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[Lazybones]

Chapter 2


“I do not like leaving you here alone,” Vhael said, adjusting his pace automatically to match the much smaller stride of the woman at his side.

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “Dost my lord think me weak?”

“You are the strongest woman I have ever met,” the dragonborn replied simply. “It is just that I do not trust this Lord Zelos, or his brood.”

Draela shrugged slightly. “All the more reason for me to remain here,” she said. “Gazur’s orcs may have taken the strength of my body, but my eyes and ears remain sharp, as does my mind.”

A slight growl sounded deep in Vhael’s throat, as it often did when the priestess spoke of the torture that had left her crippled. Even magical healing could not fully restore what had been taken from her; powerful priests had tried. Gazur had paid for his crimes, along with his torturers, but by the look on Vhael’s face, he would have welcomed having them present to pay some more.

“Gral is coming, unless I miss my guess,” Draela said, patting Vhael’s arm once more before letting her hand fall to her side.

A slight tapping sound became audible, followed by the appearance of a dwarf from one of the side passages that branched off of the long central hallway. He was old, his face a complicated landscape of ridges and valleys, obscured by bushy eyebrows and a long beard that was more white than gray. He wore a tunic of blue cloth that fell past his knees, trimmed in black sable that rose to a high fringe around his neck and out his cuffs. A belt set with a dozen tiny pouches circled his torso, and he carried a staff that was as tall as he was, a shaft of wood so pale that it seemed almost white. That was the source of the tapping, the staff marking the dwarf’s approach upon the floor with each pace.

“General Vhael. Lady Draela,” the dwarf said. If Vhael’s voice was like the rumbling of a mountain, Gral’s was like two rocks being crushed together.

“Gral,” Vhael said. “What have you discovered?”

The dwarf reached into a pocket—the tunic had several, woven cunningly into the fabric—and drew out a tightly wound parchment scroll. Vhael unrolled it as the dwarf spoke. “The men all seem competent enough, but mark me, they’re all in this nobleman’s pocket, whether they be in his direct employ or no. Five humans and an elf. Nothing particularly dirty that I could dig up, but mind you, I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to work with.”

“It will be sufficient,” Vhael said, scanning the list. None of the family names were familiar, but then again, it was unlikely that he would have recognized anyone this far afield as one of those he’d fought with, back in the day.

But then again, the veterans of those times were outnumbered by those who had never returned.

“What about this younger Zelos? We’re to be saddled with him on this trip, it seems.”

Gral grunted. “From what I was able to dig out—not easy, his family name shuts a lot of mouths—he’s good with the blade, but he’s something of a wastrel. His elder brother and younger sister are both magi—the brother was killed by brigands out near Winterford just a few weeks back, and the sister’s an advisor to one of the southern barons.”

“It would seem that the family has gotten over its grief,” Vhael said. His finger paused at the bottom of the scroll. “What of these halflings?”

Gral grunted. “An odd pair, to be sure. The one, Jaron Feldergrass, he served in the campaign against that hobgoblin chief, Dal Durga. Owns a farm in one of the smaller villages of the western vale, the one that was raided by these slavers. The other… well now, that one’s a bit tougher to put down. Nobody seems to know much of anything about him, ‘cept that he’s the cousin of the first.”

“I suppose we shall learn more soon enough,” Vhael said. “Good work, my friend.” He tucked the scroll into his belt. “Any more information on the raiders?”

Gral nodded. “I looked into what you’d suggested before. Nobody here talks much about the Seven-Pillared Hall, or the Labyrinth, but there’s a few who know about them here in town. I couldn’t find anyone who could confirm that the raiders are operating out of Thunderspire, but I’d bet my staff that we’d find someone there who would know, or at least who could point us in the right direction.”

“I agree,” Vhael said. “Samazar would know the truth.”

“If he yet lives,” Gral replied. “It’s been almost twenty years.”

“If he is not there, we will speak to the current Ordinator. Our supplies?”

“Everything we need, or near enough. The boy’s getting everything together in the side yard behind the stables. Told him we’d meet him there, if you’re ready, sir.”

Vhael turned to Draela. “I will be here when you return, m’lord.” She touched his arm, a slight gesture that carried a lot of meaning. With a nod at Gral, a look that also carried an unspoken message, she turned and withdrew back down the hall toward the guest quarters deeper in the citadel.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave her here,” Gral said.

Vhael felt the same way, but he did not speak. A thin wisp of smoke issued from the corner of his mouth, whirling around his head before dissipating. “Let’s go meet our troops,” he said, leading the dwarf toward the door that led out into the inner courtyard of the keep.