And now...It was near dark before Diesa stirred from her place by Ulfgar's body.
"We will bury him now," she said hoarsely. It was not a suggestion. It was a command.
"Its...err...its getting dark," Mathonwy said, somewhat timidly. "Do you think we have time to build a cairn...we have to make camp, and..."
Diesa pierced him with such a baleful, bloodshot glare that he gulped and fell silent.
So a cairn it was. Grunting and sweating, Math carried a pair of 60 pound rocks under each arm, while Diesa used her pick to break up the boulders around them. Mathonwy pitched in as well, rolling boulders down the slope to where Ulfgar lay. Even Nystyra pitched in, although it was making a shambles of even her tough, wool-and-leather travelling dress. Eliad attempted to move a small stone, gave up, sat down, and then jumped up and began working again when Diesa gave him a sharp rap with the flat side of her pick.
Nystyra was fuming at Diesa's high-handed treatment of them, but she supposed she would react much the same way to the death of a comrade. Math and Mathowy were also angry, though they took pains not to show it, Nystyra could see them muttering under their breath. Eliad was far too cheerful to be angry. Ever.
It was dusk by the time the cairn was finished. Math and Mathonwy gently placed Ulfgar's body inside, then hoisted a capstone onto the cairn. Diesa changed her robes to a priestly black, and passing her stone-carved holy symbol over the cairn, chanted a warrior's death-song in Dwarven. Everyone stood around the cairn and listened to Diesa's prayer. Though they could not understand the words of the hymn, they could feel the weight of sorrow behind it. Nystyra saw a tear coursing down Math's stubbly cheek, and even Eliad fell silent, the smile gone from him face for once in his life.
When the prayer ended, Diesa changed back into her travel-stained clothes and chain shirt, but lingered by the grave while the Elfblood Wanderers began unpacking their gear to make camp.
"Good-bye, Ulfgar," she said softly. Then she shoudlered her pick and strode over to where the Wanderers were setting bedrolls and gathering firewood.
"We will not camp," she said decisively. "We move on."
"What?" all the Wanderers said at once. They didn't mind terribly helping to bury Diesa's dead friend, but what was the point in trying to track him in the dark? He was dead and buried, which Mathonwy - not unkindly - pointed out.
"We must find his killers," Diesa replied.
"How d'yer expect me to track them in the dark?" Math rasped.
"I can see in the dark," Diesa said smugly.
"That's lovely. I can't," the Druid growled back.
"Light a candle, then. We must find Ulfgar's killers. Not only do they richly deserve Dwarven justice, but they have taken Smedir," Diesa replied brusquely.
"Diesa, this has gone far enough. We didn't mind helping you find Ulfgar, and we didn't complain when you told us to build a cairn instead of make camp, but we can't track his killers in the dark. The trail will wait," Nystyra said. As de facto leader of the Elfblood Wanderers, she decided to put her foot down. After saying her piece, she strode off to her bedroll. Math and Mathonwy gratefully followed. Eliad also went to his bedroll, but not without giving an apologetic look to Diesa.
Muttering furiously to herself, Diesa shouldered her pick and strode off into the night.
The next morning, she was back in camp, sitting by the fire.
"I thought you were going to hunt down Ulfgar's killers?" Nystyra said.
Diesa mumbled something to the effect that she couldn't find them, looking very embarrassed. Because Diesa had a somewhat prickly attitude, and because Ulfgar's death had only made her even more prickly, Nystyra wisely didn't bait her any further.
Meanwhile, Math, Mathonwy, Silvercoat, and Quickfeather returned, Silvercoat with a dead pheasant clutched in her mouth, and Quickfeather with a squirrel in her beak. Eliad, brandishing an enormous butcher's knife almost taller than he was, skinned and plucked the game, and then set them on spits to roast. After much prodding, Eliad finally convinced Diesa to share the small keg of Dwarven mead she had brought with her, and Math produced a flask of Fire Brandy, a strong drink made from distilled apples and pears, spiced very strongly. Then Eliad revealed his hidden talents as a cook.
Breakfast was a hurried meal of sausages, eggs, and pheasant, washed down with Fire Brandy or Dwarven mead. Diesa, though no longer quite so anxious to break camp this time, was still impatient, and Silvercoat paced around and around the cairn, trying to find the trail, while Math carefully examined the rocky ground with a sausage in one hand and a mug of Fire Brandy in the other.
Math had warned that the trail would be old, and it was. Try as she might, Silvercoat could not pick up a scent. However, he found some scuffed-up rocks and a single footprint leading away north, and that was enough for him.
There was no running after Silvercoat this time, for Math proceeded at a slow and deliberate pace, examining every imprint in the ground, every scuffed rock, and every crushed twig. Once he got lucky and found a red-fletched arrow, like the one that the Ulfgar's killers had used, lying by the side of the trail, apparently having fallen out of a quiver.
So on and on they trekked. And on and on some more. Math was truly a superb tracker. At one point, all they had to go on was a single crushed blade of grass, but Math didn't even lose the trail then, and they found another red-fletched arrow a little further on.
So this thin little trail led them to the shadow of the Pillars of the Sky. And then there they were, crouched in a small copse, watching an old ruin of a holding, flying a pure red banner.
"Psst! Miss Nystyra!" Eliad called. He had been scouting the holdfast, using Gnomic cunning and stealth. "It's an old ruin, but it's still got walls. The gate an' drawbridge are both open, an' there's three or four scruffy men in the gatehouse. There isn't too many of the bandits, though. I dinna think this'll be much trouble. Come here now, slow and silent-like, that's the way..."
The former castle was so overgrown with shrubbery, small trees, and creepers that they had no difficulty creeping up to the drawbridge, within bowshot of the gatehouse. Eliad loaded his crossbow and took careful aim. Mathonwy and Math had come to the conclusion that they could beseech the vines for help if the enemy came out, using an entangling spell. Eliad waited a moment, and then his finger twitched on the trigger. The man at the gatehouse window suddenly clawed at the quarrel in his eye. Nystyra drew a bead on the second head to show itself at the arrow slit, but her arrow skipped harmlessly off the left side of the slit and shattered on the stone wall.
Then, there was the sound of shouting from inside the gatehouse. Throwing caution to the winds, Diesa hefted her war pick and charged through the open gate. Math and Mathonwy followed, as did Nystyra, but Eliad took a different path. Replacing his crossbow on his back, he began to climb the crumbling stone walls of the gatehouse, taking advantage of the ivy that enveloped the wall.
While Diesa and the Druids took the stairs up to the gatehouse, Nystyra waited with her bow bent in the shadow of the portcullis. Eliad had by now reached the arrow slits, and seemed to be considering how best to make his entrance
when an arm, a hand, and a spear thrust out of one of the arrow slits and nicked him on the shoulder. Nystyra fired again, this time hitting the hand that held the spear. The hand and spear withdrew, and she could hear a muffled curse from inside the gatehouse.
However, distracted by the nick to the shoulder, Eliad missed a handhold and fell. Nystyra caught her breath in alarm, but then, from inside the gatehouse, she could hear Mathonwy's voice chanting a spell. The ivy vines suddenly came alive and snatched Eliad out of midair, then lifting him up and onto the roof. Which immediately collapsed under his light weight. Fortune favors the fools, Nystyra thought. Now Nystyra, seeing Eliad was safe, hurried up the stairs into the gatehouse.
Pushing her way through the half-demolished door, a scene of chaos met her eyes. Math was beset by three sides, and Silvercoat was covering his back. Mathonwy was trying to hold back a scruffy-looking spearman with his sling while Quickfeather darted around the room, clawing at everyone's eyes with her talons. Diesa had just killed a man and was in the process of killing another, and Eliad was running around the edge of the room, pursued by a burly man with a rusted sword. Nystyra, summoning up the magic of her Coal, Commanded Eliad's assailant to die, and the man sprawled to the floor in a coma. Instead of thanking her, Eliad squeaked "Behind ye, Miss Nystyra!"
Nystyra was still puzzling over that when a rusty axe traced a bloody line down her back. Eliad darted a crossbow bolt over her head, nicking her assailant in the axe arm, which failed to stop him at all. So he tried a different tack.
"PUT ME DOWN, B*TCH!" ordered the axe-man's axe. The man stared at it suspiciously, giving Nystyra a chance to call to mind another spell. In her mind, she pictured her request to the Coal, and recited the incantation that she remembered from her book. A wave of magic which she - and nobody else - could see clearly as a pulse of bright, red light, veined with the smoky blackness of an enchantment, rolled forth from the Coal, striking the axe-man squarely. His eyes suddenly popped out of his head as he stared at something fearsome that only he could see. His face blanched, his jaw dropped, his axe dropped, and he turned to hurry down the stairs, only to be blocked by his companion axeman. Pushing and clawing, the victim of Nystyra's fear enchantment tried to push past his comrade, who was trying to push his way through to get to Nystyra. Finally the axeman got tired of his frightened comrade, and, with one stroke of his own axe, cut him down.
"Yer a pretty wench, aren't ya?" the axeman said, eyeing Nystyra lecherously as he advanced lazily toward her. Nystyra began wishing her travelling dresses had higher necklines. She risked a glance backwards. There was no one to help but herself. Darting backwards to giver herself room, she cast another fear enchantment at the man, but
It had no effect. Apparently he was more strong-willed than his comrade. She would need a different spell now, a killing spell, not merely an enchantment. Adrin had taught only one such spell, and he had told her to use it only in the extremest need. She closed her eyes and began concentrating. She opened her mouth to say the incantation, but her assailant lashed out with his axe, gashing her arm. Concentration rudely broken, she stumbled backwards, holding her wounded arm.
"Now don't be tryin' yer witchy tricks, slut," her attacker said. "Just come along nice and slow like, an' don't make me use this again." He brandished his axe. "I figger I think o' somethin' ta do with yer," he said, grabbing his crotch and grinning.
It was do or die, Nystyra thought. She clutched her Coal once more and began the incantation. When the man lashed out again, it wasn't with his axe. He grabbed her dress roughly, and she felt his hands grabbing for her bodice as she finished the incantation. For a second or two, nothing happened. Then, there was a roaring like a fire, and gout of flame burst out her fingertips. He screamed and jumped away as the fire washed over him. His clothes and hair ignited. Nystyra could smell the awful stench of burning flesh. The man, now little more than a human bonfire, finally collapsed into a charred heap. Nystyra retched at the smell of charred flesh. Now she could tell why Adrin hated to use spells like that.
Turning around, she saw that her companions had dealt with their respective foes, though not without cost; Eliad was somewhat battered, Diesa was bleeding from a head wound, and Math dripped blood from a dozen wounds. One of the brigands had gotten away, however, and they decided that they did not have the time to patch each other up, although the Druids and Diesa did use what healing magic they had (not nearly enough).
Three-quarters of the bandit-occupied castle lay in ruins; one quarter, and the dungeons, was still in use. The next room the Wanderers and Diesa came upon was small room, a guardroom of some sort. When Math burnt down the door with ancient Druidic magic, they surprised three men, all wearing red armbands. Two were gambling and dicing, the third was drinking ale in a corner. They stared stupidly as the Wanderers strode in, led by Diesa, with a killing fury apparent in her eyes. None of them had weapons on except belt knives, although there was a spear leaning on the wall next to the drunkard. He lept up and made a grab for it, but Nystyra, grasping the Coal in its casket, chanted an incantation that sounded like a lullaby, and, waving her hand in slow lines back and forth, as though she were weaving a net, set out a wave of gentle, almost peaceful magic from her Coal. The two gamblers fell, but the spearman charged Nystyra. He recieved a javelin (from Math), a crossbow quarrel, a slingstone, and a taste of Dwarven holy magic for his troubles. When he fell, Diesa stooped down beside the sleeping men and raised her pick.
"What are you doing?" Nystyra asked, though she had a pretty good idea.
"They are Ulfgar's killers. They deserve death," Diesa shot back. The pick began its deadly descent, arcing toward the first sleeper's forehead.
"Are you a healer?" Nystyra asked pointedly. "Or are you a killer?"
The pick stopped, inches from the sleeper's forehead.
"What would Freya, the Mother of Dwarves, think?" Nystyra asked, pressing her advantage relentlessly. Nystyra could see the turmoil on Diesa's face as she tried to sort through the situation. Finally, she stood up and walked out the doorway.
"Come, let us go," she said shortly. As they left the room, Nystyra saw Silvercoat snap the sleeper's throats. So much for that, she thought wryly.
Very few rooms in the ruin were in use, except for the armory (the armorer promptly surrendered), and the great hall, whose doors they were outside of at the moment.
Both Nystyra and Mathonwy called up spells to mind. Math wound up and took a swing at the door with his club. Diesa did the same with her pick, and Eliad loaded his crossbow.
It all went like clockwork - for the first few moments. The burst open, and both Mathonwy and Nystyra began chanting their respective incantations. Eliad killed a man with a crossbow to the throat, Diesa and Math waded in swinging, aiming for a man sitting at the head of the table, dressed entirely in red, and Mathonwy and Nystyra's spells took effect without a hitch. Half a dozen of the brigands were cought by the spells, either falling asleep or finding themselves pinned to the table by the rushes on the floor when the rushes suddenly cam alive. Both Diesa and Math scored hits, but only minor ones. Then things got ugly.
Math took a spear in the belly. Dropping his club, he clutched at the spear and groaned in pain. Then he groaned again as he spun and caught another spear square in the chest. Mathonwy dropped his sling, pulled out his healer's kit, and rushed over to his brother. Diesa was fighting for all she was worth, trying to keep a pair of men with daggers and maces from finishing off Math, and Nystyra and Eliad were trying to fend off a a swordsman and a spearman.
The man in red, the leader, was working the lock on a small door behind his great wooden chair. Nystyra drew a bead on him, shot, and missed.
Things were looking very grim indeed when they heard two very welcome sounds: an eagle's shriek and a wolf's howl. The animals, who presumably had been putting the three bodies the Wanderers had left behind in the guardroom to good use (as meals), had joined the fight. Quickfeather stooped down from the rafters and raked a man in the face, and while the man was blinded by his own blood, Silvercoat clamped onto his leg and began chewing.
When his companion turned to see his grisly fate, he, too, fell, this one to Diesa's pick. When Eliad's two opponents saw the bloody-jawed Silvercoat and the eagle who had torn a man's eyes out, they ran. By this time, the man in red had fled.
Diesa, Eliad, and Nystyra gave pursuit. They were promptly stopped by the door, which was locked firmly. While Eliad was working the lock, Nystyra watched as a slot creaked open in the door and a crossbow poked out. Eliad, concentrating on the lock, didn't notice at all.
Time, for Nystyra, seemed to slow down. She stared at the crossbow for an eternity, and then began running forward, toward Eliad. So slow, so slow! She was shouting, and she was far too late. There was a click and a hum as the quarrel shot out of the crossbow. Then there was a meaty thump as the bolt landed in Eliad's chest. He staggered, lockpicks falling out of his hands as he clutched at the spreading red stain on his chest. He looked at Nystyra, confused and bewildered.
"...sharp..." he mumbled, and fell.
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Next Installment coming soon...does anyone grieve over Eliad?
