Travels through the Wild West: Book IV

[Lazybones]

Reposting the chapters that I put up during the last few days...

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Book IV, Part 19

Dana managed to roll one more rock over the lip of the cliff ledge before she caught sight of the first white streak darting quickly up the final leg of the trail. She could just make out shadows moving a few switchbacks further down, and hoped that her efforts had at least delayed whatever orcs and ogres might be coming. She cast a final spell upon herself, a minor enchantment designed to enhance her movements, and as she felt the magic take hold she drew her kama and moved to the edge where the trail ended.

The winter wolf saw her, snarled, and released a blast of frost in her direction.

The young woman dodged nimbly back, grateful for her enhanced speed as she dodged back out of the path of the wolf’s breath weapon. If the large beast was fazed by the failure of its attack it didn’t show it, and it bounded up the final length of the trail to leap at Dana.

She was ready for it, her kama slicing a thin gash in its thick fur, but the wolf was even quicker to the attack. Its powerful jaws snapped at her, digging at her forearm even as she drew back her weapon. Dana was fast as well, though, and she was able to tear free before the wolf could get a firm grip on her, leaving several bloody gashes in her arm.

Another shadow reared up out of the night to her right, and Dana’s heart skipped a beat before she realized who it was. Jerral leapt up and charged into the wolf from behind, her axes tearing into its hindquarters with merciless force. The wolf let out a cry of pain as both attacks cut deep, and it shifted its attention from Dana to face this new and more dangerous adversary.

Back on the front lines, the companions were still hard-pressed by the raging ogre barbarians. Lok had suddenly gone cold, his next series of attacks uncharacteristically failing to penetrate the defenses of the pair of ogres facing him. Fortunately the ogres were having a similar difficulty, until another massive form loomed up out of the night, joining the melee.

The ogre leader faced Lok, and called upon the power of dark magics against the genasi. A familiar feeling of gut-wrenching fear fell upon the stalwart warrior, a whisper telling him to flee, to run! That same magic had claimed him once before, in a desperate battle on the Isle of Dread, and for a moment the genasi faltered…

But the feeling passed, and Lok fought on, fighting off the evil magic. His eyes blazed with anger as he rushed at his adversaries, shrugging off another blow that crushed into his side to bring his axe down into a powerful arc that slammed into the wounded ogre’s groin. The force of the blow knocked the ogre back bodily, and it fell with a loud crash to the ground in a bloody heap.

The ogre leader, however, stepped forward over the body to face him, a wickedly spiked flail dangling from its left hand.

Delem had not been idle on the far flank. The ogre that had fallen earlier during the charge had regained its footing, picking up its huge spear and rushing toward the sorcerer. Rather than try the foolish strategy of its predecessor, it simply hefted the spear over its head with both hands and tried to poke the human out of its cozy perch among the rocks. Fortunately Delem’s magic shield was still in effect, and it deflected the first thrust wide to crash harmlessly against the stone. Delem responded with a stream of fire, an Aganazzar’s scorcher that ravaged the ogre’s chest. The ogre roared out in pain but did not falter, thrusting again and again. Even with his magical protections, there was nowhere for Delem to escape to, and he felt a sudden pain as the edge of the ogre’s spear managed to penetrate his defenses and tear a gash along his side. The ogre roared in triumph—prematurely, as it turned out, as Delem launched a trio of magic missiles into its face that blasted it backwards. Once again it lost its footing and fell, and this time it did not get up.

Benzan dropped his bow and drew his sword as his two adversaries clambered awkwardly over the rocks to reach him. He ducked the swipe of the first ogre and darted inside its guard to thrust with his sword. The ogre, already wounded by three of his arrows, cried out as his blade stabbed deeply into its torso, and staggered, clutching at the wound. Benzan cursed as the ogre held onto his sword and managed to tear his weapon free only with a great effort. He finally pulled away and turned, knowing that danger was still nearby.

It was closer than he thought, as the second ogre grabbed onto him and hurled him out over the edge of the cliff into the blackness beyond.

Cal ducked and rolled as the ogre smashed his club into the ground where he’d been standing an instant before. The second ogre hurled a spear at him before he could even get his feet planted under him again, but luckily for him it glanced off the edge of his magical shield and flew harmlessly away into the night. Both ogres came at him, giving him barely an instant to defend himself… but that instant was enough, as he fired a color spray into their faces. Both ogres staggered, dazed by the brilliant display of lights.

Cal was already loading his crossbow with a giantbane bolt as they tried to recover.

Jerral grimaced as a blast of cold tore into her from point-blank range. The winter wolf had been hit hard by her and Dana’s attacks, but it fought on despite the serious gashes in its thick hide. Jerral was standing almost on the edge of the trail that wound down the face of the bluff, and she could sense rather than see the ogres and orcs that were making their way up from below.

And furthermore, the second winter wolf was still unaccounted for.

Dana was doing her best to distract the creature from behind, but her blows were having little effect on the creature. Jerral timed her next attack, waiting for the wolf to lunge at her again with those snapping jaws.

She didn’t have to wait long. As the wolf lunged, Jerral sidestepped and brought her battleaxe down in a smooth arc. If the wolf had been at full health, it might have dodged the blow, but in its already seriously injured condition it could not react to the attack in time. The blade bit deep into its neck, and a cracking noise accompanied the spray of blood as its momentum carried it forward over the lip of the cliff.

Numbed by the cold even through the protection provided by her magical boots, Jerral struggled to catch her breath even while she looked around for her dropped bow.

She hadn’t yet found it when a roar from behind marked the arrival of the first ogre at the top of the trail.

Lok fought on despite the pounding he’d taken. He still faced a slightly injured ogre barbarian as well as the shaman leader, both of which seemed intent on bashing him until even his considerable fortitude failed him. He focused his efforts on the leader, who was already somewhat injured, though he was wary of that deadly flail.

His concern was proven true a moment later when the ogre swept the flail around in a massive arc, striking his shield hard enough to send tendrils of pain up his arm into his shoulder. Either the thing was just naturally strong, or it had enhanced its strength in some magical fashion. Lok countered with a powerful flurry of attacks, scoring one hit on the ogre’s tree-trunk thick leg. Blood from both combatants slicked the muddy rocks around their feet, yet both fought on.

Cal was rewarded with a mighty thump as the enchanted bolt slammed deep into the chest of the first ogre. The beast, already injured by one of Delem’s fireballs and by Cal’s shocking grasp, took one last step forward before collapsing. Its friend managed a surprised look at the body, and another at the gnome, before its face twisted in fury and it charged, axe raised high above its head.

It didn’t falter when a stream of flames from Delem’s fingers washed over its body, but it sure did yell.

Jerral turned in time to see the ogre coming at her, a mace as tall as she was clutched in its hands. It staggered, however, as Dana shot a bolt into it—a giantbane bolt that released its deadly power into the creature’s body. Critically injured, but still fighting, the ogre finished its stroke, the iron head of its weapon clipping the ranger in the shoulder as she dove to the side. The experienced warrior used the momentum of the blow to roll into a defensive crouch, although the pain of the impact showed clearly on her face. Along the lip of the trail the bulky form of a second ogre was visible, along with a pair of orcs that had served as eyes for the brutes on the difficult ascent.

While Dana reloaded, Jerral moved to challenge the ogre and keep it from advancing, hoping against hope that Dana could keep the first creature off her back. The ogre hesitated at the sudden ferocity and audacity of her attack, taking a gash to the hip for its trouble. It recovered quickly, however, and slammed her hard with its axe. The ranger’s chain shirt held, saving her life, but the impact alone sent her reeling, her entire side numbed by the force of the blow.

“We need help!” Dana cried, not sure if the others could hear her—or if they could do anything about it even if they could.

The ogre that had hurled Benzan off the cliff did not revel in its triumph of that troublesome enemy archer, but instead headed deeper into the boulder-strewn plateau to circle around behind Lok. The genasi was still taking a pounding from his two foes, although the ogre shaman was also reeling from several deep gashes to its lower body.

“Umph!” Cal cried as an ogre’s weapon finally caught him, the force of the impact from the heavy club knocking him flying. His protections absorbed some of the power of the blow, buy even so he felt as though someone had dropped a wheelbarrow of bricks on him when he wasn’t looking. The ogre was still coming, hoping to finish him, but Cal drew out a wand before it could reach him.

“Well, if it worked once,” he said, firing another color spray into its face. While the ogre barbarians had an incredible fortitude, they didn’t hold up as well against mental attacks, and again the ogre shook its head in confusion as the blazing colors overloaded its senses. Cal reached for his crossbow again, but hesitated as he heard Dana’s cry for help.

Looking up, he saw Delem, approaching from behind the ogre. By the look on his face, he knew that the sorcerer had heard it too.

“Go!” Cal yelled, turning back to the still-dangerous ogre. The brute was already clearing its head, its eyes searching for the elusive gnome. Cal realized that with its inferior vision, the ogre couldn’t pick him out clearly against the stone in the darkness.

He quietly slipped another bolt into place as he prepared to take advantage of that fact.

Lok staggered as another blow from the ogre’s flail tore into him, this time penetrating even the magical steel of his mail and ravaging the flesh underneath. The ogre roared in triumph as the genasi half-slumped to the ground under the force of the impact, but that roar turned into a surprised yell as the genasi leapt up and slashed out again with his axe. The blow tore into the shaman’s leg, shredding the muscles and tendons there and sending the ogre toppling to the ground. Even as it landed it was already trying to get up, a futile gesture as Lok brought his axe down hard on the ogre’s skull.

The attack killed the ogre instantly, but the heavy axe jammed in the ogre’s thick bone, refusing to come free. Even as Lok tugged at the weapon with all his considerable strength, pain exploded across his back as the second ogre pummeled him from behind.

Finally, even Lok’s inhuman physique had taken its limit, and the genasi slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The ogre loomed over him, its maul raised high to finish him for good.

Dana fired another bolt at point blank range into the ogre threatening Jerral from behind, the enhanced weapon poking another deep hole in the raging barbarian. The ogre didn’t go down, but it turned from the embattled ranger to face Dana, fury burning in its eyes. It slashed out with its mace, the heavy head of the weapon passing only inches from the young woman’s face as she dodged reflexively back. She gave ground, drawing it after her, hoping that Jerral could hold on her own.

The ranger refused to give ground, trading blow for blow with the ogre in an unequal contest of strength. The orcs, unable to climb the final length of trail around the blocking bulk of the ogre, held back and waited for the resolution of the melee raging before them. Jerral managed a cutting slash with her off-hand weapon that added another injury to the ogre’s tally, but in return it dealt her a punishing blow with its axe that knocked her roughly to the ground. The ogre stepped boldly forward as the battered woman tried to rise, and stepped heavily on the hand that was reaching for the haft of her bloody battleaxe.

Jerral screamed in pain.

“No!” Dana cried, unable to reach her companion through the guard of the ogre still menacing her. She could do nothing to intervene as the ogre standing above Jerral reached down, grabbed onto the woman’s neck, and hurled her off the cliff into the darkness.

Even that moment’s distraction cost her, as the ogre facing her caught her with a solid blow with its mace that knocked the breath out her and drove her roughly back against a nearby boulder.

Only a few of their original foes remained, but with Lok down, Benzan and Jerral gone, and the others battered and reeling, the fate of the companions seemed balanced on a razor’s edge.

 

[Lazybones]

Book IV, Part 20

The desperate melee between the remnants of the ogre and orc forces and the companions raged on, only a few solid blows separating each side from victory or defeat.

Lok had taken down the ogre shaman, but in turn he’d been knocked out by another ogre that now loomed over him, ready to finish the job. A second ogre was circling to aid its companion, having toss Benzan off the cliff, but it seemed as though its aid would not be necessary.

Neither ogre noticed the shadowy figure that levitated back up over the lip of the cliff, immediately ducking to recover the discarded bow lying a few yards away.

The wounded ogre hefted its maul to crush the lingering shreds of life out of Lok, but even as it started its downward swing an arrow slammed home into the base of its skull. The ogre staggered, its scream cut off by the quickly approaching haze of death, and it slumped to the ground.

The second ogre turned in surprise to see Benzan, who leapt onto a protruding rock, another arrow already nocked to his bow.

“I don’t think so,” he said to the creature, drawing and firing before it could even grasp what had happened.

Cal gave way as a lumbering ogre stormed after him. The ogre’s club came up for another strike, but even as it slammed the heavy weapon home Cal was gone, rolling forward between its legs and coming up behind it. The ogre started to turn, but even as it did pain exploded through its lower body as Cal shot another giantbane bolt into it.

The ogre took another step toward him, but it had been pushed just too far. The rage that had carried it through the battle began to fade, taking with it the surge of energy that had enabled the ogre to fight through its wounds. Now it faltered, and with that hesitation came the end of its strength.

Even as it fell, Cal was already running toward the rear of the bluff, where the battle still raged.

Dana shook her head to clear the stars from her vision as the ogre that had struck her loomed over her again. Her eyes widened as its mace slashed down at her again, and she only just managed to duck in time to keep her head from being splattered all over the rock. The ogre lifted its weapon to strike again, but it staggered as a stream of fire bathed its torso in greedy flames.

“Stay away from her!” Delem yelled, the tips of his fingers wreathed in flame as he stepped nearer. The sorcerer cried out in pain, however, as a bolt clipped his shoulder from the side. The last remaining ogre, along with two orcs, had gained the bluff and now approached from the side, weapons at the ready.

Delem, however, did not give way. He turned to face these new adversaries, his magical shield turning to face in their direction.

“Come on then!” he cried, lost in the flames that danced in his eyes.

And they came.

Benzan dodged back as the ogre came on, heedless of the arrows that stuck in its hide. It seemed that having sought to slay him once by throwing him off the cliff, now it wanted to finish the job with its axe. As he avoided the first rush he drew his sword, using its power to lift him again off of the ground.

As the ogre looked up at him hovering twenty feet above the ground, dumbfounded, Benzan sheathed the sword and fitted another arrow to the string of his bow.

“I wish you could see the look on your face right now,” he said to the ogre, right before he fired the arrow into its face.

“Delem, look out!” Dana cried, as a second ogre rushed at the sorcerer from his flank. The hard-pressed youth stumbled as the brute’s mace bashed through both his shield and his mage armor to clip his shoulder, knocking him back a step and driving him to one knee. Both ogres lunged in, eager to finish him, but he drove them back with a fan of burning hands. Already wounded, the spell drove both ogres closer toward doom, but for the moment both fought on, driven now by a fury that approached madness.

The orcs, wiser perhaps, held back, firing their crossbows at Dana as she tried to come to Delem’s aid. Their bolts missed the agile young woman, however, moving with magically-enhanced speed as she lashed out at one of the ogres engaged with Delem. The ogre all but ignored her, focusing on the more dangerous mage, even when Dana’s magically sharp kama dug a shallow gash into its side.

Delem’s defenses absorbed the first attack, the magical shield holding against the force of the ogre’s huge mace. The second ogre shifted slightly, telegraphing its attack with a wide sweep of its axe. Delem saw it and ducked under the sweeping blade, but he could not react in time as the ogre changed its grip and slammed the haft of the weapon into the sorcerer’s face. Delem crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, blood flowing from his smashed nose.

“No!” Dana yelled, her face a mask of pain and frustration as the ogres ignored her puny attacks. The first ogre turned slowly to face her, while the second reached down for Delem’s limp form.

“I believe the lady said, ‘No,’” Cal said.

The ogre looked up in surprise just in time to see the bolt that caught it solidly in the chest. The missile barely penetrated the thick fur of its coat, but it was enough to release the stored energy of the weapon, specifically designed by dwarven artificers to kill giants.

In this case, it did just that.

The last ogre turned as its companion fell and looked around the battlefield, which had suddenly grown very quiet. The sound of the wind seemed preternaturally loud in the sudden silence.

The two orcs, again showing a wisdom normally beyond their ken, had already fled, leaving the ogre the sole enemy left standing on the battlefield.

The ogre looked at Dana, her kama bloody in her hand. It looked at Cal, who calmly loaded another bolt into his crossbow. It looked at Benzan, who approached, an arrow nocked to his bow.

“Is Lok…” Cal asked, without looking away from the ogre.

“I fed him a healing potion. He’s stable,” Benzan replied.

The ogre fixed them with a gaze that was pure hatred. “Ochbek chital nacros baphomet!” it cried, as it raised its mace to strike at the nearest enemy—in this case, Dana.

Cal’s bolt and Benzan’s arrow both struck it in the back as it turned, and the creature screamed a terrible scream as it staggered and fell. It tried to get up again, despite its mortal wounds, but Benzan was quickly there to finish it.

Dana was already at Delem’s side, pouring healing energy into his battered form. “He’ll make it,” she said as Cal approached, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as the built-up emotion from the battle now threatened to overwhelm her.

“What about Jerral…”

“The ogre… threw her off the cliff, there,” Dana said, indicating the trailhead. “I… I don’t see how she could have survived.”

“I’ll go,” Benzan said, the dark expression he wore invisible to them in the night as he started down the trail.

“I suppose that we won,” Cal said, more to himself than anyone else, as he surveyed the charnel-house that was the battlefield around them. His own emotions were a roiling storm inside of him, but he knew that for the moment he needed to be strong for them, that the night around them could still hold dangers.

With a soft sigh, he hurried back to where Lok had fallen.

 

[Lazybones]

And now, for today's new post:

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Book IV, Part 21

Cal broke some of the twigs he held in his hands and fed them onto their fire. The flames were more of a gesture than anything else, the small blaze adding little in the way of heat to their shelter. At least we have hot tea, he thought, grabbing at even the smallest positive to brighten the hard realities of their situation.

They were in a narrow cave that penetrated some twenty feet into one of the thousands of hillsides that layered the region. Outside, the omnipresent cold wind continued to blow, but at least the narrow cave mouth, partially shielded by a huge boulder, kept most of its force outside. One particularly stubborn gust managed to sweep into the cave, causing the tiny fire to flicker and dance. With a frown, Cal turned to check the moorings on the blanket that they’d hung over the entrance to block out some of the cold air. That task done, he headed deeper into the cave.

His gnomish eyes had little difficulty seeing in the poor light. The fact that the ogres lacked good night vision was one of the reasons they were still alive, he thought to himself as he regarded his companions.

Dana stirred in her sleep, murmuring something that the gnome couldn’t clearly make out. It was clear that the young woman had suffered more than physical wounds in the confrontation with the ogres and their orc allies. The physical wounds were all healed now, a day and a half after that battle, but Cal knew that the others would take longer to heal. Dana had proven her mettle, however, and Cal knew that she would be there beside them when it was time for the next confrontation.

He looked over at Delem, sleeping peacefully by comparison, but Cal knew that the young sorcerer had his own demons that haunted him. The gnome was a little troubled by Delem’s behavior during the battle. Delem had done his part—more than that, as his spells had devastated the enemy and turned the tide in their favor—but his actions had been accompanied by an attitude that was somehow… well, different, for Delem at least.

Cal’s gaze traveled to Jerral, lying motionless in the rear of the cave. For a moment an irrational fear set in, and he crept closer until he could make out the reassuring rise and fall of her chest. Cal understood better than the ranger could know what she must be feeling now. Like him she had been called back from death, the power of the dwarven rune-stone restoring life to her broken body. While grateful that her new companions had used the stone to bring her back to life, Jerral had been quiet and moody since her resurrection.

Cal understood, and gave her the space she needed to come to grips with what had happened.

He turned as he heard Lok push aside the curtain and enter the cave.

“Anything?” Cal asked, softly so as not to wake the others.

Lok shook his head as he poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea. After a testing sip, he laid the metal cup carefully on the stones right on the edge of their fire. “Benzan’s coming back also,” the genasi said. “It looks like we’ve shaken any pursuit, for now.”

“We inflicted quite a blow on them,” Cal noted. His brow furrowed again as his thoughts traveled once more to their adversaries and what might lie ahead for them.

They were still fixed on the same goal of traveling to the iron mine, and investigating whether they could rescue whatever slaves the ogres were keeping there to mine the iron ore for their weapons and armor. Their enemy knew of their presence, now, and would not be caught unawares again, but Cal still held onto hopes that they could bypass the main bodies of the orc and ogre tribes and succeed in their mission. The orc captive they’d interrogated said that both the orc and ogre forces were dispersed, with fairly large groups established days’ travel apart throughout the region. That was logical, Cal thought, considering what they’d already seen of the barren nature of the mountains in winter. With too many numbers crammed together into too small an area, starvation would likely do their work for them in thinning out the enemy strength.

Still, Cal knew that what lay ahead would be difficult, another trial for the companions. He glanced back at the others sleeping in the rear of the cave, and he hoped that they would be up to the challenge.

The curtain opened again to reveal Benzan, who stepped into the now crowded confines of the cave. The tiefling sported a new vest of white fur, courtesy of one of the winter wolves that they’d slain. The mystery of what had happened to the second wolf that Dana had spotted on her flying scout had been solved when they’d examined the trail leading down the rear face of the bluff. The second wolf had been halfway down the winding trail, one of the heavy stones that Dana had rolled off of the cliff resting solidly atop its crushed brainpan.

Maybe Ruath’s watching over us still, sending us a little luck, Cal thought to himself.

“There’s no sign of any living creature within at least a few miles of here,” Benzan reported, gratefully accepting the heated mug of tea that Lok handed him. “That latest storm pretty much blew away all the signs of our travel from the bluff. Looks like we’ll have more snow again tomorrow, as well.”

“It’ll cover our tracks, and make it harder for patrols to spot us,” Cal observed.

They turned as a sound from the back of the cave indicated that the others were stirring. Jerral was the first to join them, running a hand through her unkempt hair.

“How are you feeling?” Cal asked.

“Alive. Mostly,” the ranger said. “Is that more tea?”

“Here, let me heat it up a bit,” Cal said, casting a minor cantrip to warm the contents of the small metal pot. He filled a small cup for Jerral, and two more for Dana and Delem as the two shook the sleep from their heads and joined the group around the small fire.

For a long moment, nobody said anything, the six of them just standing their in shared silence. Then, finally, Jerral said, “So. We’re still going to do this, then?”

Cal nodded. “I know we’ve suffered a setback…”

“Funny, that’s not the word I would have chosen, to describe being killed and all.”

“Well, my ma always used to say, death is just another part of life,” Benzan said.

Jerral rounded on him. “You seem to treat this all rather lightly,” she said, her emotions creeping into her voice as she spoke. “This is serious, you know that, don’t you?”

It was Lok who finally spoke, his deep voice filling the confines of the cave with the genasi’s calm tones. “We all understand, believe me. Levity is the shield that lets us deal with the horrors that people in our position must face every day. We’ve stared into the darkness, each one of us. We just choose to not let it become us, ranger.”

Jerral just stood there, and it was clear that the building tension within her was draining at the genasi’s words. Finally, she said, “There’s a lot more to you than a strong arm and a sharp axe, warrior.”

Cal put his hand on the ranger’s arm. “If we’re to go on, we’ll need your guidance, Jerral, and your strength. Only you know these mountains well enough to find our way through the enemies that will be out there, trying to destroy us.”

Jerral’s gaze traveled over them all, and at each pause she found only determination, even from Dana and Delem.

She took a deep breath, and nodded.

 

[Horacio]

[B“We all understand, believe me. Levity is the shield that lets us deal with the horrors that people in our position must face every day. We’ve stared into the darkness, each one of us. We just choose to not let it become us, ranger.”
[/B]

Wow!

A movie script writer would pay for such a quote...

 

[Maldur]

Im only off for a week and he starts a massive battle scene!!

That was very impresive. Like Horacio said: "WOW".

 

[Horacio]

Im only off for a week and he starts a massive battle scene!!

That was very impresive. Like Horacio said: "WOW".

Wow²! Now people quote me!

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks, guys! Horacio, I'm glad you liked that quote. Lok doesn't say much, but I try to make his statements memorable (he's a bit of a philosopher beneath that warrior exterior, I think). Maldur: welcome back!

I'm still a bit ahead in the story, so I can promise another post-a-day week... and another dramatic ending to this week's storyline (although we're still about twenty posts from the end of book IV). Thanks for reading!

* * * * *

Book IV, Part 22

Two days later, the companions stood at the edge of a canyon that stretched out before them like a slash torn in the land. It was still early in the day, the sky above still covered by gray clouds although the snows had relented for the moment.

It hadn’t been too hard to find this place, given the rising plumes of black smoke that rose from the depths of the place, accompanied by a variety of foul smells and the incessant noise of heavy machinery. The canyon was perhaps three hundred feet across at its widest point, although lengthwise it ran for several thousand yards. From the companions’ vantage perched among the rocks near one tapering point they could see several trails that ran down to the uneven floor of the canyon almost two hundred feet below.

Most of the activity evident below was centered around the far end of the canyon. Sprawled amidst the broken stone they could see several ramshackle buildings, several of which disgorged a constant stream of smoke and noise. Slag heaps rose in haphazard fashion back from the buildings, and heaps of refuse and other trash were evident wherever a dip in the terrain offered a convenient dumping ground. Through the haze that hung in the air they could make out numerous creatures moving about below; ogres instantly recognizable by their size, smaller armed warriors that were likely orcs, and other bent forms they took to be slaves. Benzan’s keen eyes also noted several dark openings in the canyon walls, probably the entrances to mine shafts, and they could make out a dark pit in the center of the canyon, partly obscured by a large wooden A-frame that probably supported a lift. Another lift was visible on the near side of the canyon edge, adjacent to one of the steep trails that led down into the valley. Beside the lift stood another stone building, a squat two-story tower that also showed obvious signs of neglect and disrepair.

Lok shook his head as he took in the scene before them. “This is not the work of dwarves,” he said. “Dwarves do not engage in such indiscriminate damage to the earth.”

“We’ve been lucky thus far,” Jerral said, as she intently scanned the scene below them.

The others silently agreed with the ranger’s assessment. They had been fortunate, first in the storm that had concealed their continued progress through the mountains, and then in the good fortune that had kept them from running into any more enemy patrols. At one point during a break in the storm they did spot a fairly large force consisting of several dozen creatures in the distance, moving south, but they were able to give them a wide berth and avoid being detected themselves. Jerral had found an apparently little-used trail that had taken them around a cluster of peaks to this valley, where they’d started detecting the signs pointing to the mining camp within the canyon almost immediately.

Now, however, it looked like another confrontation was pending shortly.

“I don’t see that many of them,” Delem said. “Orcs and ogres, I mean.”

“Could be more of them in the buildings, or the mines proper,” Dana pointed out. “In this weather, I don’t think I’d want to spend much time outside either, if I could help it.”

Lok shifted, his face darkening as he made out something else amidst the clutter below them. Cal sensed it, and asked, “What is it, Lok?”

Jerral frowned, her stare fixed out into space like a dagger. “Near the base of the far cliff, above the shaft openings.” They all looked in that direction, but it was very difficult to see with all the smoke in the air within the canyon.

“What is it?” Cal asked. “I cannot see.”

Jerral’s jaw had tightened, and her words were clipped and cold. “There are captives… they are attached to the stone above the mine entrances, crucified. I cannot be sure from this distance, but they look to be dwarves.”

Lok rose, slowly and deliberately, as the woman ranger spoke. He picked up his axe and started toward the stone structure near the trail that led down into the canyon. He managed only a few steps before Benzan moved quickly to block him.

“Get out of my way, Benzan,” the genasi said.

“We share your feelings on this,” Benzan replied. “We’ll take down the bastards that did this, but let’s do it right. Jerral and I will go in first, supported by the magic-users, and we’ll strike before they even knew what hit them. For all we know, there might be a hundred orcs and ogres down there—we’ll do none of the surviving captives any good if we rush blindly in, and get killed.”

“We’re a team,” Benzan added. “Don’t worry, we’ll have need of your axe soon enough.”

Lok met the tiefling’s gaze squarely for a long moment, then he nodded.

“Let’s get ready,” Cal said, one of his wands already appearing in his hand.

* * * * *

“I hate this duty,” Throk said, shuffling his feet in an effort to warm himself. It was a futile gesture; the same slits in the walls that gave them a commanding view of the surrounding area let the wind blast into the cramped confines of the tiny room with its full wintry force. The room didn’t even have a stool to sit on; its only features were a crude wooden weapons rack and a ladder that led down to the guard post’s main floor.

“Ah, shut yer trap,” Uleg replied. He leaned against the wall, drawing a whetstone along the slightly curving length of his sword. “You rather be out in that, on one of the outer patrols, mayhaps?”

Throk didn’t respond, and after a moment Uleg looked up at his companion. The other orc was peering out through the slit that faced to the west. The day was at least relatively clear, a break from the persistent storms of recent weeks, but even the diffuse light from the gray skies above, when reflected on the patches of snow all around, played havoc with the night-accustomed vision of the orcs.

“What is it?” Uleg asked, sheathing his sword and reaching for his crossbow.

“Thought I saw something, moving in the rocks,” the orc replied. His companion squeezed into the narrow space behind him, and peered out across the uneven landscape.

“Ah, I don’t see nuthin’,” Uleg finally said. “There ain’t a livin’ thing within ten miles of this place, save them damned ogres and their slaves down in the pits.”

Throk didn’t respond at first, but as he scanned the terrain without seeing any other signs of movement, he relaxed slightly and leaned back. “Yeah, I hate them too,” the orc said. “We’re nuthin’ to them, you know. Braxus, he told me that a few warriors of Gorux’s crew made a few snide comments around where Soroth could hear.” His voice had dropped lower reflexively, although with the wind blowing as it was, even a dedicated eavesdropper would have been hard pressed to hear the words from more than a few feet away.

“Stupid,” the other orc noted. “What happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Throk said, forgetting himself and raising his voice in his anger. Catching himself, he added, more quietly, “Soroth blasted them to pieces, of course.”

Uleg shuddered. “I guess it could have been worse.”

Throk nodded, understanding what his companion was getting at. Soroth was a horror, but he was nothing compared to his father, the being that the ogres called the Master…

Their conversation was interrupted by an abrupt cry of alarm from below, followed by a gurgling of pain and blood. The orcs shared a look of surprise, then Throk reached for his crossbow while Uleg reached for the horn that hung from a sling at his side.

But even as the orc raised the horn to his lips to blow a warning, a shadowy form slipped in front of the arrow slit right in front of him. His eyes widened as he saw his death in the form of the steel arrowhead held at the ready in the hands of the archer who was somehow hovering right outside the slit in the observation tower, twenty feet above the ground.

He did not have long to ponder the answer to that mystery, as the long shaft of the arrow slammed into his throat, knocking him back to fall in a noisy clatter against the weapons rack.

Throk fumbled with his crossbow as the dark archer smoothly nocked another arrow and drew back the string. Too late, Throk realized that all he had to do was fall to the ground, out of the line of sight of the opponent on the far side of the arrow slit.

Too late, as an arrow buried itself deep in the orc warrior’s shoulder. Throk went down, his side a fiery blaze of pain. He looked up to see Uleg propped up against the wreckage of the weapons rack, the orc’s eyes glazed over in that vacant stare worn by the dead. The orc warrior called up a desperate reserve of strength to crawl over to the ladder, but he’d barely managed to drop his legs down into the shaft when he slipped and tumbled down into the space below.

Throk landed solidly on his back on the packed earth floor of the guard post’s lower level. He nearly lost consciousness as the impact drove a renewed pain through his entire body, and it was several long seconds before his lungs could draw a few tenuous breaths. The world swam around him as he levered himself up on one elbow, trying to grab enough breath to call for help.

When he looked up he saw that he was not alone. A small figure—a gnome, he belatedly realized—was standing there, holding a wand in one hand, and a small sword in the other that seemed to gleam with a pale inner light.

Throk reached for his dagger, but the world went black even before he felt the thrust of that shining sword into his chest. His last conscious thought, strangely, was of relief, for even though he’d failed in his assigned duty, where he was now going, at least the Master would not be able to reach him and exact punishment.

 

[Horacio]

Throk reached for his dagger, but the world went black even before he felt the thrust of that shining sword into his chest. His last conscious thought, strangely, was of relief, for even though he’d failed in his assigned duty, where he was now going, at least the Master would not be able to reach him and exact punishment.

That was creepy!
The Master sound really scary...

 

[Lazybones]

Book IV, Part 23

Gaera Silverheart slowly faded back into consciousness. On earlier such occasions that return had always been accompanied by pain, but now she felt only a numbness that suffused her limbs and made her thoughts run slow like molasses.

The pain that cascaded upon the dwarf, however, was not primarily a physical one. She knew that she was close to death, and regretted even that release from her suffering. She was afraid of the reckoning that would come upon her death, of being confronted with the failures that had been begotten of her choices.

Rothar, I suppose you were right in the end, after all, she thought grimly. The dwarf fighter had sought her aid in fermenting an uprising against their captors, but she had refused him. Her beliefs, firmly rooted in the tenets of her faith, had led her to the choice to keep her vocation secret, to help her captive people by remaining at their side and easing their suffering. Rothar’s revolt had been crushed, its leader’s very soul consumed by the evil appetites of the Beast. In that, she had been right, but at least Rothar had ultimately had the courage to resist, to fight back even against impossible odds.

She could not feel the cold, although she was vaguely aware of the still-blowing wind. Her spell had long since faltered, she knew—the last spell she had cast, the last spell she would ever cast. She regretted that too, now, the spell of elemental resistance that had kept her alive through that first storm that had burst upon them right after the ogres had bound her to a thick beam and wedged her up here, dangling ten feet above the ground below.

She had gotten careless, her identity finally revealed after almost four months of working her arts in concealment under the very noses of their captors. It had been an act of compassion that had betrayed her, an act of healing a broken friend where one of the guards could see. The orcs usually weren’t that alert when it came to monitoring their slaves, but that day… how many days ago had it been?—her luck had finally run out.

Yes, maybe Rothar had been right… No, wait, it wasn’t Rothar, but Rogath, who had come to her, who had led the abortive revolt… She’d known Rogath for fifty years, how could she have made such a foolish mistake… Everything was so confused…

She felt a stab of irony that pierced her befuddlement. After her capture, but before the Warden could get his mangy hands on her, she had prayed to Berronar Truesilver for a potent spell, beyond any magic she had ever worked before. And the divine one had answered her plea, given her the means to injure the Beast.

Of course, now she would never get a chance to use it…

She looked up, and saw that the sky, typically an unbroken sea of drab gray clouds, had broken directly overhead. Through a narrow wedge-shaped gap, shaped like a long dagger, Gaera could see blue so stark that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Never again to see the sky…

Belatedly, fighting through the fog of her senses, she became aware of something else, a familiar sound. Her eyes dropped back down—reluctantly—from the sky to the canyon before her. A battle was raging there, between the orcs and ogres that were their jailors, and a mixed group of adversaries.

A dream. It had to be a dream, Gaera thought in the deep part of her mind that was still capable of thinking.

As she watched, she could begin to make out scattered details about the battle and the combatants. A pair of orcs, battleaxes raised above their heads, charged a young human. The human stood his ground, and as he lifted his hands a blaze of fire erupted that engulfed both of the humanoid warriors. When the flames cleared, both orcs were charred corpses, but the man had already turned toward a low stone building that was quite familiar to Gaera—the main barracks of the orc guards. She watched as the young man pointed, and a ball of flame appeared in the sole doorway of the barracks, blocking any further orcs from exiting the structure.

Nearby, on a small outcropping of stone, a pair of archers stood back-to-back and fired a blizzard of arrows at their enemies. The pair, one man and one woman, were already surrounded by an extended ring of fallen foes, some with as many as three or four arrows jutting from their crumpled forms. Gaera saw a flicker of movement in time to spot a huge ogre, its two-handed maul nearly as big as it was, emerge from one of the other buildings to rush toward the pair. Apparently they saw it as well, for the two spun in unison and sent a flurry of missiles into it. The ogre pressed forward, despite its hurts, already raising its club to sweep the pair off of their perch.

Now Gaera knew her vision to be a dream, for she’d never seen a pair of archers fire so quickly, and with such deadly accuracy. By the time the ogre reached the stone a half-dozen arrows already jutted from its body, and even as it staggered a final step within reach one of the archers—the woman—fired a last shot directly into its face. The arrow exploded with flames as it hit, and the ogre slammed down hard onto the muddy earth.

Gaera spotted a flash of brilliant color that drew her attention once more. There, a short figure—a gnome or a halfling, perhaps—was fighting beside a human woman against another cluster of orcs. Several orcs, stunned by the spray of colors, fell to the ground dazed, while the woman intercepted another pair, knocking the first prone with a smooth snap-kick and then easily deflecting the powerful but crude swing of the second.

Gaera tried to speak, to hail these imaginary warriors for their bravery, but she could not will her mouth to move to form the words. As he gaze traveled once more over the battlefield, however, she noticed one more combatant.

It was hard to see how she could have missed him the first time. The final warrior had the squat shape and heavily armored outlines of a dwarf fighter, and he faced off against another ogre. As the ogre lifted his two-handed axe to strike Gaera felt a momentary pang of sadness for the warrior, but to her amazement the dwarf took the solid blow to his torso and, instead of going down, countered with a swing of his own axe that dug a deep gash in the ogre’s shin. The ogre reflexively stepped back, favoring its savaged limb, and the dwarf took advantage of the opening to strike again, tearing a mighty hole in the ogre’s belly with an overhead strike that laid the massive brute out on the cold stone of the canyon floor.

In a matter of moments she’d witnessed a tiny group of warriors accomplish more than Rogath and his brave but outmatched band had managed. But as she heard a familiar bellow and saw a familiar form emerge from one of the buildings, she knew that the battle was far from over.

The ogre known as the Warden had appeared on the battlefield, accompanied by a pair of his enforcers. All three were big even for ogres, and the Warden was clad in a coat of iron mail that only increased the aura of menace that hung over him. Although she couldn’t see it clearly from this distance, Gaera knew that his face was a horrible mask, the right side a mess of scar tissue from burns he’d suffered long ago, the eyesocket on that side an empty pit. The ogre bore a massive double-bladed axe, which he raised as he and his allies waded into the battle.

They barely managed a half-dozen paces when a storm of fire exploded around them.

Gaera blinked at the intensity of the fireball, but she was not surprised to see all three ogres still standing after the flames dispersed. The Warden did not hesitate, ignoring the new burns covering his body as he gestured for his enforcers to split off and attack the different groups of adversaries. He himself charged directly for the dwarf warrior, who set his feet firmly on the ground and stood his ground before the terrible force of the mighty ogre’s charge.

Gaera winced as the clang of steel on steel resounded through the canyon. For all his obvious skill and fortitude, the dwarf clearly felt the impact of that first stroke, staggering and nearly stumbling on the slick mud. Before the Warden could follow up with another attack, however, the dwarf suddenly lunged forward within his reach, scoring with a glancing blow that nonetheless drew blood through the heavy armor that the ogre fighter wore.

It was clear that their battle was far from over, but both combatants had now drawn blood.

On the flanks of that confrontation, the dwarf’s companions had engaged the other enforcers. The archers fired their arrows at the first ogre, but this one was better protected and several of the missiles stuck in the layered leather protecting its joints or bounced off of the thick breastplate it wore. Still, it took several telling hits, apparently shrugging off the hurts as it closed to attack. It drew a massive two-handed sword and swept it over the outcropping. The male archer managed to jump away a moment before the blade arrived, but the woman took a glancing hit to the shoulder, knocking her roughly to the ground below. She was quickly up again, however, and the pair immediately dropped their bows and drew melee weapons, closing to flank the dangerous ogre swordsman.

The second ogre fighter menaced the wizard who had conjured the fireball. This ogre’s weapon was a massive glaive, with which he could easily strike at a foe ten paces distant. The wizard held his ground, however, and even as the ogre thrust his weapon at the bold young man he released a stream of flame that washed over the ogre like a tidal wave. The wizard paid for his attack, however, as the glaive in turn tore into his shoulder, staggering him.

The wizard was hard-pressed, but his companions sprang quickly to his aid. The gnome marched boldly forward, and for an instant Gaera swore that she could hear the martial stirrings of a war song on the fickle currents of the wind. Then it was gone, but as she watched the gnome fired a crossbow bolt into the ogre’s side. The woman’s action was even more brash, as she darted with impossible speed across the battlefield toward the ogre, an almost ridiculous little blade clutched in her hand. As she drew within the ogre’s incredible reach it slashed out at her with its glaive, but somehow she was able to twist out of the deadly arc of the weapon and sweep close within its reach, lashing out with a clearly ineffective blow to its armored torso.

Gaera recognized the woman’s strategy, for all that it was suicidal, as she drew the ogre’s attention away from her companions. The ogre obliged her, dropping the glaive and drawing a long, wickedly curved blade from the scabbard at his hip.

The dwarf and the Warden continued to trade blows, and it was rapidly becoming clear that the dwarf could not hold out long against this adversary. Even as he absorbed the punishment from the double-bladed axe, however, he managed to lash out with counters that soon left the ogre’s legs dripping with blood. Gaera knew all too well that the Warden was no ordinary ogre, however, and she despaired at the chances of the brave dwarf against this implacable opponent. She willed him to hold out just a few more moments, and she realized that she was muttering the words of a prayer under her breath.

The two archers had now engaged their ogre adversary directly, and it soon became clear that their skills were not limited to the bow. The ogre had struck the man with a blow that would have sliced him in twain had he not been just a little bit too quick. Even so, the glancing hit knocked him roughly back against the stone outcropping, blood seeping from his ravaged side. The ogre sought to press its advantage, but the woman took advantage of its distraction to strike from behind, tearing a deep gash in its back with her battleaxe. The ogre roared and turned to face her, only to open itself to a deep thrust from the man as he sank the entire length of his sword into the ogre’s body. The ogre’s yell of anger became a cry of pain, and the two drew back as the ogre fell in a bloody and thrashing heap to the ground.

On the opposite flank the other ogre continued its attacks against the nimble woman. She dodged a sweep of the sword but too late recognized it as a feint. She flipped backward in a surprising evasion, but the tip of the sword still drew a deep gash across her torso. She cried out but kept her footing, favoring her side as she drew the ogre after her.

As the ogre connected, however, the young wizard was already summoning another spell. Another blast of flame erupted from his hands and splashed over the ogre’s back. Gaera could almost feel the young man’s rage from where she hung as he played the flames over the ogre’s torso, neck, and head, and when the flames died the ogre died with them.

The Warden’s enforcers, terrible creatures that had slain more than their share of dwarves, had been defeated. But the dwarf warrior battling the Warden had come to the end of his endurance. Gaera’s heart skipped a beat as the mighty ogre lashed into the dwarf with a devastating series of blows. As the last stroke connected he was knocked sprawling, and although he fought to rise it was clear that he was barely holding onto consciousness. The Warden let out a roar of triumph and stepped forward to finish it.

But he found himself confronted by the tiny form of the gnome, who looked up at him with defiance writ clear on his face.

The Warden did not hesitate, bringing up his axe. Before he could strike, however, the gnome sang a brief but discordant melody, a few notes that sounded with the potency of magic. The ogre hesitated, and then swayed, caught up in a daze that held it there for a moment, incapable of action.

But the daze only lasted a few seconds, and when the ogre cleared its head, its anger was a terrible thing to behold.

But so was the ferocity of the companions, who had not been idle during the delay.

The archers had recovered their bows, and even as the Warden took his first step forward arrows started tearing into his armored form. One shot punctured the armor at his hip and dug deep into the muscle underneath, the wound flaring with the flame infused in the magical arrow. The woman archer held her ground and kept up a steady barrage of arrows, while the man fired once and then rushed forward, ready to bolster his friends against the ogre’s still-dangerous rush.

The wizard added his own voice to the barrage, launching a series of magical bolts that blasted through the ogre’s defenses and dug fiery pits in his body. The other woman had rushed to the dwarf’s side and was already tending to him, while the gnome had retreated to stand over them, as if challenging the ogre to try to get through him.

The Warden, unused to foes that resisted his cruelty, released a yell of frustration and anger and pain that echoed off of the walls of the canyon. He rushed the gnome and swept his axe in a mighty curve that sought to simply pound the life out of him. The gnome, however, smoothly dove forward and rolled, and the axe passed scant inches harmlessly above him. As he came up he lifted a wand, firing another blast of dazzling colors into the ogre’s face.

The Warden cried out once more, but the cry became a gurgle as another, final long arrow buried itself to the feathers in his throat.

The terrible ogre that had been the bane of the slaves of Caer Dulthain fell, bleeding the last of his life from the many wounds that scored his body.

Gaera became aware that tears were flowing freely down her face as she watched the ogre lying there. It was too bad that none of this was real, she thought, but as she felt her body begin to shake she at last felt ready for what would come, at the judgment that she would have to face when she made the transition into Truesilver’s radiant realm.

At least there would be no pain, there.

Her vague thoughts were interrupted, however, as she felt a dark, forbidding presence—a familiar presence—appear nearby. Her heart twisted in her chest as she recognized its significance, realized finally that this was no dream.

If anything, it was a nightmare.

She closed her eyes and heard the roar, a bestial, inhuman sound that originated from somewhere above her but quickly filled the canyon and the surrounding mountains with its evil cadence. Despair crashed down around her as she faded back into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness. There, at least, she would not be forced to watch the brave adventurers she’d just seen as they confronted their doom.

The Beast, the being that the ogres called the Master, had arrived.

 

[Horacio]

Oh my God! Lazybones, that was really wonderful!
I love the change of point of view!