Issue #17: Interludes and Intermissions - Episode 6 of 13
Novalia works her way to the north. At first, over the plains surrounding the Freehold, she finds it easy going, but as she reaches the hills, she begins to have trouble. There is no road, and as she reaches the summit of the ridge of hills, the going becomes very difficult. She works her way through broken ground, often having to scout for a path, or backtrack. She can’t push the horses too hard, at risk of injuring them.
She is about halfway through the journey, perhaps six hours travel, and past the summit of the hills, when she comes across a gruesome scene. Corpses litter the ground, dismembered and brutally butchered. Everything they once possessed has been smashed or broken and scattered on the bloody ground, even their weapons and armor. Holding her breath, she kneels down to examine the bodies more closely, but she can learn no more. She cannot figure out what attacked them, how many attackers there were, or even how many bodies she has found. She is unable to identify who the victims were, or what business might have brought them this far off of the roads.
Thus warned, she knocks an arrow to her bow, and rides quietly, alert to any sound in the bushes. She does not see any sign of humanity, nor of the unknown attacker, until at last she reaches the northern side of the hills, and can see the Veshian heartland spread out beneath her. She can see the silver band of the Hornswythe River to the north, and farms dot the countryside. A small village is nearby, and from it a dirt path leads down towards the river.
She follows the path until she comes down to the Lave-Southport road, which winds from northwest to southeast along the river’s edge. On the road, she begins to push the horses harder, switching between them frequently without stopping to rest. After the tenth hour of her journey, both the horses are too fatigued to continue further. They refuse all of her efforts, panting and lathered with exertion. Pragmatically, she gathers all of her things from the saddlebags, removes their saddles and harness setting those on the ground, and abandons them.
She walks the final miles to Lave on foot, arriving after sunset. The gates to the city are closed, but she finds a room in a seedy farmer’s inn on the outskirts. It is a dismal, shabby place, and it strikes her as worth paying the extra for a private room; she offers an extra silver piece to be woken at first light. Stiff and saddle-sore, she retires to her room, where she summons Tanil’s healing to help overcome her fatigue before she goes to sleep.
The scruffy inn-keeper awakens Novalia at first light. It is the second Taniday of Madrer, and she offers a quick prayer to her patron, Tanil, thinking it a lucky omen that she begins her search on his day. After a quick meal in the commons, she sets out to explore the aqueduct system. Though Myrs’ had read that an enclave of the ratmen is hidden in a cave near one of the aqueducts, she doesn’t know which one.
She follows the first aqueduct she finds out of town to the northwest, keeping an eye out for any signs of the ratmen. After three hours of search, she is ready to conclude that she has the wrong aqueduct, but her patron provides luck on his day. Just as she is about to turn back, she espies rat-like tracks, as large as a man’s foot, leading away from the aqueduct.
She draws her bow, and follows the tracks. She moves as stealthily as she can, planting each step with care. The tracks lead into a small but thick wood. As she works her way into the foliage, something hard smashes against the side of her head. She falls to the ground, rolling onto her back.
The last thing she sees as darkness overcomes her are the muzzles of three ratmen standing over her.
The rest of us awaken at the tower on the morning of the second Taniday of Madrer. It is the 10th day of the month. Knowing that we are a mere half-day’s travel from Southport, where we plan to stay the night, we take our time packing, and enjoy a leisurely breakfast. Miriel’s cooking, which was good to begin with, has only improved as she grows more accustomed to cooking over a campfire instead of in the comfort of an inn’s kitchen.
We ride north on the road to Southport. As we’re traveling, we come across a grisly scene of our own. Several bodies lie just off the road, with one of them stretched across it. Dried blood is pooled on the grass next to them. They have been hacked apart, brutally, and it is tough to tell how many of them there are, or much about them.
Stone observes, “They’re human,” pointing at a head which, though severed, has been left mostly untouched.
Miriel shudders. “Yes, but that’s about all we can tell,” she says. Even the practiced healer looks very green about the gills; Telryn has stepped off the path to retch on the other side.
“It appears to be perhaps five different humans,” Goldpetal offers, squatting beside one of the bodies. The elf’s approach disturbs a cloud of flies. “Look. Their weapons have been sundered, and this appears to be the symbol of Vesh on their armor.”
“It might be a Veshian patrol that’s been slaughtered,” Miriel says, fingering the broach on one corpse’s leather tunic.
“That’s the militia emblem,” Paks observes, looking over her shoulder.
As they talk, Chuck has been studying the ground. He seems to be stepping precisely in the tracks of one of the combatants. Now he speaks: “It appears to have been a battle of one against five. The band of five were ambushed. They fought well, and bravely. Only the last one turned to run, at the very end. The victor attacked the others as though in a berserker rage, and then went off this way…” Chuck begins following the tracks away from the road. “…off into the woods.” He disappears into the woods.
“Hey Paks,” calls Telryn, whose curiosity has gotten the better of his nausea. He motions the warrior over to the body he is examining. “You’ve seen war. These look like clean cuts…”
Dorin interrupts. “Axe wounds, from a huge axe. I’m sure of it – I use one meself, and I’ve seen these kind of wounds before.”
Telryn nods. “They’ve been hacked up with an axe. Paks, why would he keep hacking them up after killing them?”
Paks looks at the corpses, shaking her head with pity in her eyes. “I haven’t seen anything like this,” she says.
“Do you feel any evil presence in the area?” Miriel asks Paks.
The warrior closes her eyes for a moment in concentration. “No, nothing,” she answers, “Though this is clearly an evil act.”
Just then, Chuck reappears out of the woods.
“Any luck?” asks Paks.
“No,” he says with a curt head shake. “I lost him. You’d think that heavy boots would be easier to follow, but if any spider webs have been broken, the spiders have rebuilt them since.”
Telryn, still looking a bit green around the gills, stands up from the body he was investigating and asks Chuck, “When did this take place?”
“I’d guess about two days ago.”
Miriel invokes Madriel to bless the souls of the departed, and we wait in respectful silence. When she is finished she says, “There’s little more we can do here. I suggest we move on.”
“No,” Paks says firmly. “We can’t just leave them. I want to bury them.”
Miriel looks impatient. “We have neither the tools nor the time,” she says.
Paks looks stubborn, but before she can reply, Telryn steps in. “There is plenty of wood at the forest edge,” he says. “It won’t take long to make a pyre.”
He quickly has agreement from both women, and we collect wood from the forest to make a pyre for the dead.
We arrive at the Laughing Ogre Inn in early afternoon. The people of Southport have heard about our rescue of Kratys Freehold, and we are cheered in the streets as we ride up to the Inn. Fox and his children meet us in the courtyard, clearly delighted to see us. The Inn, which had been fairly empty this early in the afternoon, is quickly full of people.
Fox gives us a round of beer and food, and everyone gathers around us, wanting to hear about our adventures. Saraya, the bard, starts singing a song she has written about the heroes of Kratys Freehold. It is well written, with a verse about each of us, and it sounds extremely heroic. There’s even a long part the treachery of Milo.
When he hears that part, Chuck laughs. “Word travels fast,” he says.
Miriel doesn’t join in the fun and cheers, instead eating rapidly. When Paks asks what the hurry is, she responds, “I have to go to the temple.”
“I want to go with you,” Paks tells her. They finish eating just as the song concludes, and walk out the door together.
In the inn, Saraya starts asking for details about our latest adventure. People seem to know that we were leaving Kratys Freehold to go into the swamp, and they keep asking questions about that trip. Between Stone and Chuck’s laconic answers, and Goldpetal’s natural reticence, it falls to Telryn to tell the tale, though the others help him muddy the story, especially Dorin, who is fond of lengthy sidebars.
All that any of them is willing to say about the standing stones is Goldpetal’s cryptic quote, that “They are no more.” The townspeople back off when they see we don't want to talk about it.
After Telryn finishes the story of the swamp for the second time, Saraya’s questions get more detailed. Fox is sitting there with his arm around Telryn, when Saraya asks, “So, Telryn, there’s one thing you’ve not explained. How did you happen to get teleported into the Freehold? Where had you been?”
“Oh, I’m sure it was just a teleport error,” he says. “I was in Lave, and went to see Delmeron…”
In a lightning move, as soon as he mentions that name, Fox draws a dagger. Before anyone can react, his blade is at Telryn's throat. The noisy common room hushes to utter silence. Fox growls, “What have you to do with Delmeron?” A drop of blood appears on the mage’s skin.
Telryn doesn’t flinch. “Fortunately, nothing,” he says, his voice firm and unyielding. “He teleported me wrong.”
“He's always interfering in my plans,” says Fox, “Twisting them to his own ends.”
“I assure you, I am not involved,” Telryn says. “My master is Loowys Strangeblood, in Mullis Town. He sent me to Lave to purchase a rare magical component.”
Fox looks Telryn in the eye, and seems to make a judgment to himself. “You don't seem to have the whiff of one of Delmeron's dogs,” he says, “But if I find that you are one of his spies, you are a dead man.” He removes the dagger from Telryn's throat, and re-sheathes it. The noise of conversation resumes, though at a hush, throughout the room.
“Have you arcane talents yourself, sir?” Telryn asks of the half-elf.
“I may have some talent in the arcane arts, but perhaps this is not the place to speak further. Come with me, let us adjourn to a private room. Saraya, play a lively tune, please,” Fox gets up, and walks with us to one of the back rooms of the first floor, a small chamber with a dining table, fire place, and two benches.
As we walk, Chuck whispers to Telryn, “Well done. Very smooth.”
We all seat ourselves in the private room, and Rian brings another round of drinks, shutting the door behind her to give us privacy. Fox tells us more about Delmeron. “Long ago,” he says, “Delmeron was one of my companions in adventure, along with Grilliam and others. When we first began, he seemed a staunch ally, but he turned to evil ways, and began studying the necromantic arts. We parted, with harsh words. Now, every time Grilliam and I do something, Delmeron is meddling in our schemes.
“I must warn you that Delmeron is a very evil, subtle and conniving wizard.”
“So I have learned,” Telryn says. “I can't match spells with him now, but someday there will be a reckoning.”
“There is no chance that your teleportation was an error. Delmeron is too good a wizard for that. He's up to something, I just don't know what. He's probably spying on the rest of you because of my support. I don't know how he learned of your band so soon.”
*laugh*
