by Ben Stovall
The group took their seats around the table before Inaru noticed there was an extra chair next to Fanrinn.
“Is that for someone?” Ulthan asked, not forcefully.
“Yes, ah, you see,” the elf paused. He looked somewhere behind Inaru, and the orc decided against the effort to turn around. “As I had returned to Aelindaas to see my family, some of it refused to allow me to leave without it.” He waved someone over, and now, Inaru turned to look. A beautiful dark haired elven woman made her way to the table in long, graceful strides, her leather armor hardly made a sound as she approached, and Inaru was sure she could keep it entirely silent if she wished. She glided around and sat next to Fanrinn. “This is my sister, Ellaria.” Her eyes were a deep green, alight with youthful excitement. The elven woman’s hair was only barely longer than Fanrinn’s, but it cascaded around her shoulders in a wavy, onyx tempest. Freckles marked her cheeks and nose, but they did not overcrowd the woman’s features. Her cheekbones were well-defined, and guiding Inaru’s gaze toward a nose so small he almost couldn’t believe she could breathe through it.
“Ellaria,” Ulthan said, “what a beautiful name.” A thin smile spread across his features. Fanrinn gave the paladin a look, but Ulthan didn’t seem to notice. Or he didn’t care—Inaru wasn’t sure which. “I am Ulthan, paladin of Solustun, and hero of Daralton,” the man boasted, forgetting or refusing to mention the rest of their involvement in the defense of the town northeast of Souhal.
“My brother hasn’t mentioned much about the siege of Daralton. I’m afraid I only know the common tales,” the elf said somewhat solemnly. Inaru stifled a chuckle as he noticed the elf barely spared Ulthan a glance before looking over to their dwarven companion. As she spoke, unabated curiosity framed her visage, “They say Tyrdun held a gate off for a night and a day alone – is that true?”
Tyrdun blushed. “Well, there were four men with me the whole time. Baron Darwall’s soldiers.”
“Recruits,” Inaru amended with a smile and a wink. Tyrdun shrugged, smirking.
“They also say Inaru charged into the Blood Suns camp, and challenged their warchief to an orcish duel,” she said, beaming at the orc.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t the case. I’d snuck into the camp after stealing a Blood Suns orc’s equipment. I released the captured men and women and then the warchief’s second, a brute named Puldrok challenged me. After I beat him they were honor-bound to allow me to leave,” Inaru explained.
Ellaria nodded with silent understanding before looking to Joravyn. “They say you fried two hundred orcs in one night and delayed their assault. Is that exaggerated too?” she asked. Her eyes were wide, unable to believe she was meeting a mage at all.
“Ha, well, I just conjured a barrier that covered the town’s perimeter. The orcs were unable to get by. Unfortunately, it took all I had, and I was unconscious for the rest of the week.” Joravyn took a long, yet shallow, draft of the wine he’d ordered. “Give me a moment; I need to figure out what to call you!”
“What to call me? I would prefer my name,” she said, eye narrowing. Inaru smirked, realizing her brother hadn’t mentioned Joravyn’s “game.”
Fanrinn noticed her confusion and his mistake. “He has a nickname for all of us. I’m Stitches, Ulthan is Sunshine, Tyrdun is Stonehammer—”
“Which isn’t original at all,” Tyrdun pouted. “Half of Gandaraar knows me by Stonehammer.”
Fanrinn continued as if Tyrdun hadn’t spoken, “And Inaru is Spot.”
“Spot?” Ellaria asked.
“I have a birthmark.” Inaru said no more.
“That’s everyone! Now give me a moment to think … what to call the new blood …” Joravyn’s voice trailed off as he pondered. It was a moment before he asked, “What’s your weapon?”
“Wait does she even know what my role in the battle of Daralton was?” Ulthan tried to ask, failing to garner any attention from the elven woman.
“I favor a bow,” she said.
“Typical, really.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her mouth a flat line. He took notice, but continued anyway, seemingly spurred on by her anger. “Huntress, perhaps?” Joravyn asked, entirely to himself. He shook his head. “No. That isn’t good enough. I guess we can stick with Ellaria. For now.”
She glared at him, which cut a grin across the mage’s features.
It wasn’t long before the sun began to descend outside, casting a long, orange light in through the tavern’s windows. Shadows stretched across its length, and an increasing number of patrons found their way inside. The members of Red Watch had to shout to be heard over the commotion. Songs were echoing off the walls and beer splashed on the ground. Inaru had been trying unsuccessfully for five minutes to call the waitress over for more drinks.
“Alright. I haveta know, Ulthan. What did ye do in the east?” Tyrdun asked. Inaru had to admit he was curious as well, as the man hadn’t even made time to say goodbyes before departing.
“I had a dream the night before I left,” Ulthan began. “I saw Solyvaan, my old home, and then an ancient fortress hidden in the mountains of Auzix.” Ulthan took a deep swig of his drink. “It was built of a red stone, much different from the rocks found in the mountains there. The sun burned brighter – blinding, even. Everything but the fortress was lost to my sight. Then I woke.”
“You left without a word on that alone?” Fanrinn asked. Inaru had to agree with the incredulity in his voice, though he admired Ulthan’s conviction.
“Of course. I was called to action by Solustun himself. What else would a paladin do?” he said. While Inaru did not share Ulthan’s beliefs, he could not fault the man’s devotion. The orc knew few people who were as passionate and dedicated to their goals as the paladin was, and Ulthan had earned a great deal of respect from them all for it, as they had no doubts he was equally loyal to them all.
“We spent the better part of that first day trying to figure out where you’d gone. We thought you may have been kidnapped,” Joravyn said. “Once we realized you weren’t in the city I used my magic to locate you.”
“Did ye get what ye were lookin fer, at least?” Tyrdun asked.
“I did,” the paladin smiled. Ulthan rose from his seat and walked to his room. Returning quickly, he held a circular shield aloft. It was made of a black metal Inaru assumed was darksteel, a rare and tough to mine ore, but one of the strongest metals found in Gandaraar. A large sun with seven wavy tendrils reaching to the edge of the shield commanded its surface, and while only half of it caught the light, the whole emblem blazed brightly. When Ulthan moved it into the darkness it was as black as the rest of the buckler. “When it lights up as it did, I can call upon Solustun, and a fireball erupts from the center. He truly shines upon us now, friends.”
“Unlikely,” Joravyn interjected with a frown. “The magic present on this shield is no different than any other enchanted item I’ve come across. I have scraps of cloth in my bag with more intricate spells upon them than this disc.” Despite his words, the mage looked apologetic. Inaru hoped Ulthan could see that as well.
He did not. The paladin bristled and scowled at Joravyn. “How can you still deny Solustun after everything we saw?”
“Nothing provided any proof of godhood,” the mage spat back. Inaru frowned. He couldn’t count how many times the two had argued the ins and outs of Ulthan’s faith. In the end, the orc was sympathetic to Joravyn. The man knew his magic, after all, and Inaru always knew the mage had the best intentions with his outbursts. “We just can’t agree on this, Ulthan,” Joravyn said suddenly, and Inaru realized he had missed the argument. The mage rose and walked to the bar. Ulthan remained in his seat pouting. Fanrinn looked as though he were about to offer some words, when the mage returned with a round of the Pony’s signature stout. “Sorry,” Joravyn offered. “I didn’t mean to start something.” Inaru noticed the apology was meant more for the rest of the group than the paladin he’d offended. Ulthan, however, softened and smiled ligh
tly, taking the cup and swallowing a gulp.
It wasn’t long before they had calmed back down and were joking once more. “Okay,” Tyrdun said, “now we dunnae have a lot o’ time before the blizzards start up again and Kragan’s Pass freezes over. So, if anyone had anythin’ they needed to do around Frost Hearth now’d be the time.”
“Haven’t heard anything yet,” Joravyn muttered.
“Does anyone have any leads?” Ulthan asked. The table grew silent, but they all slowly turned to Fanrinn, since he’d at least been in the area.
The elf shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing,” he frowned, “I’d hoped one of you would have an idea, actually.”
“Maybe the king will have something else he needs a hand with?” asked Tyrdun, searching. All their talking was bringing up fond memories of fighting together and doing heroic things to make the world better, but here they were, completely without any clue where to find something to rekindle it.
“I could check the board,” Inaru said. He wouldn’t mind getting some air that didn’t smell like ale, even though he’d missed the odor hours before. “It may be getting dark, but even the bravest of thieves would think twice before bothering me.”
The group nodded in agreement, and Inaru said, “I’ll be back soon.”
✽ ✽ ✽
A young woman with caramel skin eyed the bounty board in the square, frowning and shivering as the wind blew across the road, her tight, protective leathers doing little against the chill. Her dark hair danced with the breeze where it fell from her hood. It had been two days since she posted her note, asking for help to journey to her father’s cabin to the west. It was not normally a dangerous adventure, but she had not received word from him in weeks. She took the posting down and read through it, tightening her deep purple cloak around her as she did so, wondering if it just wasn’t enticing enough for the usual brand of adventurers around Souhal.
Help, please. My name is Lytha of Vainyr. I seek brave adventurers to accompany me to my father’s cabin to the west. It has been a long time since I have heard from him and I fear for his safety. I do not have too much in the way of money, but I offer four gandari crowns to each person who helps me make my way to the cabin. I thank any who have simply read this and ask that they help find someone who will contact me. I have a house in the Shallows district, on the edge near the Unruly Pony Inn & Tavern.
She sighed inwardly. I don’t suppose that’s particularly exciting, or much of a reward for such a long walk. The sun slowly began to sink over the horizon and her heart sank. I may have to do this alone after all. Lytha dreaded the idea. She headed back to the Unruly Pony, her hand on her longsword’s hilt as she walked. She was not as naïve as her appearance would suggest and expected that trouble would find her this late.
Then, she found her eyes darting back and forth nervously. All too slowly she noticed the streets that were bustling just before she’d gotten to the board were completely empty now. The stalls were bare, their goods hidden in whatever hole the beady-eyed peddlers dwelt in when they weren’t accosting everyone with ears to buy their wares. If Lytha had come across the road for the first time just then, she’d have assumed that no one had been there in months.
She felt her fingers tense on the hilt and her jaw tightened. Here it is. A noise elicited a small gasp, even though she’d predicted it, and she turned around to see a man in rough, dark leathers. His face was gaunt, to say the least. His arms hung like sticks on his shoulders, and his nose resembled a crow’s beak as it jutted outward from his face.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out all alone at a time like this?” the man asked quickly. She noticed the daggers in his hands. A fight, then. She could take the man alone, she knew how to wield her blade that well, at least. I’d really only be in trouble if there were three or four of them.
“Simply walking back to the tavern, and expecting trouble,” she replied smugly.
“You’ve found it, alright,” he sneered. Two more men joined him from the alleys. Of course. She drew her sword, hoping it would at least force one of them to second guess their decision, and maybe even send them running seeing as she wouldn’t be as easy a target as they thought. None of them so much as looked away. She clenched her teeth in a grimace. Lytha heard more footsteps behind her, heavy ones, or multiple men in unison. Please be a guard!
The vainyri woman dropped into a defensive stance as the men dashed toward her. She parried the first, then the second strike of the long-nosed man. The second thief was next, longsword high over his head and she nimbly moved to the right to avoid its downward chop. Lytha brought her blade around and slashed at the second man’s legs, connecting but not going deep. She gasped as the third man struck at her blade’s cross guard hard, forcing her to drop the weapon. She ducked under a swing and made to grab the blade, but a foot was upon it before she could reach it, and she cursed herself for staying out so late. One smacked her across the face with a closed fist, causing her to spit a small amount of blood away, and a kick slammed into her thigh. She felt her cloak get pushed out of the way and rough, eager hands at her belt, unsure if they were fingering the latching, or searching for her coin purse. In her struggle, she caught a lecherous grin, and renewed her resolve to break away from their greedy, brutish hands. The wiry man grabbed her hair and pulled back, forcing her to look at him, to know him and his intended sin. She cried out for help, hoping beyond hope that whoever the footsteps belonged to hadn’t turned away at the sight.
“What’s going on here?” she heard a voice ask. More of a yell, really, she amended. She turned to see that the footsteps behind her before had belonged to an orc. With a scowl, the stranger drew two large axes from his twin sheaths, both looked heavy enough to require a hand and a half at least, but he didn’t seem to struggle at all.
“Get the greenskin!” the crow-nosed man shouted, before kicking Lytha’s sword across the street. She scowled inwardly, disappointed with herself for dropping it at all, as the one with the longsword grabbed it. She looked left to see the orc had already dispatched one of the thieves, leaving him a bloody stain on the ground, and she felt a little bit of pity. He doesn’t even know me and there’s a chance the guard thinks he killed them and started all of this, just because his skin is green. A second one fell, not dead, but the vagabond certainly wouldn’t be raising his arms against the orc again. He slammed the broad side of the axe against the last man, forcing him to the ground.
“What was it you said? Get the greenskin?” he spat the slur back in the man’s face and Lytha felt a small smile creep across her visage. The orc looked to her. “Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked.
“A bruise or two, maybe, but I’m alive,” she replied. “And I have you to thank for that.”
“You are the true wounded party here, what would you have me do to this scoundrel?” he inquired, and she believed he would do as she answered.
“I, ah,” she paused in thought. “Let him go, I believe he may have seen the error of his ways.”
The man began nodding profusely, begging, “Please, sir, please! Do as the lady bids! I’ll never do it again, I promise!”
The orc stared at her as if confused and nodded. Was that surprise? She was unsure. He set the man on his feet, hands on his shoulders, looking directly into his eyes, “Only by the grace of this woman do you breathe. Most do not forgive thieves and attackers so quickly. Should you do this again, I will kill you. Understood?”
“Yes, master orc! I never meant—”
“To get caught? No, I don’t suppose so. Leave. Now.”
The man grabbed his living comrade and they made their way off behind the orc into the city. The orc knelt beside the fallen one, and grabbed her longsword from his corpse, before making his way over to Lytha. “I believe this belongs to you, miss …?”
“Lytha. Thank you for this,” she said. The woman finally let herself relax. “I don’t believe you gave them your name.”
He chuckled. “I�
��m Inaru, formerly of the Bloodmaw clan.”
“Formerly?” she asked. He bristled a little.
“Yes. I left it some time ago.” And that was all he said. She decided not to press. “What is it you are doing out here this late?”
“I was heading back toward the Unruly Pony. I have a house nearby.”
“Hm. I only just left the Pony. I would gladly see you back there safe,” Inaru offered.
“What about the guards? What if they see you?” Lytha asked.
“Don’t worry, they know me. I’m with Red Watch,” he said.
She paused to think things over. It was true he had saved her, and he seemed quite eloquent and respectful – especially for an orc. And Red Watch was famous in Souhal for all the adventures they’d been on at the behest of the townsfolk, nobles, and even King Aldariak himself. Though she had heard horrible tales of what orcs would do to lone women, she felt at ease regardless. Perhaps he will help find my father. She shook the thought from her head, chiding herself for being so presumptuous. “Yes,” she finally agreed, “I would welcome the escort.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Inaru walked side by side with the woman back toward the Unruly Pony. He kept his gaze forward, though he noticed the woman’s eyes darting to him every few moments, her mouth fluttering open before closing shut. The orc could see the tavern in the distance now and paused. Lytha stopped two steps ahead and looked back at him. “You have wanted to ask me something,” he said.
He saw her cheeks gain color as she looked away for a moment. “Were you headed to look at the bounty board?”
