Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

Uncle Cal! Hmm, I wonder if there will be any other "blasts from the past" that LB has in store for us.

You'd have to ask "Zenna" about that...

Great Job, this is a great story. My only complaint is that I finally caught up and now Im dying to know what happens next.

And so you shall! Welcome aboard, and thanks for posting.

* * * * *

Chapter 40


The howler lashed out about it, its long quills as threatening as its terrible jaws. Fario, Ruphos, and the mercenary Endercott faced off against it on the stairs, but being surrounded only seemed to drive it on to a more terrible fury. Ruphos bashed at its flank with his mace, but only got a quill stuck in his arm for his trouble. Fario stabbed at the creature, but again his stroke went awry.

Endercott screamed, a sound of repressed anger and frustration released as he lunged straight for the beast’s head. His borrowed blade glanced off the howler’s skull, slicing open a garish flap of flesh that hang back behind its ear like some sort of garish ornament, revealing the stark white of bone beneath. The creature’s howls doubled in intensity, a sound of pure rage that seemed loud enough to shatter the stone of the walls. It lunged at Endercott, a quill lodging in the man’s side as it thrashed back and forth, following him as he tried uselessly to retreat, to get away from the monster’s inexorable rush. Finally it lunged, quickly, its jaws closing with grim finality around the man’s neck. The mercenary barely managed a scream that turned into a wet gurgle as the jaws clamped and the howler tore the man’s throat out. Endercott went down, his body now just a limp corpse that flopped in a mess of blood and gore that settled at the foot of the stairs.

Fario rushed forward, too late to aid the mercenary, but able to take advantage of the creature’s distraction as he slid his sword into its body from behind. Narrowly avoiding a quill that nearly pierced his exposed neck, Fario grimaced and thrust the blade deeper. The howler quivered abruptly, then exploded into a paroxysm of frenzied movement as its blood poured from the gash in its side. The half-elf and Ruphos drew back from the still-deadly forest of quills as the howler thrashed on the stairs, its black heart punctured by Fario’s thrust. As it happened, Fario had retreated down the stairs, and Ruphos up. That would be a fateful cast of fate, for both men. But for the moment, Fario felt an echo of pain explode within his mind, and he quickly turned, knowing already what he would see.

The two hobgoblin warriors charged into battle, one meeting Fellian in a clash of swords, the other coming straight for the undefended Zenna. Zenna cried out in pain as the sword bit into her shoulder, cutting through her tunic and drawing a line of pain that spread through her body like a blaze of fire. She’d turned enough so that the gash was serious but not fatal, but as she staggered back the hobgoblin warrior followed her, an evil grin deepening on his face. The dagger in her hand seemed puny in comparison with the warrior’s longsword, and the hobgoblin laughed as she slashed out at him, trying to keep him at bay.

“Perhaps I shall keep you alive for a little while,” the hobgoblin said in its crude language, a tongue that Zenna understood, one of the many things she’d learned growing up among a community of adventurers.

It seems that she hadn’t learned enough, though.

As the hobgoblin came at her again, though, a shadow tumbled into place behind it. The hobgoblin never even saw it, and did not know its danger until Mole’s sword slid home into its back through one of the slats of its armor. The hobgoblin’s sword fell from nerveless fingers, and it slumped slowly to the floor, bleeding out its last.

“Are you all right?” Mole asked. But Zenna’s attention had turned toward the staircase, and she dashed off in that direction, clutching her bleeding shoulder, her friend just a step behind.

Fellian had never been a good swordsman, certainly not the equal of his companion Fario. His talents had always laid more in other directions, his faith, his agility, his good nature and buoyant personality. He still bore the marks of his lingering injury from their earlier battles, only partially healed by the potions they’d found. But he faced off bravely against the hobgoblin, meeting his sword in a series of quick exchanges that gave neither an advantage. He was used to fighting with his friend, the two using their skills to surround foes and find weaknesses in their defenses. His faith granted him magic that bolstered their skills, gave them an added advantage.

But this time, he was alone, and his magic was depleted.

He gritted his teeth as the hobgoblin turned off a parry and caught him on the arm, slicing through his skin before the cleric could pull away. The wound wasn’t serious, but it added to the tally of his hurts. He heard Zenna cry out and knew that the other warrior was attacking her, but knew that if he shifted his attention from this adversary, even for a moment, he would be dead.

The hobgoblin feinted, and Fellian caught the stroke easily with his sword. The real thrust came a moment later, but the half-elf had already anticipated and darted sideways, countering with a thrust that darted into his side. The hobgoblin’s armor absorbed most of the impact of the attack, but the tip of Fellian’s sword drew blood. The two combatants broke apart and recovered, each wary now of the other.

Unfortunately for the half-elf, the last guard, having secured the double doors against Zenna’s illusory invaders, saw his chance and rushed to flank Fellian while his comrade pressed a new assault. Fellian saw what was about to happen and leapt at the foe before him. He caught the hobgoblin off-guard, and got inside his defense with a slash that caught him just under the jaw. The hobgoblin staggered and fell, but as he did he caught hold of the half-elf’s sword with his arm, nearly knocking the weapon from his grasp. Fellian managed to recover, but the move cost him a precious few seconds. Seconds that cost him, for as he started to turn to face the second hobgoblin, he felt a sudden spasm of pain as a sword caught him square across the body. His own sword was knocked from his grasp as he sagged to the ground, bleeding.

As the howler thrashed out its last breaths, and Fario rushed to the aid of his stricken companion, Ruphos had turned to see Kazmojen strike down Arun. As the dwarf paladin went down, the half-dwarf slaver stepped forward to stand over his fallen foe, his bloody weapon lifted high in triumph. Then he lowered the spear-end of the urgrosh, ready to finish his helpless foe.

Ruphos Laro wasn’t a man of great courage, or strength, or even particular skill with the simple weapon that he carried. He would have been the first to admit that among the companions that had delved into the Malachite Fortress, he was perhaps the least suited to face this enemy. Even Zenna had her magic, and an intelligence that he had seen shining in her like a candle’s bright flame. He had his faith, a shield that had always been strong enough to sustain him, but which had been shrouded in doubt and fear since he had come into the dark places under Cauldron.

All of this was true, and yet he found himself charging up the stairs toward a foe that could only promise him death.

Kazmojen seemed oblivious to the arrival of this new foe, but as Ruphos neared striking distance, his mace already lifted to attack, the urgrosh swiped out in its deadly arc, propelled by those huge arms. Ruphos cried out as the blade crushed his arm, only the links of his chain shirt keeping the blow from taking off the limb just below his shoulder.

He should have gone down then, but he knew that if he did, Arun was dead. Somehow he could feel the slender thread of life that remained yet in the unconscious form at his feet, a thread that flowed out into the world and connected them all, himself, his friends, even this monstrosity before him. He knew that his friends would come, that they would have to bring this creature down or all die here, in this dark place far under the earth. He knew that he had to give them time.

Through the haze of pain he felt a sudden peace come over him. With his good arm, he lifted the mace and brought it down on the half-dwarf’s armored head. The blow wasn’t particularly strong, the flanged head of the weapon glancing off Kazmojen’s helm, but it still had an effect, and pain clouded the slaver’s eyes for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Kazmojen leaned forward, close enough so that Ruphos could smell the stale stink of blood and sweat from the other. “A fine day when I get to kill two champions of Good in one encounter,” he hissed.

Ruphos brought his mace up to strike again, but Kazmojen knocked it aside with the axe-end of his urgrosh, and then, reversing the weapon, drove the spear-end through the priest, impaling him with a single mighty thrust.

* * * * *

Can Mole, Zenna, and Fario stand alone against the seemingly unstoppable might of Kazmojen? Stay tuned for the next chapter of The Shackled City, coming to a Bulletin Board near you Monday!
*cue dramatic music, fade out*

 

[GPEKO]

Aaarrgghh !! You're just to good at doing cliffhangers ... it's frustrating . Seriously, great stuff, keep at it. I hope to see a dead Kazmojen monday !

 

[Dungannon]

Two goodguys dead in the first climactic battle?!? This can't be Lazybones SH, he never kills goodguys. At least not this quickly. I eagerly await Monday's update to find out the fate of the remaining heroes, as well as the dastardly Kazmojen.

 

[Broccli_Head]

I'm going to have to go and check out Kazmojen's stats!

 

[Mojo Jojo]

Dohhhh!
I dont think I can wait till Monday =(

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 41

Time seemed to freeze for Zenna, staring up the staircase, her own wound forgotten as she watched Ruphos battling the half-dwarf slaver. The air seemed thick like water around her as she tried to run toward the scene that moved inexorably, inevitably, forward. She heard the continuing battle with the hobgoblins behind her, heard Mole call her name, but it meant nothing as she saw Ruphos lift his mace to strike, saw Kazmojen knock it away, saw the spear-end of the urgrosh come up...

“NO!” she screamed, helpless to stop it. When the spear drove through Ruphos, striking what could only have been a killing blow, she felt as though it were driving through her as well.

Fario, meanwhile, confronted his own difficulties. Upon the death of the howler he’d rushed to the aid of Fellian, too late to save his friend from being struck down by the last hobgoblin guard. The hobgoblin, encouraged perhaps by the triumphant roars of its master, or its victory over the half-elf cleric lying at its feet, refused to flee despite being outnumbered. It met Fario’s rush with an attack that forced the fighter into a defensive stance. The two clashed blades noisily once, twice, three times, until finally Fario, driven by a realization that time was not on their side, drove forward, knocked the hobgoblin’s sword aside, and thrust half of the length of his sword through his adversary’s throat.

He crouched by Fellian, worry written on his face. The cleric was alive, but bleeding profusely from the wound in his side. A momentary indecision crossed Fario’s features, but then he took on a look of intense concentration, pressing his fingers to his temples.

A few seconds later, Fellian vanished.

Fario rose and turned back to the stairs just in time to see Ruphos run through.

Kazmojen held Ruphos up, imprisoned on the shaft of his weapon, smiling as he watched the life drain from the cleric’s eyes. Then he let urgrosh drop, placing his boot on the dead man’s chest as he yanked the weapon free. He’d taken a beating, but his steps were still strong as he strode forward, and a renewed fury burned in his eyes as he looked down at the fallen form of his howler.

“For that, I will make each of you feel pain, before you die,” he said.

Zenna just stood there on the steps, frozen, her eyes wide as she watched the slaver come slowly, almost carelessly, toward her. But then she felt Mole come up beside her, and her friend’s presence seemed to make the fear drain away.

“We can run,” Mole said, in gnomish.

Zenna looked down at her friend, the calm look on her young face. Zenna knew what she really meant, You can run. Mole had to know what she’d already recognized, that there was no way that the short-legged gnome would be able to outdistance the powerful dwarf, even clad in armor as he was.

Fario came up beside them, a look of determination on his face. For a moment a strange look crossed his face, as if a conflicting thought had suddenly crossed his mind, but then he shook his head, and his grim visage of determination returned.

“Come on then, slaver,” he said, his bloody sword ready at his side. As he reached Zenna and Mole, he lowered his other hand, twisting it so that its contents were hidden from Kazmojen’s view. In it, they could see a small vial.

Mole moved behind him, taking up position on his far side, palming the vial as she did so.

Kazmojen regarded the three of them coldly. “Your friends are dead, and I suspect that the dwarf was the fiercest that your little band had to offer. You cannot hope to defeat the likes of me. I have faced horrors of which you can only dream.”

Zenna suspected that the dwarf was stalling for some reason, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Fario beat her to it. “Come on then, dwarf—or whatever you are. Your little doggie there was an interesting warm-up, but I’m ready for a bit of challenge.”

Kazmojen fixed the half-elf with a dark stare, but he lifted his urgrosh and charged, surging forward in a seemingly inevitable rush. Fario drew his shortsword, but instead of rushing to meet the slaver, he dodged back, his blades slicing out in a dancing parry to cover his retreat. Kazmojen used his long arms to slash out at the fighter, nearly catching him despite his quick movements, but the half-elf was quick enough to avoid the opening rush.

Zenna and Mole both retreated quickly from the half-dwarf’s charge, each knowing they could not hope to stand before him in open battle. Zenna fell back to where she had dropped her crossbow, willing her hands not to shake as she drew a bolt from her quiver and loaded the weapon. Mole, meanwhile, downed the rest of Fario’s invisibility potion, and even as she faded from view was darting nimbly and silently down the steps after Kazmojen.

Fario continued to give ground, slashing at the slaver, scoring minor hits that failed to penetrate his heavy armor. In his defensive stance, Kazmojen failed to hit the nimble elf, but once again switched from a combination of axe-strokes and spear-thrusts from the different ends of his urgrosh and instead turned to an all-out assault with the axe.

“You can’t escape me, elf!” he roared, and his words seemed true as he clipped Fario with a sweeping cut that tore a vicious gash in his side. “I’ll tear you.... AARGH!”

Kazmojen cried out as Mole appeared directly behind him, the gnome holding her sword with both hands as she tried to drive it deeper into the slaver’s body. The invisible rogue had found a gap in the half-dwarf’s armor and exploited it, sliding her sharp sword through leather and cloth and flesh and muscle and into the soft organs underneath.

But Kazmojen was possessed of a monstrous fortitude, and he turned, realizing his mistake in dismissing this diminutive foe. He dropped the axe and reached for Mole with claws augmented by steel, his gauntlets tipped with jagged ends of sharpened metal.

A crossbow bolt ricocheted off his breastplate, causing him no harm but drawing his attention.

“Don’t you touch her,” Zenna snarled.

Kazmojen opened his mouth to shoot back a reply, but only another hiss of agony came forth as Fario came up from behind and buried his own elven-forged blade deep into the slaver’s back. Kazmojen staggered around, fixing each of them with a hateful stare in turn, his mouth twisting in a snarl of contempt.

Then he fell to the cold stone floor, unmoving.

 

[Mojo Jojo]

Wow!
What a cool end to a great battle.
Now if only somehow they can save their friends.

 

[Broccli_Head]

Can't dismiss those rogues and flanking!

Aftermath?

I'm waiting expectantly to see who lives...

 

[Lazybones]

Who said we're done?

* * * * *

Chapter 42

“Mole! Are you all right?” Zenna shouted, rushing over to her friend. She herself felt faint, as blood continued to ooze from the wound in her shoulder.

Ironically, the gnome rogue was the only one of them who remained uninjured. They were all battered, with Fario wavering on his feet, but refusing to sheath his swords, keeping a wary eye about for any new threats. On seeing that Mole was all right, Zenna ran up the stairs, giving the still-twitching corpse of the howler a wide berth, knowing already what she would see.

Ruphos was dead, there was no doubting that. He lay in a heap, one side of his body lying over the motionless form of Arun, covered in blood. Arun... no, as Zenna reached for them, she caught the faintest hint of movement, the slightest swelling of the dwarf’s torso. Her vision half-ruined by her tears, she checked the dwarf’s body.

“Arun’s alive!” she sobbed, her voice cracking. Somehow, whether through his own incredible fortitude or his patron god’s intervention, he’d stabilized, though he was still unconscious and close to death.

Mole, who’d spent those few moments helping Fario stem his own bleeding wound with a bandage, turned to help her, but hesitated as she looked down at the body of Kazmojen. Had the slaver... there, again, there was no doubting it...

“He’s still alive!” Mole cried, but the tone of her voice made it immediately clear that she was not talking about Arun, but their fallen adversary, who was stirring, his body heaving as it somehow crawled back toward life. Fario spun and quickly moved forward, but Mole was there first, stabbing the fallen dwarf repeatedly with her sword.

“Die!” she yelled, stabbing him in the neck, under the back edge of his helmet. “Die!” she repeated, thrusting her sword through whatever gap she could find.

“He must have some regenerative ability,” Fario said, arriving to help drive the slaver back across the line into unconsciousness, closer to death.

“Well, how do we kill him for good?” Mole asked.

“Fire. Or acid.” Mole was already digging into her pack, pulling out her last torch.

Zenna knelt over the body of her friend, her tears flowing freely now, feeling as helpless as she ever had before in the face of this final loss. She did not even have the power to help Arun, who could slide over the razor’s edge into death at any moment. She heard her friends’ shouts as they dealt with Kazmojen, but could not even will herself up to help them. She felt weak, a weakness that penetrated to her very bones.

A sound drew her attention. Looking up, she saw the three children still shackled to the pillar, staring at her with expressions that were dark and haunted. Seeing them allowed her to finally cut through the pain that held her in its grasp, and she slowly pulled herself to her feet.

A sickening stench of roasting flesh greeted her nostrils. Turning, she saw that Fario and Mole had finally taken care of Kazmojen for good, and a small pyre continued to smolder over his corpse. Mole still held her torch, in case it was needed. Zenna scanned the room, her gaze lingering briefly on the ravaged body of Endercott. They hadn’t even gotten to know him, she thought.

“What happened to Fellian?”

Fario looked up at her, standing at the top of the stairs. “He is well,” the fighter said. “He and I...”

He paused, and did not get to finish his statement as a loud thump drew their attention around. The double doors moved, the hobgoblin javelin jammed into their handles rattling as someone tried to force their way through from beyond. Whoever it was, it did not appear that they would allow that flimsy barrier to stop them, as the noise increased, and the javelin began to bend with the force upon it.

Fario shot her a questioning glance, but Zenna shook her head. “We can’t leave Arun, or the children,” she said.

The half-elf nodded, and bent to retrieve a discarded javelin before moving to join her. Mole recovered her crossbow and did the same, reloading as she went. For her part, Zenna reloaded her own weapon, a resigned look falling into place on her features.

The doors thumped, and the javelin cracked...

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 43

“To be honest, we thought we were all dead,” Mole said, the relief still clear in her voice as she chattered on.

“I’m sorry that we could not get there sooner,” Jenya said. Three men clad in the uniforms of the City Watch passed by, nodding to the cleric in respect before continuing into the building behind them.

Around them, the city of Cauldron slept, the city engulfed in a night deepened with the thick cover of clouds above them. In front of Ghelve’s Locks, however, a half-dozen torches and lamps burned brightly, and a number of curious townsfolk had gathered, kept back by the watchful cordon of guardsmen that had secured the area. Zenna, Mole, Fario, and Jenya stood in a close knot some distance back, the torchlight casting long shadows behind them on the street.

“Well, better you than a squad of hobgoblin warriors,” Fario said. The half-elf had been healed, and looked well, although he seemed distracted.

“Are you sure Arun will be all right?” Mole asked.

Jenya nodded. “He was grievously injured, and very close to death when we found you, but he will be all right. My arts could not restore him fully after such a close brush with death, but we will be able to treat him, and the other freed captives, once Morgan and the others can get them to the temple.”

Mole nodded, and glanced up at Zenna. The young woman looked like a shadow, shrouded in her dark cloak, her face lost in the shadows of her cowl. She had said almost nothing since Jenya, Morgan, and the forces of the other churches, along with a full platoon of the City Watch, had burst into the slave bazaar within the Malachite Fortress a few hours before. The forces from the city had taken control of the rest of the fortress, liberating the remaining slaves from the few remaining hobgoblins in Kazmojen’s garrison. Mole, whose sharp eyes could penetrate the shadows to see her friend’s face, read the deep sadness etched therein, a sadness that she felt herself at the loss of Ruphos. The gnome, however, was concerned that her friend would not be able to handle what she had seen, once the full force of her emotions broke through the fragile shell of control that she’d put up around herself.

“Ruphos gave his life so that others could live,” Jenya said, as if reading the gnome’s mind. She focused her warm blue eyes on Zenna, and touched the taller woman on the shoulder. “Do not forget, he made the choice freely, Zenna. He did what he had to do.”

There was a silence then, one that Fario finally broke by clearing his throat. “I am sorry, I must depart. I have to see to my companion.”

Mole frowned—that was one mystery that had not yet been solved to her satisfaction—but Jenya nodded and took his hand. “We are thankful for your aid,” she said. “I hope that we will have the chance to speak further, at a later time.”

Fario nodded, and turned to Mole and Zenna. “I am sure we will meet again,” the half-elf said, and before they could respond, he turned and vanished into the darkness.

“Well, that was rude,” Mole said. “After all we’ve been through, that’s the good-bye we get?”

“He has his own secrets,” Zenna said, softly.

“You have had a difficult night,” Jenya said. “For some of us, I suspect it will go on for some time, but you have earned your rest. The children and the other captives, and your friend, are being seen to. I was going to return to the church myself; come, and we’ll see that you’ve someplace safe to rest.”

The two women went with the cleric, walking down Lava Street, while above them the first glimmers of the coming dawn began to brighten the far horizon.


THE END OF “LIFE’S BAZAAR”

COMING SOON: FLOOD SEASON



* * * * *

I'm at a Commission meeting for the rest of the week, so I'll start "Flood Season" sometime next week.

These meetings are dull... but the good news is that a lot of plot notes for these stories end up making their way back in the margins of my notepads.

Have a great weekend!