Sir Gerard d'Montfort - In his own words (a tale of Anka Seth)- Updated Nov 11th

[Haraash Saan]

Chapter 16 – Welcome to the Fastness

A hazy gloom greeted us. We were in Dominion lands now, where stories told the sun no longer shone. We had traveled more than a thousand miles north east of Riverglenn and the temple of Arkady Seth in only a few hours. The Star Chambers that the Gerechians built were truly a marvel of magical craft. I could not begin to fathom how magic could be weaved in such a way as to allow such an amazing journey.

Argonne led us confidently along what he perceived to be the most direct route to the river Narn. Our plan was to ford it and then head due east until we intersected a road that came from the southern reaches of the Fastness. We would follow the road north to the city of Vronburg and from there assess our options as to how best get to Morannin and Princess Isabella.

When we arrived at the river we found that it would be a difficult crossing. Seeking an alternative, Argonne bade us to be still and then pressed his palms into the muddy bank and closed his eyes. A moment later they flickered open and he shook his head. “We’ll find nothing better for thirty miles up or down stream. We’ll have to cross here.”

I had no concerns. My steed wore the shoes that I had won so long ago in Halfast. They were enchanted and enabled the horse that wore them to move an inch or so above the ground or water. I recall thinking little of the gift when it was awarded to me but had since realized how useful they were. In many months riding through the wild I had not once been splattered with mud or clods of dirt because my mount never churned the earth with his strides. The horseshoes were truly a marvelous reward.

The others had more trouble. I managed to ride back and lead Moxadder’s horse and then Hrast’s through the river safely to the other side. Moxadder, Stravarious and Hrast managed the swim easily enough, but I went back yet again for Morgan.

Argonne crossed last of all. He slapped Zwingly on the rump and said, “Come on. In you get.” Zwingly of course would have none of it. His rear hooves lashed out at Argonne, who just managed to evade what would have been a skull crushing blow. Unfortunately for Zwingly, his kick over balanced him and he fell with an enormous splash into the twisting waters of the Narn and in an instant he was washed away.

Argonne, who to this day felt guilt for killing the man that now lived within the horse, leapt into the air, transforming himself into an eagle as he jumped. He flew down the river in pursuit of Zwingly and then plummeted straight into the swirling waters and out of sight.

A moment later a bedraggled Argonne clambered to the southern shore, reins in hand. With his other hand he clutched a dead tree root that had once drunk deep from the river. Zwingly was dragged, reins tightened almost to breaking point, by the power of the flowing water to the shore where he managed to scramble onto dry land.

With his companion safe Argonne used the root to drag himself up the bank where he collapsed onto his back exhausted.

It took an hour or so for Argonne to calm Zwingly enough for him to be led (he would not allow Argonne to mount him), but soon enough we were heading due east scanning the horizon for a road.

We tramped through knee high brown grass for perhaps two hours before finally intersecting the road. It looked well worn, with several wagon wheel ruts and sunken cobbles. An age ago it would have been a well maintained thoroughfare but now with the Fastness bending all resources to the war against the Dominion it had been left to fall into poor repair.

After a short break we turned north and followed the road to the fortress of Vronburg. It was late afternoon by the time we saw the huge walls of the castle sitting on the banks of the Narn. Vronburg was not a city as such, although in years past it had been. Now it was the most northern outpost of the Fastness, with a population permanently at war.

Ever-alert sentries stood before the narrow gate. “Who are you and what’s your business?” barked a guardsman as we approached.

We introduced ourselves and explained that were traveling to Morannin.

His thick moustache jiggled as he chortled, “Morannin. You’ve come to the wrong place lads. Head back down the road for fifty miles and then take the road to the east. That’s how to get to Morannin.”

“Indeed that is one way. Unfortunately my good man, we are in quite a hurry and thought that there would be a quicker way from Vronburg.” I replied.

He sighed, “Have it your way. Gestle!” He called back over his shoulder.

A small wiry man who had been sitting cross legged against the castle’s wall sharpening a sword slowly picked himself up and ambled toward us. He looked us over, before tracing three towers in the air in front of his face and muttering a Thuusian chant.

He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin before nodding and saying, “There is no taint in them.” With that he resumed his seat and resumed the care of his blade.

The guard huffed loudly and called out, “Open the gate!” In a normal tone he added, “They’ll collect your entrance tax inside.”

The great single gate of Vronburg creaked open and we filed in. There was another guard waiting within for us. He acted as the tax collector for the Knight Protectress, Igane, of Vronburg. And he did his work well. We left him significantly lighter of pocket, but with directions to make our accommodation in the Eastern Quarter. We walked through streets empty other than the soldiers that appeared at most corners. Many houses were unoccupied; such was the high mortality rate of those that were garrisoned in the fortress. Once we arrived in the Eastern Quarter we found one that had been more recently abandoned and made ourselves as comfortable as we could; there were no inns any more, they had become barracks for the Soup Roaders. Those scum, mostly from Guerney, who had been promised food before being thrown against the Dominion.

I was keen to learn of any other routes to Morannin before the fortresses curfew commenced. The staunch Vronburgians took no chances with the unearthly manifestations of the Dominion. Anyone seen on the street after curfew was killed on sight by the ever watchful guardsmen. I spoke to one soldier who directed me to the keep of the Igane. I learnt from him that the only other way to Morannin was via the barges that the Knight Protectress sent there for supplies. Only Igane herself granted passage on the barges, and only she knew of their departure times. Such precautions were needed to allow a safer journey up the river. Without them the forces of the Dominion would be prepared to attack any boat that hazarded the trip.

A brief consultation with the sentry at the keep eventuated in an offer for my request to see the Knight Protectress to be passed on to her. Not overly impressed at his attitude I insisted that I see her immediately. “Tell her that I am here with the gravest news and that she will definitely wish to hear it.” I hissed in impatience.

Noting the raising ire in my voice, and no doubt uncertain about the legitimacy of my information he asked me to wait there whilst he consulted with his captain.

Soon enough another guard, a little older and a lot more scarred, approached with two soldiers. “Sir Gerard d’Montfort?” he asked in a tired tone. I confirmed that I was and he grunted apathetically, “Remove your weapons and follow me.” I sighed and shook my head at the lack of formality, left my weapons with the guard and then followed my weary guide into the Keep with the two soldiers on either side of me.

We arrived at two solid oak iron bound doors. Without ceremony he pushed them open and we stepped inside. He beckoned for me (and my escorts) to stand to one side, “You’ll be called when the Knight Protectress is ready.” The captain then trudged back through the doors, pulling them closed as he left.

 

[Haraash Saan]

The chamber in which I stood had once been some sort of throne room. A dais was at one end of the room and but the two gilded chairs upon it looked unkempt and disused. Stone statues of previous rulers stood in evenly-spaced alcoves on both walls that led from the door to the thrones. A few smaller doors were spotted along each of the walls of the chamber. In the center of the room was a large table on which was spread out a large map. Nine men and one woman surrounded it, all were in heated discussion about the location of current Dominion forces and what their tactics might be.

“It’ll be an all out assault!” belted one ancient warhorse. He was so incised that a vein on his bald pate threatened to burst.

“Don’t be stupid!” countered another contemptuously. “They’ve never done that before and they’ll not do it now!”

The Knight Protectress idly scratched the neckline of her chain mail and sighed. “I want all your thoughts. Hector,” she said to the elder man that I had first heard speak, “why would they change their tactics now?”

He mumbled something that did not seem to convince Igane. She sighed again and then looking up, she noticed me.

“Montfort was it?” she said.

“Indeed my lady.” I responded.

“Well come over here and tell us what grave news you have.” She ordered.

I walked forward, aware that all conversation had stopped and all eyes were upon me. “Knight Protectress, what I have to say is not for all ears. If we may have a moment in private?” I asked.

“Fine.” she said curtly and then to the others, “By the time I am back, and I won’t be long, I want an answer.”

Igane led me to one of the smaller doors that was next to a statue of a scrawny royal with a leering smile and evil eyes, and opened it. We stepped into a small room devoid of furniture.

“It has all been used in various fortifications.” said Igane, answering my unasked question.

“So tell me what it is that is so important as to interrupt my war council?” she continued, betraying only a modicum of annoyance.

“Please forgive me Knight Protectress, but I come to ask a favour, and bring you news that will perhaps explain why I ask it.” I said.

“First the news, then the favour.” she said.

“Yes, of course.” I did not wish to test her patience any further. I told her how King Thuurland had been killed and that our enquiries had revealed that it had been an entranced Fastendian woman bearing devices of women holding a white cloth outstretched between them.

“I suspect that Prince Brand aims to seize the throne for himself, but I cannot allow this to happen. Firstly because as a member of the Order of the Wyrm it is my duty to bring the rightful heir to their Kingdom, and secondly because I am not sure what Brand will do. He is a hothead and a warmonger. If he were to find out that a Fastendian was the tool that murdered the King, the Dominions desire of a war between Guerney and the Fastness could be realised. I do not believe either of us want that.”

Igane’s steely disposition melted immediately. She drew a sharp breath and her eyes widened as she came to the same conclusion I explained.

“This is very true. The Fastness needs an ally in the fight against the Dominion, not another enemy. What is your request?”

“My lady, the Princess Isabella is currently in the court of Morannin. I must return with her to Guerney so that she may claim her rightful place on the throne. It is my hope that she is sympathetic to our cause, I too wish the Dominion destroyed. My companions and I need to get to Morannin by the quickest means possible. You send barges down the river, I would like my comrades and I to be on the next boats that leave. Is that possible?” I asked.

“Usually no.” she said bluntly, “But this is not a usual circumstance. My mind echoes your thoughts and fears so I’ll grant you passage on the barges. Their departure time is not yet set. Tell the guards outside where you are staying and you’ll be sent for. Be ready to leave when they come for you as they’ll take you straight to the barges.” With that my interview was successfully concluded.

After my meeting with Igane I wandered the citadel for a while before I found myself on the battlements. To the north rolled the desolate lands of the Dominon. It was a great expanse of empty plains. There were no monuments. There were no hills or lakes, just a great flat nothingness.

Outside the fortress, on the southern bank of the Narn, stood a host of Thuusian clerics. As one they raised their arms and begun a low rumbling chant. They called to Thuus to provide them courage and to protect them from the Northern Hordes of the Dominion. At the climax to their prayer the head priest drew his sword and immersed it in the river. A faint orange glow emanated from the sword, the light spreading through the running waters. Soon the entire river radiated with orange fluorescence. And then, just as quickly the light that winked out and the cool blue of the Narn flowed once more. Thuus had blessed the river, stopping the dead that walked from crossing it, as he had done for ever night for one hundred years.

The spectacle of the river blessing was over and the light of the day had begun to fail so I quickly made my way back to our lodgings.

On returning I found Moxadder standing in the center of the room addressing the others, “You see, I’m on the Blood Road. It’s a mob that will do whatever it takes to rid the world of the Dominion.” He spat the last word in distaste.

“My bosses ‘ere in Vronburg ‘ave told me to introduce you to our ways.” He went on to say that his ‘cult’ was a secret sub cult of the main Thuusian Religion. Its’ members were few, but each tried to find redemption through the slaughter of the Dominion. Their tactics were vicious, and unlikely to be approved by the main body of the Thuusian church.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you to Taen the Dark Witch. I need to get some, erm, things from ‘er and she wishes to meet you.” Moxadder added.

Moxadder’s revelation had left us gob smacked. All this time we had thought that our comrade was just a troubled soul who had not the will to make peace with himself, but he was more, thankfully, much more. He followed a dark path, but one which fitted well with our hatred of the dominion.

It had been a long day of travel so after checking the bed that I had claimed for any bugs and other unwelcome crawlers I collapsed into a deep a trouble free sleep. The night passed quietly. Vronburg was safe, at least for one more day.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Hovel is probably an understatement. Taen’s den was a shambles of filth, refuse and barely standing rotten timber walls. I know not how it even stood.

There was no door as such just a triangular entrance formed by two planks butted against one another. A tattered and patched curtain was all that provided privacy, although here in Vronburg the stony faced residents had little concern of the private affairs of others, each had their own issues and internal demons.

Taen seemed to be the perfect denizen of her home. The old crone wore a dress very similar to the curtain in her doorway and her stooped posture allowed her easily to move within the shack. Her face was carved with not just the lines of significant age but all manner of blotches and sores.

Moxadder made hasty introductions and then crouched quietly to one side, allowing the rest of us room, if somewhat cramped, in Taen’s abode.

I was feeling rather distressed and uncomfortable, the scent of decay and herbal remedies bubbling from several small cauldrons did nothing to make me feel at ease. I must admit, that I lost track of myself and it suddenly, as if a spell had been broken, Taen rasped “Sir Gerard, what is it that you desire?”

Bemused I laughed, and then requested the impossible, “If one of your brews could regrow my hand,” I said as I raised the wooden left hand that Mortec had made for me. “then I would be forever grateful.”

“Ah, is that all?” she asked, her mouth twitching into a knowing grin. “I’ve just the thing.”

She rummaged around the shelves behind her for a moment before she chuckled gleefully. “Here it is! I knew it was around here somewhere.” In her hand was a small glass vial with a dark blue liquid in it.

Taen passed it to me and said, “Here, take it Sir Gerard.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “But know that I found it a long time ago. The seller assured me of its restorative properties but could not guarantee exactly what would happen.”

I looked at the vial of deep blue liquid that I held in my hand and then at the expectant stare of the witch. Shrugging I pulled the stopper and with one swig downed the bottles bitter contents. Laster would protect me, would he not?

Nausea washed through me. I felt my breakfast begin to creep up from my gut. Bile rose up into my mouth and I fought the urge to spit. My stump began to itch furiously. Then Mortec’s beautifully crafted appendage shot off from it, exposing a horrid lump of skin. The itching intensified as five points in the stump began to push out from it as if probing for an exit. I felt strangely detached from the surreal experience and watched with morbid fascination.

The skin on the stump stretched as each of the cylindrical probes pushed further forward. Suddenly there was a burst of blood and five fingers, my fingers, broke through the skin. As they grew I flexed and curled them, reassuring myself that my hand was growing back. Soon the palm that was attached to the fingers appeared from within the bloodied stump and then a wrist.

Finally the skin from the wrist and the edge of the stump began to knit over the wound so that there was not even a scar. It was a miracle. I stared, mouth agape in wonder, at my new hand. The itching had stopped. I flexed the regrown hand, once again making sure that it was no trick and that the hand was very much my own. It was.

I beamed a smile of appreciation to the witch, but before I could register her response I began to choke. My hands went to my throat. Something was very wrong. I could not breathe. I gagged as I sought for air. The inside of my throat seemed to tear in several places. I sank to my knees, feeling faint from lack of oxygen. Then just as suddenly I managed to suck in a breath. I coughed loudly, twice, as I tried too quickly to gasp in more air, and then I was breathing normally. I rubbed my throat, massaging it. Something felt rather uncomfortable, well not uncomfortable but unusual.

“Are you alright Gerard?” said a concerned Morgan.

“Yes. Fine, I think.” was my slightly strangled reply.

I stood and gazed at my new hand. It was indeed a marvel. It was exactly as I remembered it. Somehow the magical elixir had regenerated it as it had once been. But then it began to itch once more.

The webbing in between each of my fingers tingled and I suppressed the urge to scratch them. A wave of fear passed through me as I realised it was not just my new fingers but the digits of my other hand and my feet now had the same itch! What was happening to me?

I held my hands, fingers spread, in front of my face as I looked at them wide eyed in horror. The webbing expanded, climbing along the inner edge of each finger until finally it ceased at the last joint. Once more the itching stopped, this time for good.

My hands, my beautiful hands, were now almost fingered flippers. Without removing my boots I knew what my toes would look like. And then I it hit me. I knew what had happened to my throat. I had grown gills. I was no longer just a man. I was half triton!

I slumped into a chair, exhausted after my transformation and distraught at its consequences. What would Gyda think or Father for that matter? I would be cast out, renounced from the family and my titles. I almost sobbed at the thought, but caught myself, as I saw the advantage that I now had. I would be able to swim like a fish and breathe underwater. I was sure that could become tremendously useful. My only physical deformity was the webbing between my fingers and toes. No-one would have to see that. I would wear gloves and boots. Gyda, I was sure, would not care. She continued to love me without a hand, and now I had it back again, with improvements. No, my transformation was not something to be distressed about, it was something that could only be positive.

Taen clapped with girlish glee. “Marvelous!” she giggled “You’re half fish-man!” and then more softly as if to herself she added, “I always wanted to know what that potion did.”

 

[Haraash Saan]

The next two days passed without incident. My companions had each received some sort of ‘gift’ from Taen, although none as harrowing as my own. Whilst I longed to try my new deformities and see if I could actually breathe underwater I resolved to do so in a more appropriate place. I did not think that the priests of Thuus would take kindly to me frolicking in their holy river.

We were rudely awakened on the morning the third day by a loud thumping on our door. “Wake up! You board in fifteen minutes.”

After a very quick scramble we managed to board the second of three barges just before it launched.

The precautions that Igane had taken proved successful. No incidents befell our sturdy craft to its first port of call, Avinal, Morgan’s home. The only event of note was that at one of two ruins we passed my curiousity got the better of me and I chose to examine one of them. I took opportunity to dive overboard and test my new gills and webbed appendages. It was just as I thought, I could indeed breath underwater, and so much more exhilarating than I imagined!

The ruins were remarkable. Firstly because they were unexplored, (the Captain of the barge I was on told me that none had managed to gain entrance to them) and secondly because I found Dwarfish runes inscribed on them. They had been built in ancient times by a Dwarfen tribe called the Stonecutters. If the boats had not kept going up the river I would have spent more time examining the fascinating ruin, but I only managed to discover, via magical means, that there was a door that had been magically sealed. I thought that I might be able to open it somehow, but would need time, that I did not have, to study it. It was with some annoyance that I swam back to the barge.

We spent one day in Avinal, Moxadder with his Blood Road friends and Morgan with his family. No doubt that was an interesting meeting considering that he had returned almost half his previous size and no longer human. The Halfing returned just before we launched and explained that it had taken some time to convince his family that it was really him. He had accepted his change, just as I had mine. In true Fastendian fashion they chose not to judge him on his physical appearance but his deeds, and when they had heard what he had achieved they were not only pleased, but very, very proud.

One the first day from Avinal we passed a massive rectangular stone monolith that jutted from the ground. The crew informed me that it was a new addition to the landscape as they had not seen it before. We rowed close enough to it for me to make out the large lettered inscription on it. It was written in the language of the barbarians, the same race that had attacked Montfort. It read ‘Grushhelt, hero of the Rashrid’. It appeared that the barbarians were still being driven from their homes in the north.

The next day this was proved to be true. A horde of them massed on the northern bank of the river, desperately seeking someway to cross over it. However, it had widened somewhat since we had forded it days before and now was at least a couple of hundred feet across and the water flowed even faster. On the horizon we saw the cause of their angst, a thick mass of fog, the same fog that preceded the troops of the Dominion.

We kept close to the southern bank, and although they shouted several war-cries at us, they chose not to waste their shafts on a foe that would be gone soon enough.

On the afternoon of the third day from Avinal, no more than an hour from Morannin, we finally encountered something that we could not avoid.

Floating above the river was a massive purple-black blob. How it managed to hold itself in the air I do not know, for it had no wings or other means to hover. Lighting cracked around it, revealing the irregular curves of its shape, almost as if it was a storm cloud, but it had too much substance and form to be one.

It had no discernable features; no limbs and no head or face, yet somehow it sensed us. Even more lightning crackled around it and slowly it move toward us.

“It is a thing of Dominion, created by Xvart!.” Said Stravarious confirming that it was something that was an enemy of ours..

As it crept forward the Hydra and the armed guard of the barges loosed waves of arrows into it. What good they did I do not know for the shafts that struck true seemed to be absorbed by its mass.

The Captain ordered the barges to the southern shore, so that we could not be sunk by the aberration and so that if need be we could all flee our separate ways.

It had managed to move close to us now, close enough to reveal its intent. A deep rumbled of thunder sounded from within it and suddenly a mass of purple-black tentacles shot out from its body. As each reach its full extension a bolt of lighting flashed from each tip. Nine bolts found their mark, each downing a brave Fastendian. One had targeted Moxadder. He saw it come toward him and miraculously dove to his left at the same instant that it smashed into the ground where he had recently stood. I shook my head in disbelief, I had never seen a man move that quickly before. In one moment he had been about to die, electrocuted like the others, then the next he had tumbled away to safety.

Another wave of arrows flew into it. I had lost count how many had struck. It had stopped now, its tentacles with in reach of their targets. I could see no way of destroying it. The blob seemed impervious to our attacks. But it was then that Stravarious let loose a magical green blast from his hand. The whole creature was momentarily outlined in pulsating green light and it sunk a little lower than it had been before. Kuruul also leapt into the fray. He was in his canine form and let loose and mighty howl, the blob paused a moment and once again floated closer to the river. It’s revenge was not as potent as its first assault. This time it could manage only one bolt of lighting. It’s victim shuddered violently before slumping, smoking, to the ground, but now we had the ascendancy. Stravarious continued to throw his green light at the creature. Slowly but surely its strength waned and it floated lower and lower to the water until a single arrow loosed by a guardsman struck it and the blob fell perhaps twenty feet into the Narn. The water hissed and crackled as the electrical charge of the blob was dispersed in the river, all the while the massive corpse slowly sinking into its depths.

 

[Haraash Saan]

An hour later the monumental walled city of Morannin was etched on the horizon. The colossus that was the city loomed ahead of the approaching barges. Morannin was a hexagonal fortress with each of its six walls at least one hundred feet tall. The polished black walls looked as if they were made of glass and reflected the afternoon sun.

The barges moved into the small lake that the Narn flowed from and made their way to jetties that struck out of the southern bank like so many fingers. Once they docked we alighted and made our way to the great iron gates. As we walked forward, leading our steeds, we noticed a large man wearing a full suit of black plate armour sitting on a bench next to the entrance to the city. He saw us looking at him, rose and waited for us.

One of the barge crew noted the armoured mans interest in us and whispered conspiratorially, “Bes’ do as he says. He’s one of Mecros’s boys. An’ you don’ wan’ oo mess with a Black Lord.”

There was nothing for it, we met his gaze and walked towards him.

“Hail Hydra. My master Mecros wishes you to meet with him.” said the armoured man in an emotionless voice.

“So it seems.” I replied. “Well, if you give us directions I am sure we will be able to meet him as soon as we have attended to our own business.”

“My master wishes to see you now.” He said in the same stony tone. With that he turned on his heel and began to walk through the gates.

Whilst I was intent on locating Princess Isabella as quickly as possible I thought it prudent if we got the meeting over and done with. Somehow Mecros had learnt that we were coming to Morannin, and that led me to believe that he knew at least what we may required of him.

Unlike every other city we had entered we paid no tax when entering Morannin. Our guide invoked so much respect that the guardsman looked us over once and then just waved us through.

We wove our way through the cobbled streets. Industry was rife and all of it was bent to the war effort. Wagons coming from the southern gate rolled through town bearing all manner of foodstuffs and raw the raw materials for weapons and armour. Weapon and armour smiths lined several streets that we passed. The clamour of their hammers tinging against iron replaced the more expected cries of hawkers spruiking their wares. Morannin had few hawkers for this was a city with one purpose only, to supply the soldiers of the Fastness, not only here in Morannin, but also Avinal and Vronburg. Those three cities were all that held the might of the Dominion from sweeping through the land they loved and cherished.

Every now and again we passed a manse with a pristine garden reflecting the wealth of the home’s owner. The green of the gardens seemed very much at odds with the rest of the city, but like all places were people lived together, other than perhaps Vronburg, there were those that lived to excess.

We approached one such building. It was three stories tall and simply built, but the garden that surrounded it was of exquisite beauty. Even now in late autumn it still had flowers blossoming in whites, reds and blues. Tall evergreen conifers lined the paved path that led to the iron bound timber door.

Our armoured guide opened it without pause and ushered us into an antechamber before he himself left telling us to wait.

No more than a minute later a tall man wearing a deep blue silk tunic and black leggings stepped into the room. “Welcome to my home.” He said.

Smiling I said “Thank you so much for your, “ I paused, “invitation.”

Mecros snorted a small chuckle, “Indeed. Please step through and help yourselves to my hospitality.” With a sweep of his arm he indicated that we move into the adjoining room from which he had come.

A large dining table had been laid out with all manner of wonderful food. Roasted pig, sweetmeats, platters of fruits, some of which I did not recognise, and a cask of wine was spread out on it.

Moxadder, never one to miss a free meal, dove into the banquet. The others and I had a little more decorum, we waited for Mecros to seat himself at the head of the table before we assumed positions on either side of him.

As we supped he spoke, “It has come to my attention that you have a request for me.”

“Indeed we do. We would very much like to utilise the Star Chamber of your temple, Rodion.” I said,

Again he chuckled amused at the use of his old name. “Ah, so you have been speaking to Pytor have you? It is as I thought.

“It seems odd that you travel so far so quickly only to wish to depart once again. May I ask what your business is here in Morannin?”

“Forgive me if I do not reveal our intentions.” I replied. “Rest assured I do not believe they will impact you in any way.”

He sighed, disappointed, “Ah well. So be it. I am a curious fellow so I had to ask. However I will of course allow you to use the Star Chamber, “this time it was he who paused, “if you face the challenge that you stood down from in Halfast. In fact I’ll make it easier for you. All you have to do is best me in the arena.”

None of us was prepared for his price. We had expected a service or financial payment, not combat. Our thoughts created an awkward silence.

“Interesting.” I said breaking it. ”We will consider your offer and let you know what we have decided.”

 

[Haraash Saan]

We spent the evening in a tavern, all except Moxadder who had once again disappeared on his own business. We soon learnt that the Princess had left the city some two weeks previous and was currently in the Convent of the Six Sisters, a nunnery of the Veiled Sisters of Laster. It so happened we would leave Morannin quickly. More quickly than I had anticipated, and we decided not to respond immediately to Mecros’s request, but perhaps take him up on it on our return journey.

The next morning we mounted our steeds, Morgan having purchased a pony that was more to his size, and headed south to the convent.

Moxadder chose to join us in the chill of the morning with the cold visible on our breath. During the course of his evening activities he had observed a man passing some coin to the patrons of a tavern. Whilst Moxadder nursed an ale he overheard the man asking about the princess. This peaked my Fastendian friend’s curiosity and he followed the fellow to a couple more taverns where more coin was flashed about and similar questions were asked.

At the third tavern the man must have finally been satisfied for he allowed himself a toothy grin and dropped a heavy purse onto the table of the grateful guardsman to whom he had spoken.

Unfortunately Moxadder became distracted, as only Moxadder could, and his quarry had slipped out into the night.

Our horses stamped shod hooves on the cobbles, keen to get underway. All except Zwingly, Argonne’s steed. He stood still, muscles tensed and nostrils flaring angrily. Not surprising really considering he still despised his owner.

“Tha’s ‘im.” hissed Moxadder, finger stabbing to his left.

We turned and our eyes followed his outstretched arm, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Who?” I inquired, not understanding his reference.

”The man from last night.” He said with urgency.

I looked again and spied a hooded man throwing his leg over a bay mare. With a gentle kick he prompted it to toward us. As he approached I stepped into his path and said, “Good morning sir. I trust it finds you well.”

He reigned his horse in and stared at me.

“I understand you have been inquiring of the whereabouts of Princess Isabella,” I said matter-of-factly. There was no point in avoiding the issue. I felt it best to confront him and observe his response.

“Eh? Dunno what ya talking ‘bout.” He grunted and tried to nudge his horse to move passed me.

I moved to block his way again and with a smile said, “Come now. Hop off you beast and let us have a chat.”

With a snarl he hammered his heels into his mounts flanks and charged at me! I leapt aside with a muttered curse.

“After him!” commanded Morgan.

“I’ll get ‘im” said Argonne calmly as he strode forward. He raised his arms from his body as he walked and they began to sprout feathers. His torso followed suit and his legs transformed into those of a bird, ending in cruel looking talons. Turning his head to look at us we no longer saw his concealed face, but the glare of an eagle. With a powerful flap of his wings and accompanying shriek he launched himself into the sky.

We mounted our horses, and with Zwingly being led by a wary Stravarious we followed at a more leisurely pace, confident that Argonne would stop the rider.

The southern gates of Morannin loomed before us when we heard the clatter of hooves fast approaching. Argonne’s prey appeared a block ahead of us, apparently having tried to lose any pursuit before leaving the city. The rising sun momentarily silhouetted a great eagle that once more let out a shrill screech. There was a surprised oink and suddenly the rider was pitched forward, sprawling on the road. Stupefied he rolled onto his back and his jaw slackened as he saw a pig standing where his mare had been! It trotted up to him and lovingly nuzzled his boot.

We ourselves were wide-eyed for a moment, before bursting out in fits of laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Argonne the eagle landed gracefully beside the bewildered man and transformed back into Argonne the man. “So can my friend have that talk now?” he asked.

The rider leapt up, screaming in fear and rage and charged Argonne with flailing fists. The shape changing woodsman shoved aside his assailant, causing him to stumble. He managed to recover his footing, however, and continued to run through the southern gate.

I rode up to join Argonne, wiping the tears of mirth from my eyes and barely keeping laughter in check. “Leave him.” I said as I put a hand on his shoulder. “He will not get to the Princess on foot before we do.”

“Yes.” Agreed Morgan. “And we’d best move off quietly before any guards notice us. Be thankful that this is the southern gate, it is not as heavily watched as the north gate that faces the Dominion.”

Argonne scratched the pigs head. “I don’t suppose you want to stay a pig do you?”

The pig looked up at him with big brown eyes.

“No. I didn’t think so.” said Argonne. He then called out some strange words and the pig was transformed back into the bay mare. The horse nuzzled Argonne in thanks and then trotted back toward its stable.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Wow! 10,000 views. Just a quick note to say thank you for the great support over several years.

I'm through all the material I had finished writing about 3 years ago, but rest assured the story (and campaign) continued. So now I'll be creating fresh material, hopefully my writing has improved over time and not gone backwards.

I'll try to post once a week, but I can't give any guarantees.

Haarash Saan

 

[Haraash Saan]

Two days later we were still chuckling to ourselves. The Convent of the Six Sisters was still many days ride away across more desolate emptiness, and Argonne’s retelling of his tale lifted our spirits.

We crested a small grassy hillock, and finally the landscape offered us something different than cracked earth and tussocks of grass. The road dipped down into a valley that stretched before us. A river, reflecting the afternoon sun lazily meandered through a sparse forest with a small village nestled on its edge. With a delicate kick I urged my horse forward, hoping that we might find some shelter from the cold Fastness nights.

The village of Sari-well was not much more than a waypoint for travellers. By the time we had reached it only the pink dusk guided our way. A few homes dotted the road but it was the Inn of the Green Serpent, the largest building by far, which shone welcoming lights.

A cheerful tune greeted us as we pushed open the heavy door. An old man with a clay pipe between his white whiskered lips sat on a stool in the centre of a large room common room playing a lively song on a battered old fiddle.

Several others, farmers or woodsman by the look of them, stamped and clapped in time with the old man, whilst the barkeep, a ruddy cheeked man kept their tankards full.

“Hail travellers!” he said “A bed for your weary bodies perhaps? And an ale for your parched throats?”

The Green Serpent was a far cry from the Fastness we had thus far been exposed to. This was more like a small version of my own home in Montfort than an oppressed and militant Fastness community. We enjoyed the company of the locals and their stories; one in particular captured my interest.

A few years ago a group of Hutenkamans started a settlement a day’s journey east through the forest. Whilst typically Hutenkaman in their ways, they were peaceful and were very much part of the greater Sari-well community, often coming to town to offer their blessings on locals and travellers alike. However, it had been about a month since the last Hutenkaman priest had been sighted.

I was all for exploring the settlement, but the rest of the Hydra voiced their reservations.

“What’s it got to do with getting the Princess?” said Morgan.”It’s completely irrelevant to the task at hand.”

I could not disagree with him, or the supporting chorus of opinions that my companions offered, and after only little resistance we decided to ignore the settlement and continue on our journey south.

However, once alone in my room I heard a familiar voice.

“Masster. We musst sseek the temple. We musst ssearch for my brethren. To closse to jusst pass it by.” rasped Ninfus Nex.

My thoughts grew clouded as he spoke, and I found my mind bending to his will, “Yes indeed Ninfus. I think you are correct.” I replied, and then quickly fell into a heavy slumber.

The chirping of birds woke me at dawn, and during a hasty meal of fresh eggs and bread I informed my companions that I would be leaving them temporarily to investigate the Hutenkaman settlement. My declaration was met with angry and annoyed objections, citing the need for us to remain together and to have as few delays as possible. Eventually, however, they accepted that my decision was made.

And so it was that after getting some directions from a local woodsman, I set off, alone and single minded, to the east.

Although the forest had no real paths, I had been directed to follow some hunters’ trails, it was not thick and allowed me to ride at some speed. All the while Ninfus Nex, now coiled around my bicep, hissed reassurances that we were doing what must be done.

Even with my mind somewhat fogged by the serpent’s words, I could still enjoy the freshness and greenery of the forest, and for the first time in what seemed an age, the joy of being alone. For so many months it seemed I had been travelling with my companions; I now felt liberated and free. At times my thoughts would drift back to the forests of Montfort and a time before the Hydra had formed and recall the simple pleasure of riding through the woods, unburdened with worldy matters.

It was in this state, after perhaps six hours, I arrived at a dreadful scene.

 

[Quartz]

Bumpity-bump!