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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 525968" data-attributes="member: 143">Book VII, Part 12Dana reined in her horse as Cal called their little column to a brief halt.  The horse skittered a bit before she could bring it under control and quiet it.  It was her fault that the horse was still a little skittish, really; in the last four days since they’d left Iriaebor the saddle had been vacant far more often than not.  With her new magical boots she could easily keep up with the pace that the rest of them set mounted, without tiring, and she had to admit that she enjoyed jogging with the magically-enhanced stride that ate up the miles beneath her feet. Those four days of travel had gone by quickly, despite the fact that they’d set out cross-country directly toward the Reaching Wood instead of taking the more-traveled road up the Sunset Vale to Asbravn.  The only trouble they’d faced was a fast-moving storm that had passed by to the north, dropping only a few scattered drizzles on them that had cleared up within a few hours.  The horses provided for them were hardy, strong beasts, used to bearing burdens long distances on the roads that stretched between the widely separated city-states of the West.  And between Cal’s magical backpack and her own ability to create foodstuffs, they could travel light, enabling them to press on faster than most travelers would have been able to manage. Not for the first time since their hasty departure from Iriaebor, she thought back over their journey, and the reason they were here.  Her brief conversations with her father had prepared her, but it had been her visit to the Moontower the following day that had ultimately led to this course.  The visit had stirred many memories for her, the sight of the familiar stone columns and marble galleries of the massive structure.  It had been her mother who had brought her there for the first time, when she was still a child.  She had fallen into the atmosphere of the place with an intensity surprising in someone her age, and had brought home with her a trinket—a tiny silver moon on a string of delicate chain links—given to her by Astyaril Hulenese herself.  But now Astyaril Hulenese was long since gone, and the new Moonwarden of the temple had been a rail-thin figure of a man named Avril Lessalon.  Once the initial wave of memory had passed, she had noticed how empty the temple seemed, its staff of clerics reduced from the nearly three-dozen of her childhood to little more than a score now.  The elder priest had welcomed her warmly, placing the facilities of the temple at her disposal, but their conversation had quickly turned to the ills facing the region.  Lessalon was one of a triad of leading clerics in the city—leaders of the churches of Selûne, Eldath, and Chauntea—and focused on an issue that was of forefront concern to that council, the Reaching Wood.“We are concerned about developments in the Wood,” he’d told her.  “Historically the forest has been inhospitable to bandits and raiders, for the druids within have been vigilant in patrolling its borders.  We have little commerce with them, for they prefer the solitude of the deep wood to the byways of civilized men.  But since the troubles have begun, we have heard nothing from them, despite several attempts to establish contact.  Some have even suggested that the druids are part of the threat, finally turning against even the peaceful trade that passes under the forest boughs.”“I find that difficult to credit,” she had replied, though her father’s words had echoed in her mind then, and now.  “I’ve heard that the denizens of the Wood can be rough, isolationist and fiercely protective of the forest, but I’ve never heard of open assaults on travelers using the Scornubel road.”“Indeed. The merchants, as you might imagine, are quite upset—that road is a busy avenue for the trade down from Scornubel. But with everything that is happening, they are unwilling to send soldiers to investigate, and their General Goran has been quite vocal in his support of this policy.”And so she and her companions were here.  Lessalon had not quite gone so far as to ask her, but the request was clear if unspoken.  It meant that she would have to wait until the next full moon, if not later, to seek new answers in their quest to aid Delem, but she could not turn her back on those in need, especially here in her homeland.  She’d told herself that many times now, in the days since, but still she felt a gnawing guilt that tore at her newfound equilibrium.  It helped that her friends had been completely supportive, lending their aid without hesitation.  It helped some.She glanced at her companions as her horse snorted a final protest before settling down—reluctantly, it seemed to her.  Inevitably her gaze shifted to Benzan, riding a short distance away.  He was looking ahead, at the line of trees that had been visible since midday, the line that they’d been paralleling as they made their way gradually north.  The line marked the border of the Reaching Wood, a vast primordial forest whose southern spur formed a wide belt along the eastern bank of the River Chionthar.  The forest was reputed a wild, untamed place, but under the stewardship of its druids malevolent only toward those who brought evil under its boughs.  And yet since they’d caught sight of it the place had seemed foreboding, even from a respectable distance.  As if he sensed her watching, Benzan turned toward her.  As his gaze met hers, he smiled.  He wheeled his horse around and started back toward her, but was interrupted as Cal addressed them. “Smoke on the air,” he told them, “from the north.”  They all looked in that direction, looking off into the distance where the wood ran as far as they could see until a line of hills broke the far horizon.  They couldn’t see anything, but there was a fair breeze that would have rapidly dispersed a column of smoke.  “Do you want me to scout ahead?” Dana asked.  With her boots, let alone her ability to call upon Selûne’s power to fly, she was the most mobile of any of them.  Benzan frowned, and she could see the sentiment in his eyes at the idea.  Dana felt a twinge of anger.  It was only the latest in what might become a trend, if she let it go unsquashed; a tendency for him to overprotect her.  But Cal shook his head as well.  “I’d rather we stayed together, at least for now,” he said.  There was no objection, and they pressed on to the north at an easy trot. The maintained a brisk pace for perhaps half an hour.  Soon they could all detect the faint scent that the gnomes had detected; an acrid tang of smoke mixed with something else, an odor of death and destruction that all those who bore arms for a living were familiar with.  Benzan’s sharp eyes were the first to note the column of smoke, really just a long trailer of wisps that scattered quickly in the breeze.  The smoke originated from just within the edge of the treeline, ahead to their left. “Be wary,” Cal said.  As they drew nearer, they realized that the smoke’s point of origin intersected a road that emerged from the wood and stretched out to the north, rapidly disappearing in the bends and twists in the land in that direction.  The could also make out the vague forms of what had been wagons, most of them now just scorched hulks, and smaller mounds that promised a grim scene even before they reined in and dismounted a short distance away, leading their reluctant mounts forward.  It had been a considerable merchant train, by the looks of it.  The remains of eight wagons littered the stretch of road, a few surrounded by the bloated and stinking corpses of horses.  Small forms marked the remains of men, some little more than shredded cloth and bones.  Too few for a caravan of this size, indicating that some had escaped... or been taken by whoever had done this.  Cal wore his feelings clear on his face as he walked through the area, and Lok wore a hard look that seemed etched from stone.  Benzan bent to examine one of the corpses, and paced off a circle around one of the wagons, his sharp eyes alert as he scanned for traces.    “How long, do you think?” Cal asked. “Better part of a day, I’d guess,” Benzan said, kneeling to examine something in the turf beside the road. “Any signs of who... or what... did this?” Dana asked, her voice tight.  She had stopped beside a body that was only barely recognizable as that, a few white shards showing from a blackened heap.  She had seen a lot of death since she’d first left Iriaebor two years ago, but she doubted that she’d ever get used to seeing sights like this. Benzan hadn’t responded, but he looked thoughtful as he knelt there beside the burned-out wagon.  Abruptly, his head shot up, and his hand darted into the quiver at his belt for a long arrow.  Before any of them could ask, they all heard it too, a loud crashing noise that erupted from within the forest to their left, off the road.  Dana, who was closest to the noise, retreated quickly to where the rest of them were readying weapons and spells with the calm ease of experience.  Whatever it was, it was approaching fast, but the dense forest undergrowth masked it from clear view.  Cal first summoned a magical shield, and even as the barrier sprung into being he turned to Benzan, shrouding him within the protection of improved invisibility.  That tactic they’d agreed upon in advance, after witnessing its effectiveness back in Undermountain.  Invisible, Benzan’s ability to find weak points in a foe’s defenses became that much more deadly.  Dana, in the meantime, enhanced Lok with bull’s strength.The approaching noise grew closer, and the undergrowth facing the road started to quiver.  They heard rather than saw Benzan draw and fire, his arrow suddenly appearing as it lanced through the brush, the missile trailing a line of burning flame as the power of his new bow imparted its magical energy to the arrow.  They saw a flash of fire and heard an angry roar that indicated that the shot had struck home.  Or at the very least, ticked off whatever was there. They didn’t have to wait much longer to see the identity of their foes, as several huge forms appeared and tore through the undergrowth in a ponderous rush.  They were beetles, huge things each the size of a considerable wagon, their sheer mass punching holes in the thick shroud of brush as they skittered forward onto the road.  Their bodies were covered by armored carapaces colored in a drab medley of dark colors that formed a sort of camouflage, and it was hard to see what was more dangerous, the hard chitinous horns that jutted from their heads like a massive spike, or the snapping mandibles that looked large enough to take a head or an arm off with a single powerful bite.  There were six in all, and without hesitating they immediately turned as one and came menacingly forward toward the companions.</blockquote>

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