Brian and Karod, that he should be preventing, and now embarrassed at his outburst.  What would Storn think of him, now?  And the detached Darvian?  Fully nineteen years of age, and yet only nineteen.  He held the anguish, but then let go. Great sobs erupted from him, then.  He was supposed to be the strong Warder and protector, the last bastion against the evil that was Goblins and the ever-present deadly danger that was losing oneself in the forest to end at the mercy of the wolves.  How many times had Feorik been strong for others?  For Dayla, then Deein, for Tulane, for Rasoric, and Sleene ... how he missed her!  And now ...

            Now, amid the lady Brigantian's gentle words, he knew the roles were reversed and that he was the one that needed aid.  The tears came as a flood as he let go of the burden and smothered the fear and doubt in the instinctual womanly comfort akin to that found by a hungry baby in his mother's arms:  a mother that he had missed, of course, for so very long.  He shut his one good eye, against the pain that was there whenever he thought of his family.  Pain like a raw wound, although he ignored it almost every waking moment.  But it would never go away until he was an unfeeling corpse.

            "Sorry ... I'm sorry," Feorik managed long moments later in a weak voice.  "Linda, the bone pile ... it was the bones."

            "What is it, Feorik? What happened? What was wrong with the pile of bones?" Darvian's tone was anxious and questioning, but in no way aggressive or hostile as he moved from the cot to the end of the bed, leaving the mirror behind. They all looked to Feorik for his answer.

            "I ... I don't know," he muttered, suddenly embarrassed.  "There was a noise ... and then I felt something, and ... the rest is just fear," he grunted the last word.  Fear.  Not something Feorik let himself feel, most times. Feorik took a deep breath, and stared at the floor.

            "I will check out the room," Storn said. He took the lamp and stepped down the hall. They listened to his heavy boots down the wood floor and watched as his flickering shadow stole more of their light. They waited in silence. After dragging the back room's door shut, the guardian returned to them. "Did you disturb the bones?" He asked Feorik curiously. Feorik just shook his head without looking up. "Something has."

            Feorik had reacted automatically, not really hearing Storn's question but the last sentence brought him back.  "Then there was something there!" he breathed, then swallowed hard.  "A Shamhat?" he said, less a question than a musing.

            Mellody turned her pale expression towards Linda seeking wisdom in the Brigantian's next words.  "I..I do not think so. But I fear it was put there, a ward…or a guardian. I do not think it will leave the room."

            But Feorik turned to Darvian, "Do you know about these bone piles, and Mathonwy?" Feorik asked the man, standing up and running his fingers through greasy dank hair.  He was getting the last remnants of fear and emotion out of his system.  "Do you know what we must do?" he asked Darvian.

            Darvian weighed his words carefully, "I do know a few things about Mathonwy, Feorik, but I am not familiar with the use of corpses and bone piles. This entire place reeks of evil, death and destruction. There is magic here, oh yes, but an evil kind that even I fear and I don't think this type of magic originates from Mathonwy." Darvian retrieved the mirror from his cot while he thought about the second part of Feorik's question. Maybe just recognizing the runes on the mirror did have an effect after all, other than damaging his brain, clogging it with atrocious visions. Had the incantation on the mirror called forth another form of spirit to the bone room?

            Watching from the mirror in his hands to Feorik and back, "Feorik, you say that whatever you noticed in the room with the bone pile arrived there just moments ago? Maybe inadvertently this was my doing, as I have been examining this suspicious mirror. I don't know exactly what I am supposed to do, but I want to go and see this new presence myself. Maybe I can talk to it and learn more."

            Walking slowly to the door, his eyes not really leaving the mirror, Darvian addressed Storn, "Would you please come with me? I would not like to go in there all alone." Storn nodded.

            "He yelled out just before you came here," Linda told Feorik. "He said the mirror showed him dead."

            Just shaking his head at the evil portents and the magic he did not understand, the one-eyed Warder stood.  While the effects of what had happened to him were still there, in a tremor on his lip or a tremble in a little finger, he tried to look as if nothing was amiss. "I will go too," Feorik said to Linda and Mellody.  "I need to face this again, and conquer it," he growled fiercely.

 

            Rasoric was more scared than he had ever been, even at the hands of Mortlake or bullies from other gangs. He stared out the open door into the blowing rain with the lantern as Storn went to investigate the outbursts. Rasoric did not wanting to even look into inside, did not wanting to know what caused Darvian and Feorik to yell in terror. He wanted it all to be over. Leaning against the doorframe he just stared across the meadow at the dark treeline. Nothing moved from out there, but he knew the tree-thing was watching. The others were talking; their voices muffled through the adjoining fireplace. He just stared into the night. He wanted to sleep, felt his eyes get heavy. His head dropped and woke him up. Shit, Rasoric shook his head to wake up. They were still talking back there, he turned to look. The dark room did not seem so threatening all of a sudden. He kind of felt safe; outside there was danger. At least he was more relaxed. Then he heard the others moving down the hall.

 

            Darvian approached the closed door at the end of the hall. Storn with the lamp, followed. The hall seemed longer to his tired, murky mind. But the language of the runes seemed familiar and the devastation associated with them had been shown to him by the evil usurper. Darvian knew the risk he was taking. He pushed the door open and stepped into the back room. The neat pile of bones had changed; a thick tendril extended from it toward the door. He heard Feorik come down the hall. Looking from the bones at the Storn and Feorik, he asked them to stand back a bit, but to watch him closely. Then he stood firm, took the mirror solidly into his hands and invoked the runes to life, speaking them upon the shiny, unbreakable surface.

            The words invoked a change. His own reflection was gone, the surface clouded, something shimmered within. Darvian tried to focus on the image, and suddenly realized he was looking through the mirror. It had become transparent. But something was wrong with the view beyond, it lacked clarity, seemed to waver with a dark fog. Darvian was holding the mirror over the pile of bones; through the mirror the pile glowed dimly. Darvian barely had an idea what he was doing. The only real emotion he felt was fear, raw fear tearing at his nerves. He was staring at something wrong with the world. What had become of the pile of bones? What would happen to him? If the mirror represented a portal to the world of the Shamhat, of evil demons and spirits, would more evil creatures step through and take possession of this world?

            Despite a strong urge to drop the mirror and run, Darvian stayed put, holding the mirror as steady above the bone pile as his trembling body allowed. The only comfort he had was the presence of Storn and Feorik. They would help him, should anything go wrong. To reassure himself of that, he told them, "Something terrible might happen. Stay alert and drag me away!"

            "We shall be here," Feorik said in a low croak.  He was frightened, but also ready to help.  Darvian tried to focus on what was making the bones glow. It was hard to focus through the odd quality of the space the mirror revealed, but Darvian was hesitant to draw closer. From what he could tell, the glow seemed to be from many sources, like worms squirming in and out between the tiny intertwined bones. Suddenly from the center of the pile a pseudopod erupted. As Darvian jumped away from it a canine mouth formed from it and bit down on his left leg. Darvian felt the little shards of bone and teeth penetrate the material into his flesh [3 hp].

            Yelling, Darvian backed away, but the tendril of bones only elongated, the mouth still clamped on. Then the bones on the floor rose up and formed a paw full of claws that reached up and raked Darvian's right arm [4 hp].

            "What!  What ... what is that!!" Feorik half-gasped, half-cried, as his eye widened in horror and he felt panicky fear grip his heart once more.  This time there was something to strike at though, and cold steel in his hand.  Overcoming his horrid shock, now he would fight!  "LINDA!" he bellowed, "LINDA!" as he ran up and swung his sword through the grotesque neck [3 hp]. The mouth dissolved into a rain of bones as his blade easily severed the extension, but before the bits of bone hit the floor they were sucked over into the rising central mass of bones. Storn held his mace vertical and called to Daghdha to reject the creature. The pseudopods retracted as it rose in an amorphous column. Atop the column of bones, a wolf-like head formed. Somehow a raspy howl came from the artificial orifice. Bits of bone flew from the thing away from Storn as he forcefully called upon divine power, but it held together although the head-thing blurred and dissolved away.

            Another tendril flew out from the bones at Feorik, a massive beak-shape smashed into his left arm as he dodged. A snake-form burst at Darvian who managed to fling a shock of his green robe before the fanged maw. He chopped at the filament with his right hand as he backed away, breaking it, but as the snake's bone parts dropped away they were sucked back into the retreating pseudopod. Storn gave up on his turning and stepped up and pulled the mage hard away with a strong hand on Darvian's shoulder. Darvian spun awkwardly and stumbled away into the corner, almost losing his footing. His knuckles were white gripping the mirror. Storn quickly took Darvian place against the monster. Feorik hacked at the retreating beak ineffectively. As he reared back to swing through the main mass, another two outgrowths shot out fast at both his and Storn's head. Damn! It's fast, thought Feorik as he was barely able to convert his offense to defense, shattering the snake-like tendril before it struck him. He winced at turned away none-the-less, but the flying bone shards never hit him.

            Storn was not so quick, getting stung on the neck. He broke the skinny link with his gauntleted left and let his mace blow crash into the central suspended mass mightily, calling out to Dhaghdha as it did. An explosion of fragments cascaded away from the mace, not to return. The sudden hole in it was quickly subsumed though, the rest of the amorph flowing weirdly into the space. Feorik heard footsteps coming quickly down the hall as sent his blade slicing through, nowhere near as damaging as Storn's.

            Linda came running through the door, pale with worry. The bone-horror stopped her wide-eyed for a moment. She watched as again Storn's heavy mace blasted through it, sending a spray of tiny bone shards away; but most of these did reverse as they fell and reincorporate into the mass. Another clawed paw swatted Storn across the face as Linda fumbled for Brigantia's symbol at her neck. Feorik dodged another beaked arm that up from the base of it, again his sword ripped through seeming to cause little damage.  Grasping her symbol firmly, Linda held it toward the creature and, like Storn, called for her deity's power against the undead aberration.

            Darvian, spells spent and wounds bleeding, just watched fascinated from the corner through the magic mirror. A glowing white energy flew from Linda's circular talisman through the wavering dark mists of the netherworld, it rushed over the slightly greenish glow of the bone weird, eroded it like water on sand. Feorik watched the effect in this world began to dissolve the terrible column of animal bones. More and more pieces rushed away from her like windblown twigs into the dark recesses of the room. It quavered, shrank away, and finally just fell apart.

            To Darvian, the blast of white energy shattered the entwined worms of evil, scattering them throughout the back of the room. As he watched, the bits fluttered around like swarm of large green fireflies, no longer moving together coherently. They seemed to dim, and avoided Linda's waves of energy, but they were not gone. Looking at the room without the mirror, there was nothing. The no longer animate bones had collapsed back into a pile and cloud of dust. Linda lowered her symbol. "My god!" she said dumbfounded. Storn's dropped lamp sent shadows at odd angles.

            A final glance through the mirror showed no lights within the pile of animal bones, but throughout the room the things bobbed and swirled in the foggy dark air. They darted in out of the strangely translucent, but glowing, pearelesent forms of Feorik, Storn, and Linda. Even in and out through his own body, Darvian realized, inspecting himself through the mirror. He could not feel them; they seemed to be continuing the attack, but no longer unified. They moved fast, even so Darvian noticed that those small lights around him had the wispy shapes of animals of many types, all angry and vicious. 

            Feorik's breath came in ragged gasps as he just stood, and stared at the thing defeated by the power of Linda, and, through her, Brigantia.  Feorik had never suspected that such things existed in this world.  For there was true Power here; he could feel it like sun on one's face when one steps from out of the trees and into the light.  A great warming presence, channeled, and focused from the woman, and into the thing.  It's dark purpose evaporated like water on hot stone, and as the presence receded the very room brightened and the memory of fear abated.  To his eyes, for a moment, Linda was a blazing sun.  Then the room returned to gritty, half-lit reality, and his hunter's nose smelled blood.

            The darkness in the March had always hid Goblins and maybe other secrets known to Druid or wise woman, but such a thing?  He staggered back, and turned to Darvian. "You're hurt," he said, pointing out the wounds to the man. The mage seemed obsessed with looking through the mirror around the room, at himself. Darvian's mind and body was numbing the pain against the raking of those impossible claws. Feorik's words broke the spell. In a fit of anger Darvian tossed the mirror to the ground. He was sure it would not break, but he no longer wanted anything to do with it. Almost in slow motion Darvian's eyes followed Feorik's finger as the ranger pointed out the wounds. He felt his wounds but tried to ignore the pain, which he less and less was able to do. The poor mage was an awful mess.

            His mind was in turmoil. Had he been out of his mind? He had tried to meddle with powers way beyond his recognition, and it clearly didn't suit him well. Oh high hopes he had when he found the mirror. He had wanted to help the Shamhat, allow it to return to is own plane. But the thing didn't need his help or even wanted it. It was just evil, literally evil to the bones, nothing should be done for it, it should just be destroyed. Fortunately Linda and Melody had shown better judgment and their power was strong enough to fight this evil.

            Everyone was staring at him. Darvian flashed at grateful smile at Linda as she came toward him. More and more the pain was penetrating his skull. His energy was spent, he was horribly tired and he was wounded. Not a good combination under any circumstances. Exhausted Darvian leaned against a wall and then slowly sat down, with his back against the wall. He had to rest here for a while.

            Feorik asked Linda, "Will the thing return, or is the power of the dark necromancy broken?   It ... it was a guardian, I think.  Under that vile pile is a trapdoor."

            "I…uh…I don't know," Linda said shakily glancing back at the bones, but she quickly turned back to Darvian, seeming glad to have something familiar to concentrate on. "They are not too deep," she palliated Darvian as she inspected his bloody arm. It took some maneuvering to reveal the punctures. She squeezed the wound to help clean it with blood. Darvian winced and looked away. "Tell me what you saw," Linda commented calmly as she drew from her healer's bag.

            Trying to answer Linda's question was not easy. What exactly had he seen through the mirror? "After I chanted the incantation written on the mirror, I could suddenly see through the mirror. It was just like a looking glass, without magnification. At first there was a lot of light, glowing from many different sources. Then the light kind of assembled, wriggling together like many small worms would. And then suddenly a large dog or a wolf formed and attacked me. It was not completely flesh and blood, but with this eerie glow it was also more than a simple skeleton. I have never seen anything quite like it and I would not mind to never see anything like it again."

            Linda listened as she worked the bandages. Darvian gladly accepted their ministrations, holding as still as only a completely exhausted person could, despite the fact that he was in pain. The bandages burned and when he had to cough, Darvian felt every inch of his body turning inside out. Feorik took the opportunity for respite by sinking down in a corner.  He willed his wounds to stop bleeding, for he hadn't the energy to look at them at the moment.  In the aftermath of the battle with the bone weird, Rasoric and Mellody stole into the room, the latter helping Linda wordlessly with dressing Darvian's wounds, while the former stepped past the stoic figure of Storn, who was eyeing the bone pile ceaselessly, and kneeled by Feorik.

            "I think I liked the sewers better," Rasoric said lightly in Feorik's ear, and the Warder cracked a grin despite himself. 

            "Me too, Ras, me too," he said.  "There was a spirit in that bone pile, guarding a trap door.  What we want is down there," Feorik said.  "I wish it could wait until morning, but..." Feorik looked to Storn, for he knew that they had to go down there.  No doubt to face fresh horrors, and maybe worse ones. Storn was quiet but he gave off impatience like waves of heat from a fire; Linda and Mellody finished with Darvian, who looked pale and drawn from his experience and had started coughing wetly at times.  Feorik felt half-dead.  At least his wounds didn't ache, yet.  But the adrenalin was waning.

            Rasoric surprised Feorik saying sternly, "We mustn't go down there tonight."

 

            The humans on the hill were few, about half of their number lay dead among the battlefield. Orcs were beginning to gather in the shadowy dark below the slope as Feint's howl waned. The leader of the three druids commanded again, "We must move quickly as possible! Put the lame on the horses. Delak, lead with some of Stargt's men; Stargt you'll follow with more. Hurry, they gather now!" And somewhere in the dark, the war drums began again.

            With the rhythmic beat of the war drums accompanying the throbbing of his severe headache, Sirilyr found his mount and began to check and secure his weapons. He also had slung a wooden and iron rimmed round shield he had dragged along from the battle slope. Its previous owner would not be needing it anymore. Bringing the horse around to a small set of stones, he used these to aid him in climbing atop the animal. He scowled at the pain the effort cost him. Wrapping his torn cloak around him against the chill he felt now quite keenly, the ranger slowly walked his horse towards Stargt. The blood bespattered Captain was busy directing his few remaining troopers to cover a withdrawal. The two met with brief nods of mutual respect. "We done all we can fer now. Time ta leave, me thinks Cap'n," greeted the wounded Sirilyr to the soldier.

            "I hope these mystics know what their doing," Stargt grumbled, "but thank the gods they've come. You fight well young man," Stargt changed his tone, "a credit to the King!"

            The begrimed ranger forced his countenance to remain still to the praise, then with a slight smile and all of a bow his torn body could muster replied, "you 'umble me Cap'n. I'm jes' 'appy we fight fer the same man..."

            Sleene sought out Dricka, "I have done what I can for those I can help, although why we should work so hard to preserve them...  Nevermind.  I obey, watch, and try to learn."  She fell silent for a moment, surveying the scene around her. 

            Dricka let her look then said, "See the whole picture. These orcs should not be united, these men should not be here. But perhaps, their foolhardy mission has given us enough warning to break this evil plan." Sleene and Dricka had not talked much of good or evil; his efforts had been to get her to understand that what she saw of men hunting, trapping, felling trees was not evil, but natural. But now he spoke of evil, evil beyond that of the crude orcs, evil that manipulates men, and orcs, and druids. It kind of worried her to think about.

            "You spoke of another task? Now or later? I suppose it would be too much to hope that it takes me into the deep wilds and far from humans."  She leaned heavily on her staff and patted Nip and Snap by turns.

            "Yes. Now I suppose," he waved to the third druid Sleene had not heard speak yet. "You will get at least half your wish." The figure came over, and removed her hood. It was Dainye, which surprised Sleene quite a bit. The elder woman was so old. Here in the firelight, her age looked like power, not weakness.

            She bent to pet the wolves too, smiling knowingly at Sleene. "Thank you Sleene for standing by these men. We will return with them to Tir. We must ask you and your companions," she stood and glanced at them, "to go find Orinden."

            The young druidess stifled a deep sigh.  Somehow, this wasn't unexpected to her.  Looking up to Dainye, Sleene said, "And, since my companions will come, I assume that he has fled into the deep wilderness."  Suddenly, she thought of something else and continued without waiting for a reply.  "But...that means...Orinden is not leading this group!  Is he, however, connected to them?  You know of his dabbling in Necromancy?"

            "Of that we have just learned. But all we know is he is not among the orcs, but somewhere to the north, as is the Watcher from Dir and Brigantia's women. There is something evil out there too, and we fear Orinden's intent," Dricka answered.

            "Hernry had given Feorik his token, the owl. That is how we knew he is not with you. Take this," Dainye put a figurine in Sleene's hand, a hawk on a strap of woven stems. "It will guide you to the owl, let it hang free." Dainye came close to Sleene, and Dricka moved off to help mount the wounded. "You have been obedient wild one. But things are happening fast, you will learn much quickly," the elder woman told her as she lead her slightly away from the others. "Understand that you are our eyes in this. That you are welcome among us," she began a druidic chant that Sleene understood to be a ritual, a sacrament.  With Dainye's hands upon her shoulders, Sleene felt the flow of power from Dainye, from the earth, into her; and a sense of peace and belonging. "It is much for you so soon," Dainye said. Sleene had not realized the chant had stopped, or that her eyes had closed. "You will understand in time." She was overwhelmed, confused, new thoughts raced her mind, fleeting clarity; but most of all she felt connected to the world in a way that she had never before.

            It was like her spell upon Feint, but then Sleene had channeled nature's power and let it flow with her will out from herself. This was like feeling like there was no boundary between herself and the world around, like she was not herself. She started to feel nauseous. "Do not think to much about it," she heard Dainye tell her. "You are you." Sleene relaxed, looked around the fire lit hill, it was the same. Sleene looked at her feet, she felt they were buried in the trampled grass, but they weren't.

            "I am Sleene," she said to herself, pulling her right foot away from the ground, with some effort.  "I am Sleene."  It wasn't until Snap, sensing that something wasn't quit right with her friend, nuzzled Sleene's hand that the young druidess truly began to regain a sense of balance.  Her emotions were raw and her nature sense much more finely tuned. 

            Sleene looked up at Dainye, who nodded encouragingly, "The earth receives you." Dainye explained. "It is more open to you, and you to it." Sleene looked upon Snap. Sudden realizations flashed through Sleene's mind, Nature offering its powers to Sleene: fire, animals, insects, more, too much. Sleene felt the hint of a vast consciousness around her, something she had not felt before. "This will take some getting used to," Sleene said to the older druid. Sleene looked at the older druidess with some embarrassment and hesitation.  "If there is a moment, I am...confused..."

            "Yes?"

            "You have seen the ranger that accompanies us, a Sirilyr?" Sleene asked.  "He has been...kind to me in a way that I am neither used to or comfortable with.  He nearly died tonight.  I had to use the last of my energies to save him, energy that could have gone into saving two, maybe three others.  Yet, when the time came to make the effort, I...I found that it mattered to me if he lived or died."  Sleene looked up at the older woman, her eyes almost pleading.  "Dainye, I HATE humans.  They cut down sacred trees and care nothing if they overhunt.  Even Sirilyr sees less than half what he should and cares less than that I fear.  Why does it matter to me that he live?  Is it the design speaking to me in a way I don't understand?"

            The woman smiled at Sleene, "It is. Do not discount your heart, it speaks of things the mind ignores. In all things, balance," Dainye gently touched her head and heart. "Beware of hate. Go now, speak to your friends, when we head down, you go straight north. There may be orcs beyond," Dainye indicated the wall of flames surrounding the crest. Despite the new powers at her call, Sleene new those flames were beyond her. "Get beyond them, go until dawn, then rest and use the hawk."

            Sleene looped the hawk over her head and let it hang free.  It pulled a bit east of north.  With a sigh, she said, "Thank you.  I will try to be worthy and I will try to see the good in the Humans."  Wearily, she turned and walked down the hill to Sirilyr.

 

            Spencer knelt to the side of the group, hurriedly reordering his pack after having ransacked it to help with the wounded.  He listened to the druids conversing close by, but felt as though a chasm, deep and wide, separated he and they.  In fact, he felt as though he stood alone upon an island; all of his companions seemed distant in their own ways.  His personal troubles; a senseless slaughter, dead littering the forest floor; unthinking murderers on one side; a ring of fire on the other; and, despite their travels and time together, he felt more apart from his any of his companions than ever before.  On that bloody slope in the dark, he put his hands to his face and leaned to the ground.  His attempts to reconcile everything had come to ultimate failure here after this traumatic butchering of the Tirans.  His mind ceased to grasp his surroundings and instead he was immersed in images of a farm in a village far in the south of Brendil.

 

            Noting the approach of the druidess, Sirilyr lowered his voice conspiratorially, "an yon comes another, though she don't know it as yet."

            "We are being sent north," she said to Sirilyr.  "The druids will take the villagers home to wives and children, if they wish to go.  We seek Orinden."  Sleene paused a moment to let the words sink in.

            The young battle scarred soldier grew grim and warm at the prospect on that early cold autumn morn." The sun'll be up in a couple o' 'ours. The gobbo's are thick as fleas on a sheep's back, but disordered. We should leave now if Stargt doesn't want a rear guard fer the Tirians." His eyes looked to the now ragged Captain. "They might be able ta look after themselves fer that though, they fight pretty damn well." The few militiamen formed nearby the trio grimly smiled, acknowledging Sirilyr's offhanded compliment.

            "Aye they do. We'll be leaving shortly by the looks of it," Stargt said looking up at the horses being formed up by the cloaked druids and a few villagers. "Sounds like the druids have a mission for you, and mine is to get these men home."

            One of the druids came down to Stargt, he kept his hood on and the fires behind him kept his face hidden, "We are ready. Advance down to the path, split and hold the flanks while Delak leads the villagers through, the horses will follow. Close in and follow behind, we'll move quickly as long as possible. I expect them to dog us, but we should be able to keep them at bay." His voice was strong, deep, and clear, and it bespoke of power and age. This was not Hernry, nor Rath.

            He turned to Sleene, "You and I have not met. I am Gendle." The name was familiar, but Sleene could not place it among the many names Dricka dropped during her instruction. "And you young warrior," Gendle turned to Sirilyr and patted his horse with one hand and placed the other on his leg, "are to accompany Sleene into the wood. You shall not need Shroud for this." Sirilyr realized the pain in his leg was all but gone; he had not heard the spell.

            "Ye be truly skilled Gendle, my thanks..." the surprise fading from his face. "Take the mount with ye ta Tir Druid. We'll pick 'im up thar when the deed be done. Now, I must see ta my furry friend 'ere." Said the soldier as he dismounted. Sirilyr was amazed at how much better he felt. Kneeling by the tail wagging hound, "'ere lad, lemme see where this blood be a comin' from."

            Gendle nodded to him and took the reigns. He put a hand on Sleene and turned to take the horse to the others. "May the trees and hills bless you Gendle," Sleene replied, making a mental note to ask Sirilyr about both Gendle and Shroud.  "If you move, it is high time we do as well."

            "Yes, I shall clear the fire for you," he answered.

            As Stargt called his men to action, Sleene faced the villagers around directly.  "I am reluctant to ask any of you to give up hearth and home any longer, but we need some skilled woodsmen.  If any are willing to accompany us, we need those that can track with some skill and who know the wilds." 

            They were weary and sore from battle, but none wanted to admit it. A silence resulted. It was Star who broke it, "Orinden is our brother and he has lost his way. He was my friend, and I came to find him. There should be faces he knows among his pursuers, that we might stay his hand." At least that got them grumbling among themselves.

            Delak spoke up, "Do not feel shamed for your anger. It is a long march home and the fight is not over; Sleene seeks but a few. Our elder Druid's must guide us through the dark and danger boldly, while she seeks to get away quickly and quietly. Sleene go, stand there. And those who'd go with her."

            "Quickly. We must leave now before the orcs assemble," even as Dricka spoke Stargt's soldiers were engaging below.

            William noticed Spencer still kneeling, seeming to ignore the world around him as much as it ignored him. William went near him, "Spencer, listen to me.  I know that you don't think much of me, but I feel that your visions in the Graveyard, Viatteni's command, and this man practicing the dark arts... that they are somehow connected.  I strongly suggest that we follow these people, there are answers at the end, I know it."

            "Answers..." Spencer said absentmindedly.  He looked up blankly at William, then turned his head sharply as he heard the clash of blades below.  At that, he sprung up and grabbed his pack, looking this way and that.  He appeared as an instinctive animal as he made his way towards his horse. Star had moved to Sleene's side, and Georan.

            Sirilyr had found several nicks and bad bruises where kicks had landed on his dog. Whispering to the whimpering sad eyed hound, "come on lad, we're not done yet." The soldier hated the iron smell of drying blood that seemed to permeate this place; it was time to go. Picking up the small hound, he turned and slowly walked to stand by the druidess. A gentle, tired smile was on his face as he saw the men who had made the stand with him on the slope scattered among the surviving village militiamen. "I go to aid Sleene," he said in a soft voice.

            "And I'll go too," Macomb stepped up.

            Spencer found Praedarus among the horses lined up bearing wounded. His reigns were knotted in with a rope. Visually following the rope, he found it held by one of the Tirians. Looking around, obviously frustrated, Spencer walked around the wounded, away from Sleene and the others. William looked after Spencer with indecision on his face.  He took a few quick steps took to Sleene, "In which direction does your path lie?"

            Sleene addressed all those who had chosen to come with them.  "Okay.  This is what we must do.  We move quickly and constantly until two hours after sun up, longer if we have close pursuit.  Our path is through the fires up north and we must pick our way through.  Speed is our friend and we can't get caught in small fights all night." 

            William turned suddenly ran off after Spencer. Sleene considered the others and, for the first time in her life, decided to trust a human who was not Druid.  "Sirilyr, you know of fighting and military matters.  I know where to go, you get us there."  The druidess turned slowly, the raised her hand and pointed in the direction the hawk had told her.  "That way.  Let's move." She turned her attention to her companions.  "Is there anything else we need?"

            The ranger commented, "This un, and another will need a quick stitch ta close 'em." Won't take long," as he fished in one of his large belt pouches. Sirilyr glanced up at Sleene, "'elp me 'old 'im fer jest a bit dearie?" A warm smile stretched across his face as his eyes beheld hers. "Then we 'unt."

            Sleene flared and flushed at the same time.  "Sleene," she said, eyes flashing dangerously, "not 'dearie'."  Nonetheless, she helped hold Feint, wondering where the flush came from. Producing a needle and thread, Sirilyr threaded his needle then he knelt and began to gently whisper comforts as he began to stitch Feint's hurts. The hound was not happy and his ears drooped severely as his human fussed with the wounds and Nip and Snap looked on.

 

            Stargt had cleared the slope of straggling orcs. Delak called for the militia to lead the horses down and away. They went slowly, allowing the horses to pick their way carefully through the hazards of the battlefield. Sirilyr and Sleene listened as they left, the other three watched them go from atop the ridge. Two of the hooded druids accompanied the villagers flanking the knot of horses. The third approached them. In his deep, elder voice he spoke, "You must go. Follow." Without waiting, he strode away toward where Spencer and William where staring into the flaming trees.

            Sleene looked down at Feint and shook her head.  "It will have to do I guess. We'll finish the job as we get a chance."  Releasing Feint as soon as Sirilyr was clear, she stood and collected her little equipment.  Consulting her pendant, she confirmed the way and said, "That way ranger," pointing to indicate the way.  Raising her voice, she said loud enough to that the others coming with them could hear, "We move now.  Sirilyr will be our guide.  Listen to him and we may stay alive.  Let's go."  Without waiting to see what the others did, she turned and followed the ranger saying, "Speed, ranger.  Speed is life for us."

            With a nod and a merry wink to the druidess, Sirilyr pointed to the Tir man, called, "You watch ta the left as we move." Pointing to Star, "You watch ta the right. Geo, keep an eye open be'ind us as we move. My eyes shall concentrate ahead o' us an on the ground we'll travel o're." With a quick rub of the small hound's ears, he drew his orc taken sword and slipped the battlefield dropped roundshield he had picked up to replace his destroyed targe, on to his arm. He whispered to Sleene, "Stay behind me... please lady."  Trusting that the elder druid knew what he was about with a curt wave of his blade Sirilyr beckoned, "Foller me."

            "'Dearie' or 'lady'," Sleene muttered sourly as Sirilyr led the small group after Gendle at a dog trot. Feint bounded closely at his man's booted heels.  "What is so bloody hard about 'Sleene'."

 

            Getting around the wall of horses, Spencer had walked north to the wall of fire. He and William's fire had spread, closing around the clearing completely. Trees were afire well over ten feet back; the heat was terrific. As he stared into the conflagration, Spencer could see movement beyond the flames. Spencer and William's fire had spread, closing around the clearing completely. Trees were afire well over ten feet back; the heat was terrific. As he stared into the conflagration, Spencer could see movement beyond the flames. William came jogging up behind him, "And where to now?  You seem to be lost."

            Spencer coughed in the throat singeing air.  He leaned into William and pointed at the figures beyond the wall of flame.  He cupped a hand about his eyes in an attempt to see them better.  He turned back, still looking like a threatened animal.  The horses were being lead down slope. Back from the crest as far as they were the whole ensemble was out of sight quickly. One of the druids had stayed behind and approached them with Sleene's wolves chasing his billowing cloak. Sleene and four others with followed hurriedly behind him.

            Sensing Spencer's distressed state, William motioned for him to stay and listen in. He turned to address the group as it approached.  Trying to be heard over the firy din and cracking, "I should be able to fill our boots with some water to help with the heat of the flames, but Spencer has seen shapes beyond."

            The imposing druid nodded, "I can bring down the flames." Facing the fire, the druid's cowl did not shadow his face; Spencer recognized the old druid from Cinclair. Gendle turned to Sirilyr and Sleene, "There are orcs beyond." He paused for them to consider.

            Eyeing the fleeting shapes of the skulking orc warriors just beyond the flame's flickering glow, Sirilyr thought a moment, checking the position of the North Star, and said to no-one in particular , "it be a shame thar not be some nor'easterly lights dancing away inta the woods fer the greenskin's ta chase after... we need a diversion. Then we can form a wedge and charge through whatever be left o' tha rascals and be away ta the north. It'd give us a good 'eadstart."

            William replied, "Aside from slaughtering horses, I know not of any diversion tactics...'

            "By the Hills!" Sleene swore softly.  "Speed, ranger, speed.  We need to pass them quickly and be on our way." Sleene looked at William with a slight smile, "I can help, but I fear I am nearly used up.  A long fight we cannot afford." She closed her eyes and began a chant, spinning around.

            Gendle smiled knowingly at her action, it quickly disappeared as he turned to the others, "Prepare your weapons!"

            Sirilyr bellowed out, "Macomb, on me left. Star, me right if ye please. Spencer and Geo each o' you be'ind one o' them, and Will between." Drawing his blade and tightening his grip on his shield, "we'll no' be fightin' 'em, but bashin' through now. Don't get stopped. Bat, slash or bash 'em out o' our way! I'm the point o' our wedge. Ye all know the direction we must go," pointing with his longsword. "Try ta be quiet."

            Sleene's spell opened her mind into a vast, dark place. She was seeking allies to call to her through this underspace, something she had only done once before with Dricka, and something she still did not really understand. Now her awareness, and situation, was much different. Like a sky full of stars she saw the life of the forest spread around her; every bird, mammal, reptile represented. But she needed something fierce with claws and teeth. Some of the stars brightened in the strange world her spell was showing her. She was moving faster, had to choose soon, felt her normal senses pressing in, trying to close the door she opened. Concentrating on the brightest, a smile crossed her face; these were just what she was seeking.

            Sleene opened her eyes. Beyond the flaming trees and raining embers, something snarled and growled. More than one. Then followed the now familiar shouts of orcs startled by the unexpected. Gendle suddenly cast his own spell; the power in his voice clear to all. He raised his arms to the trees and shouted strange words, as his arms came slowly down the fires died from the top of the trees to the ground. A path was clear through the wall of fire, beyond several orcs struggling with stout dark, striped animals.

            "Druidess stay in the pocket we form and 'elp those who may need it," Sirilyr directed.

            Star loosed a couple arrows at the orcs. "I don't have many left!" she warned.

            "The ground still smolders," William observed. He bent to the ground and quickly dug a shallow hole in the rocky soil. Packing it as much as he could, he too began a spell, more a prayer than Sleene's and Gendle's. The hole quickly filled with water. "Sorry about the wet feet, but quick before it drains!" he called to the others as he wet his feet.

            Seeing William's intent with the water, "Quickly!" Sleene said, moving in behind Sirilyr who already swiftly swept his muddied boots through the water and took his place at the point of the group.

            Spencer's hand moved swiftly to his back and returned bearing a knife. Before anyone could react the blade was describing an arc towards the nearest orc. The blade struck the distracted creature causing some pain. As it bounced off Spencer stood ready with his staff, "Where are you going? Wouldn't the way to Orinden's be back up the path?"

            "I have given the ranger the way.  Follow him," Sleene replied.

            The ranger called, "Nice toss, try a rock next time." Suppressing a nervous grin, "we'll get whar we need ta be Spence, just stick close."

            Staff in hand to defend herself if necessary, Sleene saw the delay and again called on her power. Suddenly a flame evolved between the entwining motion of her fingers. It rapidly grew larger, and she sent it away like a massive ball, through the trees that Gendle had doused, and to intercept any orc that chose to move at the breech.

            "Now be our time ta go! Foller tha' fireball..." Impressed with the druidesses' display, Sirilyr thought to himself, by the gods! I got ta remember not ta upset tha' one too greatly. The woodsman rushed forward crouched low and almost soundlessly, his shield a battering ram to his fore, as the two Tirians came into position on his flanks with their weapons drawn. Feint bounced after, seriously intent upon not losing his man.

            "Nip!  Snap!  Let's go." The druidess stayed close to Sirilyr

            William grabbed the hesitant Spencer and pulled him towards the group, "Come now! Escape at least, is with these people!" He pulled a piece of his shirt to his face against the hot air and floating ash. "Are we running?" he asked, muffled. Spencer nodded, he went to William almost drained pool to wet his feet, and stooped to gather some of the rocks he had loosened. Reluctantly he followed the others.  A tear rolled down his cheek as he ran. "May the Lord Arawn spare us all..." Seeing Spencer on the move, William followed Macomb.

            After glancing to his right and left to insure that the group was sticking together, Sirilyr ran through the hall of fire, straight at the orcs on the left beyond the flames. Star hit one just beyond the first with an arrow as she ran after Sirilyr. Spencer hurled his rocks as he ran, but his aim was off as he moved through the eye-stinging smoke. At the last moment, Sirilyr changed direction and charged at the orc the cartographer had stunned. The warrior delivered a massive shield smash that sent it hard to the ground.  From somewhere a wounded badger rushed at the thing's neck. Macomb delivered a solid blow on the orc that had braced for Sirilyr's charge, and had foolishly followed the ranger's path.

            Between the Star and Macomb, Sleene concentrated on her ball of fire. It moved beyond the first few orcs on the left and held against the more distant orcs, frightening them. Spencer followed Star, and went to find his knife somewhere near the down orc and throttling badger. Georan followed them all, obviously more exhausted than the rest. Sirilyr had bounced off the orc and now concentrated on guiding the running band through the greenskin lines by way of the path of least resistance. Macomb had tried to get by too, but as he moved by his wounded opponent slashed out at him. Another orc intercepted him as well. "Get back filthy beast! And leave us be, your sport is done!" William shouted swinging hard with his mace and hitting it hard on the back. It stumbled forward into Macomb fouling his defense against the other orc.

            Star let go the last of her arrows at the orcs moving to intercept Sirilyr. The beasts were shouting a war cry to their brethren, but none of the fugitives paid it any attention. The ranger engaged the orcs, his bright new blade spun more swiftly than either of the orcs could manage, forcing them both on the defensive. Spencer had finally found and sheathed his blade; as he looked up he had fallen behind Star. An orc was coming at her from the right. He leapt up over the now dead orc and feeding badger and swung low at the orc's legs hitting with a sharp crack that stung his hands. He broke its attack on Star, but returned a blow with its spiked club on Spencer's shoulder.

            Sleene was moving slow directing the fire to keep more orcs from getting to Sirilyr's left flank. Both she and Star looked suddenly right when Spencer's blow and subsequent exclamation of pain erupted. Star was drawing her blade. Sleene looked for her wolves, not seeing them, she looked back through the flames. Gendle was barely visible through the blowing smoke and ash, but she saw him bend slightly and then her friends were bounding across the charred ground at her.

            Macomb killed the off balance orc with a quick stab to the guts. William went wide around that orc and managed another clumsy but heavy hit on the other. On his back hand, Macomb also hit it square on the head with his pommel toppling it awkwardly. Both men moved to get behind Sirilyr while keeping the fireball between them and more orcs ahead. After a couple long steps, William heard grumbling cursing behind him. An orc was running at him; too quick for him to get his heavy mace around. But quicker, a gray snarling blur flew at the orc slamming it high and taking it down fast. William resumed his rush after Macomb, the growling and shouts ignored.

            Sleene watched her wolves charge past Georan; Nip to William's defense and Snap straight past her. She spun around seeing Star and Spencer beating the orc dead. Sirilyr was now against four and gaining no ground. Sleene moved her flames to his aid, but Snap also leapt at one. She had never seen that ferocity, when they were not defending her. She quickly looked back to Gendle, but the druid was gone or hidden. Sirilyr saw and felt the heat of the fireball closing around behind his foes on his left. Smiling grimly, Sirilyr began a feint concentrating on the orc in front to the right. The wolf bowling into the other on his right surprised him too, but not enough to through off his maneuver.

            As the dumb orcs on his left finally realized he was leaving himself open to them, Sirilyr suddenly abandoned his attack and leapt at the leftmost orc with his shield and sliced across the other's neck. Although something snapped painfully in his freshly healed leg wound, his shield strike snapped the orc's head back and it tumbled through the ball of fire, screaming as it hit the ground afire. The remaining orc took up defense, but lost heart as Macomb ran up beside Sirilyr. "Speed, ranger, break through and go!" Sirilyr heard Sleene call as he instinctively made to pursue. The goal was speed, not a long fight.

            There were more orcs moving at them through the trees, shadows dancing from the firelight. Those that were near were down; ahead the ridge sloped more steeply into darkness. Sirilyr took full advantage of all available cover that happened to be on that line. "Stay tagether now! An' quiet. We'll use the cover as we go!"

            "I fear that we shall be noticed, quiet or not," William observed to Sleene as they followed down the dark slope, needing trees and other handholds. They hit the bottom, a short drop off to rocky shallow creek bed. Georan mostly stumbled down the slope and fell over the edge. William got him up; the closest he had been to the mage. Sirilyr was already picking his way through the tangled underbrush on the other side. Sparing a glance back up the slope, the orange glow from fires atop backlit the trees and orcs picking their way more expertly down after them. Heart pounding with fear, William turned and ran after Sleene. He saw Spencer not far ahead to his right. They all heard a collective cry of frustration from behind. Darkness hid the reason, but Sleene sensed that Gendle had called the forest to guard their retreat.

            "Keep going Sirilyr," Sleene prodded with encouragement. It was soon very dark; the lingering light from the fires lost to the towering trees. They pressed on through the tangled underbrush, against their exhaustion and pain of wounds. They heard pursuit, but the sounds seemed to echo and change, seeming close and far. No one felt safe to stop; but fatigue had set in. Sirilyr felt his blood wetly flow down his leg and into his leather boot from the reopened thigh wound. Setting his teeth hard against the stabbing pain which tore into his body with each forced step, the ranger continued onward. "Come on!" He tersely called quietly to his group of fugitives. "Close up. We must stay tagether now, gain some distance!"

[13.3] Adversaries

            The young rogue had caught all their attention with his uncharacteristically resolute assertion. "Why is that?" the warder asked carefully.  "Because we are a group on its last legs, spent and exhausted and reduced in number," Feorik began, "or is it … something else ... something you have felt?"

            Furrowing his eyebrows Rasoric considered, "A feeling. I was watching out the door into the rain. I just kinda feel that if we stay up here, in the house we'll be okay. I get a real bad feeling about this room and what lies under it."

            With only half an ear Darvian followed the conversation. The idea to investigate further tonight scared him. Darvian was happy to hear that Rasoric seemed to be sensible enough to delay any further investigations until tomorrow. Interrupted by a few unhealthy sounding coughs, Darvian joined the discussion. "I agree with you, Feorik, we probably have to go through this trap door to get closer to what we are looking for. But Rasoric has the sounder plan. We all need some rest before we can tackle any more dangers. If this bone pile only was the first in a row of guards, I really hate to think what we might be facing next." With drooping eyelids Darvian faced his companions. Before long he would fall asleep, even against his will and in such uncomfortable conditions.

            The one-eyed young man was quiet for some time.  "Then let's rest," he said, simply.  "At first light I'm going to search for Brian and Karod," Feorik added, and he glanced at Darvian.  "And perhaps after sleep some answers will come to us."

            Rasoric nodded with a half-shrug.  His face seemed thankful, or was it thoughtful?  Feorik believed in trusting one's feelings; out in the wild sometimes a sudden urge to be still and quiet suddenly meant that a bear passed you by, unnoticed.

            "Storn, let's watch this pile until morning.  I sleep, then you," Feorik suggested.  "Everyone else, the other room may be more ... comfortable.  Tomorrow sees the end of this, so rest well."  With those words, the Warder sat with his back against the wall near the door, and closed his eyes. Mellody came to Feorik. She was wan and pale with withheld fear. With her healer's bag, she dressed his weird wounds. Linda had gone to get the mirror.

            "You have described the Netherworld through this mirror Darvian," she told him while examining it. "It may not be evil. But we will check in the morning." She put it in a deep pocket of her dress then looked at Storn's damage.

            He looked at Rasoric, "Are you good to watch the front?"

            "Yeah. I don't think that tree-thing will leave the forest. It would've by now. I think it wants us in here."

            Darvian winced a little as she finished bandaging and he got up and moved back to the other, more comfortable room with Linda and Mellody leaving Storn and Feorik in the back room. Rasoric followed, but went around the corner to the front door to keep watch. The cot he had been sitting on examining the mirror was calling out for him. Linda's last words were crossing his mind, 'The Netherworld.' Had he really been able to open a portal to that dreaded place? But the young mage was clearly too exhausted for any serious thoughts. Sleep claimed him and the priestesses as soon as they lay down.

            Feorik heard Storn moving about examining the rubble of the place, but was soon asleep with troubled dreams. Voices brought him awake with a start and crick in his neck. Rasoric and Storn were talking lowly. His body was stiff and head heavy, but he heard Rasoric mention that dawn had come. Feorik forced his heavy eyes open, and with a groan pushed himself up the wall. "Get some sleep," Feorik said to Storn with feeling.  "I will return."

            With that, the one-eyed Warder stalked to the exit of the cabin and peered outside.  Satisfied that no monstrous tree lurked by the entrance, he readied a javelin and stepped out into the rain. The natural world seemed like blessing compared to the surreal nature of the boneweird's room.  He looked at the woods outside the building for a while, eyeing the storm damage to the plant life.  Feorik then walked to where the trees began, and, keeping an eye on them, lifted his hands to his lips and yelled, "BRIAN!  KAROD!" The quiet rain his only answer.

            He found the trampled brush where they had emerged into the clearing and went cautiously south, keeping an eye out for signs and tree monsters. Oddly, there was no sign of the ambulatory tree. Here and there were telltale signs of their own flight, but nothing of the huge tree. He made it to their camp, to the scene of Darvian's attack. He managed to find some indication of panicked flight, probably Brian, straight south, and a scrambling retreat east. Dreading, Feorik went south. He came to the gorge with heavy heart; a slick of mud at the edge confirmed his fear. He looked at the swollen river far below, from both sides of its rock walls streamlets of rainwater fell.

            Feorik hunched down and looked down into the gorge for any sign that either Brian had come this way.  A single long scrape in the mud showed where Brian's step slipped and carried him over the edge. It was a cold, wet morning and his breath was steamy.  The chances that either of them had survived a plunge that far down was small, but he felt he had to check. The warder took a long time to gauge the cliff and look for a way down, testing the slick of mud to see if any purchase could be made there.  One slip could be fatal, and with little vegetation, slick rocks, and mud there it would be nigh impossible. Then the rain soaked river rushed right along the cliff sides at the bottom; the muddy water concealing its depth. As Feorik studied, he heard his name being called from a ways behind, far enough for the rain to distort the voice unrecognizable.

            Feorik immediately rose, with a final wish that the water would carry Brian safely to Annwyn, and headed towards the sound.  Wary of some kind of trick, he had the hand on the hilt of his sword as he went. His caution was unmet, he came upon Rasoric scavenging their abandoned camp, calling occasioning for Feorik. "I…uh…We need some of this stuff. And you shouldn't be going about on your own. Any sign?"

            "Brian's gone, Ras," was all Feorik said, and he sat down heavily amid the camp and uttered a depressed sigh.  He blamed himself, partly, and then was angry at himself for that feeling - it had been beyond their control.  Still, as a Warder, he felt the loss of one of his companions to the perils of the wild as a personal thing. Feorik closed his eyes and blanked his mind, seeking peace, if only for a time. And Rasoric let him. Despite the rogue's youth, he was no stranger to loss and strife. When the boy finished collecting as much as he could without over burdening himself.

            He came to Feorik then. "Do we go after Karod?"

            "Yes," was the simple reply. "Darvian needs sleep, I'll be back before the sun is highest," Feorik said, and he turned to go and begin trying to find a trail.

            Rasoric repeated, "Don't go alone. I...there's something about this forest. I mean, that tree..."

            The Warder nodded.  "I know.  That tree was something from a nightmare," Feorik agreed.  "Well, if you can keep up, then come. Go tell the others."

            "Storn knows."

            Feorik moved off to follow Karod's path. He was running, leaving deeper prints, which were easy to find, but not spaced close together. They weren't predictable; he jumped and moved, and possibly ran into a tree. The one-eyed Warder bent to the task, following Karod's fear-provoked path. Karod slowed some distance away and had begun to walk. He found the bridge, thankfully, but it took some time for Feorik to spot his trail on the other side. Apparently something had spooked him again, because he ran south down the ridge and into the forest.

            Feorik bent to see what had affected Karod a second time.  Was it another tree moving, or perhaps something else?  He knew that the rain would have obliterated anything except the most obvious of signs, but if he didn't look then he had no chance of finding anything. Highly concerned, but still not without hope, Feorik kept after Karod along the trail yelling every now and then.  Feorik was determined to find him, but he also felt there was little hope.  He kept at it with Rasoric not far behind.

            By night the trees could be hostile again, so Feorik stepped as quickly as he could while maintaining a tracker's pace. There were many tactics to tracking besides the obvious scan for footprints, crushed undergrowth and snapped twigs.  One was to get into the mind of the quarry. Were he in Karod's shoes, where would he himself have run under these circumstances?  Visibility for Karod had been poor - Feorik tried to imagine the landscape as dark and rain-swept when he came to a decision between likely paths.  Then there were the secondary signs: animal life that appeared slightly disturbed, or wary.  Missing berries perhaps plucked by a hunger-guided hand.  The warder looked for all these things.

            The ancient road had long been overgrown and its stones cracked and displaced, but it still offered the easiest course through the rugged terrain. In the night it was easy to see why Karod had followed it, the trees were lesser than those surrounding. And Karod stayed to it, not careful about his passage. He was easy for Feorik to follow, even as the signs of the old road decayed further, and Feorik felt he was getting nearer as the morning was coming to an end. But no one answered his calls.

            They rested, considering returning, when Karod stepped into view. He looked haggard, and confused as he approached them. Feorik had almost given up hope.  In fact, he had wanted to turn around and go back to the dilapidated cabin twice.  Surely Darvian was awake and it was time to go into the cellar beneath the bones, and confront whatever was down there.  Doing it with the sun in the sky seemed to make sense. But both times Rasoric had stopped him, with words of encouragement and pointing out that once they turned back, Karod was going to be gone forever.  Feorik knew that that wasn't entirely true, but if Karod was hurt then he would most likely die before he could get to them.

            "KAROD!" Feorik cried, as he hustled to where the man stood.  "Are you alright?"

            "Yes, Yes," Karod answered with a forced smile. In fact he had no obvious injuries, but despite the Watcher looked him over with concern. Karod let him do his duty and put on a serious look. "And how fair you, the others? I am ashamed of my flight."

            He should have been overjoyed at seeing the man alive, but instead Feorik found himself suspicious.  Of what he didn't really know.  Hadn't the Shamhat Spirit controlled people?  Was Karod really Karod?  At least he wasn't hurt and didn't have to be carried back to the hut. "Don't be ashamed, last night was frightful," Feorik said evenly.  "Come, we must return to the others.  It isn't too far," he added.  It wasn't exactly the truth but return trips were always faster than initial ones.

            "Wait, Wait," Karod cautioned. He looked pensive. "I am not sure all is as it seems. Is Linda near? She can help."

            "Not near, but not far," Rasoric answered to Feorik's consternation.

            "Alright. Listen to me. This is odd, but I believe them," Karod looked between Rasoric and Feorik. "I have found Orinden and Nasir - the red priest that traveled with that mercenary. They are both terrified. I…uh…I believe them; I think we have the story wrong." The Warder stopped dead in his tracks, and turned around; suspicion clearly written on his face as his one good eye looked Karod over, unblinking.

            "Orinden, that dark sorcerer?" Feorik growled.  He hadn't met a Nasir, but  even the name sounded evil.  "Storn and Linda will know what to do," Feorik said, in a tone of finality.  "Come, let's go.  Orinden and this other can wait."

            "They are near, but afraid," Karod answered. He seemed honestly convinced. "I told them I would speak with you first, so we might travel together. Their purpose and ours, the same."

            "Afraid of what? The sunshine, the wind, or is it just the trees?" Feorik demanded; he was clearly suspicious.

            "Afraid of you," Karod explained.

            The Warder was clearly taken aback.  "I see," Feorik finally said. "What have you told them?" he asked Karod slowly.  "And what have they told you?"

            "This Nasir, he comes from another kingdom. He came with his sisters to find what was stolen. It is very powerful magic and must not be allowed to fall among the hands of men. He is a priest, I cannot say the god, Rishkal? His order protects the Netherworld from such magic. But some beast protects the magic, and Nasir was gravely injured. He fled, and came upon Orinden's militia. He told him what was going on: that his sisters were killed, and he was not powerful enough to defeat the guardian. When Nasir heard that a villager had been possessed like his mercenary, he convinced Orinden to help him."

            The Guardian is dead, Feorik wanted to say, but he did not.  He looked about to see where these two were hiding, even as Karod continued unabated.  Rishkal?  It sounded like a grim God. "Orinden knows nothing of what happened in Tir, and they did not find the goblins before he left. Nasir explained that this magic cannot fall into the hands of common men. Orinden hoped that by leaving the militia, they would just go home, and he could help Nasir get this fowl magic from Bilcoven."

            Feorik swung his gaze back to Karod.  "Leave his home?  Orinden abandoned his army just like that?" Again the words seemed out-of-character, suspicious.  There was no time to pursue that line of thinking, however.

            Karod nodded. "I thought that strange too. But he says he has not been happy in Tir. A life of adventure is what he wants. When his parents died, he turned from that road to be the dutiful son and carry on the family trade, but now this is more important."

            "He rallies ill-trained troops to fight a mass of Goblins; hardly a coward.  So why does he fear us?" Feorik pressed.

            "I told him about the bats, and what we thought. And that Star was coming to find him. He says he does not know about them, and I think he is upset about Star. He got quiet after that."

            "It seems you have told him much," Feorik muttered, and then he was silent for a while.  Linda and Storn would know what to do with this Nasir better than he, and as for Orinden ... keeping an eye on him was the best thing. Rasoric was quiet and he looked to Feorik.  The Warder knew he was no leader of men.  Regardless, he had to end this.  "Tell them to come out of hiding," he said, gesturing to Karod.  "We'll head to the others together."

            "It'll be alright," Karod reassured them. He turned and whistled loudly between his fingers. "They'll be here soon." He saw the continued looks of suspicion, "Really, I trust them."  It was not long before the sounds of movement through the forest reached them, then two forms moving among the trees toward them. Feorik recognized Orinden leading in his worn leather and fur garb; his black hair unbound in the breeze. The one who followed was very strange. His entire assemblage was died or painted red, although the wear of travel had faded some and chipped away others. The all stared at each other as the neared, only Karod seemed unguarded. 

            Feorik studied their expressions. Orinden was not quite the same as he had been three days before when he had met him. Not so eager, but his eyes were serious, and purposeful. The other was too pale, and his expression solid, but somehow on the edge. Neither of them had their hands on weapons. Orinden had a dagger and short sword on him, Nasir a mace with symbols etched around its shaft. "Come," Feorik said gruffly.  He remembered the harsh words he had had with Orinden, and found his distaste for the man a palpable thing, like a root he could chew.  The Red Priest seemed like some Demon from the underworld. 

            They eyed him coolly, only glancing at Rasoric, and simply nodded. Feorik turned and headed back to the cabin at a demanding pace. He stayed enough ahead to make conversation inconvenient and unlikely. Karod and Rasoric fell in behind the Nasir and Orinden, but also kept quiet during the return. Feorik heard the occasional hushed words from behind him, but did not know or care who was speaking them. His mission accomplished, well half accomplished, these two were unexpected and would prove yet for good or ill.

            They could all three be Shamhats, Feorik thought as he led them back to the tower.  Or the strange duo could want what was hidden there for their own foul ends.  Orinden's strange raccoons and bats had been nothing short of evil.  Who knew what kind of magic the other could be capable of.  Feorik swore to himself to watch Orinden and this Nasir very carefully.

Copyright 2004
Brett Hulett