Kull's First Report - Part 8
I should have known better than to trust Troilan's boasts.
I should also have known better than to expect her to hold her ground: she leapt from her position at the door, scrambling down the stairs almost as fast as Brodnak rushed in the opposite direction.
For the northerner had wasted no time in charging the foe. Raving and swearing in his native dialect, he seemed like a man enraged, his skin bright red and the veins in his neck standing out in thick cords. It seemed the warrior was also a berserker. A dangerous ally: but also an effective one.
He soon proved just how effective, as his blows hammered into one of the statues, crushing the stone badly.
I made no hesitation in moving to aid him, for the two statues were hammering him with blows that would have felled most men. Perhaps it was nothing more than his rage that kept him on his feet, but Brodnak still stood, striking back with all his might.
Troilan suddenly reappeared, jabbing ineffectually at one of the statues with her blade. The rapier is not a proper weapon of war, as this fight soon proved. For all her speed and agility, the woman could never have stood against these guardians: her weapon simply bounced off the stone, barely even scuffing it.
Realising that only the strongest of blows could harm the statues, I cast aside my shield and gripped my flail in both hands, striking them again and again. A stone fist slammed into me, but I did not waver, forcing one of the statues away so that they could not both attack Brodnak. Faced with only a single foe, the barbarian soon smashed his opponent into rubble. Then, the two of us destroyed the second.
As soon as the fight was over, I called on Hextor to grant healing for Brodnak. The barbarian had been badly wounded: most men would have been dead. I knew that our Lord would not stint from recognising the worth of such a fine warrior, and indeed the healing power flowed strongly, leaving only the faintest of bruises on the northerner's skin.
As we stood there, the others shamefacedly emerged from the stairwell, where they had cowered throughout the fight. The druid made some excuse about going off in search of a club for the battle; as if a lump of wood could have damaged stone any better than the blade he already carried. It is obvious to me that he has physical strength, but little courage. Hardly surprising, given his weakling faith. The others made no such excuses. Nor did they need to: it was clear they lacked the strength or the weapons to harm the statues.
With the battle over, Troilan returned once more to the first of the doors, and this time proved up to the challenge of opening the lock. I opened the door, flail at the ready, but the room beyond was empty of any threats, containing only a bed, a chest, and a few other items. Looking around, it was clear that the other door from the balcony also led into this chamber.
A thorough search of the room produced a small pile of unusual or distinctive items. Most simply had monetary value, but there was also a magical cloak of concealment, which Troilan made no hesitation in claiming. No doubt I shall have to watch how she puts it to use.
The search of the room had taken almost an hour, and as I led the way back downstairs, I noticed that the ferocity of the winds on the balcony had died off. It seemed the storm had broken.
