Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 160
Weeks pass and the magic items pile up, while the Company works nervously, awaiting word either from Ozilinsh or from Verdshane.
Morningstar receives good news from Amber regarding Evenstar’s emissary to Bederen. Her sisters (along with Snokas) were captured by Bederen patrols less than a week after their departure, and their message was passed swiftly along. Not three weeks after they set out, a meeting had been held in Ava Dormo between Charagan commanders and members of the Bederen War Council. A tentative agreement has already been reached wherein the Bederen forces will step up their offensive push while Charagan’s armies are relocated to Verdshane. Charagan has agreed to some unnamed concessions to which Amber is not privy. (Bederen, it seems, is a Spartan kingdom with little patience for cumbersome bureaucracy – a fact that allowed for swift negotiations and subsequent action.)
Also during this period, Kay receives a long handwritten summary of the battle to which she had committed the Yrimpa. To her great relief it had gone almost exactly as General Largent had hoped and expected. It was not a trap, the Smokehill Valley was wrested away from Delfiri control, and the Yrimpa’s surprise assault from the rear was crucial in the victory. Four Yrimpa were slain in the fighting, but even Yaro Karenne agreed that these were acceptable losses in light of Largent’s agreement that the Yrimpa would be excluded from combat for several weeks.
After forty-one days, the number of finished magic items is astounding.
Dranko, having finished enhancing his own whip of the searing tongue, made for Ernie a winged shield that allows the halfling to fly once per day. After that, he improved the enchantment on his own buckler, and on Grey Wolf’s shield.
Morningstar has finished work on a number of magical wands. Two wands of cure serious wounds were the highest priority, but with the help of some of the others, she has also made wands of fly, reduce and enlarge.
Ernie has brewed almost two-score potions for the Company – haste, fly, see invisibility, and of course many healing potions. Grey Wolf, collaborating with Morningstar, has scribed some scrolls with powerful divine spells (including heal and flame strike).
Finally, Kibi has made a vest/sash of transparency for both Dranko and Grey Wolf, as well as a headband of intellect +2 for himself.
There are more items in the list still unmade, but there is not the opportunity to make them.
Aravis has been journeying in the Maze for weeks now. Pewter has assured the others than Aravis is still alive and well, though the cat doesn’t know specifically what his master is up to, or how much longer he intends to be away. The familiar has kept Aravis’ body exercised and well-fed (though Eddings had to dissuade him from asking for “mouse stew” from the Icebox).
On the forty-first day since the Company settled in for craft projects, Pewter begins to cry loudly at Kay, who casts speak with animals.
“I… we just got a sending from somewhere,” Pewter tells her excitedly. “Stasis has fallen. No confirmation that the Archmagi can keep the Gate closed, but we must assume the worst. Please come to Verdshane immediately.”
“Wake Aravis,” Kay says. Pewter jumps up on his master’s shoulder and digs in his claws. A few seconds later Aravis stirs and shakes his head. The others look at him anxiously.
“I think I know what I must do,” he says groggily. “Whether or not I’m strong enough to do it is another matter.”
As quickly as he can, Aravis tells the rest of the Company about his journey into the Crosser’s Maze, what he learned, and what he hopes to do. “The next step is for me to go to Verdshane, and look at the Gate up close in the Maze.”
The Company erupts into a veritable storm of last-minute planning. Magic items gets distributed, a sending is sent off to Duke Nigel, and the clerics debate who gets to cast the mandatory shield other on Aravis. Skorg is even convinced to come along, despite his preference for being left behind with Eddings and the cats. Some reduce and teleport spells later, the Company arrives in Verdshane and is escorted into the Shadow Chaser. Minya, the friendly but feisty owner of the inn, spots them amid the chaos and hurries over.
“I heard a few of you were here some weeks back; so sorry I missed you. Can you believe what they’ve done with the place?”
She smiles wryly and gestures at the commons, teeming with military types.
“Minya, may I have a word with you in private?” Morningstar motions to the kitchen. It’s just as busy as everywhere else in the inn, but the two are ignored amidst the bustle.
“Here, take this. It’s a healing potion. Just in case you need it.”
Minya gratefully accepts the potion.
Corporal Edridge approaches the Company, informs them that he will be their official liaison with the general and asks for a report. But when Ernie starts talking about Magic Gates and Aravis’ unique hope, and other guards start listening in, curious, the Company clams up and suggests that perhaps they should be talking with Anabrook directly.
The general meets with them in a storeroom-turned-meeting-room and hears their report. Aravis guesses that he has about an 85% chance of success in using the Maze to seal the Planar Gate, but warns that in doing so he may have to open the Gate wide open for a short time. Aravis asks Anabrook to spread the word as widely as possible, that every soldier might feel the cold sensation of the Maze drawing upon their life energy. They should willingly give that energy; the welfare of the kingdom could depend on it. The general agrees to issue the suggestion, with no promises of how many soldiers will go through with it.
Ernie casts divination to determine where the Company should be if/when an invasion begins, but receives no answer.
Aravis doesn’t want to waste any more time. He retires to one of the rooms prepared for them in the 2nd floor of the Inn, while Ernie arranges for a heavy guard to be placed on the door. Aravis sits cross-legged on the bed and drops into the Maze, focusing his attention on the Gate and the ragged space-time around it. He sees straight away that it’s going to take everything he’s got. He starts to give it.
Corporal Edridge walks outside with the rest of the Company, to give them a tour of the area, similar to the one Kibi, Ernie and Morningstar received some weeks earlier. Two food wagons pull up by the Shadow Chaser and soldiers immediately start unloading. The Company also watches as a teenaged boy runs up to a waiting guard, screws up his face, and recites a long list of random words from memory. The guard has a scrap of parchment in hand, comparing the runner’s “report” to what’s written on the scrap. Edridge explains.
“We have dozens of trained runners that will be spread throughout the area. They’ll provide the basic avenue of communication once the sh*t hits the fan. If you have to send a report back to HQ, or anywhere else on the field, grab a runner and tell them your message. They’ve been selected for sharp memories and fast legs.”
“We may have a better way,” Morningstar says. “We have magic that can keep us in direct mental contact with a small number of people. When the time comes, you should probably be one of them.”
Edridge blinks.
“Right. Er… yes. Now, let’s go see how things are progressing at the Mud Zone.”
En route to the swampy Ground Zero the Company passes a medical tent still being prepared. Clerics of Delioch, God of Healing, are preparing cots, bandages and healing herbs. Dranko recognizes one of them as Brother Nolman, a priest from Sand’s Edge. (A couple of years earlier, in the week before the Ventifact Colossus rose from the Mouth of Nahalm, Nolman had flat-out refused to believe Dranko’s contention that a huge turtle was going to leave the desert and stomp across the city.)
“Greetings, brother,” says Dranko, grinning. He knows that Nolman had hated the taste of crow, but the two of them had come to respect one another at subsequent meetings.
“Dranko!” returns Nolman. “Good to see you here. You and your friends. I’m not surprised that you’re right where the worst trouble is brewing.”
He lowers his voice and his smile fades.
“They’ve told us to be ready for many casualties. Do you really think they’ll be war? That an army is just going to appear by magic?”
“I’m afraid so,” says Dranko. “But I know you’ll do right by Delioch when the time comes.”
Nolman smiles again. “No turtles this time?”
“No turtles.”
The air over the Mud Zone has a strange chill, out of place for late summer, and there is a faint rumble of thunder. Sporadic flashing lights like orange-white heat lightning flicker across the sky. Around the long perimeter are dozens of platforms built into the trees, each with a store of arrows. The low walls and redoubts have multiplied tenfold since some of the Company visited weeks earlier. Kibi notes with satisfaction that many of the new stone towers are of dwarvish construction.
On the way back to the Shadow Chaser, threading their way through camps of soldiers, the Company is stopped by someone shouting from a nearby clearing.
“Hey, look. Those guys are the Turtle Slayers! That little guy, he flew this magic flying carpet around that huge turtle that attacked Sand’s Edge. I saw it myself! The rest of ‘em, they fought those damned Watchers who were mind-controlled by the turtle. They and the Stormknights, they killed the biggest damn creature in the world. Them guys are heroes! Hey! Turtle Slayers!”
A soldier is waving at the Company, and the others around him start cheering and waving as well. Ah, the adulation of the masses.
* *
The Company returns to the Shadow Chaser to find a briefing about to begin at the far end of the commons. Anabrook is standing up in front, talking quietly to an aide, while before her sits a group of nine people sitting in chairs. Most have the look of hardened adventurers.
Two of the newcomers stand immediately when the Company arrives. They are one man and one woman, armed and armored and exceedingly graceful. They approach the party, their expressions neutral.
“We are going up to collect your friend Aravis,” says the woman. “One of you should accompany us, so that he is not taken by surprise.”
Somewhat surprised himself, Ernie goes up with the two and almost knocks on Aravis’ door. He thinks better of it for a moment and casts detect evil on the two fighters. Negative. Satisfied, Ernie knocks, and inside Pewter hears the sound and claws Aravis’ shoulder, bringing the wizard back to the here and now. The first thing Aravis sees is a pair of fighters drawing their weapons, and he instinctively shrinks back. But the man says,
“Aravis, my name is Attrius, and you are our charge. This is Portia. By life or death we will protect you. Please come with us down to the briefing.”
Portia moves silently to stand by Aravis’ side, and Attrius moves into the hallway. They bracket the wizard as they march down the stairs. Neither has so much as raised an eyebrow at Aravis’ strange appearance. Ernie follows them.
In the commons, General Anabrook looks over the assembled heroes, counting silently.
“There is one more,” she says. “He should be arriving momentarily, and then we will begin.”
Indeed, less than a minute later the door to the Shadow Chaser opens and a pudgy, balding man is admitted into the room.
“Ah, Fulton, you are here at last.” Anabrook says. “Good! Now we may begin.”
Dranko knows he has heard that name before. But where… where…? Ah! Yes. In Sand’s Edge, there are those two wizards who had taken advantage of the devastation’s aftermath to gain political power. They only had met the woman, Imperia, but the other one’s name was Fulton, and the description matches. Dranko calls over to him.
“Hey, you’re the guy running that scam in Sand’s Edge!”
Fulton looks discomfited and obviously guilty.
“I’m sure I d…don’t know what you’re t…talking about,” he stammers.
Dranko grins. “We’ll talk later.”
Anabrook clears her throat.
“Some introductions would be in order first, I think.”
She motions toward a group of four, sitting together at a table, a comfortable bunchp who had been laughing and talking quietly. A tall, rugged man stands up and addresses the others.
“We are an adventuring group founded some years back. Though I don’t claim any spiritual gifts, I formed our group in the service of my Goddess, Corilayna. We are called ‘Fortune’s Children.’ My name is Royce, and I am a fighting man.”
He gestures to a small, lithe woman sitting beside him.
“This is Sparrow, who has many useful skills, particularly where stealth is needed.”
Next over is a tall, skinny, shock-haired man in a green robe, showing the device of a die balanced on one corner.
“That is Brassel, a Cleric in the service of Corilayna.”
Finally he nods to a middle-aged woman with straight steel-gray hair and a steady expression.
“And this is Bettany, a wizard of no small ability.”
The Company is next in order as all are seated, and before anyone can stop him, Flicker stands up and announces proudly: “We are the Heroes of the Kalkas Peaks!” When the others roll their eyes, he sits back down, muttering. “Well, we are…”
One by one, the members of the Company introduce themselves to the assemblage, briefly outlining their professional strengths. When Kibi’s turn comes up and he declares himself a wizard, a bespectacled boy of no more than thirteen years stands up and interrupts.
“A dwarven wizard? Such a thing should not be possible! It is the essence of dwarven nature that they cannot cast arcane magics.”
Kibi looks indignant.
“I am absolutely a wizard,” he huffs. “I have been casting spells for many years now with no difficulty. This is my Familiar, Scree. He is an earth elemental.”
Scree forms up around Kibi’s feet, rocks grinding together noisily.
“Oh, I believe you,” says the boy. “It’s just… fascinating, that’s all. Absolutely fascinating.”
“Hmph. I’m glad you think so,” grumps Kibi.
The boy introduces himself as Wellington, a wizard. A tarantula crawls from his robes onto his shoulder.
“This is my Familiar,” he says.
“What’s his name?” Royce asks.
Wellington turns red, and under his breath mutters, “His name is Crawly.”
Sparrow can’t help but snicker.
“I named him when I was very young,” the boy explains haughtily, but this just draws even more laughter.
Next to the boy, a beautiful woman with flowing brown hair stands up. She puts a hand on Wellington’s shoulder, and the laughter stops abruptly. In her other hand is a long-handled scythe.
“I am Glade,” she says. “A Paladin in the service of Pikon. And since Wellington is likely the smartest person any of you will ever meet, I suggest that you treat him with a bit more respect.”
“Smart?” mumbles Kibi under his breath. “Might have known dwarves could be wizards, then…”
Fulton stands up, looking extremely uncomfortable and out of place. “I… I’m F…Fulton,” he stammers. “I’m a w…wizard.” And he sits down.
Finally a portly man in Pikonish robes stands up. The Company has met him at previous meetings of the Spire.
“I am Matthias,” he announces in a deep voice. “I am the High Priest of Pikon in our Kingdom, and I am here with a hundred knights at my command. We are honored to serve in this dark hour.”
He bows to the others and sits back down.
General Anabrook moves to stand again in front of the assemblage.
“You represent the finest combatants that Charagan can muster at this time. There has still been no word about Cencerra and her group’s investigation of the Gartine Arch in Karth. Divinations indicate that they’re still alive, but we cannot reach them – not even with sending spells. As for Jerzembeck and Junaya and their group, we’ve made the decision that they should stay on the Peninsula to help counter any offensive the Delfiri might launch while our manpower is compromised.
“With two exceptions, I’m not going to assign any of you to a particular duty. We expect an invasion of unknown size and likely unknown location, save that it will be in this general area. I feel that you will best serve us as free ranging strike teams that can get to hot spots as they appear. We have over a hundred trained runners who you’ll meet outside in a few minutes; their job is to help keep you as informed as possible about changing battlefield conditions, should they arrive. We may send them with specific orders in dire circumstances, but as a default behavior, you’ll be on your own, and the runners will simply serve as conduits for tactical and strategic intelligence.
“Now, what I’m about to say is not to leave this room. This is Aravis Telmir, and he is our best hope for avoiding a bloody mess altogether. If he succeeds, there will be no invading army, and we can all go back to the chore of getting those damned Delfiri out of our Kingdom. But we are acting under the assumption that he will not succeed. None of the rank and file know of this chance we have, and they’re not going to know until it happens or it doesn’t. In the meantime, Attrius and Portia are being assigned as bodyguards to Aravis. They are experts at this sort of thing, and once this briefing is over, they will not leave Aravis’ side. Is that understood?”
There is no misunderstanding.
…to be continued…
