Travels through the Wild West: a Forgotten Realms Story

[Lazybones]

Part 11

The Wood of Sharp Teeth didn’t seem that scary, at least at first. The boots of the companions, as they led their horses through the maze of towering trees, squished softly on the carpet of wet dead leaves with each step deeper into the wood. The trees formed an interlocking canopy above them like a roof, ensuring that the forest floor below was not choked with impassable undergrowth. The rain had eased, making the forest seem like a cathedral with its domed ceiling high above them.

They didn’t head straight for the heart of the forest, instead charting a course that led more or less parallel to the northern border of the wood, heading to the west. That was Cullan’s best guess as to the direction taken by the raiders and their prisoners, and by staying near the edges of the wood they would hopefully intersect the trail of their quarry. None of them commented on the obvious possibility that the bandits had gone east instead, and that each step they took might be taking them further in the wrong direction. It was slow going, as they went on foot most of the time to rest the horses and keep a close watch for any signs of the trail.

They came to a massive fallen log, nearly rotted through, that rose up out of the forest ahead like a rampart. They started to move around it when they heard a loud flutter ahead of them, like a flight of birds taking off all at once.

“That can’t be good,” Benzan said as his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

A moment later, nearly a score of small, bat-like things erupted from the ruins of the log and swarmed over them. They dove at the companions and their mounts aggressively, seeking to latch on with their eight hooked, spindly legs, and stab them with long, pointed beaks shaped like thin stilettos.

“Don’t let them touch you!” Cullan shouted, trying to fight off a pair of the creatures with his shortsword. “They’ll drain the blood right out ‘er your body!”

“Yeah, we’re working on it!” Benzan cried back, dodging as one landed on him and dug its claws into his mail-links, trying to poke through to the soft flesh underneath. In revulsion he poked his dagger through it before its head before it could stab him.

A scream and a roar of flame announced Delem’s response as several of the creatures converged on the unarmored sorcerer. Lok and Telwarden were each attacked by one, but the fluttering creatures had a difficult time finding a vulnerable point through their heavy armor.

Most of the rest descended on the horses. The panicked beasts reared and flailed as the little creatures stabbed them and latched on, draining their blood hungrily. With the companions distracted by their own battles, most of the horses broke free and bolted blindly into the forest, bearing their deadly burdens with them.

An angry yell from Cal, however, turned their attention from the plight of their mounts. Two of the creatures had latched onto him, one on his hip and a second square in the middle of his back.

“Augh! Get off me, you filthy little blood-grubbers!”

His companions came quickly to his aid. Unwilling to risk hitting the gnome as he danced around, trying to shake loose the creatures, Lok used his dagger rather than Steel Jack’s deadly axe. His blow tore the creature attached to Cal’s back near in half, ending its vicious drain. Cal himself was trying to dislodge the second with his shortsword, but his own motions were making it difficult to land a telling blow.

It took another few seconds of desperate stabbing and frustrated curses, but then quiet returned to the wood, with the dead creatures littering the soft loam of the forest floor all around them. Cullan and Delem had each taken a hit from the creatures, but none were as seriously injured as Cal. He used his healing wand on himself, but while that closed the wounds, he was still weak from losing blood.

A more pressing problem, as Telwarden pointed out, was the horses. Only he and Benzan had managed to keep their mounts from bolting, and both horses had suffered blood drains as well. They cast around for the other panicked creatures, but found only one, lying dead from half a dozen oozing punctures. They also spotted a few more of the creatures in the area, fat with blood and slow, and Cullan and Benzan dispatched them in disgust with arrows.

“What were those things?” Delem asked.

“‘Filthy blood-sucking nasty-bastards’ would be my vote,” Benzan said.

“They’re called stirges,” Cullan replied. “Individually they’re not that tough, but in packs… well, you saw.”

“Well, it looks like we’re walking from here on out,” Telwarden said. They transferred the saddlebags from the dead horse to their two remaining mounts, and headed on.

“This probably means that they didn’t pass this way,” Delem pointed out.

Cal had tried to push on despite his hurts, but he sagged against a moss-covered stone. “I need to rest,” he said.

“You should ride,” Lok said. “The horse can manage you.”

“We all need rest,” Benzan said. “We’ve only covered half the distance today as yesterday, but that includes fighting a battle—two, now—and it’ll be dark again in a few hours anyway. Plus the magic-users need to recover their spells.”

Telwarden was clearly reluctant, but the tiefling’s logic was inescapable. They camped in a sheltered overhang near the fallen log, figuring that the surrounding area had already been cleared of immediate threats by the presence of the stirge colony. They kept a sharp watch for more of the creatures returning, but the night remained quiet as they hunkered down to await the coming of the day.

In the morning, they risked a small fire to brew hot tea and oatmeal for breakfast. Fortunately their supplies had been more or less equally distributed among them, so the loss of most of their horses was not catastrophic. They would run into difficulties if their search continued for more than a few days, however. Cal looked much better, but was still clearly a little weak from his encounter with the stirges. After eating and giving Cal some time to study his spellbook, they set out again.

Although the rain had let up for the moment, the forest floor was still damp and musty, with a thin mist that hung persistently in the air obscuring their view beyond a few hundred feet. The woods seemed unnaturally still, the soft ground muting even the sounds of their passage. A stray cough sounded disturbingly loud in the quiet.

After only about an hour, they paused as Cullan stopped to check the ‘trail’ around them.

“There’s no way of telling where we are going, or where those bandits went,” Delem said to Benzan, quietly so that his words would not carry to Telwarden.

Benzan shrugged in reply. Cal, however, dismounted—he was the only one still riding—and headed toward a mound of packed earth a short distance off.

“Where are you going?” Delem asked.

“I have an idea,” the gnome replied cryptically. The others exchanged a glance and followed after him. They saw that the mound was actually a burrow of sorts, piled around the roots of a massive tree with an uninviting dark hole near its base. The hole was nearly large enough for the gnome to crawl inside, but he just crouched near the opening, and started making some unintelligible chittering noises into the opening.

“Squeaking into a hole in the ground. Well, it was bound to happen,” Benzan said. “Cal’s lost his mind.”

The gnome bard ignored him and continued making the strange noises. The companions leaned forward as something stirred from within the darkness of the burrow. They watched as the head and upper body of a large badger—easily half-again the size of the gnome—emerged from the barrow, and regarded them with a wary look.

Cal chittered at it some more, then without turning his attention from it, spoke softly to his companions. “She’s got a litter of cubs, so she’s a bit skittish. Don’t make any sudden moves or threatening gestures.” As if to punctuate the gnome’s statement, the badger clawed at the ground with its powerful forearms, digging long gashes in the earth. Clearly, if the badger did feel spooked, it wouldn’t have much trouble ripping open the gnome with those same claws.

“Ah, yes. Don’t piss off the badger. Got it,” Benzan said.

The gnome continued making his noises, pausing to let the badger respond now and again. This went on for about a minute, after which point the badger drew back into its lair, and Cal carefully retreated back to where his companions stood waiting.

“I’ve heard of druids that could speak to the beasties like that, but I’ve never seen it before,” Cullan said, a look of amazement on his face. Telwarden looked more dubious, but he said nothing as Cal delivered his report of the strange conversation.

“She said that she used to live some distance away from here,” he began, gesturing vaguely toward the southwest, “in a rough area of uneven hills. A few seasons back, she had to leave when a bunch of foul-tempered two-leggers—her words—moved into the area and started cutting down trees and killing the local wildlife. She’s avoided the area ever since.”

“A little vague,” Benzan said.

“Well, animals aren’t much for keeping precise calendars,” Cal quipped. “But it’s solid information.”

“It’s the best lead we’ve had thus far,” Telwarden said, “and it’s better than stumbling blindly through the forest. Let’s go check it out.”

 

[Lazybones]

Part 12

The Wood of Sharp Teeth stretched for over a hundred miles southward from its beginnings just south of the River Chionthar, a dense old-wood forest appropriately named for the hazards that lurked within its depths. Just a few miles from its northern edge, but well within the thick of the wood, rose a small knot of uneven hills. The forest spread over this area unabated, with trees and bushes filling every slope and dip in the terrain. In a region known for being inhospitable, the landscape here seemed particularly uninviting to the traveler.

And yet, nestled in at the edges of one of these hills, there was a clearing forced from the forest, and in that clearing stood a small fort. The structure was neither as elaborate nor as permanent as the constructs of the lords of the Western Heartlands, but at the same time it was clearly built to withstand a considerable attack. The massive trunks of the trees that had once stood nearby had been shaped into a stockade that rose a full twenty feet, while boles of smaller diameter had been used to form a hedge of sharp stakes that would keep any but the most determined beast from even reaching those walls. Two covered watchtowers with shadowed interiors held alert eyes warding the dangers of the forest, while inside the stockade several crude but functional structures served the needs of the bold intruders who had challenged the reputation of the Wood of Sharp Teeth.

From within the stockade came a constant noise of activity, dominated by a regular pounding of metal against metal that indicated a working smithy. But the most important activity going on within the fort was neither noisy nor obvious, but rather involved the meeting of two individuals in a shadowy room located within the bowels of the place. And only one of them was actually at the fortress.

A powerfully built figure sat at a crude desk fashioned from heavy wood planks. Even the half-darkness could not conceal the hard lines and ferocious features of an armored hobgoblin warrior. He seemed a particularly imposing example of that martial race, but there was also a gleam of intelligence in his eyes, matched with a feral cunning that masked whatever dark emotions were hidden within.

“It was a foolish move, Zorak, to authorize that attack,” a soft voice whispered. The words did not come from the hobgoblin, but rather materialized in the air around him, like the sweet siren’s song that drew sailors to their doom.

“We needed more slaves,” the hobgoblin said, his own deep voice a stark contrast to the faint whispers. He accompanied them with a slight shrug, as if this matter were of no importance. “You yourself suggested I gather them from the road.”

The whispered voice kept its same soft tone and keel, but the agitation in the hidden speaker was clear nonetheless. “But not within a day’s ride from Elturel, and certainly not on the outskirts of a populated village. Your little band of mercenaries has caused quite a stir, I can tell you. Were you possessed by madness, to allow such a provocation to occur? And as if that proximity was not sufficient, they choose a caravan with a noblewoman passenger, and take her prisoner.”

“That’s not uncommon for bandits, to take captives that they can ransom…”

“What part of ‘keeping a low profile’ don’t you understand?” the voice interrupted. “The goal is to avoid drawing attention to this operation. Have you never heard of magic? Don’t you think that her family will be interested in finding out where she is?”

“Shall we kill her, then?” Zorak asked.

“No, the damage has already been done. But you’d better ensure that you cover up your tracks thoroughly. I assume that you have already arranged for Steel Jack and his men to take a long trip out of the region.”

“They should already be on their way down the Sword Coast by now,” Zorak replied, “taking the long way, around the eastern side of the wood. By the time Dhelt’s Hellriders track them to their camp, they’ll be long gone… and the weather will have taken care of any traces that lead this way.”

“Don’t underestimate them, Zorak. I don’t care if they eliminate Steel Jack’s little company, but they must not connect us to them.”

“Bak Morok has clear orders on that point.”

“Good. Because as important as this operation is, understand that I will have no qualms sacrificing <I>it and you</I> if necessary to protect my own position.”

Zorak didn’t say anything, but it was clear that the message was understood.

The voice continued, “It is too great a risk to wait until the next shipment. Send the woman immediately with whatever more you have accumulated—drugged and quiet, preferably, but undamaged—and I will see that she is properly disposed of. Perhaps her death, if nothing else, can still be of use to me… ”

Zorak nodded stoically in acknowledgement.

A long silence followed, and finally Zorak rose and headed for the room’s single door. Before he reached it, however, the soft voice whispered one more time.

“Just one more thing, Zorak.”

“Don’t fail me again.”

 

[Lazybones]

Part 13

“Where is he?” Delem asked nervously.

“He’ll be all right,” Cal said in reassurance.

He and the rest of the companions, save Benzan, were perched along the knobby crest of a low knoll, lying prone among the tufts of thick weeds and small boulders. In the distance, between the trees of the forest, the stockade and towers of the small fort dominated their attention. It was late afternoon, with the sun well on its way toward the western horizon.

Heading in the direction suggested by the relocated badger, they had encountered the trail taken by the prisoners and their guards in a few hours. Even if Cullan hadn’t spotted the signs of fairly recent passage, though, it would have been difficult for them to miss the impact of this place on the local environment. Massive stumps dotted the forest floor here and there, surrounded by discarded branches and deep runnels in the forest growth formed by whoever had dragged the trunks away. Those trails had all converged here, making it easy for them to find the place. It also made them a bit nervous, when their imaginations tried to figure out who or what had managed to move those trees…

They had been hyper-alert, expecting patrols or sentries, but they’d had no encounters since Cal’s conversation with the badger that morning. It was Delem who had first spotted the stockade through the thinning screen of trees as the land began to grow more rugged around them. It was clear that the place was occupied, from the smells of food and more unpleasant things that drifted over on the breeze, and from the sounds of clanging metal that were audible from within. They cautiously found a place where they could observe unseen, and debated their next course.

Even if they’d had all of the men who’d returned to Dunderion with them, a frontal assault on the place clearly would have been foolish. The surrounding forest had been cleared out to a distance of several hundred feet around the stockade walls, giving the occupants of the two watchtowers a clear line of fire to anyone approaching the fort. And while there was no way to guess how many men, or hobgoblins, or whatever else might be occupying the place, it was clearly large enough to support a significant garrison.

In this context Telwarden gave no orders, but solicited the advice and comments of his companions. Ultimately they decided to send Cullan and Benzan out in a wide arc to scout out the approaches to the fort, and learn what they could. Cullan’s cloak of elvenkind allowed him to blend easily into the surrounding scenery, and Benzan just seemed to have a gift for not being seen.

Cullan had returned after about a half-hour, but another hour had since passed—and no sign of Benzan.

“But what if he doesn’t come back?” Delem persisted.

“If something does happen to him, we’ll hear about it,” Telwarden said. “Cullan said there’s only the one main gate, and we can see it from here. We’ll know if anyone comes or goes.”

“Hsst! Someone comes!” Cullan whispered, and they all hunkered down in their concealment, readying their weapons just in case. But it was only Benzan, who materialized out of the bushes at the base of their redoubt and quickly skipped up the slope to join them. He looked a little haggard, and there was a sheen of sweat across his face. A shallow cut across his forearm showed a thin line of red blood.

“What happened?” Cal asked, when he was close enough so that they could talk without raising their voices.

“They have dogs,” he said, dropping to the ground and gratefully accepting the waterskin that Lok handed him. After taking a few swallows and rinsing the heat off his face, he told them all what he found.

“I had a close call, but they didn’t see me—or at least, they didn’t realize what was setting off their guard dogs. I skirted the entire ring of forest around the fort, and found a track that leads deeper into those hills, on the opposite side of the fort from where we are. I followed the trail for a bit, and it ends up in a nest of those hills, by a cluster of cave openings. There’s a hobgoblin guard post there, but it looks like most of the activity is going on inside those caves.”

“What are they doing in there?” Telwarden wondered out loud.

In answer to his question, Benzan produced a small chunk of rock from his pocket. It was bluish-gray in color, marbled with striations of varying dark colors. “I found this along the trail.”

“Silver ore,” Lok said. Benzan nodded.

“Looks like our bandit friends have got a little mining operation going on here,” he said.

“So that’s why they needed the prisoners,” Telwarden said, his jawline tightening at the thought of the captives—and in particular, the Lady Ilgarten—being put to slave labor in a silver mine. “They’ve probably been raiding the surrounding trade routes for some time; people have been known to disappear in the wilds, a fact of life in these dangerous lands. Any sign of how many hobgoblins might be there?”

“There were four keeping watch over the entrance, but I didn’t see any more. I’d be really surprised, though, if there weren’t more inside.”

“And yet more at the fort,” Cullan pointed out.

“I would guess that they return the prisoners to the fort for the night, although that isn’t a certainty, given the fact that hobgoblins function just fine in the darkness,” Cal suggested.

“We’ll be outnumbered, whichever plan we try,” Benzan said.

“Fine with me,” Lok offered, hefting his magical axe.

“We’ll free the captives first,” Telwarden said. “Then we’ll worry about that fort. Agreed?”

His gaze traveled the circle of companions, who each nodded in turn.

“Lead on, Benzan.”

* * * * *

As Lok had said, most plans rarely survived the first clash of arms.

With Benzan blazing their route, the companions made a wide circle through the forest, giving the fort a wide berth. They left their horses behind in a concealed copse, relying on stealth rather than speed this time. They came up on the entrance to the mines from an angle, avoiding the well-traveled trail that led back to the fort.

As they made their way toward their destination, Cal came up beside Delem. “You might find this helpful,” he said, touching one of his wands to the sorcerer, who could not help but flinch a little at the contact. As it had with Benzan, the magic of the device shrouded Delem with a faintly glowing coat of mage armor, which faded into invisibility after a few moments.

“I’ve already treated myself to the same,” the gnome said. “It will last about an hour, and protect you from attacks for that time. Be careful, though—it’s not as effective as Lok’s platemail by far.”

“Thank you,” Delem said.

“And take this,” Cal said, offering him another wand, the one he had taken from the hobgoblin adept. “I have the sleep spell already, and we might need to refrain from throwing fire bolts and sheets of flames all around if there are prisoners about.”

Delem looked reluctant. “I don’t know how to use it,” he said, holding the wand as if it were a live serpent.

“It’s easy. You can feel the magic held within, can’t you?” At Delem’s nod, he continued, “All you have to do is tap it, to focus your thoughts on the power, and summon forth the stored spell. If it was one of those items made with a command-word, that would be something else, but the mage who created this wand kept it simple.”

Delem nodded.

As they neared the mines they slowed their course, Benzan leading them carefully around the thick knots of boulders with weeds poking out from in between. They climbed slowly up a slope that culminated in a single huge granite slab the size of a house. Benzan gestured to indicate that the entrance was on the far side.

The plan was simple. When Benzan gave the signal, they would unleash a volley of missiles and spells to take out the initial guards quickly, then charge into the mine to overcome whatever guards were within. Then, after freeing the prisoners, they could learn more about what they could expect from the occupants of the fort. If they were lucky, they could kill the guards and be off with the hostages before the remaining garrison was even aware that enemies were in the vicinity.

That was the plan, anyway.

They realized that something was up even before they made it around the huge slab, when they heard the crack of a whip and the shout of a deep voice.

“Pick up that sack, you lazy human!”

Benzan gestured for the others to stay back while he crept up onto the back of the slab and looked out over the area beyond. Instead of four hobgoblin guards, there were a dozen, watching and cajoling half again that many slaves. Most of the prisoners were human, but Benzan quickly made out several kobalds, a very bedraggled dwarf, and an orc. Most showed signs of abuse at the hands of their masters, and all wore crude shackles on their ankles and linked to at least two other prisoners by a length of chain. The slaves were in the process of gathering heavy sacks from a large pile near the entrance of the mine, obviously to carry back to the fort. Overseeing the whole operation was a large hobgoblin wearing a suit of chainmail and carrying a heavy maul slung across one shoulder. Beside him was a smaller hobgoblin, perhaps an adolescent, who held two large and very vicious looking hounds by chains linked to spiked collars. Several of the guards carried loaded crossbows, but the weapons and their attentions were pointed in the direction of the slaves, not outward toward a potential danger from the forest.

Benzan turned to retreat back down the slab to rejoin the others, but at that moment the dogs started barking. Several of the hobgoblins turned and began scanning the surrounding area, looking for whatever had spooked their pets.

Benzan and Telwarden exchanged a quick glance. The sheriff from Dunderion nodded.

“Attack!”

Benzan opened the battle by standing atop the slab, drawing back his longbow and sending a shaft into one of the hobgoblin archers. The arrow bit deep into its shoulder, causing it to loose its bolt harmlessly up and away to the side. Even as several of its companions sighted in on him, Delem and Cal both launched their magic into the enemy ranks. Both used the same spell, Cal from his own repertoire of magic and Delem from his new wand. Two of the archers wavered and collapsed into magical sleep, their crossbows falling harmlessly to the ground, while on the other side of the group, Delem’s aim was less true as three of the prisoners and one of the guards joined them in unconsciousness. Another of the slaves, the orc, took advantage of this to rush forward—all but dragging the two humans attached to his chain with him—and picked up the fallen guard’s battleaxe. Another of the guards noticed this and stabbed at the orc with his spear, but misjudged the distance and failed to connect. The other prisoners, disoriented by the sudden outbreak of battle around them, either cowered near the cave entrance or tried to slip off into the surrounding woods, hindered by their shackles and chains.

Several of the enemy were already down or wounded, but the hobgoblins still had the advantage of numbers as Lok and Telwarden rounded the slab and charged into their nearest opponents, Lok loosing a bolt from his heavy crossbow as he came. The missile slammed into the side of the nearest opponent, staggering him enough for Telwarden to take him down with a mighty stroke to his head.

As Cullan scrambled up atop the slab to join Benzan, the hobgoblins counterattacked. The youth released his hounds, and the two ferocious beasts launched themselves at the melee gathering around Telwarden and Lok. The two warriors fought well as a team, though, protecting each other’s backs so that their enemies could not flank them. The sound of heavy blows surrounded them as they took blows on their shields or heavy armor. The two war dogs, trained for battle by the hobgoblins, tried to bring them down by latching onto them with their powerful jaws, but both warriors were able to hold them off. Still, with two warriors against three, plus the two dogs, the odds were decidedly against the embattled warriors.

The companions of those two warriors sought to even the odds, however. Benzan shot another arrow, dropping the archer that he had earlier wounded. The last archer left standing returned fire, but the bolt missed the agile tiefling, who had the advantage of cover provided by the mass of the slab. Benzan realized the error in his choice of targets a moment later, however, as the hobgoblin leader, who had not yet joined the fray, lifted a horn to his lips and blew out a loud rumbling blast from it. The sound echoed through the hills, and the companions had no doubt that its note was heard quite clearly at the fortress just a short distance away. His warning given, the hobgoblin took up his maul and charged toward the embattled genasi and sheriff. The last hobgoblin, the youth, hefted a javelin and followed him.

The two magic-users had not been directly engaged by the enemy, and they used that oversight to their full advantage. Cal came forward and lined himself up for a blast from his wand of color spray, carefully aiming to make sure that Telwarden would be on the periphery of the blast. The streaming colors caught not only one of the warriors engaged with the sheriff, but also the charging leader. The first warrior went down, but the leader only stumbled, temporarily blinded by the gnome’s magic. Behind him, the hobgoblin youth faltered, uncertain, the javelin forgotten in his hand.

Rather than risking another use of the wand, Delem relied on his innate magic, launching a pair of fiery missiles at one of Lok’s adversaries. The two burning bolts staggered the hobgoblin, but it did not fall. Lok’s attention was focused on the dog, still trying to get a grip on the doughty genasi fighter. Both he and Telwarden realized that the hounds were the greater danger, for if they managed to trip either of them up, they would be easy prey for the hobgoblins they still confronted. Lok managed to reduce that threat as he brained the hapless mutt with a chop that crushed its skull, dropping it with a thin veneer of ice crystals matting its mangy fur around the wound. Telwarden was less fortunate, although his blow ripped into the second dog’s shoulder and kept it at bay for the moment.

The melee raged in a mass of confusion, but the suddenness of the attack and the effect of the companions’ initial attacks had thrown the hobgoblin ranks into disarray. Only half of the twelve guards were left standing, including the blinded leader and the timorous youngling. Only Telwarden had been wounded, a slight cut on one arm where a hobgoblin spear had grazed him. Perhaps the leader, blinded though he was, realized the shifting balance, for he shouted out an order to his allies. “Brakthok Morok!” he yelled, and those hobgoblins that still could started to disengage, heading in the direction of the fort.

But the retreat quickly became a rout. The orc prisoner was grappling with one of the guards, and even as the hobgoblin leader issued his command he managed to slay his opponent with a blow from his stolen axe. The kobold prisoners, realizing that their captors were indeed beaten, had fallen on the pair of sleeping archers, and were even now tearing them to pieces with their sharp little teeth and claws. From atop the slab, Benzan and Cullan plied their bows, dropping several of the hobgoblin warriors as they sought to retreat. Cal and Delem, realizing the need to conserve their own magic, joined them with fire from their crossbows.

Lok and Telwarden, meanwhile, had combined to finish the remaining hound, and now converged on the still half-blinded leader. Instinctively sensing the danger as it stumbled toward the trail, it swiped its maul in a powerful two-handed arc, but missed the cautious fighters. Moments later Lok’s axe and Telwarden’s sword made short work of it, marking an end to the battle. Only two hobgoblins had escaped, the adolescent and the last archer.

“They’ll be back soon enough, with friends,” Telwarden said as the victorious companions surveyed the battlefield. Dead hobgoblins lay in a haphazard mess around them. But more pressing was the problem of the prisoners. Those that hadn’t fled were watching the companions expectantly, waiting for whatever was going to happen to them next.

The hobgoblin knocked out by Cal’s color spray was beginning to stir. The ones put to sleep had already been slain, two by the kobolds, who had already vanished into the forest, chains and all, and the last by the orc, who still stood over the bodies of the two it had killed, holding the axe tightly and staring at them defiantly. The two humans chained to it seemed to be trying to stay as far away from it as they could, given the limits of the chain.

“Let’s get these prisoners freed,” he said to his companions. “Hopefully one of these hobgoblins has the keys on him…”

“If not, I’ve got one,” Lok said, holding up his axe.

“Benzan, you and Cullan had better scout out the road, see how soon we can expect company,” Telwarden said. The tiefling and tracker nodded, and were soon gone out of sight down the trail. The others worked quickly to free the prisoners, pausing only when they came to the orc. The creature had not moved since the end of the battle, and still watched them intently. Up close, they could see that its naked torso was covered with both old and new scars.

“Do you speak common?” Telwarden asked it.

“Perhaps goblin,” Cal said, and offered a few phrases in that guttural language. The orc did not respond.

“We don’t have time for this,” Telwarden said. “Fight hobgoblins?” he said, gesturing toward one of the bodies and making a chopping motion to indicate what he meant.

The orc smiled, its harsh visage marred by several broken teeth, and nodded. Even so, Cal and Delem watched it intently as Telwarden unlocked its chains, but once free it only walked around a bit, pausing finally to start stripping the armor from one of the dead hobgoblins.

“What about the Lady Ilgarten?” Delem asked.

Telwarden had not forgotten about the main reason they were here, but he had postponed asking the most pressing question on his mind. There were two human women among the slaves, but they were both older, well into middle age, and like most of the other slaves, had clearly been under the control of the hobgoblins for some time. Telwarden did not want to ask his question because a part of him was afraid of what he would hear in response.

But at the mention of the name, one of the prisoners, a young man with shoulder-length hair the color of summer wheat, stood up quickly. “You’re looking for Lady Ilgarten? I was with her caravan—they’ve got her at the fort. At least, they did last time I saw her, which was yesterday morning.”

“Who are you?” Cal asked.

“My name’s Aric,” the young man replied. “I was one of the wagon drivers—as was Jarrick, here, and Tomas, over there by that orc.” His face fell a little as his thoughts turned back to recent events. “They killed all of the Lady’s guards, and Master Gondolio, on the road. I don’t know why they killed him—he’d never hurt anybody.”

“The lady—have they… have they mistreated her?” Telwarden asked.

Aric spoke quickly, his words almost falling over one another in his eagerness to get them out. A few of the others had gathered closer, although there were still many fearful looks back down the trail in the direction of the fort. “She got beat some,” he said sadly, “especially after she killed that bandit. They didn’t like that one bit. But after they found out who she was, I think the idea was they’d keep her for ransom, from what some of the human bandits said. I didn’t see them hurt her again, even after she tried to escape later.” Aric swallowed, suddenly putting something together in his mind. “That was when they killed Gondolio, though, I remember…”

“Listen carefully,” Telwarden said, keeping his voice calm and reassuring, although it was clear to those who knew him that it took some effort to do so. “I need to know—”

He was interrupted as the clear note of a horn sounded through the forest. Benzan reappeared, running full speed down the trail toward them. From the look on his face, his message was clear even before he delivered it, but the words sent a chill through them anyway.

“They’re coming.”

 

[MasterOfHeaven]

This is really an excellent story hour. I really loved this, and along with Wulfs story hour, I'd rate it the best story hour in the forum. Keep up the fantastic work.

 

[Horacio]

A superb story hour I've just discovered today!

Please, keep posting it!

 

[Lazybones]

Hey, thanks guys!
I'll get another post up later today.
Lazybones

 

[Lazybones]

“They’re coming.”

“How many?” Lok asked.

“All of them, I’d guess,” Benzan said, but there was no humor in his voice. After a moment’s pause to catch his breath, he added, “Looks to be about a score. I didn’t stay around long enough to get a clear count.”

The faces of the companions became grim. It was clear that the same thought was going through their minds. A score! We defeated a dozen, with the advantage of surprise and luck, but twenty…

“How long?” Telwarden asked.

“Five minutes, no more,” Benzan replied. “Less, if they hasten their pace.”

“All right then,” Telwarden said grimly. He glanced over his shoulder at the freed slaves, who were milling about, their looks of fear writ clear on their faces. “You can flee now if you wish,” he told them, “but we’re going to make a stand, and in all honesty you’d probably be just as safe staying as trying to make it out of the forest without food and weapons. How many of you know how to fight?”

A few hands went tentatively up. The dwarf, his wheezing breath audible even from a distance, came forward. “I’ve swung an axe more than once in me day,” he said, even the short declaration causing him to cough fitfully. “Them hobgoblins have taken a lot of me strength, but what I have left, I’ll lend ye.”

The sheriff nodded. “Cal, see what you can do for him.” The gnome was already moving to help, his wand of healing at the ready. “The rest of you, gather up what weapons you can. Quickly, now. And those shields, too.”

As the slaves moved hurriedly among the bodies, Benzan came up close to the sheriff. “Those people will be no match for veteran hobgoblin warriors,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Telwarden replied. “But we need to give them a chance, in case they get past us. And maybe even just a few more crossbow bolts will make the difference.”

Lok was talking to another of the freed prisoners, and he took a quick look inside the entrance of the mine. “What do you think?” Telwarden asked him as he returned. “Retreat into the mine, use it as a redoubt? They’ll have a tough time forcing the entrance if we defend it from within, and only a few will be able to squeeze through at once.”

But the genasi was shaking his head. “They could just collapse the entrance, and there’s nothing we could do except slowly suffocate,” he said. “Stone’s too hard to tunnel through quickly.”

Cal came up, slipping his wand back into its hidden pocket. “I suggest we make our stand there,” he said, gesturing toward the massive slab from which they’d launched their initial attack. And indeed, the granite outcropping looked from their current angle almost like a miniature rampart, its vertical edge between six and eight feet high on three sides. It sloped down to a relatively easy climb from the back, but it would take some effort, and precious moments, for their enemies to make it around to that side.

“Take the prisoners into the mine. You and Cullan can hold the entrance while the rest of us distract their attention toward us. We’re closer to the trail, so they’ll have to get past us to get to you.”

“You’ll be a sitting duck for their archers,” Telwarden said.

“Leave that to me,” the gnome said cryptically. “I’ll draw their fire, while you guys do as much damage as you can. Try not to miss,” he said to Benzan, jostling his arm in a companionable manner. The tiefling smiled, but it was a grim one.

“It’s not the most elegant plan I’ve ever heard, but it’ll do—and we’re out of time,” Telwarden said. “Good luck, then,” he said, clasping the gnome’s shoulder.

“And to you.” He turned to his companions. “Sorry to speak for you guys, but it was all I could think of, on such short notice. Everyone all right with the plan?”

Surprisingly, it was Delem who responded. “Let’s go,” he said, cocking his crossbow and setting a bolt at the ready. The four companions headed for the rock while Telwarden and Cullan started ushering the prisoners into the gaping entrance of the mine. They hefted their new weapons with uncertainty, and as he watched them Cal hoped that it would not come to them having to use them.

One of the prisoners had not retreated into the mine, however. The orc stood before them, clad now in ill-fitting hobgoblin armor, with a loaded crossbow in one hand and its bloody axe in the other. “Brakthak chupat,” it said, pointing to the gnome, and then at itself. “Chupat glak-morot.”

“What does it want?” Delem asked.

“We don’t have time for this…” Benzan said, glancing down the trail, still quiet, for the moment.

“It saw you before, with the dwarf,” Lok said. “Maybe it wants healing.”

“Oh, very well,” the gnome said. He tugged out the wand and held it up, and the orc nodded. Cal touched it to the orc, who did nothing to interfere with the action. The healing power flowed into the creature, and when it stepped back, it seemed noticeably stronger.

“Never thought I’d see the day when I healed an orc,” Cal said to himself as he followed the others around the base of the slab toward the rear slope. The orc followed them. Benzan and Lok helped Cal and Delem navigate their way up atop the stone, the orc close behind.

“Just so long as you point that thing at hobgoblins, pal,” Benzan told it as it passed him.

A harsh battle cry sounded from just a short distance down the trail, drawing everyone’s full attention.

The enemy had arrived.

* * * * *

His guess had been a bit low, Benzan thought to himself, as he quickly counted the hobgoblins as they moved cautiously into the clearing at the end of the trail. There were twenty-two of them, counting the one that they clustered around, a tall creature wearing an elaborate suit of half-plate chased with red ochre along with an open-faced helm and matching shield. All right, that’s my first target, he thought to himself as he tugged a long arrow from his quiver. A quiver that was becoming noticeably lighter, he realized. He glanced over at Cal.

“Stay low, and use the cover of the rock,” Cal instructed them, and he stood, moving almost to the edge of the slab, in full view of the hobgoblin force. A fierce cry immediately resounded from the rocky slopes of the surround hills, and even before its echoes had faded, the first volley of bolts was knifing through the air around him and his companions.

But Cal had been prepared, and even as the hobgoblins spotted him, he uttered the words of a magical spell. Hobgoblins were known for being adept marksmen, and several of the bolts of that first salvo were accurate. At the last instant, however, they were turned, glancing off of an invisible shield of force erected by the gnome’s magic. One did get through, cutting over the upper edge of the shield, but it too was deflected, hitting the still-potent mage armor that Cal had evoked earlier.

“Now, guys,” Cal said to his companions without turning, already focusing on the magical incantations of his next spell.

Benzan rose up into an archer’s crouch, sighting and firing his bow in a single smooth motion. The arrow flew fast and true to its target, but it lodged in the shield of the heavily armored hobgoblin leader, doing no damage.

“I knew that blasted gnome’s comment jinxed me,” he said, reaching for another arrow.

The bolt from Lok’s heavy crossbow was likewise ineffective, but Delem’s shot scored a glancing hit, his bolt sinking into the arm of one of the hobgoblin archers as it reloaded its crossbow. The orc fired as well, but the others did not see if the shot connected with a target.

The leader issued a command, and the bulk of the hobgoblin warriors rapidly formed into a fighting wedge, their shields held high as they charged to deflect more missile attacks from atop the slab. That defense was not enough for a few as they staggered, and one went down with an arrow jutting from its hip.

Telwarden and the others had joined the battle, firing their bows from the shelter of the mine opening.

The leader stepped forward from the midst of the hobgoblin archers as they reloaded, a menacing figure even from fifty paces away. He pointed at the defenders atop the great stone, and shouted a fell curse upon them. The four companions could feel the power of dark magic sweep through them in a tangible wave of fear and despair. But they gritted their teeth, and fought on through whatever dark magic was being wrought against them.

“He’s a wizard!” Benzan said.

“No,” Delem said, haltingly, “A priest of dark gods…”

More bolts came in at them from the enemy archers, followed by a volley of hurled javelins from the charging phalanx. Again Cal’s magic deflected the attacks aimed at him, but his companions shared no such protection. Lok’s plate mail provided an effective barrier, but both Delem and Benzan took hits. Benzan pulled the javelin from his leg and fired again, letting out a vile curse as his second missile glanced harmlessly off an enemy shield.

Thus far, the battle was not flowing in the favor of the good guys.

The phalanx approached the base of the stone, but the hobgoblins reacted in sudden alarm as a knot of mail-clad warriors emerged from the weeds and boulders to their left. The four newcomers were elves, their armor gleaming in the sun and their longswords at the ready. Confronted by their traditional enemy, the hobgoblins in the phalanx shifted eagerly to meet this new threat.

The delay gave the defenders more time. More arrows and bolts fired into the phalanx, and as they turned toward the elves more of the missiles found their mark. Another went down, with two arrows jutting from its side, and others bit back curses as they suffered wounds. It was a slow attrition, as a full score still stood, but it was a start.

The charge against the ‘elves’ failed, of course, as the hobgoblin blades passed through Cal’s illusion. He let the phantasm fade as the enraged hobgoblins charged around the base of the slab, eager to kill these few defiant enemies. Another went down, as Lok fired a bolt point-blank over the edge of the slab into its chest.

The hobgoblin leader—identified as a cleric by Delem—had not been idle. As the archers continued their desultory barrage against the defenders atop the slab, he unlimbered a massive crossbow of his own, loading a bolt that was more like the missile fired by a ballista.

As the charging horde reached the rear of the stone, still more than a dozen strong, the situation looked dire for the four beleaguered companions. Lok dropped his empty bow and hefted the magical axe, and moved to block the route up the slab. Behind him, Benzan fired his bow again into the crowd, rewarded finally with a grunt of pain as a hobgoblin fell back, clutching the arrow jutting from its shoulder. Delem used the wand of sleep, targeting the center of the dense cluster of enemies. Its power was partly effective, and two fell unconscious, but another pair resisted the magic, shaking their heads as if to clear the suggestion of sleep from their minds.

On came the hobgoblins, scrambling over the rocks to attack. Lok smote the first one with a mighty blow that separated its head from its shoulders. Three others came at him, and while his armor protected him from the first two thrusts, the third clipped him a painful blow on the shoulder with his wickedly spiked morning star. Lok stood his ground, shrugging off the pain of the impact.

Cal shifted to the side, along the very edge of the rock, to give him a better angle of attack and to give him a clear shot past Lok. He launched a blazing stream of colors right into the faces of a half-dozen hobgoblins. The first three went down, stunned, but the others came on over their fallen comrades, trying to catch the elusive gnome.

From the other flank, the orc entered the melee, swinging his axe at the hobgoblin that had struck Lok. The hobgoblin sensed the danger too late, and it suffered a powerful stroke that knocked it bodily backward, to tumble off the edge of the slab to the ground below.

The companions were still outnumbered, though, and the odds got suddenly worse when Cal staggered, crying out in pain as a long and deadly shaft, launched by the hobgoblin leader, struck him hard in the torso. The gnome fell prone, blood from the vicious wound jetting out all around him over the cold stone. Fighting for consciousness, he clutched at the bolt with one hand and his wand of healing with the other.

Benzan saw the gnome go down, but before he could move to help him, another arrow hit him, sending a wave of pain through his left side as the missile punched through the links of his chain shirt. Suddenly he too was in bad shape, but as he reached into his pouch, he saw that help, such as it was, was on the way.

Telwarden was leading a charge out of the mouth of the mine cavern, his sword cutting a swath through the air. Cullan and the dwarf warrior flanked him, matching him stride for stride, and behind, more cautious, came several of the former prisoners, loading their crossbows as they ran.

More hobgoblins were reaching the summit of the stone, but Lok would not give ground even as more blows rained down on him. His axe swung in deadly arcs, crushing one hobgoblin’s skull into a frozen mess, then cleaving on into the side of a second with equal force. The genasi seemed like a vengeful spirit of the earth, possessed of an elemental fury that could not be placated. Beside him, the orc fought on as well, motivated by an equal anger, striking down another hobgoblin before two others thrust their blades deep into its torso. Somehow it remained standing, roaring in defiance as it lifted the axe to strike again.

“Cal…”

Delem crouched beside the gnome, who was clearly dying. He had pulled the bolt out of his body, but had passed out from the loss of blood, and his skin was growing swiftly paler. Delem could not remember ever seeing so much blood before, and from such a small body… He felt an upsurge of emotions, anger mixed with impotent frustration, but as he felt the hot sting of tears blurring his vision, he heard the voice… that voice… in his thoughts again.

Trust in yourself, my son... Trust in who you are…

Delem reached out and grabbed Cal’s healing wand. It was a different sort of magic; he knew that, knew that it was not something that his sorcerous talent could access. But as he focused upon it, touching it almost tenderly to Cal’s ravaged side, he felt something awaken deep inside him.

The healing power flowed, and the bloody wound closed.

Cal would live.

Benzan felt the welcome surge of healing energies himself, as the potion worked its effects. He lifted his bow and sought out another target. Lok seemed to be doing well enough, for all that at least three opponents were still trying to force their way up the side of the slab; the bodies and the blood of their fallen comrades was making their progress difficult, however. The tiefling turned to seek out the cleric, who had struck down Cal…

But the hobgoblin commander was just disappearing from sight, retreating back down the trail toward the fort. Telwarden and the others had engaged the archers in melee, and Benzan could see that two of the four were already down, one with two arrows jutting from its body and another split open by Telwarden’s blade. Even as he watched, the dwarf, ignoring the bolt sticking from his shoulder, smote one in the leg with his axe, and in an almost berserk fury continued to lay into it even as it fell, chopping it apart like a woodsman gathering branches for a fire. Since there were no clear targets there, he rose and moved to Lok’s side, firing an arrow point blank into the face of one of his remaining opponents. The other two exchanged a look, and apparently decided that the genasi had already claimed enough of them, as they darted for the cover of the trees.

One made it, but only because he ran really fast, and because Benzan couldn’t reload quickly enough.

And just like that, the battle was over, and incredibly, they had won. They had suffered grievously, with all of them sporting wounds. Once the enemy was gone Lok nearly collapsed, his wounds greater than he had let on. Cal, restored to consciousness by Delem’s intervention, used his wand repeatedly upon himself and his friends, but its power gave out before all of them were returned to full health.

But there were some allies that they could not help. The orc, to their surprise, had been a loyal ally, at least against their common enemy. His body they left in the grasp of his final opponent, who he had struck down even as its weapon had ended him. And the young man Aric, whose bolts had knocked down more than one hobgoblin, was likewise dead, a lucky shot piercing his heart as he bravely charged behind Telwarden into battle.

They had won, but all of them knew that it was not over, not yet.

“We can’t let him get away,” Telwarden said, torn between his desire to chase after the evil cleric, and his duty to his companions. “He may yet—”

“I know,” Benzan said. He turned to Delem, who alone of the others could keep up with him. The sorcerer nodded, and moved to join him at the opening of the trail.

“Follow as quickly as you can,” Benzan told the others.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Cal promised.

Benzan and Delem started off down the trail at a trot, pushing their exhausted bodies yet further, toward what they all hoped would be the final confrontation.

 

[Lazybones]

Part 15

The fort was deceptively quiet, but they knew that enemies still lurked inside. They could feel the eyes watching the forest from inside the watchtowers, and to Benzan and Delem it was almost as if the place itself was waiting, a malevolent entity with hostile intent.

Benzan had thought that they’d be able to catch the heavily armored cleric, but he’d had too great a lead. Even as they’d neared the fort they could hear the sound of the gate being closed, and rather than rush in blindly, they’d faded into the forest edge to await their companions.

Benzan turned as he heard a noise from down the path. It was Telwarden, clearly pushing himself as he ran despite the weight of his heavy armor and weapons. For a moment Benzan thought he would run right into the clearing toward the fort, but at the last moment the sheriff spotted Benzan’s urgent signaling and he veered into the shelter of the brush. His face was bright red from his efforts, and his breath came in short gasps. At that moment his age showed more than in the entire time they’d known him, but his determination had not flagged in the slightest.

“We… we’ve got to attack… can’t give them time…”

“We’ll wait for the others,” Benzan said firmly. “You rest and catch your breath—you’ll be no good in a fight if you can barely stand up.”

Telwarden glared at him, but said nothing. The next few minutes passed with agonizing slowness, but finally they could hear Lok and Calloran, moving steadily up the trail. Benzan signaled to them and within a few moments they were all clustered amidst the brush, watching the fort.

“We left Cullan and the freed slaves back at the mine,” Cal said at Benzan’s inquiring look. “They wouldn’t be much use in this sort of thing, anyway.”

“The question now, is how we are going to get inside,” Lok said pragmatically.

“There can’t be many left in the garrison,” Telwarden chimed in, his voice much more normal now. “A quick attack is the best option, in my view.”

“And how were you planning on getting over the walls?” Cal asked.

“I think I can manage that,” Benzan said. He had been staring intently at the stockade, as if figuring out the pieces of a puzzle in his mind. “But it’s those guard towers that worry me. I can’t quite make out who’s inside them, but they’ve got excellent cover, and a clear field of fire all around the fort.”

“It looks like there are two hobgoblins in each,” Delem said, squinting. “I can’t quite make out the far one.”

Benzan looked at him. “You’ve got good eyes,” he said. Turning to the others, he said, “All right, I think I can handle the near tower, at least enough for me to get over the wall. But once I clear the edge, whoever’s in that second tower is going to have an easy shot at me.” Not to mention whoever’s inside the fort, he thought to himself.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve used just about all of my spells already,” Cal said.

“What about that sleep wand?” Benzan asked.

“That would work,” Cal said. “But its range is too limited to use it from here. It would have to be taken closer…”

They turned to Delem. After a moment, he swallowed and nodded. “I’ll go,” he said. “My legs are a lot longer than Cal’s, anyway.”

Benzan nodded. “All right then. Stay behind me; we’ll take an angle so that the first tower blocks the line of fire of the second as we approach. Once I start climbing the wall, take out the second tower.”

“Here, take this,” Lok said, offering his shield to Benzan.

“Thanks. Ready, Delem?” At the sorcerer’s nod, Benzan turned to the others. “Follow us out when we’re half-way to the wall. If I can’t get the doors open, you may have to get back in a hurry…”

“Just get them open,” Telwarden said gravely. “We’ll do the rest.”

They each felt the pressure of passing time as they hurried into position. It was hard to believe that less than ten minutes in all had passed since the end of the battle at the mine, but with the fate of Lady Ilgarten hanging in the balance, even a few seconds felt precious.

Benzan crawled up to the very edge of the concealing undegrowth, and set an arrow to his bow. Rising slowly he drew and sighted, and called upon the innate power of his mixed ancestry.

With the power came memory.

* * * * *

“You’re nothing but a worthless half-breed!” Malak cried, taunting the scrawny little boy trapped in an accusatory circle of his peers.

Benzan had always known he was different. There were the little things, like the way that he could see so clearly in the dark, and the way he could hold a piece of burning pitch in his hand and not feel any pain from the fire. But mostly it was the way that people always looked at him, the perception that he was just… wrong…

The boys closed in around him, jeering and pushing. Fear and anger were both present in their eyes, but the scared youth saw only danger there. Danger for him.

“Let me go!” he shouted. “I never hurt you!”

“Freak!” Malak yelled, striking him with a painful punch to the shoulder. That action was a trigger for the others, who began pounding on him from all sides.

“Let me go!” Benzan cried out again, as pain shot through his body. “Let me GO!”

As he spoke the last word, something snapped inside him. He felt power flow from his body, a magical legacy from a father he’d never known, a power that he’d never asked for nor desired. A globe of pure darkness appeared around him, enveloping the knot of suddenly startled boys. Alarmed cries filled the dark, accompanied by the clatter of bodies as boys tripped over each other in the confusion.

Out of it the darkness came Benzan, running for safety.

Always running.

* * * * *

Forcing down the unwelcome memories, Benzan called upon the power, focusing it on the steel tip of his arrow. As the darkness bloomed into being all around him, he closed his eyes and visualized the target, letting the arrow fly toward the distant tower. The world suddenly reappeared around him as the globe of darkness stayed with the arrow, floating across the open space to thud into the peak of the stockade wall, just ten feet below the top of the watchtower. The guards in that tower were now effectively blind.

“Let’s go!” he yelled to Delem, and started across the open ground.

The hobgoblins had been expecting an attack, but there was no way that the two sentries in the tower could respond effectively as Benzan and Delem sprinted across the open space between the forest edge and the stockade wall. Shouts of alarm came both from the darkness and from the other tower on the opposite side of the fort, but no missiles came at them from inside.

As they reached the shadow of the stockade wall, Benzan tossed Lok’s shield into the grass and launched himself at the rough wood of the gates. He crawled up the uneven surface quickly as Delem ran to the far corner of the fort, to put the sentries in the other tower to sleep before Benzan reached the top of the wall. One of the hobgoblins saw him as he leaned around the corner, but before he or his companion could target the sorcerer both succumbed to the magic of the wand and fell into unconsciousness. He then turned the wand toward the second tower, where the first of the two hobgoblin sentries within the sphere of darkness had already appeared along the parapet that ran around the interior of the stockade. A few seconds later, those two guards were neutralized as well.

Benzan, meanwhile had reached the top of the gate, and levered himself over onto the inner side of the wall. For a moment he expected to hear the hum of bows firing their deadly missiles at his exposed form, but the inner courtyard of the fort seemed to be deserted. He quickly descended halfway down the inside of the gates and dropped the rest of the way to land in the packed earth at their base. The gates were sealed with a wooden beam as thick through as his waist, and he set himself to the difficult task of lifting it free from its frame.

Then he heard the shout, followed by the sounds of angry growling behind him, and knew that he was in trouble.

Benzan glanced over his shoulder to see a familiar adversary, the hobgoblin adolescent that had fled from their first encounter back at the mine entrance. The creature was standing in the doorway of one of the buildings that lined the inner wall of the stockade, next to a row of kennels fashioned from wooden slats, two of which contained vicious hounds that were even now straining at the gates, slavering and barking in apparent eagerness to set upon this intruder.

Benzan and the hobgoblin locked gazes. But even as the tiefling reached for his bow, the hobgoblin dashed over and lifted the latches that held the gates of the kennels closed.

Benzan turned back to the gates, and to the heavy bar.

“Damn, I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for that meddling kid and his dogs,” he said under his breath as he pushed with all his strength against the weight of the bar. He could almost feel the dogs charging across the not-so-great open space of the courtyard toward him, but he focused himself on his task, pouring every last amount of strength he possessed to the task of lifting the bar from its channel.

With a final mighty heave, the bar fell free, and the dogs tore into Benzan from behind, dragging him roughly to the ground.

 

[Talindra]

I love the cliffhangers......This is one storyhour I am completely hooked on. I check for updates at work, even. All that is just my way of saying, keep it coming!

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks again, Talindra, and thanks to all of you who contributed to my new 5-star rating! As Homer Simpson would say, Woohoo!

As for the story, I will put up a new post later today. I can promise a dramatic ending to the attack on the hobgoblin fort, but I won't reveal anything more, except to say that sometimes victory can be bittersweet...