Bryon_Soulweaver
First Post
Agreed.Dungannon said:
The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 121
THE SUMMONS
Talen Karedes’s bootsteps and the accompanying clatter of metal echoed loudly off the bare marble walls of the Ducal Palace as he made his way in a hurry toward his summons. Even clad in his heavy plate armor, he moved quickly, forcing the page on his right to hustle to keep up.
Even the guards at the double doors ahead didn’t slow him down; they heard him coming even before he rounded the last bend in the corridor, and one held the door open for him, offering a clipped salute that he returned with a crisp nod.
There were others in the anteroom, men and women that Talen did not recognize. Their professions were obvious from their garb; armored knights, and officers from both the Ducal Guard and the First Legion. Priests of the Shining Father. Guild mages. Even a rail-thin monk from the Order of Tranquility, one of the rare monastic orders in Camar that followed the teachings of the ancient masters from Drusia across the sea. Only the monk met his gaze for more than a few heartbeats, the man nodding slightly as Talen crossed the room to the far door. It stood slightly open, but there were no more guards or pages warding the entry.
No one emerged to greet him, but a voice drifted out from inside. “Ah, Talen, finally. Come inside.”
The first of Camar’s Dragon Knights obeyed. The conference room looked... larger that it had last time he’d been in here. Of course, that time it had been occupied by a raging melee, and by a fiend so large that its head had brushed the ceiling fifteen feet above when it had leapt to attack.
Some of the decorations had been changed, the blood- and fire-stained tapestries and carpets replaced, but the great marble table in the middle of the room was still there. The room’s occupants were gathered around it. “Shut the door behind you,” Tiros said, turning back to the map spread out over the edge of the table.
Talen secured the door and came over to join Tiros and the others. He nodded to the Patriarch, who returned the gesture with a piercing look that made Talen uneasy. The high priest stood at Tiros’s right, standing protectively over a bundle that had been laid upon the end of the table, wrapped in heavy white cloth. Honoratius was not present, but there was a woman mage on the marshal’s other side. She seemed barely past her teens, too young to be attending a meeting of this importance, but when her eyes brushed Talen’s, he was surprised to see a stare that reminded him instantly of the old archmage. The other two men at the table wore the uniforms of Camarian general officers, but Talen did not recognize either of them by sight.
Sorcery, the knight thought to himself, moving close enough to the table to see the map, without crowding the others there. Black markers had been put on it, indicating places far to the south of the city. From their position, Talen suspected why he was here, and even though a certain notorious locale had not been specifically marked, he felt a cold chill of anticipation clench in his gut.
Tiros saw that he had recognized it, and nodded. “It’s starting.”
“What’s the situation?”
The Patriarch turned to him and pointed at the black marks on the map. “In the last four days, undead have attacked isolated settlements at these locations,” the high priest reported. “Approximately three hundred citizens have been killed, or are missing. The survivors are moving north, converging on Highbluff.”
“What do we know about the enemy forces?” Talen asked.
The woman mage looked at him. Her voice was as youthful as her body, but again something in it reminded him of Honoratius. “The attacks appear to be random, uncoordinated, at first glance,” she said. “But that is a false impression, deliberately cultivated. The enemy force includes skeletons, zombies, ghouls, ghasts, shadows, and wraiths. Their leaders are protected from scrying magic, but we have seen human priests in their company.”
“Followers of Orcus,” Talen said.
The young woman nodded. “They are not wearing obvious identifiers, but that is our assumption as well. They appear to be taking captives where possible, which are borne south. We lose track of them in this region,” she said, pointing out a spot on the map with a long black wand.
Talen didn’t need to look. “Rappan Athuk. What is the total enemy strength?”
For the first time, the woman looked slightly uncertain. “They are masking their presence with magic, making it difficult to track them with precision. But our best estimate is that there are between four and six hundred corporeal undead in all, scattered across a broad front, sweeping up settlements as they come.”
“What about the shadows, and the wraiths?”
“We are not certain,” the Patriarch said. “And that is very dangerous. Those undead cannot abide the light of the sun, but the poor weather aids them, and they can take shelter underground during the day in any case. All of the reports of attacks from such beings have taken place at night.”
Talen remembered the wraiths that had drained the life from one of his men under the Well, and could not repress a shudder.
“We must respond to this attack with all the strength we can muster,” Tiros said. “But this attack has come at the worst possible time. More than half our available forces are stuck in the north, at Dalemar. The First is out of position on the western frontier, even if they were at full strength and ready to move.”
“Two centuries will be ready to move on your order on six hours’ notice,” one of the generals said. Talen saw that his lower lip trembled slightly as he spoke, but said nothing.
“That notice has already been sent, General Darius,” Tiros said. “But even if they can make their way down the Nalos most of the way, a far from certain prospect, it will take the better part of two weeks before they could possibly reach Highbluff.”
“What about Dar?” Talen asked.
“The Border Legion is already en route to Highbluff,” Tiros responded. “They should be there in six days, at the outset.”
“By then, the matter may already be decided, for good or for ill,” the Patriarch said. “If the enemy falls back, they give us a chance to consolidate our forces, and strike a decisive blow. But if they continue moving forward, they have a good chance of overrunning those fleeing from the destroyed settlements, and from the other communities scattered between Highbluff and the enemy.”
Talen looked at the map. Even riding hard, changing horses along the way, it would take men riding from Camar at least four days to reach Highbluff. An army on foot would take longer, even force marched. And if the roads were crowded with refugees, desperate for escape... “What forces can we gather here?” Talen asked.
“We have the Guild, the church of the Father, and we have the Guard,” Tiros said. He looked up to the second of the general officers, a lean figure who barely filled out the new uniform, with skin the texture of old leather. “Commander?”
“The Guard stands ready to provide whatever is required,” the man said. As soon as he spoke, Talen recognized the man; that rasping, gravelly voice could only belong to Doran Pravos, the man that Tiros had tapped to serve as the new head of the old Ducal Guard. Pravos had injured his throat fighting on the shield wall at Ravenford, at the same battle where Tiros had won the Golden Starburst for Valor twenty-two years ago. During the Duke’s reign he’d been banished to one of the farthest outposts on the barbarian frontier to the north, but he’d already accomplished a great deal since his return, purging the Guard of those who had hied too closely to the philosophies and manners of the late Duke. Pravos had begun a new recruitment program to restore the strength of the city’s defense force, but that work had yet to come to full fruition, and likely would not for months, if not a year or two. “Three hundred can ride south on the hour, with gear and train to follow.”
“It would not be wise to send the entire available force,” the Patriarch noted. “There will be a panic in the city, as word spreads.”
“We must find a way to delay them,” Talen said. “To give those fleeing time to reach Highbluff, and for reinforcements to arrive to help prepare the defenses. He looked at the map, his eyes drawn to a point that had already been marked with a thin “X”. Alderford, the map legend indicating that the place was barely a village, situated on a natural crossing across the Silver River. Talen knew that the “river” was barely more than a wide stream, barely fifty yards across, certainly no obstacle to enemies that did not need to breathe. But it could hold up those fleeing, especially if the recent storms had swollen the normally quiet stream into a fast-moving torrent.
Tiros saw his gaze and nodded. “If we can hold the road there, we can give those fleeing a chance to get out.”
“How quickly, and how many?” Talen asked.
Tiros looked to the young mage, who sighed. “Teleportation magic is a great strain, marshal. But I have already scried the village, and I can move a small party there. Fifteen individuals in all.”
“Fifteen?” Pravos said, turning to Tiros. “With all due respect, sir, that’s a suicide mission.”
“I’m not sending anyone to die,” Tiros said. “This is a fighting rearguard, a delaying action. And it will be volunteers only—”
“I volunteer to go,” Talen interrupted. “And while Shay always makes me pay when I speak for her, I know she’ll kill me if I go without her, so that’s two.”
“You will need the light of the Shining Father to have any chance at all,” the Patriarch said. “I will ask my priests, and am certain that I can secure up to a half-dozen blessed by the Father to accompany you.”
“I know of good men who will serve,” Pravos said.
“As do I,” Talen said. “The order of the Dragon Knights may be new, but it stands ready to defend the people of Camar.”
“What of the Guild?” Tiros asked.
The woman-who-was-not met the marshal’s gaze squarely. “After Zosimos, the enthusiasm of my peers may not be great,” she said. “But I will ask.”
Tiros turned back to Talen. “When can you be ready?”
Talen glanced at the nearest window. “It’ll be dark in about two hours... we’d better be ready before then.”
Tiros nodded. Talen saluted, then started to leave, but paused as Tiros caught his eye, then looked past him to the Patriarch. “There is one other matter, before you go, ser Knight.”
The Patriarch picked up the wrapped burden from the table, and offered it to Talen. The Knight drew back the covering, revealing the hilt of a longsword, its steel polished and brilliant, the hilt wrapped in aged and faded leather. The scabbard was brand new, but Talen could tell that the weapon itself was far older.
“You go forth into darkness, knight, but with this sword, you will carry with you the light of the day.”
Talen drew the blade, the steel singing slightly as it hissed out of the scabbard. Talen could see the sigil of the burning torch etched into the flawless steel of the blade. The balance was perfect.
“A fine weapon,” Talen said to the priest. “I will endeavor to earn the honor you have bestowed upon me.”
“The sword’s name is Beatus Incendia, the priest said. “Speak it aloud, knight.”
Talen nodded, and held up the sword. ”Beatus Incendia!” he said. The name meant blessed fire in the old tongue, and the words felt... right, as he said them.
The sword responded. As everyone in the room watched in amazement, the sword erupted into brilliant white flames, blazing up the length of the steel, filling the room with a pure, holy light.
“Go forth, my son, and bring light into the darkness,” the Patriarch said, laying a hand upon Talen’s forehead, blessing him. When Talen sheathed the blade, the flames died, and the room darkened, but something of that light shone in the knight’s eyes, and when he left the room, those same gathered men and women who had looked past him before stared, and wondered at what had changed.
* * * * *
Author’s Note: Beatus Incendia is a +1 holy flaming longsword.
THE SUMMONS
Talen Karedes’s bootsteps and the accompanying clatter of metal echoed loudly off the bare marble walls of the Ducal Palace as he made his way in a hurry toward his summons. Even clad in his heavy plate armor, he moved quickly, forcing the page on his right to hustle to keep up.
Even the guards at the double doors ahead didn’t slow him down; they heard him coming even before he rounded the last bend in the corridor, and one held the door open for him, offering a clipped salute that he returned with a crisp nod.
There were others in the anteroom, men and women that Talen did not recognize. Their professions were obvious from their garb; armored knights, and officers from both the Ducal Guard and the First Legion. Priests of the Shining Father. Guild mages. Even a rail-thin monk from the Order of Tranquility, one of the rare monastic orders in Camar that followed the teachings of the ancient masters from Drusia across the sea. Only the monk met his gaze for more than a few heartbeats, the man nodding slightly as Talen crossed the room to the far door. It stood slightly open, but there were no more guards or pages warding the entry.
No one emerged to greet him, but a voice drifted out from inside. “Ah, Talen, finally. Come inside.”
The first of Camar’s Dragon Knights obeyed. The conference room looked... larger that it had last time he’d been in here. Of course, that time it had been occupied by a raging melee, and by a fiend so large that its head had brushed the ceiling fifteen feet above when it had leapt to attack.
Some of the decorations had been changed, the blood- and fire-stained tapestries and carpets replaced, but the great marble table in the middle of the room was still there. The room’s occupants were gathered around it. “Shut the door behind you,” Tiros said, turning back to the map spread out over the edge of the table.
Talen secured the door and came over to join Tiros and the others. He nodded to the Patriarch, who returned the gesture with a piercing look that made Talen uneasy. The high priest stood at Tiros’s right, standing protectively over a bundle that had been laid upon the end of the table, wrapped in heavy white cloth. Honoratius was not present, but there was a woman mage on the marshal’s other side. She seemed barely past her teens, too young to be attending a meeting of this importance, but when her eyes brushed Talen’s, he was surprised to see a stare that reminded him instantly of the old archmage. The other two men at the table wore the uniforms of Camarian general officers, but Talen did not recognize either of them by sight.
Sorcery, the knight thought to himself, moving close enough to the table to see the map, without crowding the others there. Black markers had been put on it, indicating places far to the south of the city. From their position, Talen suspected why he was here, and even though a certain notorious locale had not been specifically marked, he felt a cold chill of anticipation clench in his gut.
Tiros saw that he had recognized it, and nodded. “It’s starting.”
“What’s the situation?”
The Patriarch turned to him and pointed at the black marks on the map. “In the last four days, undead have attacked isolated settlements at these locations,” the high priest reported. “Approximately three hundred citizens have been killed, or are missing. The survivors are moving north, converging on Highbluff.”
“What do we know about the enemy forces?” Talen asked.
The woman mage looked at him. Her voice was as youthful as her body, but again something in it reminded him of Honoratius. “The attacks appear to be random, uncoordinated, at first glance,” she said. “But that is a false impression, deliberately cultivated. The enemy force includes skeletons, zombies, ghouls, ghasts, shadows, and wraiths. Their leaders are protected from scrying magic, but we have seen human priests in their company.”
“Followers of Orcus,” Talen said.
The young woman nodded. “They are not wearing obvious identifiers, but that is our assumption as well. They appear to be taking captives where possible, which are borne south. We lose track of them in this region,” she said, pointing out a spot on the map with a long black wand.
Talen didn’t need to look. “Rappan Athuk. What is the total enemy strength?”
For the first time, the woman looked slightly uncertain. “They are masking their presence with magic, making it difficult to track them with precision. But our best estimate is that there are between four and six hundred corporeal undead in all, scattered across a broad front, sweeping up settlements as they come.”
“What about the shadows, and the wraiths?”
“We are not certain,” the Patriarch said. “And that is very dangerous. Those undead cannot abide the light of the sun, but the poor weather aids them, and they can take shelter underground during the day in any case. All of the reports of attacks from such beings have taken place at night.”
Talen remembered the wraiths that had drained the life from one of his men under the Well, and could not repress a shudder.
“We must respond to this attack with all the strength we can muster,” Tiros said. “But this attack has come at the worst possible time. More than half our available forces are stuck in the north, at Dalemar. The First is out of position on the western frontier, even if they were at full strength and ready to move.”
“Two centuries will be ready to move on your order on six hours’ notice,” one of the generals said. Talen saw that his lower lip trembled slightly as he spoke, but said nothing.
“That notice has already been sent, General Darius,” Tiros said. “But even if they can make their way down the Nalos most of the way, a far from certain prospect, it will take the better part of two weeks before they could possibly reach Highbluff.”
“What about Dar?” Talen asked.
“The Border Legion is already en route to Highbluff,” Tiros responded. “They should be there in six days, at the outset.”
“By then, the matter may already be decided, for good or for ill,” the Patriarch said. “If the enemy falls back, they give us a chance to consolidate our forces, and strike a decisive blow. But if they continue moving forward, they have a good chance of overrunning those fleeing from the destroyed settlements, and from the other communities scattered between Highbluff and the enemy.”
Talen looked at the map. Even riding hard, changing horses along the way, it would take men riding from Camar at least four days to reach Highbluff. An army on foot would take longer, even force marched. And if the roads were crowded with refugees, desperate for escape... “What forces can we gather here?” Talen asked.
“We have the Guild, the church of the Father, and we have the Guard,” Tiros said. He looked up to the second of the general officers, a lean figure who barely filled out the new uniform, with skin the texture of old leather. “Commander?”
“The Guard stands ready to provide whatever is required,” the man said. As soon as he spoke, Talen recognized the man; that rasping, gravelly voice could only belong to Doran Pravos, the man that Tiros had tapped to serve as the new head of the old Ducal Guard. Pravos had injured his throat fighting on the shield wall at Ravenford, at the same battle where Tiros had won the Golden Starburst for Valor twenty-two years ago. During the Duke’s reign he’d been banished to one of the farthest outposts on the barbarian frontier to the north, but he’d already accomplished a great deal since his return, purging the Guard of those who had hied too closely to the philosophies and manners of the late Duke. Pravos had begun a new recruitment program to restore the strength of the city’s defense force, but that work had yet to come to full fruition, and likely would not for months, if not a year or two. “Three hundred can ride south on the hour, with gear and train to follow.”
“It would not be wise to send the entire available force,” the Patriarch noted. “There will be a panic in the city, as word spreads.”
“We must find a way to delay them,” Talen said. “To give those fleeing time to reach Highbluff, and for reinforcements to arrive to help prepare the defenses. He looked at the map, his eyes drawn to a point that had already been marked with a thin “X”. Alderford, the map legend indicating that the place was barely a village, situated on a natural crossing across the Silver River. Talen knew that the “river” was barely more than a wide stream, barely fifty yards across, certainly no obstacle to enemies that did not need to breathe. But it could hold up those fleeing, especially if the recent storms had swollen the normally quiet stream into a fast-moving torrent.
Tiros saw his gaze and nodded. “If we can hold the road there, we can give those fleeing a chance to get out.”
“How quickly, and how many?” Talen asked.
Tiros looked to the young mage, who sighed. “Teleportation magic is a great strain, marshal. But I have already scried the village, and I can move a small party there. Fifteen individuals in all.”
“Fifteen?” Pravos said, turning to Tiros. “With all due respect, sir, that’s a suicide mission.”
“I’m not sending anyone to die,” Tiros said. “This is a fighting rearguard, a delaying action. And it will be volunteers only—”
“I volunteer to go,” Talen interrupted. “And while Shay always makes me pay when I speak for her, I know she’ll kill me if I go without her, so that’s two.”
“You will need the light of the Shining Father to have any chance at all,” the Patriarch said. “I will ask my priests, and am certain that I can secure up to a half-dozen blessed by the Father to accompany you.”
“I know of good men who will serve,” Pravos said.
“As do I,” Talen said. “The order of the Dragon Knights may be new, but it stands ready to defend the people of Camar.”
“What of the Guild?” Tiros asked.
The woman-who-was-not met the marshal’s gaze squarely. “After Zosimos, the enthusiasm of my peers may not be great,” she said. “But I will ask.”
Tiros turned back to Talen. “When can you be ready?”
Talen glanced at the nearest window. “It’ll be dark in about two hours... we’d better be ready before then.”
Tiros nodded. Talen saluted, then started to leave, but paused as Tiros caught his eye, then looked past him to the Patriarch. “There is one other matter, before you go, ser Knight.”
The Patriarch picked up the wrapped burden from the table, and offered it to Talen. The Knight drew back the covering, revealing the hilt of a longsword, its steel polished and brilliant, the hilt wrapped in aged and faded leather. The scabbard was brand new, but Talen could tell that the weapon itself was far older.
“You go forth into darkness, knight, but with this sword, you will carry with you the light of the day.”
Talen drew the blade, the steel singing slightly as it hissed out of the scabbard. Talen could see the sigil of the burning torch etched into the flawless steel of the blade. The balance was perfect.
“A fine weapon,” Talen said to the priest. “I will endeavor to earn the honor you have bestowed upon me.”
“The sword’s name is Beatus Incendia, the priest said. “Speak it aloud, knight.”
Talen nodded, and held up the sword. ”Beatus Incendia!” he said. The name meant blessed fire in the old tongue, and the words felt... right, as he said them.
The sword responded. As everyone in the room watched in amazement, the sword erupted into brilliant white flames, blazing up the length of the steel, filling the room with a pure, holy light.
“Go forth, my son, and bring light into the darkness,” the Patriarch said, laying a hand upon Talen’s forehead, blessing him. When Talen sheathed the blade, the flames died, and the room darkened, but something of that light shone in the knight’s eyes, and when he left the room, those same gathered men and women who had looked past him before stared, and wondered at what had changed.
* * * * *
Author’s Note: Beatus Incendia is a +1 holy flaming longsword.
Ghostknight
First Post
+1 holy flaming longsword... Heh, anyone remember a really old adventure (1st edition AD&D days) out of Dragon magazine and Fedifensor, the +1 Holy, flaming INTELLIGENT longsword? Ahh, my paladin loved that sword...
Jon Potter
First Post
Ghostknight said:
I remember it. The only problem is having to fight your way through a fortress full of githyanki to get the thing.
Actually, depending on some player choices, a converted version of that scenario (and the titular sword) will feature into my campaign.
Sorry, for the small threadjack, LB.
Ghostknight
First Post
Heh- its funny, I went searching and found the stats for fedifensor- and boy did I have the stats wrong! That thing was an intelligent +5 Holy avenger! Dunno why I remebered it as amere + flaming longsword- ,ethinks my dm at the time toned it down not to give 8th level characters a minor artifact! Sigh, DMS and game balance 
Lazybones
Adventurer
Ah, holy avengers... the "holy grail" of 1e. I could just imagine how a paladin would fare in this group, however. 
* * * * *
Chapter 122
THE FIFTEEN
Night was descending swiftly upon the small village of Alderford. The tiny cottages of the village’s inhabitants stood empty, their owners having already fled in great haste across the adjacent river and north toward safer lands. Some of the homes had been looted by those who had come later, looking for food or valuables. A cart with a broken wheel stood turned on its side in the central commons, and a short distance away a dead animal lay in the long grass, surrounded by a cloud of flies.
On the crest of a low hill overlooking the village to the west, there was a shimmering in the air, and five individuals materialized out of nowhere. Talen stepped forward, Shay at his side, and looked out over the landscape. There were some people visible below; a party of about ten individuals was essaying the ford, and having great difficulty. Talen’s worries about the ford being swollen by the recent rains had been borne out. He’d passed this way several times before, and most times the river was a slow plane across the shallow ford, coming up to his knees. But the current was much faster, now, and the people trying to cross were caught in water up to their chests. They were trying to push a wagon piled high with possessions, pulled by two draft horses. The wagon had foundered, and the men and women around it were trying to get a rope set up to the far side the ford, to help pull it out.
Talen turned back to his group. Besides Shay, Allera was there, and Medelia, one of his young knights-in-training. And there was the woman wizard, who had teleported them here, and who was already preparing to return to Camar for the second group.
“Wait... where’s Galen?”
“He was on my right,” Medelia said. The woman wore a suit of blacksteel chainmail, with a longsword on her right side and a heavy steel shield painted with a gold dragon on her left.
“Wizard?” Talen asked.
“I brought five,” she said.
Talen looked at his companions, finally settling on Allera, who shook her head. “Talen, I’m sorry... I told him to remain behind.” The air around the healer’s left shoulder shimmered, and the faerie dragon Snaggletooth became visible, perched there. It let out a string of musical syllables, speaking in its own language—or Sylvan, maybe; Talen understood neither.
“Damn it, dragon, this is not some prank... this is a serious mission!”
The dragon flashed its teeth and let out a little roar of defiance.
“Talen, those people need help,” Shay said.
“Do you have any instructions, knight?” the wizard asked.
Talen bit off a curse. “Yes, have Galen come with the second group; bump one of the Guard armsmen. Shay, you and Medelia see what you can do to help the steaders. If necessary, they lose the wagon; it’s important that they keep moving.”
“Right,” the scout said, jogging down the hill with the other woman following behind.
Talen turned back to the wizard, but she had already vanished.
“I’m sorry, Talen,” Allera said.
“It’s not your fault,” Talen said. He looked at the dragon, which had taken flight, and which hovered a few paces above them. “Perhaps it can be of use... Can you ask it to scout out the approaches to the south?”
The dragon said something—clearly it had no difficulty understanding the knight—and flew off into the gathering twilight. To the south, the terrain grew more rugged, with more hills to the southwest, and a wedge of trees to the southeast that eventually grew into a small forest. Between them wound the road south, clear for the moment.
It was not long before the wizard reappeared with the next group of five. Three of them were members of Pravos’s Guard, like him veterans from the frontier, with experience both in combat and leadership. They were all of old Camarian stock, with fair skin, strong chins, and sandy blond hair; they might have been brothers, at first glance, although they were not in fact related. Their names were Sextus, Septimus, and Octavius. They were clad in simple but functional armor, chainmail with greaves covering the arms and legs for added protection. They carried swords and flanged maces, along with heavy winch-operated crossbows, and quickly took their bearings as they looked around their new surroundings.
Galen was with them this time, clad like Medelia, but with a battleaxe in place of a sword. The young knight claimed that the weapon had been in his family for eleven generations, but its edge was still razor-sharp, bolstered by ancient magic.
The last member of this group was a small man with ugly, uneven features, including a pudge nose and a wreckage of crooked and protruding teeth. He’d tried to grow a moustache and beard, but apparently could not be bothered to trim it properly, such that it seemed to go in every direction at once. That casual approach to his appearance seemed to extend to his hygiene as well. Attius reminded Talen of nothing more than a weasel, but he was a diviner, and since his magical talents might be essential to the success of his mission, the knight deferred to the man more than he might have otherwise.
“Galen, you and the others head down to the village, and select an appropriate building for use as a headquarters.”
“Commander, I can uthe my magic to sthcan the area, but I require peathe and quiet,” Attius said.
Talen repressed an urge to rub his temples. Even the man’s voice was nasally, and marked by a strong lisp to boot. But he only said, “Galen, ensure that the mage is set up, and that he has everything he needs.” The young knight nodded and saluted, and started down the hill with the others in tow.
Allera looked down at the village. “I should see if any of those steaders are injured.”
Talen nodded, and Allera departed, leaving him alone on the hilltop. He did not have to wait long for the last group, which materialized around the wizard. They quickly broke contact and spread out.
Four were clerics of the Shining Father, clad in armor rather than robes, armed with staves and crossbows and heavy maces. One stood out; Falfighar was one of the Little People, a gnome from the semi-autonomous province of Drasalia. The others were Braethan, a muscled Eremite bigger even than the armsmen, Serah, a young woman with short-cropped auburn hair, and Meaghan, a gray-haired woman still hale despite being well past fifty.
And the last, whom the clerics had moved away from as soon as they’d arrived, and who now stood alone, the evening breeze tugging at his cloak.
Talen was anything but happy about him being here. He’d shown up literally at the last minute, as the company had gathered in small private garden of the palace. As usual, Talen had no idea how he’d found out about the mission; he was just there.
He’d nearly refused to allow him to accompany them. But Talen was in command, and could not afford to ignore realities. And the truth of it was, Licinius Varo was stronger than any of the priests of the Father accompanying them, far stronger. And he had a particular facility in dealing with the undead, and the servants of Orcus.
Varo met his scrutiny with the same equanimity that had always driven Talen crazy. But now he turned from him, and regarded the other clerics.
“We are setting up a headquarters in the village below, and have people helping at the ford as well. Do what you need to do to get ready. We may be moving out at any moment.”
The clerics headed down the hill. Talen turned to the wizard, who’d remained, watching him.
“Can you not stay for a while longer?” he asked her. “We could use your help.”
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I have already presumed upon the owner of this body too long.” She started to turn away, but paused. “This will be a long night for you, knight of Camar.” Then she summoned her magic, and teleported away before he could respond.
Talen was left alone on the hilltop with Varo. The cleric regarded him silently. “Well, priest?” he asked.
“I think that the archmage’s words were true. It will be interesting, to see how you fare, in Dar’s absence,” the cleric said.
Talen felt a sudden surge of irrational anger. But before he could reply, Varo walked past him, starting down the hill, toward the bustle of activity that had already begun as the fifteen from Camar made their preparations to face the unliving army that was coming their way.
* * * * *
Chapter 122
THE FIFTEEN
Night was descending swiftly upon the small village of Alderford. The tiny cottages of the village’s inhabitants stood empty, their owners having already fled in great haste across the adjacent river and north toward safer lands. Some of the homes had been looted by those who had come later, looking for food or valuables. A cart with a broken wheel stood turned on its side in the central commons, and a short distance away a dead animal lay in the long grass, surrounded by a cloud of flies.
On the crest of a low hill overlooking the village to the west, there was a shimmering in the air, and five individuals materialized out of nowhere. Talen stepped forward, Shay at his side, and looked out over the landscape. There were some people visible below; a party of about ten individuals was essaying the ford, and having great difficulty. Talen’s worries about the ford being swollen by the recent rains had been borne out. He’d passed this way several times before, and most times the river was a slow plane across the shallow ford, coming up to his knees. But the current was much faster, now, and the people trying to cross were caught in water up to their chests. They were trying to push a wagon piled high with possessions, pulled by two draft horses. The wagon had foundered, and the men and women around it were trying to get a rope set up to the far side the ford, to help pull it out.
Talen turned back to his group. Besides Shay, Allera was there, and Medelia, one of his young knights-in-training. And there was the woman wizard, who had teleported them here, and who was already preparing to return to Camar for the second group.
“Wait... where’s Galen?”
“He was on my right,” Medelia said. The woman wore a suit of blacksteel chainmail, with a longsword on her right side and a heavy steel shield painted with a gold dragon on her left.
“Wizard?” Talen asked.
“I brought five,” she said.
Talen looked at his companions, finally settling on Allera, who shook her head. “Talen, I’m sorry... I told him to remain behind.” The air around the healer’s left shoulder shimmered, and the faerie dragon Snaggletooth became visible, perched there. It let out a string of musical syllables, speaking in its own language—or Sylvan, maybe; Talen understood neither.
“Damn it, dragon, this is not some prank... this is a serious mission!”
The dragon flashed its teeth and let out a little roar of defiance.
“Talen, those people need help,” Shay said.
“Do you have any instructions, knight?” the wizard asked.
Talen bit off a curse. “Yes, have Galen come with the second group; bump one of the Guard armsmen. Shay, you and Medelia see what you can do to help the steaders. If necessary, they lose the wagon; it’s important that they keep moving.”
“Right,” the scout said, jogging down the hill with the other woman following behind.
Talen turned back to the wizard, but she had already vanished.
“I’m sorry, Talen,” Allera said.
“It’s not your fault,” Talen said. He looked at the dragon, which had taken flight, and which hovered a few paces above them. “Perhaps it can be of use... Can you ask it to scout out the approaches to the south?”
The dragon said something—clearly it had no difficulty understanding the knight—and flew off into the gathering twilight. To the south, the terrain grew more rugged, with more hills to the southwest, and a wedge of trees to the southeast that eventually grew into a small forest. Between them wound the road south, clear for the moment.
It was not long before the wizard reappeared with the next group of five. Three of them were members of Pravos’s Guard, like him veterans from the frontier, with experience both in combat and leadership. They were all of old Camarian stock, with fair skin, strong chins, and sandy blond hair; they might have been brothers, at first glance, although they were not in fact related. Their names were Sextus, Septimus, and Octavius. They were clad in simple but functional armor, chainmail with greaves covering the arms and legs for added protection. They carried swords and flanged maces, along with heavy winch-operated crossbows, and quickly took their bearings as they looked around their new surroundings.
Galen was with them this time, clad like Medelia, but with a battleaxe in place of a sword. The young knight claimed that the weapon had been in his family for eleven generations, but its edge was still razor-sharp, bolstered by ancient magic.
The last member of this group was a small man with ugly, uneven features, including a pudge nose and a wreckage of crooked and protruding teeth. He’d tried to grow a moustache and beard, but apparently could not be bothered to trim it properly, such that it seemed to go in every direction at once. That casual approach to his appearance seemed to extend to his hygiene as well. Attius reminded Talen of nothing more than a weasel, but he was a diviner, and since his magical talents might be essential to the success of his mission, the knight deferred to the man more than he might have otherwise.
“Galen, you and the others head down to the village, and select an appropriate building for use as a headquarters.”
“Commander, I can uthe my magic to sthcan the area, but I require peathe and quiet,” Attius said.
Talen repressed an urge to rub his temples. Even the man’s voice was nasally, and marked by a strong lisp to boot. But he only said, “Galen, ensure that the mage is set up, and that he has everything he needs.” The young knight nodded and saluted, and started down the hill with the others in tow.
Allera looked down at the village. “I should see if any of those steaders are injured.”
Talen nodded, and Allera departed, leaving him alone on the hilltop. He did not have to wait long for the last group, which materialized around the wizard. They quickly broke contact and spread out.
Four were clerics of the Shining Father, clad in armor rather than robes, armed with staves and crossbows and heavy maces. One stood out; Falfighar was one of the Little People, a gnome from the semi-autonomous province of Drasalia. The others were Braethan, a muscled Eremite bigger even than the armsmen, Serah, a young woman with short-cropped auburn hair, and Meaghan, a gray-haired woman still hale despite being well past fifty.
And the last, whom the clerics had moved away from as soon as they’d arrived, and who now stood alone, the evening breeze tugging at his cloak.
Talen was anything but happy about him being here. He’d shown up literally at the last minute, as the company had gathered in small private garden of the palace. As usual, Talen had no idea how he’d found out about the mission; he was just there.
He’d nearly refused to allow him to accompany them. But Talen was in command, and could not afford to ignore realities. And the truth of it was, Licinius Varo was stronger than any of the priests of the Father accompanying them, far stronger. And he had a particular facility in dealing with the undead, and the servants of Orcus.
Varo met his scrutiny with the same equanimity that had always driven Talen crazy. But now he turned from him, and regarded the other clerics.
“We are setting up a headquarters in the village below, and have people helping at the ford as well. Do what you need to do to get ready. We may be moving out at any moment.”
The clerics headed down the hill. Talen turned to the wizard, who’d remained, watching him.
“Can you not stay for a while longer?” he asked her. “We could use your help.”
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I have already presumed upon the owner of this body too long.” She started to turn away, but paused. “This will be a long night for you, knight of Camar.” Then she summoned her magic, and teleported away before he could respond.
Talen was left alone on the hilltop with Varo. The cleric regarded him silently. “Well, priest?” he asked.
“I think that the archmage’s words were true. It will be interesting, to see how you fare, in Dar’s absence,” the cleric said.
Talen felt a sudden surge of irrational anger. But before he could reply, Varo walked past him, starting down the hill, toward the bustle of activity that had already begun as the fifteen from Camar made their preparations to face the unliving army that was coming their way.
Ghostknight
First Post
Trust Lucius to pop up unexpectedly- gotta love evil high priests that you gotta work with to stop a greater evil- or so you think. Me, I think ol' Lucius has his own plans afoot...
CrusadeDave
First Post
Mmmmmm
Come get some.
Come get some.
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