by Ben Stovall
Shk! A projectile slammed into the ogre’s wrist. Ulthan quickly stabbed his sword deep into his heart, before turning his head to see Lytha with his crossbow in hand. He arched his eyebrow and she shrugged at him before moving to catch up with Ellaria. He turned to his left to see two more of the large oafs clambering toward him. One with a set of heavy blood red plates hanging from his body and a large, crude axe carried in two hands. Ulthan charged with his shield held in front of him, and slammed into the less-equipped ogre, pushing it back. With a flourish, he struck the ogre with a leftward swing. He held for a moment, parried the club as it came down. He stepped forward with a thrust, his longsword plunging into the beast’s exposed neck. He left it there. Ulthan sidestepped the toppling ogre, dropping his shield and drawing his large two-handed blade from its sheath. He pointed its length at the armored ogre, the challenge obvious.
The beast roared at him. “Stinkin’ humans! This our trees! Darduk show you!” he yelled. The ogre charged, axe high aloft. Ulthan parried the first blow with the broadside of his sword, flicking the weapon away. He kicked at the ogre forcing it back a step, took two steps to reposition, and brought his sword around in a wide rightward arc. Darduk deflected his strike and slammed his massive head into Ulthan’s chest. The paladin fell to the ground, hard on his back, wind nearly knocked from him. He rolled to his right, barely dodging a heavy strike the ogre flung into the ground.
Darduk’s attacks did not pause, keeping Ulthan prone as he focused entirely on defending himself. He gambled on a few reaching counterattacks and got lucky. He forced the ogre back long enough to find his feet.
He closed and swung his sword in a wide upward arc, forcing another parry. He slashed again, parried. And again. And again. The paladin lunged forward with the tip of his sword at the ogre and caught Darduk unaware. The blade slammed into the plate with force enough to pierce and passed into the ogre’s body. Ulthan pushed, forcing it all the way through. He pulled his sword out and stepped back as the ogre fell to the ground.
The paladin looked to the right and saw a large group of ogres—eleven or twelve, by his count—and began to dread the thought of facing more of the monsters. Then, he saw Joravyn summon the largest fireball he’d ever seen the mage produce, and its explosion whipped around five of the oncoming beasts, and three fell to the ground lifelessly. Arrows and bolts slammed into the approaching group, and another two fell. Ulthan smirked as he, Inaru, and Tyrdun met the remaining ogres with their blades and made quick work of them all. The paladin looked around and was surprised to see they’d all made it through without sustaining anything too hard to patch up.
“Help, please!” a voice called out. Ulthan noticed an array of cages against the camp’s southern wall, only one was occupied by—he couldn’t believe his eyes. The creature looked like a humanoid lizard of some kind, scales of a brown hue that could easily be hidden within mud, dark green eyes, with a long tail behind him. The prisoner was bare except for a small cloth the ogres had no doubt given him, leaving his tawny scales to the harsh winds that rolled across the camp. Ulthan had heard tales of the scaleskin, but through the years in Gandaraar, he still hadn’t met one – until now. The paladin and the others quickly made it to the cage, and he smashed the poorly made lock with ease. “Thank you! They were … they were going to eat me, as they did the others!” the scaleskin cried as he motioned to the empty cages.
“You’ll be alright now, laddie. What’s your name?” Tyrdun placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
The scaleskin hesitated. “Torvaas. I am Torvaas.”
“Tyrdun. Your tribe the one southeast of Souhal a wee bit? We can get ye back there after we finish up out here—if ye like.”
The scaleskin paused, thinking, then gave a curt nod. “The Torgashin. Yes. Thank you, Tyrdun.”
Ulthan wondered how Torvaas learned Gandari as well as he had but pushed it away. “You must be freezing,” he observed. “Do you know where the ogres may have stashed your supplies?”
“I … yes. They took them into that big hut back there, where the armored one came from.” Ulthan nodded and put his cloak around the shivering scaleskin. The paladin walked with him to the building – if it could be called that – and found the collection of goods easily enough. It was quite the hoard, too. Torvaas found his belongings quickly. The scaleskin withdrew a full set of studded leather armor, well made, and black as the night; it was useful no doubt for concealing himself in the darkness. Ulthan averted his eyes to his dressing by thumbing through the pile of clothes and purses. The paladin gathered all the coinage present into a purse that had been in the pile, totaling at forty-two silver quarters and too many copper coins to count. I swear, your money will be put to good use in Souhal. He hoped that would satisfy them.
Torvaas tapped the paladin’s shoulder and returned his cloak to him. “Did you know any of these people, Torvaas?” Ulthan asked.
“No. Not before being captured myself. Only a few were in the cages when I was brought in, I had no idea the ogres had taken so many,” the scaleskin replied somberly.
“They won’t be able to take anyone else, now,” Ulthan offered. Torvaas bowed his head, glad for that fact.
As the pair exited the hut, the others decided to set up camp within the ogre’s now empty walls, Inaru and Tyrdun examining the meat the ogres had been preparing. The ogres may be poor at a lot of things, Ulthan thought as he walked toward the center, but they sure knew how to make a nice bonfire. Joravyn used a bit of magic to move the bodies to the other side of the enclosure. After the band ate a slightly overcooked bit of boar, Lytha approached him with the crossbow and ammo, and Ulthan smiled before shaking his head.
“I’ll not be needing that back,” he said. “You’re much better with it already than I ever was. Keep it.”
“Oh, I,” she was clearly surprised, “thank you, Ulthan.”
“Sure.” He smiled, then looked to the others. “Usual rotation tonight. I’ve got first watch.”
Three
The sun peeked over the palisade of spiked logs, and Joravyn stretched his arms high above his head as he woke, yawning. The mage crawled to the exit of his tent and saw no one around the smoldering remains of the fire. He made his way to a small stream that trickled through the encampment and looked down at the chilly blue water. He muttered an incantation, and a sphere of liquid lifted from the concourse. Flames began to swirl around his other hand, and he pressed them to the orb. After a moment, he splashed his face with the warm water and sighed with relief, letting the rest splash back into the stream.
The mage turned around and grabbed his pack, withdrawing a wrapped loaf of bread from within, and a bit of leftover meat he had salted. Joravyn cut a couple of small slices of bread and replaced it in his bag. With a quick cantrip, he toasted them and set the meat between. He reveled in the taste and texture, but quickly found himself wishing for a drink as his throat turned dry.
“Don’t suppose you’ll toast a slice for me?” Fanrinn asked. Joravyn wondered when he’d woken, much less when the elf had joined him outside.
“Sure,” the mage said. It took no time at all.
“That’s got to be one of the best ways to use magic, Joravyn,” Fanrinn said with a smile after he took a bite.
“Aside from blasting monsters and spiders to smoldering bits, I guess?” he smirked. He pulled his water skin from his bag and took a long drink. “Missed you during the split. Got nicked by a dagger in my arm.”
“Did you use any of the salves or poultices I’d sent with you?”
“Yeah, but Sunshine kept asking if I wanted him to cauterize it. Begged, really.” The mage’s smirk grew larger.
“Joravyn! At least let me defend myself!” Ulthan called, exiting his tent.
He shrugged. “Figured everyone might need a bit of sleep,” Joravyn said.
“We should really get moving, though,” the paladin said.
“We should.” Yet none of them moved. Joravyn grinned.
; Ulthan eyed their breakfast. “Ever had cheese on toast?”
Joravyn’s eyes grew large. He quickly cut a thin slice of bread and Daralton cheddar from his supplies. With a quick burst of magic, the cheese melted to the bread and the crunchy toast tasted more wonderful than ever. “How did you ever come up with this?” he asked.
“It’s a very common breakfast in Auzix. Is that really your first time doing it?”
“Cheese isn’t as commonplace in the empire – outside the marches, anyway.” He smiled. “They just need someone to enlighten them! You going to be busy in the spring, Sunshine?”
Ulthan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still going to mock the church? After everything we saw?”
The mage snorted. “C’mon, Sunshine. That temple wasn’t anything special. And that illusion was novice-level at best.”
The paladin glared at Joravyn, drawing a deep breath. Joravyn met his eyes, scowling in return.
Fanrinn’s fist hammered into his arm. “Ow!” Joravyn shouted, turning to the elf.
“Enough!” he growled. He looked to Ulthan. “Both of you.” He rose. “Let’s get moving.”
As Fanrinn stepped off to wake the others, their eyes met once again. Both were level. Unmoving. Unapologetic.
Scoffing, Joravyn stepped away.
✽ ✽ ✽
Lytha smiled at the sunrise as the group finished what little remained of clearing the area of their camp. At this rate, they’d be at her father’s cabin tomorrow. Her excitement was palpable; however, it was betrayed by her tenseness and obvious worry. She still had no idea what could’ve kept him from writing to her, and she began to fear that—No.
She shook the thoughts from her head. Lytha had to believe her father was fine; elsewise she was endangering these people for no reason. She grabbed her pack from the ground and helped Ellaria pull the stakes and fold in her tent. She looked around and saw that the Torgashin man had never even set up a shelter at all, simply using a bedroll on the open ground. I’ll have to ask him about that, she thought, making note of the occurrence.
She walked through the gate to see Tyrdun looking contemplatively at the walls. His expression was grimmer than she’d yet seen on the dwarf. The others slowly joined them, also concerned with Tyrdun’s countenance. Ulthan was the last to exit, and Lytha turned to look at him. Tyrdun spoke, “There is a lot more room in this camp than the ogres we fought needed.”
Ulthan considered his words and said, “Yeah.”
“I looked around,” Ellaria added, “there were signs of an exodus—a large one, at that. They were headed north-east. Two, maybe three days ago, by my guess.”
“Then ye know what’ll need doing.” Tyrdun sighed, and Ulthan nodded. He drew his shield and faced the walls. She noticed light seemed to gather around him, golden rays focused to his body, and then slowly accumulating on his shield. A fireball sprung from the large face of it, exploding on the walls of the camp and setting it aflame.
“What are you doing?” Fanrinn shouted the question more than he asked it. “That fire will—”
“No,” Tyrdun placed a calming hand on the man’s back, “the stumps around the walls are far enough away that the fire won’t spread to the trees. The ogres managed to tear up the grass around the camp, it’s all dirt and mud. The beasts are a dumb lot; they won’t even remember this is where their camp was when they only find the ashes here.” Fanrinn glanced around, then nodded, but Lytha wasn’t so sure. She was, of course, very aware that these men had more experience than she did with ogres, but were the beasts so dumb they’d walk through a clearing of ashes and not recognize it as their previous home?
As sparks rose into the air, the band set off north to rejoin the path. She warned them that it would end soon, and they’d have to follow a checklist of landmarks she’d made years ago; Lytha wondered if they’d even still be there. After all, her route was a road untraveled, as any who were heading west would simply follow the road north of Souhal to the village Lokvale, before following a small trail to Vakal’s Ridge. Her path was the faster of the two, but, if the landmarks had disappeared, they’d have to turn around.
As they walked, she noticed Joravyn tense a little with the new addition. He kept his friendly demeanor when speaking, and even imparted the Torgashin with a nickname: Scales. But the mage seemed distressed at his company otherwise. She wondered if he had met him previously, or perhaps had encountered a Torgashin before, but no one else seemed to notice. She kept it to herself. Maybe she’d ask when she was alone with him.
The dirt path they’d been following came to a sudden end. Ahead, through an overgrown field, stood a wooden building, the oak rotted and falling away in places, vines and other greenery reaching up to the apex of the building to pull it back into the ground.
Ulthan’s hand found his chin. “I think we should look inside.”
“I’ve investigated it once or twice,” Lytha said. “Never found anything too interesting within.”
Joravyn said, “Probably best to leave it then. Got a lot of road to cover.”
“I’d still like to look,” the paladin shrugged. “Do you mind, Lytha? You’re the contractor here.”
“Oh,” she stammered. “Uh, not at all, Ulthan.”
“Thank you. Inaru, Ellaria, mind standing watch?”
“Sure,” the orc answered.
With that, Ulthan made long strides for the threshold. Fanrinn and Tyrdun walked closely behind, and Joravyn’s curiosity got the better of him after a moment. Lytha followed the four in. The group seemed bewildered by the symbols within, and Ulthan found a book with no small amount of dust covering it. He blew it away and stared at the page.
“This isn’t written in Gandari,” he announced, handing the book off to Tyrdun.
The dwarf examined the leather-bound tome. He scrutinized the characters very closely. “I’ve seen this before. Recently. It’s the language they use up north in Frost Hearth.” He eyed the characters more closely for a moment. “This one, it means Wo’aviik. That’s the name of one of their gods. Still everywhere in the city.”
“Wait,” Joravyn called. “This shrine is dedicated to the wolf-god they worship in Frost Hearth?” The mage approached them with another leather-bound tome. He handed it to Ulthan who’s eyes widened at the pages.
“This is written in Elvain,” the paladin said. “Does that mean that the men who built Souhal were northerners?”
“That seems extremely unlikely,” Lytha said.
“Why is that?” Joravyn asked.
“A friend of mine visited Frost Hearth once, years ago. He was all shaken up when he got back, and it took weeks of pressing and several ales to dig the story out of him. He said the first thing he saw when he arrived in the city, were the sworn swords of the king executing a baby just inside the gate. There was a crowd of hundreds cheering them on. The reason? The baby was a half-elf.”
Tyrdun grimaced. “I can vouch for her. While I didn’t see anything so … gruesome, I overheard a fair share of slurs toward the elves. There weren’t even any around.”
Fanrinn nodded. “I’ve heard much of the same.”
“Well, this shrine would never be this far from Frost Hearth without northern men building it. I’ll need to reconcile this with the city’s historical records,” Joravyn said. “But this certainly implies Souhal was built by the northmen and elves.”
“But how can that be?” Fanrinn asked.
“Maybe some of the northmen liked elves.” Joravyn shrugged.
Then Lytha gasped. Everyone turned to her immediately. “The first line of royalty in Souhal were the Norvackas,” she began. “They presided over the city for four hundred years before the Aldariaks began ruling. The second ruler, King Dalaan Norvacka, was a half-elf.”
“The Imperial Historian is going to love this!” Joravyn exclaimed. “A nord and an elf of Aelindaas must have eloped with some like-minded individuals.”
The mage’s face shone with excitement. This was an incredibl
e discovery—if true. It was a theory at best, but it seemed possible. The group made some notes and copied the symbols and placed the book carefully into Joravyn’s pack.
The band left the temple and began to follow the checklist of landmarks Lytha remembered. After they passed a large tree with a natural knot in the shape of an apple, Lytha informed them the next mark would not be seen for some time. It was a large pit with many bones, picked clean by carrion birds. She’d recognized the remains as those of the klonto—large beasts of burden that roamed the plains of Gandaraar. They were massive, built of all strength and fortitude. Their hides were thick, dark, and rough, great for leather armors. The beasts’ heads were proportionally small, and they had a small horn sprouting from their brows in the shape of a “Y.” She suspected the pit was of some primal significance to the klontos, where the sick and elderly would travel when they were ready to die in a time long passed. The pit’s location in the dense woods was left to speculation, though the beasts had clearly migrated east- and northward long ago.
Lytha noticed Torvaas was walking a bit behind the others, his head down. She fell back to walk beside him. For a moment, they said nothing, until she asked, “I saw you did not make use of a tent or any of the ogre hovels in the camp, is that a Torgashin custom?”
