Forgotten Lore (Updated M-W-F)

[Lazybones]

Chapter 272

Dawn found the members of the expedition gathered on one of the lower platforms of the tabaxi village, a scant thirty feet above the forest floor below. Each of them checked and rechecked their gear, including the leather packs provided by their hosts that contained food and gourds of water and strong tea. Their armor and weapons were starting to show wear, but there was little they could do about that here, as the cat-men had almost no resources for metalworking. Bredan had experimented with one of the tabaxi spear throwers but ultimately decided that it would take more time than they had to develop any kind of skill with it. So they sharpened their blades and scrubbed the rust off their armor and made the best of what they had.

They were almost ready to depart when three of the sailors descended to the platform. Bredan recognized Kavek from the encounter with the crocodiles on the island, but he knew the other two only by name: Malik and Sandros. The three hesitated for a moment, watching the preparations, before they walked over to Bredan.

“We want to come with you,” Malik said.

“This isn’t a casual walk through the woods that we’re taking,” Kosk said. “We’ll be gone for weeks, most likely, into wild country.”

“These cats are fine, but the dragon-men won’t give up so easily,” Malik persisted. “The cats have been their neighbors for years and they weren’t able to deal with them. Heck, the only reason they helped us is because the dragons had their princess or whatever.”

“The tabaxi have been more than generous,” Quellan said. “The matriarch promised that you could all stay here as long as you wish.”

“They say that when you’re here,” Sandros interjected. “Because you can fight them. But when you’re gone, then we’re just mouths to feed.”

“You’re not making a case for why we would want you with us then,” Kosk said.

“We can fight,” Malik said. “We can carry our own weight.”

“Does Captain Sond know about this?” Glori asked.

“With all due respect to the captain, she’s no longer in command of us,” Malik said. “When the Gull ended, we stopped being part of her crew.”

“Again, your flexible loyalties aren’t exactly making a strong argument,” Kosk noted.

“I think we have the right to have a say in what happens to us,” Malik said, bristling at the dwarf.

“Here, at least, you’re safe,” Glori said.

“With all due respect, ma’am, it seems to us that nowhere in Weltarin is safe,” Malik said. “I’d rather die out there with a weapon in my hand than just sit here eating fruit and waiting.”

“Well said,” Kalasien said.

Kosk turned to Kavek, who’d been hovering in the back of the group during the exchange. “What about you? I would have thought you’d have had enough of adventure after that beach back on the island. Aren’t you worried you’re pushing your luck?”

The sailor looked thoughtful for a moment then shook his head. “After giant crocodiles, the dragon turtle, a shipwreck, and then the dragon-men, seems like luck is maybe not the right word to use.”

Kosk snorted. After a moment, the companions all looked to Bredan. He no longer tried to avoid the responsibility that the others put on him, and did not shrink from their collective stairs. He regarded the three men for a moment. “You can come with us,” he said. “But understand, this is another crew you’re joining. You’ll follow our orders, and understand that out there, we might not be able to protect you. You’ll take the same risks as the rest of us.”

The three men swallowed, but Malik nodded and said, “We understand… captain.”

“Captain,” the other two echoed.

 

[Lazybones]

I could have sworn that I'd posted this one already... must be just another side-effect of the advancing years...

* * *

Chapter 273

The day was overcast and muggy as the column set out from the tabaxi settlement. With the three sailors joining the group they now numbered eleven, not counting their escorts. Mrrik led the tabaxi contingent, accompanied by three veteran scouts armed with spear-throwers. Those scouts spread out to shield their flanks and check ahead, but they remained close enough to call out if they spotted an ambush or other danger waiting for them.

Bredan couldn’t tell where they were headed, except that the cats were taking them on a course that led generally west, further inland. Mrrik—he just couldn’t think of the cat hunter as Clear Eyes—had told them during a conversation facilitated by Quellan’s magic that the lost city was located within a valley surrounded by a range of mountains. None of the cats had ever entered the site, or even crossed those mountains, but Bredan trusted the matriarch’s promise that her people could take them to a place where there was a navigable route over the peaks. The Syvalian captain had come this way, after all, but even beyond that Bredan felt something, an innate sense that they were heading in the right direction. He could not help but wonder if that was a product of his bond with the book, or just self-delusion.

They trudged through the jungle for about an hour, the temperature slowly rising at the day advanced. Bredan went through several gourds of water as he sweat under his armor. He already had an annoying, itchy rash across his torso from the sweltering days they’d already spent here, but since taking off his armor was not an option, he just had to bear it. Quellan had warned them all about keeping their bodies and especially their feet dry, but that was a difficult feat in this place.

The jungle began to thin ahead, and Bredan could see that they were coming up on a broad meadow. The open expanse was covered in a sea of tall green grass that rippled in the slight breeze. Bredan was looking forward to that breeze, grateful for the low clouds that concealed the sun, but they were interrupted by the return of one of the tabaxi scouts. The cat was clearly agitated as it rushed over to Mrrik and reported.

“Looks like trouble,” Glori said.

Quellan came forward and cast his tongues spell. “What is it?” he asked once the spell had taken effect.

“Dragonborn,” Mrrik reported. “Over a hundred. They are arranged in line across the far side of the meadow, under the banner of Natak.”

“Bloody hell!” Malik said once the tabaxi warrior’s words had been translated. “What do we do, go back?”

“I’d be shocked if they hadn’t already anticipated that,” Rodan said. Mrrik clearly agreed with him, for he didn’t wait for Quellan to translate before he gestured to two of his scouts. The two cats shot off into the jungle.

“They knew we’d be here,” Kosk said.

“The shaman,” Glori said.

Quellan nodded. “That seems likely.”

“Let’s see for ourselves,” Bredan said.

They made their way forward cautiously, staying behind the cover of the thinning brush and the scattered trees that extended to the edge of the meadow. They crouched down behind a fallen trunk and scanned the area.

It wasn’t hard to see the dragonborn formation. They were standing in the open, facing the jungle where they were hidden. Bredan could make out the standard, shifting slightly in the breeze. He couldn’t tell what it was made of but he could see black scorch marks on the edges of the material.

“What are they doing?” Glori asked.

“Waiting for us, I’d gather,” Xeeta said. “They’re a little too far for a fireball, but I bet that grass could cover my approach.”

“They’re too spread out,” Rodan noted.

One of the cat scouts returned, darting low over the ground like one of his feline ancestors. Again he reported to Mrrik, letting out a series of low-pitched growls.

“Let me guess,” Kosk said. “The tiefling was right.”

Quellan nodded. “There are two groups of them behind us, moving to cut off our retreat.”

“What’s their game?” Bredan asked. “Why are they just standing there in the open, instead of hitting us with an ambush?”

Once Quellan had repeated his words Mrrik growled an answer. “He says that it is a ritual challenge,” the cleric said. “Natak will face our champion in single combat.”

“Even from here I can tell that’s a bad idea,” Xeeta said. “Look at him, he’s head and shoulders taller than those other red ones, and those are huge.”

“Natak is a dangerous foe,” Mrrik agreed. “Even without the rage induced by the graa plant, he is a mighty foe. I have seen him carve mighty warriors in two with a single blow from his black axe.”

“What if we refuse to meet this challenge?” Glori asked.

“Overwhelming force, I’d say,” Kosk said.

“They will attack with all their strength,” Mrrik confirmed. “Their honor would be satisfied if we rejected the challenge.”

Suddenly a low roar passed through the dragonborn line. Even across the wide breadth of the meadow it sounded like the rumble of an earthquake. “Well, I’d say they know we’re here,” Kalasien said.

“I will face Natak,” Bredan said.

“Bredan,” Glori said. “Think about it. One of those red monsters almost killed you, and that one’s bigger, tougher, and stronger. Between Xeeta’s firepower and my spells, maybe we can…”

“No,” Bredan said. “There are too many of them, and they’re ready for us this time. The longer we wait, the better the chance that the ones behind us will get into position so they can hit us from both sides. Don’t worry. If I die, you can avenge me.”

“That’s not funny,” Xeeta said. “Even if we agree, what guarantee do we have that they won’t just mob us if you do beat him?”

Quellan spoke quietly to Mrrik. “He says that they do follow their code of honor, such as it is,” the cleric reported.

“And what happens if our boy loses?” Kosk asked.

Mrrik barked a single syllable. “Our lives are forfeit,” Quellan said.

“We have no choice, then,” Bredan said. He stood and started forward into the tall grass.

 

[carborundum]

Good gravy!

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 274

Bredan’s companions emerged from the shelter of the forest’s edge and followed him out into the meadow. Mrrik and his scouts accompanied them. The sailors were the last, but after a look back at the trail behind them they moved to join the company.

The rumbling coming from the dragonborn ranks ceased, and after a moment Natak started forward, flanked by a cohort of his warriors. The companions were quick to note that their numbers precisely matched their own. The ones closest to the chieftain were reds like him, with an assortment of blacks and greens making up the difference. Some still bore obvious wounds from the fighting back at the dragonborn camp. A small figure walked in the shadow of the chief. They did not need Sond to be present to identify that one as the shaman. The captain had warned them about him, and while they did not know the full extent of his powers, the fact that he could cast the tongues spell was an indication that he was no amateur.

“What are the rules for this thing?” Bredan asked as he walked.

Quellan translated for Mirrik, who responded, “The first one to die loses.”

“I think I can remember that,” Bredan said.

“Have your people fought in many duels with the dragonborn?” Glori asked.

Mrrik growled something quick.

“What did he say?” Xeeta asked when Quellan remained silent.

“He was trying to be diplomatic,” the cleric reported.

“In other words, they’re not stupid enough to agree to them,” Kosk filled in.

The two groups came to a stop about fifty feet from each other. Up close, they could see the full scale of the imposing dragonborn chief.

“Gods above, he has to be at least nine feet tall,” Sandros said.

“The bigger they are…” Glori began, but she couldn’t finish the comment as Natak took a step forward. He said something in his own language. “He offers the challenge,” Quellan said. “One on one.”

Bredan took a step forward to match him. “Tell him I will accept on behalf of the people that he attacked without provocation or reason.”

The exchange took just a moment. “He says that coming here was enough provocation,” Quellan said. He left out what the creature had promised to do to Bredan.

From the look on his face, Bredan had got the gist of it. “And if I am victorious, we are permitted to be on our way without further harassment.”

The dragonborn made a sound that might have been laughter, but Quellan said, “He agrees.”

Natak shrugged his broad shoulders and drew off the huge cloak that hung down his back. As he did so a pair of wings spread into the air, forming an arc some fifteen feet across behind him.

“If he can fly, you’re screwed,” Kosk said.

“I believe they’re vestigial,” Quellan said. “There’s no way they would support a creature of his size and weight.”

The dragonborn chief turned to his shaman, bending so that the much smaller creature could reach up to his face.

“Remember, they use drugs to enhance their strength and endurance,” Quellan said.

“I remember,” Bredan said.

“When you go to face him, I’ll boost you with a haste spell,” Xeeta said. “It will only last a minute.”

“I’ll make good use of it.”

Glori strummed her lyre, and Bredan could feel a surge of vitality flow into him as she bolstered him with her own magic. “It’s not much, but it should let you shrug off a hit or two,” she said. “But don’t get hit.”

“Okay,” he said.

Quellan turned to Glori. “Give me the ring I gave you,” he said. “Back in the Silverpeak.”

She looked at him blankly for a moment then quickly began searching her pockets. A look of panic briefly flashed across her features before she found it.

Quellan took the unadorned platinum band and gave it to Bredan. It barely fit on the pinky finger of his off hand. “This might mess with my grip a bit,” he said.

“It’s worth it,” the cleric said, invoking his warding bond spell. Bredan shivered as he felt the connection take hold. “It will allow me to absorb some of the damage that you take in battle.”

Bredan shook his head. “It could end up killing us both…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Xeeta said. “Glori can heal him. You need every advantage you can get.”

“Looks like big boy is ready,” Kosk said. Natak had stepped back from his shaman, and fresh streaks of the substance they used to enhance their warriors were now visible upon his crest and across his cheeks. He turned as one of his warriors came up bearing a huge axe. The blade was made of a material that was pure black.

“What is that?” Glori asked.

Quellan forwarded the question to Mrrik. “He says it’s fire-mineral,” the cleric said. “Volcanic obsidian, maybe.”

“That stuff can get bloody sharp,” Kosk said.

“Be careful,” Glori said.

“We’ve got your back,” Xeeta said as Bredan stepped forward. He had barely heard the last bit of their exchange as his focus had sharpened. He’d already marked the axe, the drug-marks, and the way his opponent moved. Every inch of Natak’s body appeared to be covered in corded muscle. He wore no armor, but Bredan already knew that the creatures’ scaled hides were as tough as old leather. This foe was deadlier than any he’d faced before. He pushed that thought aside as well. Doubts could only hurt him at this point.

Natak betrayed no surprise when Bredan summoned his sword. The monstrous features of the dragonborn made it difficult to gauge their emotions, but the young warrior sensed no fear, no battle-rage, just an intensity that bored into him like augers. As he stared up at the approaching creature, he could feel the fear that skittered at the edges of the calm he’d gathered around him. If he gave way to it, even for an instant, the fight would be over before it began.

As he lifted the sword the weak light of the day flashed on the runes inscribed upon the blade. He could feel the power there, power that echoed in the core of him. Once he had feared that power, fled from it, but now he embraced it, letting it into him. He could feel something happening as he continued to walk forward, could hear the surprised chatter of his friends behind him, but he ignored everything except the approaching foe.

When they came to a halt, facing each other across twenty paces of flowing grass, Bredan was surprised to find himself looking down at Natak. He blinked in surprise; somehow the magic of the book had caused him to grow to twice his size, until he was larger than even the huge dragonborn chief! Even his sword had become larger, the bright steel of the blade almost as long as the haft of his enemy’s axe.

Bredan felt another surge of power as Xeeta’s haste spell took hold. But a moment later he felt something else, a feeling of power tearing at his awareness. Instinctively he realized that someone was trying to strip his various protections. He sought out the dragonborn shaman and found him among the ranks of the red warriors. A slightly raised hand was the only indication that he was doing anything, but Bredan knew it was him who was behind the assault.

There was nothing he could do to stop him. But even as he felt the layered spells begin to unravel the dispel suddenly came apart. The attack ended, and the shaman slumped back, hissing in defeat.

If Natak was discomfited by the failed effort he didn’t show it. He just stood there, his head slightly lowered, his chest rising and falling as he sucked in deep breaths. Bredan could imagine the drug pulsing through the dragonborn’s system, inuring him to pain and swelling his strength beyond the already impressive levels that his natural gifts gave him.

Bredan lifted his sword. “I am ready…”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish, as Natak abruptly leapt forward to the attack.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 275

Natak moved with such unexpected speed that the fight was almost over before it began.

The dragonborn’s wings pulsed as he leapt forward. He might not have been capable of flight, but it was enough to carry him across the twenty paces that separated the two combatants in the blink of an eye. Even with Xeeta’s haste spell augmenting his resources, Bredan only just barely dodged the sweep of the deadly obsidian axe. It clipped his shoulder and knocked one of the plates of the dwarf-forged mail he wore flying, slicing through the mail links underneath as if they had been made of string. The edge just barely grazed his skin, but he could feel a trickle of blood start down the arm as he desperately tried to recover.

But Natak gave him no respite. Even as the huge dragonborn landed he spun, transferring his momentum to a heavy backswing. Bredan deflected the blade with his sword, but the force of the impact drove him back a step and nearly knocked the weapon from his grasp. A third swing came at his head with almost impossible swiftness, but he ducked under it and swept his own sword around in a rapid counter. Augmented by the magic flowing through his body, the swing should have connected, but it caught only empty air. Bredan recovered and looked up to see that the dragonborn had fallen back a step and was now watching him with an intense expression.

It was then that Bredan realized that his assumption that his foe would be in a berserk frenzy from the shaman’s drugs was mistaken. Natak might have been augmented, but he was in complete control.

The dragonborn waited only long enough for his enemy to come to that realization before he attacked again.

This time Bredan didn’t try to parry, but as the blade of the axe swept toward him he summoned a shield at the last instant that deflected it high. But Natak kept rushing forward in the wake of the miss, sweeping the long haft of the axe around and driving it under his defense into his belly. Even through the layered protections of his armor Bredan had all of the wind blasted from his body. He staggered back, instinct alone causing him to bring the shield around in time to meet the follow-up that would have taken his head off his shoulders had it connected.

In desperation, Bredan went on the attack. His opponent lacked armor, which should have given the human an advantage, but Natak smoothly parried the first swing, turning it without harming the wooden shaft of his weapon. Bredan managed to catch the dragonborn on the side with his follow-through as he drew back, but the blow lacked strength and he only managed to tear a shallow cut in Natak’s thick hide.

When the pair separated again, Natak met his eyes and smiled.

Bredan felt a sudden calm came over him. He lifted his sword, his boosted strength allowing him to lift the now-huge weapon, and fell into the simple fighting stance that his uncle had drilled into him over so many hours in the yard behind his smithy.

When Natak rushed at him again, he was ready. Their blades swept through the air, sometimes seeming to blur together as the combatants exchanged blows. Bredan took another glancing hit that drew blood, but it didn’t seem to cut as deep as it could have. He realized that it was the effects of Quellan’s spell, absorbing a share of the damage he was taking. He wished he could look over to make sure the cleric was all right, but he could not afford to let his attention shift from his foe for even an instant.

He managed to get another hit in, slashing the dragonborn on the forearm on his primary hand. Natak merely hissed and pulled back a step to adjust his grip on his weapon. Expecting another quick assault, Bredan fell back into his stance once more.

But this time the dragonborn did not charge. Bredan realized too late what he was doing, too late to evade the gout of fire that poured from the creature’s huge jaws and engulfed him.

Again Bredan devolved to instinct, bringing the hilt of his sword up, presenting the weapon point-down toward his foe. He could feel the magic surging at his call. The flames still hurt, but not terribly. As they died, he stepped forward and lifted his sword again. Flames clung to the blade as he swept it into his enemy’s body. This time Natak was caught off guard, and the stroke opened a deep gash just above his left hip. Bredan tried to follow with a thrust toward his face, but the dragonborn recovered swiftly and deflected it with his axe.

Now it was Natak’s turn to fall back. Bredan was not entirely surprised to see the flow of blood from the dragonborn’s wound quickly ease and then cease completely. Just like his own friends were boosting him, the shaman was aiding his champion. Apparently, the creatures’ code of honor did not preclude such aid. It was probably for the best; without Xeeta’s spell and Quellan’s bond Bredan thought the chief might have already killed him.

Natak launched another attack, and Bredan met it with another shield. This time he was expecting the follow-up, and while he took another hard hit across the body he got his foe off-balance enough to score another deep cut across his opponent’s chest. As Natak shifted to bring his axe around Bredan pulled his sword up low and tore it across his foe’s leg, opening yet another gash. The dragonborn was bleeding from several wounds now, too many for the shaman to counter.

But as Bredan prepared for his foe’s next attack, his muscles suddenly froze. He couldn’t move. His sword was halfway up into a defensive stance, useless against the attack that Natak was already launching.

The axe struck Bredan in the chest. The dwarf-forged steel held, but the impact of the blow knocked him off his feet. He flew back several paces and landed in the grass, trampling down a broad swath of it.

Twenty feet away, a stir went through Bredan’s companions. Weapons shifted, echoed by a similar motion on the far side of the circle. “Let me know when to start blasting,” Xeeta said, but Quellan held up a hand. “Wait,” he said to all of them, then focused his attention on the combat.

Bredan could only stare up as the hulking figure of his foe stepped into view. Natak had his axe up but hesitated; maybe his code of honor made him reluctant to strike down a helpless foe, at least while all of his people were watching. But finally he lifted the weapon above his head. Bredan focused his mind, tried to call upon the power that had aided him before, but he couldn’t shake off the shaman’s spell.

A collective hush spread through both sides watching the fight, but the killing strike didn’t come. The axe hung in mid-air. Natak’s entire body tensed, and Bredan realized that Quellan must have hit the chief with the same magic that the shaman had used on him.

Bredan took advantage of the delay, throwing the full force of his will against the spell. For a moment he thought that his muscles might tear themselves apart from the effort, but then he felt it come apart and he was free. He rolled back to his feet, stumbling a bit until he got full control of his legs again. He turned back to his foe, undecided about whether he should take advantage, but he decision was unnecessary. Natak too had recovered, and he was shaking out his limbs as he circled to the side. The dragonborn looked over toward his shaman and made a slashing gesture with one hand, but Bredan couldn’t tell if he was telling him to desist or calling for more aid.

Bredan knew that he was running out of time. He could only call upon his magic so many times, and Xeeta’s spell would only last a few more seconds at best. But beyond that was his own dwindling endurance. He was in good shape, his training augmented by the hard work he’d put his body to since they’d arrived in Weltarin, but he already knew that the dragonborn had a remarkable stamina. He had no idea how long the drugs that boosted their strength and constitution lasted, but he guessed it would be longer than his own muscles would take him.

He went back into his simple stance just as Natak launched another attack. He expected yet another surprise, and so he wasn’t caught entirely off guard when the two blades met in another violent parry and then his foe charged into him. Neither could use their weapons effectively in such close quarters, so Bredan let his sword go and grabbed hold of the axe. The dragonborn’s strength was overpowering, but Bredan had the advantage of size and position. Natak lunged forward, trying to knock his foe off balance, but Bredan dug his feet in and held his ground. The chief snapped his jaws around the warrior’s forearm, trying to shatter his grip and pull the axe free, but Bredan just gritted his teeth and held on. Natak thrust his other hand up, driving his claws toward his opponent’s face, but Bredan snapped his head forward and caught the attack with the brow of his helmet.

For a moment the two foes held each other in a deadly embrace. Then Natak tried one last gambit. The dragonborn spread its wings and leapt up, trying to free himself and attack his foe from above. Bredan held onto the axe, but then Natak drove one clawed foot into his chest, using the strength of his legs to pull away. The chief let out a roar of triumph as he sprang a good ten feet into the air, the axe coming up to strike. But when he looked down, he realized that he’d been tricked. Bredan’s sword was in his hands again and already swinging up to meet his foe as he started to descend. Natak tried to beat his wings in an attempt to evade, but it was too late. The sword struck him on the right side where his leg met his body. The impact shattered his hip and carved deep into his gut. The force of the blow swung the crippled dragonborn around. As he fell Bredan struck again, biting into his right arm and knocking the axe from his grasp.

A dismal sound passed through the gathered dragonborn as Natak fell to the ground. It faded into a pregnant hush as Bredan stepped forward over his fallen foe.

The enlarge spell had faded, restoring him to his normal size, but that only made the sight of the battered human standing over the dying dragonborn that much more impressive. Natak laughed as he looked up at his victorious opponent. Blood gurgled from his jaws as he turned his head, presenting his throat. The point of the sword hung over the chieftain as he waited for Bredan to finish it.

For a moment, it looked as though he would do it. A tense quiet hung over the meadow that had been transformed into a bloody battlefield. The sword waited only for a twitch of a hand for the killing thrust. But then Bredan drew back. Without taking his eyes off his foe, he took several steps back. He paused only to recover the huge axe and then made his way back to his companions.

Glori was the first to meet him. “Are you okay?” she asked, pouring a cure wounds spell into him.

“I’ve been better. Quellan, are you all right?” The cleric looked as though he was having some trouble standing. Blood had seeped out from his armor at all the places where Bredan had been struck by the chief’s axe.

“I’m all right,” Quellan said.

“We’re not out of this yet,” Kosk reminded them. Bredan turned to look at the dragonborn, both the cohort that had accompanied the chief to the duel and the dozens more still standing in a row along the far edge of the meadow.

“Maybe you broke some stupid rule by not killing him,” Xeeta pointed out. As Glori escorted Bredan back into their ranks she stepped protectively in front of him, her rod cradled too-casually in the crook of her arm.

“Nobody do anything aggressive,” Bredan said. “It’s their move.”

The companions watched as Natak slowly pulled himself to his feet. It was clear that it took a herculean effort just to get that far. Blood had poured down over the dragonborn’s legs, and trails of it had coursed from the sides of his jaws to stain his neck and chest. With his hip shattered he could only walk with an awkward, shambling gait that had to be inflicting agony with each step.

“If he gets to the shaman we could have another fight on our hands,” Kosk warned.

“He won’t,” Xeeta said.

But Natak came to a stop a good five or six paces from his allies. With a slow effort accompanied by wheezing huffs he drew himself upright. The six largest of the red berserker warriors stepped forward to form a circle around him.

Then, without any warning, all six leapt upon their leader and began tearing him to pieces. They did not use weapons, just their claws and teeth. Natak made no move to resist, and in fact seemed to be trying to stay upright until the last possible instant. Barely fifteen seconds passed before it was over. There was little left when the reds drew back and returned to their positions.

“Grim,” Glori said.

“It’s a grim world, here,” Kosk noted.

The dragonborn of the advance party didn’t even look at the companions as they retreated back to their fellows. One of them raised a horn and blew several long notes. Then they turned and made their way back into the jungle. They were still visible when a cohort of several dozen more appeared along the near side of the meadow and hurried to join their comrades.

The adventurers watched until they were all out of sight. “Think that’s the last we’ll see of them?” Glori asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bredan said. “They know what will happen if they challenge us again.”

“Do you need more healing?” Glori asked.

“I’m fine for now,” Bredan said, and in fact it looked as though he’d gotten his second wind. “Help Quellan, but quickly. I don’t want to stay here another minute longer than necessary.”

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 276

Kosk pulled himself a bit further up on the thick trunk of the fallen tree and peered through the scattered undergrowth between them and the clearing. “I don’t see anything,” the dwarf said. He looked over at Bredan and Glori, who both shrugged.

Mrrik couldn’t understand their words, but the tabaxi accurately sensed their doubt. He reached back and tore a segment of broken branch off of the dead tree. The cat tossed it into the clearing, where it landed in the middle of the open space.

Instantly the bushes to either side of the open space came alive with movement. Tendrils of what looked like creeping vines lunged out and seized hold of the branch. They pulled on it hard enough to snap the wood in two, pulling both pieces into the undergrowth.

“Maybe it would be a good idea to go around,” Kosk said.

As they retraced their steps to where the others waited Bredan watched the sleek figure of the tabaxi hunter. He was grateful that Mrrik and his scouts were with them. This was only the latest of a number of hazards that the tabaxi had helped them evade since they’d left the meadow and the fallen dragonborn chief behind them that morning. Their fears about the dangers of the jungle had been confirmed several times over, and Bredan could not help but think about what they would face once their guides left them and they made their way into the forbidden valley that was their destination.

Mrrik escorted them through the jungle, the tabaxi like a silent ghost in contrast to the rest of them. Bredan spotted a green and yellow snake dangling from a tree branch off to their left. The creature was as thick around as his leg, but since the cats did not seem worried he ignored it and kept his attention on the jungle around them. He heard one of the sailors exclaim and point at the thing a few moments later. He could hear Quellan reassuring them, then a question about whether the thing might be edible. That drew a tired smile from Bredan.

Fortunately, the detour was brief, and Mrrik gestured them back onto the trail that they’d been following for most of that afternoon. It wasn’t much of a path, the forest pressing up around them on both sides, often obscuring the route until they were literally on top of it. Without the tabaxi they would have been lost immediately. Rodan was a good tracker, but this place was alien compared to anything any of them had experienced before.

They passed a tree bearing fruit, juicy-looking red globes that dangled invitingly close to the trail. One of the sailors reached for one, only to be cautioned by a growl from one of Mrrik’s scouts. The two groups were learning to understand each other better, saving Quellan’s spells for circumstances when spoken communication was absolutely necessary. Mrrik saw the exchange and made a gesture with his claws at his throat that was unmistakable.

“The rules here seem simple,” Xeeta said to Bredan as they continued forward. “If it looks good, it will probably kill you. Also, if it looks dangerous, it will also probably kill you. Basically, everything will probably kill you.”

“The tabaxi haven’t tried to kill us,” Quellan pointed out. “Well, not after that first encounter. But that was a misunderstanding.”

The cleric was a little out of breath. Bredan could empathize; he was drenched in sweat under his armor. Fortunately the cats had no difficulty finding fresh water, so dehydration wasn’t a concern, but carrying around sixty pounds of metal, in addition to his other gear, was grueling in this environment. But removing it was not an option, so he gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

A squall caught up to them a bit later, dumping a torrent of rain onto them before disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. The rain was refreshing, but the relief was short-lived; it quickly grew as hot as it had been before, and the added moisture made the air so muggy that Bredan thought he could almost drink it. The tabaxi merely shook out their furred bodies and kept on, forcing the others to do the same.

Night came on them so quickly that Bredan almost didn’t notice, or maybe it was the exhaustion from the long trek. He blinked as he realized that the column had stopped, then looked around to see that the surrounding jungle was already deep in shadow. Mrrik directed them a short distance off the trail, to a rocky hollow edged by a shallow pool of clear water.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Sandros said. He started toward the pool, but hesitated and looked at Mrrik. “It’s not bloody poisonous, is it?”

The cat barked a laugh then made a permissive gesture. Several others followed the sailor over to the pool, where they drank deeply before splashing the water on their faces.

“Hey, are you okay?” Glori asked.

Bredan blinked; he’d sort of drifted off for a moment. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Not surprising, given all that metal you’re lugging around. And the fact that you got your ass kicked this morning.”

“You should see the other guy,” Bredan said.

“Yeah. Listen, you should take off the armor, wash up, relax a bit.”

Bredan started to respond that it was still dangerous, but the thought of remaining in his sweat-soaked clothes became suddenly intolerable. “That sounds like a good idea.”

They began setting up camp. Quellan cast his tongues spell again and began talking with Mrrik about what lay ahead. The tabaxi hunter didn’t have any new information to add about the valley, but he told them that they should reach the mountains that rimmed it by tomorrow evening, if they were able to maintain the same grueling pace.

Malik and Kavek began gathering wood for a fire, but Mrrik warned them that the scent of smoke carried too far in the jungle. Even after the sun set it remained hot enough that they didn’t need to the fire for warmth, but the looks on the faces of the tired travelers said they missed the reassurance that a glowing campfire would have offered.

“Maybe we can have a fire in the morning,” Quellan said. “We need to make sure our clothes are dry before we set out again.”

“I don’t think I have a single piece of clothing left that is even close to dry,” Glori complained as she unlimbered her pack and stretched her back.

Bredan made his way back from the pool, carrying his armor, while the others began sharing out food from the supplies that the tabaxi had prepared for them. Once again it was fruit and paste wrapped in leaves, the former juicy and sweet, the latter blank but filling.

Malik made a face as he picked a bit of shell out of his paste. “Ugh, there’s a bug in this,” he said.

“I think it’s mostly bugs, actually,” Rodan said, as he loudly crunched into a bite of the stuff.

“Gah,” Malik said, putting his leaf down on a rock.

“Insects actually can be quite nutritious,” Quellan said. “Lots of protein.”

“You can have mine,” the sailor said.

“Eat it or don’t, but we’re going to be keeping the same pace tomorrow,” Kosk said. “If you can’t keep up, we won’t be slowing down for you.”

Malik shook his head, but finally reached for the paste again with obvious reluctance.

“Do you eat meat?” Glori asked Malik.

The tabaxi listened as Quellan repeated her question, then growled a response. “They do eat meat while on the hunt,” the cleric explained. “But at the moment their primary goal is to get us to the valley and get back to their village as quickly as possible.”

“Are you afraid that the dragonborn won’t honor Natak’s pledge?” Bredan asked. “What will happen with them now?”

“There will be a new leader,” Mrrik replied. “He will need to prove himself. There will likely be raids.”

“So nothing’s changed, then?” Xeeta asked.

The tabaxi considered. “The defeat of Natak was significant,” he said. “He was a mighty foe, and none of his possible successors will be as much of a threat. And the dragonborn may be hesitant to attack us again, especially while your people remain with us.”

“The rest of our crew aren’t warriors,” Sandros pointed out.

“Don’t underestimate Captain Sond and her magic,” Glori said.

“We appreciate all that you have done for us,” Quellan said.

“You brought our lost ones back to us,” Mrrik replied.

They consumed their meal quickly; they were all too tired for much idle chatter. As they were finishing one of the cats began yowling, a guttural sound that rose to a high-pitched screech. The others joined in, with Mrrik finally adding his voice to the din.

“Gods, that’s an awful racket!” Malik said, covering his ears.

“Show some respect,” Rodan said, but he clearly didn’t enjoy the sound either.

“Does it mean anything?” Glori asked Quellan.

The cleric shook his head. “It may be some kind of ritual,” he said.

“Or maybe it’s what passes for music among them,” Glori said with a smile.

The companions waited until the tabaxi finished their “song.” “What was that?” Bredan asked.

“We bid the day farewell,” Mrrik said. “And thank the spirits of the sky and land for their generosity this day.”

“If today was generous, I don’t want to see what it’s like when they’re being stingy,” Kosk said.

“Why don’t you play something for us, Glori?” Bredan suggested.

The bard touched her lyre. “We’re all tired…”

“I think we could all use a lift,” the warrior said.

Glori looked at Quellan, who nodded. She took out the instrument and began to play a soft melody that filled the hollow. The cats watched her, entranced as she strummed an increasingly intricate lattice of notes that somehow evoked more peaceful times and the camaraderie of old friends gathered around a hearth.

Xeeta came over and sat down next to Bredan. “You seem melancholy,” she said quietly.

“I feel like I’m supposed to be here,” he said. “But I’m not sure I’m going to like what we’re going to find in the coming days.”

“All we can do is live each day,” she said.

“You’re all here because of me,” he said.

The sorcerer poked him in the side. “It is arrogance to bear the weight of others’ choices,” she said. “We are here because we care for you, Bredan. We will support you, whatever waits for us in Savek Vor.”

“Thank you,” Bredan said.

The music came to an end. The companions applauded, while the cats made hissing sounds of appreciation. Mrrik stood and faced them. “Sleep,” he said. “You need not fear the jungle tonight; we will keep watch over your rest. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow if we wish to reach the base of the peaks that ward the sacred valley by nightfall.”

With that announcement the tabaxi rose and disappeared into the surrounding jungle, leaving the adventurers to unfold their bedrolls and seek comfortable spots around the hollow to take their rest. The ground was rocky and uncomfortable, and the jungle a looming presence that filled the night with unidentified sounds, but within just a few minutes all of them were in the deep sleep of the physically and emotionally spent.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 277

The next day the journey became even more difficult, as the terrain grew more rugged and the trail became even more of a will-o-wisp. The company trudged through densely-overgrown ravines, clambered over steep ridges, and forded stagnant pools that were thick with clinging muck. They didn’t encounter any large predators or other dangerous creatures, but that didn’t mean that the day was without hazards. At one point a swarm of what had to be a thousand beetles, each a foot long, erupted from the shell of a rotten tree along their path. The things had not attacked, but Bredan experienced a vivid flashback to their desperate fight at the abandoned mine in the Silverpeak Valley. That had been when he’d first discovered his budding magical skills, he recalled. It seemed now like that had been years ago rather than just a few months.

To Bredan it felt like they were barely crawling over the landscape, but in those periodic intervals where they gained a ridge or the jungle parted enough to permit a view of the terrain ahead he could see a gray line of peaks in the distance, larger by far than any of the rises they’d navigated thus far. Those mountains grew steadily closer as the day wore on, until finally they loomed over them as the light began to fade. The jungle began to thin out as the ground became rocky and began to rise. The companions, already exhausted, slowed even further, but Mrrik drove them on, growling at them when his gestures failed to stir them.

“I think… we must be getting close… to where we’re going to camp,” Glori huffed as they struggled up a difficult slope.

“Let’s hope so,” Quellan said. “I don’t think we could manage another mile. But Mrrik said there are caves that offer good shelter along the foot of the mountains.”

“With our luck, there’s probably a dragon living there,” Xeeta said.

“Don’t tempt fate,” Kosk muttered.

They reached the top of the rise and tromped through a final thin fringe of struggling trees to see an almost sheer cliff ahead of them. The exhausted companions stared up at it in dismay, but Mrrik was already gesturing them to the left, where a deep cleft in the stone appeared to offer an easier route forward. A low sound reached their ears, a soft whistling that sounded haunting and sepulchral.

Darkness swallowed them up as they made their way into the fissure. The route was narrow at first, the surrounding cliffs seeming to press in upon them, but within about fifty feet they drew back and they found themselves in a broad canyon. The interior of the canyon was a broad bowl with walls that sloped up gradually into they approached vertical near the summit, about forty feet up. The cliffs were pocked with dozens of caves. Most of them were just shallow gouges in the rock, but there were several that looked as though they might be more substantial. They could just make out another cleft back in the rear of the canyon, where the ground sloped steeply upward into deep shadows. The source of the sound they’d heard earlier was here as well, the whistling coming from some of the gaps in the walls when the evening breeze flowed through them.

Mrrik stopped, and turned to Quellan. The tabaxi waited while the cleric cast his tongues spell again. “These are the Whistling Caves,” the hunter said. “We go no further.”

“We thank you for showing us the way,” the cleric said.

“That crack up there leads to the route over the mountains?” Bredan asked.

Mrrik barked assent. Quellan said, “He says that there is a pass, steep but manageable. The ancient city can be seen from the summit.”

Kosk asked, “How does he know, if his people have never been up there?”

Quellan didn’t translate his words, and instead said, “The tabaxi have proven themselves worthy of our trust.”

Mrrik turned back toward the other scouts, who had waited back at the entrance to the canyon, but Bredan quickly said, “Wait, you’re just leaving?”

The cat hunter growled a quick reply without stopping. The other cats fell in around him as he disappeared back into the crevice that led out of the canyon.

“They’re not much for elaborate farewells,” Rodan said.

“I would have thought they would at least have spent the night,” Glori said. “They aren’t carrying as much stuff as we are, but they have to be tired, especially after they kept watch all last night.”

“I think it challenged their taboos to even come this far,” Quellan explained.

“This place certainly feels haunted,” Xeeta said, as a particularly strong gust sounded a mournful cry through the place. The canyon walls caused the sounds to echo weirdly, adding to the effect.

“I hope that not going to continue all night,” Malik said, shuddering.

“There could be a bloody orchestra playing, and it wouldn’t stop me from falling asleep,” Glori said.

“Come on, let’s set up camp,” Quellan suggested.

They were all spent, but hunger and wariness prodded them as they scouted out the canyon. None of the caves were large enough to accommodate the entire group, but there were several that were big enough for offer shelter for at least a few people. The adventurers spread out and claimed them. After a brief discussion they gathered some wood from the edge of the jungle and made a fire in a natural depression close to a few of the larger caves. They were alert to the risks that Mrrik had cited, but they all desperately needed some light and warmth, reassurance against what they had seen and the still-nebulous threats that waited for them ahead.

They had traveled together long enough that they knew their roles, and there was little idle chatter as they set up camp. The constant whistling from the caves made conversation difficult, in any event. Quellan brewed them some hot tea from the herbs that the tabaxi had provided, while Kosk began preparing griddle cakes from the last of the ground meal left from the salvaged stores of the Golden Gull. The companions wrung out sweat-soaked clothes and set them on rocks next to the fire to dry out.

“So what do you think we’ll find, on the other side of them peaks?” Malik finally asked. The sailor was crouched almost on the very lip of the firepit, the gusts from the wind causing the flames to dance and shadows to drift across his features.

“We’re not certain,” Glori said. “The tabaxi weren’t able to tell us all that much about the ruined city. The place is taboo to them. We can only assume it’s dangerous.”

“But you do know enough about it to decide that’s where you need to go,” Sandros persisted. “You’re going there for a reason.” He looked briefly across the fire at Kavek, who was poking the flames with a stick. “We heard about the ruined fort that you found along the coast,” the sailor continued.

The companions shared a long look, clearly weighing how much to share, and their promise to the tabaxi matriarch. Finally, Bredan said, “We’re seeking a very old artifact. That’s why we came to Weltarin. We believe it is located in this ancient city.”

“Where?” Malik asked.

“We don’t know,” Glori said. “Is it hidden? Maybe. Guarded? Maybe. Will there be deadly traps, powerful creatures, magical entities summoned to keep us from finding it? Who knows?”

“That all sounds pretty terrifying,” Sandros said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bredan said. “We have to go. The artifact is not just a piece of historical lore. It holds great power, power that others are seeking. We have to find it.”

As he spoke, he too stared into the fire with an intensity that had the sailors—and a few of the warrior’s companions—casting glances at each other around the circle. “So, ah, what happens when we find it?” Malik finally asked. “Then what?”

“Then we bring it back to the coast, build a ship, head to Fort Promise, and from there find passage back to Voralis,” Kosk said.

Malik snorted. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Well, he didn’t mention the things that will try to kill us at each step of the way, but yeah,” Glori said.

“Well,” Malik said. “Thank you for telling us what we’re in for, anyway.”

“We tried to dissuade you, back at the tabaxi city,” Rodan reminded them.

“Yeah,” Sandros said, in such a way that suggested he might be reconsidering his decision. He looked over at Kavek again, but the other sailor was still focused on the campfire. His eyes briefly flicked up at Bredan, his face silhouetted by the crackling flames.

“We should all get some rest,” Quellan said. “We may not find a place this protected again.”

Kalasien stood. “I suggest we let the spellcasters get an uninterrupted night’s sleep,” he said. “As the cleric said, we have good shelter here, and plenty of people to keep an eye out. Perhaps four shifts of two… Kosk and Sandros, Rodan and Malik, Elias and myself, and then Bredan and Kavek.”

“I’ll not turn down that offer,” Xeeta said. “This jungle is a miserable place through which to travel.”

“It’s even harder for Bredan, in his heavy armor,” Glori pointed out. “And he had to fight a battle this morning.”

“I’m so used to getting my ass kicked, I hardly notice it anymore,” Bredan said. When Glori opened her mouth to protest he forestalled her with a raised hand. “It’s fine, I can stand my watch. Better go grab a cave before the good ones are all taken.”

She held his eyes for a moment before she nodded in assent. She walked over and took Quellan by the hand. The half-orc couldn’t blush, but he looked slightly embarrassed as she led him toward one of the larger caves along the rise behind the camp. Those not assigned to the first watch began to gather their things and do the same. There were enough caves that most of them could have enough room to lay down their bedrolls and have at least a small modicum of privacy.

Xeeta came over to Bredan, who was watching Glori and Quellan as they disappeared into their chosen cave. “No one would comment if you sought out Rodan,” she said.

“I have too much on my mind to think about that right now,” he said.

“Some might say that times like these are exactly when one should think about such things,” she said, but she didn’t press him, folding her cloak around her as she headed off toward one of the unclaimed caves.

Bredan stood there a while longer, watching the fire. Then he picked up his pack and headed for one of the vacant caves.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 278

The wind continued to blow deep into the jungle night, the shifting gusts causing hollow moans to sound from the caves within the canyon. Wisps of cloud drifted across the night sky, obscuring the stars and the thin slice of moon that hung low in the sky.

The constant sounds and the lack of light made it difficult to keep watch, but Elias was a trained soldier, used to tackling challenging tasks without complaint. Not that he was happy about it. Deep inside, where none of the others could see, he had profound concerns about this mission that had already claimed the lives of two of his comrades. He did not want to join them, falling in this gods-forsaken place a world away from his homeland.

He rose and took a dozen steps, choosing a new spot that offered him a slightly different vantage of the camp. He was wary of the cliff edge; the descent was steep enough that he would escape a fall with only broken bones if he was lucky. And luck seemed to be a rare commodity in this new land.

From his new position he could see a bit more of the canyon, though all he could make out in the near-darkness was vague shadows. The fire had completely died out, leaving the caves where the others slept just black slits against the only slightly lighter gray of the canyon walls. He could not see Kalasien, but that was not unexpected; the man was hard to see even in the light of the day.

The thought of his superior awoke a fresh stir of disquiet. Elias had spent his life following orders without challenge, but the Arreshian agent had been distant and odd of late. It was probably just this place. It had an effect on all of them, an effect that got only more pronounced as they pushed deeper into the interior of this rotten continent. Strong leadership would have been reassuring at a time like this, but Elias would do his duty even in its absence.

He started to turn away, but caught a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye. Reaching for his sword, he leaned forward—respecting that treacherous edge—to get a better look.

The figure was little more than a shadow, but somehow Elias thought it wasn’t Kalasien. Something off in the way he moved—assuming it was a he. Whoever it was, they were definitely trying to sneak out of the camp undetected. Elias watched as the shadow made its way up into the cleft that ascended at the rear of the canyon before it disappeared from his view.

He considered for a moment. He scanned the canyon again but saw no sign of Kalasien. He could have shouted an alarm to wake those in the camp, but the figure could have been departing for any number of valid reasons, down to seeking a little privacy for a nature break. That would have been stupid but not dangerous, not to the group as a whole, anyway.

Elias made his way along the cliffs toward the cleft. He knew the way; that was how he had gotten up here in the first place. Kalasien had suggested it as a good vantage when they’d taken up their shift about an hour ago. The route was mostly bare rock, with an occasional struggling bush where some soil had managed to find a home in a crevice. Elias had no difficulty even in the poor light.

He went about fifty yards before came to a spot that offered a good view of the cleft. He saw no sign of the mysterious figure at first, but then, as he started to turn back, he saw a form standing next to the gap that led further up into the range. That was the beginnings of the pass that Mrrik had told them about, the route they would be taking once they set out in the morning.

Wary, Elias drew his sword. He started forward, but the figure did not react. In the darkness it was impossible to tell if the other was even facing toward him. Elias considered hissing a greeting, but his suspicions kept him silent. His boots made almost no sound as he glided forward over the bare stone.

They were only about ten paces apart when the figure suddenly took a step forward, out of the shadow of the gap into the faint starlight. He was wearing a heavy cloak but the hood was down, and there was just enough light for Elias to identify him.

“Kavek!” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“I am sorry,” the sailor said. “You were a loyal soldier, but I’m afraid you have something that we need.”

Elias tensed, but all he heard was the faintest footstep before someone was on him from behind. The soldier was a strong man, and competent, but his opponent was both fast and powerful. One arm snapped around his throat, almost pulling him off his feet, while the other pinned his wrist, keeping his sword immobile. Elias tried to chop back with his other hand, tried to drive a boot into his foe’s knee, but he might as well have been trying to knock down a tree for all the effect his desperate blows had. The grip around his neck tightened until he could hear the bones inside grinding together. He made a last effort to throw his sword down, to make a clatter that might warn the camp, but Kavek caught the weapon before it could hit the stones.

“Your watch is ended,” he said to Elias as the darkness enveloped him.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 279

The wind was, if anything, stronger further up into the mountain pass, the gusts screaming as they tore through the narrow space between the steep stone walls.

Kurok knelt in a small hollow just off one of the many twists and turns in the ascent. The loud noises of the wind were a constant here, but the sheer sides of the hollow kept most of its force from reaching him as he inscribed wet marks on the rocks from a dark vial. Together the marks made the outlines of a diagram, though it was all but invisible in the almost perfect darkness.

Once he was finished the hobgoblin knelt alongside the pattern and gathered himself. He’d let his disguise lapse for the moment. It was exhausting, keeping the Mask of Many Faces in place all this time. He’d learned to sleep in snatches, and had even begun to dream in the common tongue of the three kingdoms, the familiar cadences of his native language fading into vague memory. But Drekkath’s strict tutelage had gotten them this far.

He looked up, but even his darksight didn’t reveal anything more than an outline standing in the shadow of the cliffs. The doppelganger had done what was necessary, but it hadn’t shown any inclination to participate in the ritual other than as an observer.

Kurok let Drekkath, the shrieking wind, and every other distraction fade into the background as he focused on his spell. He had foregone the use of his magic for so long—barring the Mask and a few other notable exceptions—that it took him a few moments to summon it. But when it came it came in a flood, causing him to gasp. He had never channeled this much raw power before, and he almost let it slide away before he could manage to direct it into the pattern that he’d been taught on the other side of the world, months ago.

The smears of blood he’d left on the stone began to sizzle as the power hit them. Smoke flared from the marks, swirling together to form a vortex in the middle of the pattern, separate and distinct from the natural flows of the wind that surrounded them. They gathered together in the center, just for a moment coalescing enough to form a coherent circle through which a figure stepped through.

The figure stood there as Kurok slumped back, nearly collapsing upon the stones as he gasped for breath. The newcomer wore the same guise as at their last meeting, down to the pale drapes of rich cloth that did not stir at all in the wind. “Well?” he asked.

It took an effort, but Kurok managed to lean forward and shift one of the stones that made up the edge of his diagram. The blood-marks had completely vanished. As soon as he had moved the rock the outsider stepped out of the remnants of the pattern. He regarded both Kurok and Drekkath with a weighing look.

“I was beginning to despair that you would ever achieve sufficient power to facilitate a transition,” he said.

Kurok pulled himself slowly to his feet. “This is the first opportunity we have had to attempt the ritual with little chance of detection,” he said.

“Yes, well, you were given this job because of your ability to make these judgments,” the other said. He cast an expansive look around the hollow. “So, this is Weltarin. And the others?”

“Asleep in a canyon a few hundred yards from here,” Drekkath said. “We will need to return quickly. If our absence is detected there will be difficulties.”

“Indeed. So, the mission—”

“We have uncovered the location of the book,” the doppelganger broke in. “We are headed there now.”

“Excellent,” the outsider said. “Most excellent.”

“We have the opportunity to thin their ranks considerably, tonight,” Drekkath went on. “It may even be better if we exterminate them all while we have the opportunity.”

“Such bloodthirstiness!” the outsider said. “I thought that your kind lived for this kind of game?”

“We do not use our gifts for the sake of using them,” Drekkath replied. “We use them to an end.”

“And that end is why you are here.”

“It would be better to wait,” Kurok said. “Securing the book may not be as easy as walking into the city and taking it.”

“It most certainly will not,” the outsider said. “You would be wise to listen to your thoughtful colleague,” he added to Drekkath.

“The longer we wait, the greater the chance that our ruse will be discovered,” the doppelganger said. “And even if we are not, it will be very hard to take the book from them once they have won it.”

“They must not be permitted to gain custody of the book under any circumstances.”

“So what are you telling us, then?” Kurok asked.

“Yes, some more concrete assistance would be welcome,” Drekkath added.

“You both know that I am prohibited from direct intervention,” the outsider said. “The magic that brought me here can only facilitate my presence upon this plane for a short time.”

“Convenient,” Drekkath said.

The other fixed the doppelganger with a long stare that seemed to drop the temperature in the hollow by a few degrees. Finally, he said, “Bredan Karras is the key. Follow him, and he will show you the way to the book. The others are but tools to use and discard as needed.”

“Finally, some directives that suit my tastes,” Drekkath said. The creature started to depart, but hesitated when the outsider walked over to Kurok. The doppelganger paused in the narrow gap that led out of the hollow, clearly curious.

“You have used our gifts well, Kurok,” the summoned entity said. “I offer you a grant of power one last time. This is all we can do. Once you enter the valley, you will not be able to contact us or seek our advice again. The gifts you have received will function, but you cannot open a gateway between our realms. Do you understand?”

After a moment’s delay, Kurok nodded. He’d barely completed the gesture when the other sprang forward, seizing hold of the hobgoblin’s throat with one hand while the other splayed across his forehead. Kurok stiffened and let out a shuddering gasp, his hands twitching as he hung there helplessly. The connection lasted only a few heartbeats before the outsider drew back, leaving the warlock to waver drunkenly for a few moments before he was able to reassert control over his body.

The pale figure stepped back into the circle, a wry smile on his features. “When we next meet, I expect to see the book in your hands,” he said. Then, without any flash or other special effects he simply vanished.

Drekkath and Kurok looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, the doppelganger said, “We’d better get back.”

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 280

Bredan woke suddenly, his chest heaving as he fought back an intense sensation of danger and alarm. He struggled out of his blanket and almost struck his head on the low roof of the cave before he remembered where he was. He slumped back, trying to recover his equilibrium. It was a dream, just a dream. There were no shouts of warning or cries of battle; the camp was not under attack.

He did not remember what the dream had been about, just that it had been intense and threatening. He looked out of the cave and saw that it was still night, though the sky was beginning to brighten incrementally as a preview of dawn.

Bredan slipped out of the cave, leaving his gear and his armor where it was for now. It felt liberating not having his second skin of steel weighing him down. He could summon his sword if need be, a reassuring presence that was always with him.

The camp was utterly quiet. He could make a few of the heads—or feet—of a few of his companions sticking out of some of the smaller caves.

A scuff of boots on stone had him spinning around, his hand shooting out to call his sword. He was barely able to stop himself when he saw it was Kalasien.

“Hey,” the agent said, holding up his hands in reassurance. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Bredan said, letting his hand drop slowly. “You didn’t wake me for my watch.”

“You had a long day yesterday,” Kalasien said. “I didn’t fight a giant dragon-man before the day’s march.”

Bredan nodded and stepped down toward the fire pit. The fire had long since gone out, leaving just a dark slash in the ground. “You should grab another hour if you can,” he said. “I won’t be able to get back to sleep.” He sat down on one of the rocks that faced the pit.

Kalasien joined him there. “I understand. We’ve come a long way since Severon.”

Bredan looked over at the other man. “Did you have any idea what we would find, that day in the Vault?”

Kalasien looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m following the threads of fate, just like you,” he said.

“You haven’t offered much in the way of suggestions lately,” Bredan said. “You were more… assertive earlier in the journey.”

The other man shrugged. “You seem to know more about what’s happening here,” he said.

“If I give that impression, it’s an illusion,” Bredan said. He cast a long slow glance around the canyon. “Where’s Elias?” he asked.

“He was keeping watch on the heights atop the cliff,” Kalasien said. “There’s an easy route around from the cleft that leads up into the pass.”

Bredan got up and scanned the cliffs that surrounded the canyon. “I don’t see him,” he said.

“He’s probably hanging back to avoid silhouetting himself against the skyline,” Kalasien said. He got up too and wiped his hands on his trousers. “I’ll go check.”

“We’ll both go,” Bredan said.

The two of them had only gone about fifty yards into the narrow back portion of the canyon when they spotted the body. Kalasien reached him first, turning him over to show his bloody face. He pressed his fingers to the soldier’s throat. “Dead,” Kalasien said. “Looks like his neck is broken.”

“How long?” Bredan asked.

“It’s difficult to tell. The human body retains heat for a while after death. Maybe an hour? A little less?”

“None of us heard him fall,” Bredan said. But he thought back to the sudden way he’d been jarred from sleep.

“Not surprising, with the constant noise of the wind moving through the caves,” Kalasien said.

“And you saw nothing?”

Kalasien shook his head. “I was keeping watch in the canyon.”

“What about Kavek? He was supposed to be with me on this shift.”

“I think he’s still asleep. I would have seen if Elias had come down to wake him. I will go make sure, right now.”

Bredan looked down at the body. “Better wake the others,” he said.