"What talk?"
"You know very well. But I don't think he's ever been your lover. So what is it that keeps you in the middle of nowhere?"
Elyana wasn't really interested in a personal dialogue with Lisette, but didn't want to seem unfriendly, either. So she kept her answer simple. "Sometimes a thing just needs doing, and you're the only one who can do it."
"You strike me as smarter than that."
"Do I? Maybe I'm just lucky."
"No—I think you're like me. You make your own luck. You make your plans, surround yourself with the best, and wait for your enemy to slip. When they do, you're ready to spring.
"That might be."
"There you go, being mysterious."
Illidian's voice rang from the woodlands. "Elyana!"
It was not a cry of alarm, but a warning that the patrol returned. In a few moments, the elves were leading their horses uphill, and they hadn't come alone.
Lisette cursed softly. Elyana merely frowned as she caught sight of the young sorcerer and her brother who had failed the expedition trials. They, too, led horses, and both humans and mounts were splattered with mud. The boy tried to look resolute and stolid. The girl's lips were pursed in anger. Her fine scarlet cloak was hardly recognizable, so thick was the dirt and filth.
Illidian called to Elyana in Elven as he neared. "I found them skulking a few leagues to our rear."
"You can't make us not hunt the beast." The girl tugged her drooping mount forward. Her eyes blazed defiantly as she stopped before Elyana and Lisette. "Don't think you can make us stop!"
"I didn't say I would."
Illidian halted to her left, an amused and contemptuous smile flitting at the corners of his mouth.
"Then tell them"—the girl looked fiercely over to Illidian—"to release us, and our weapons."
"That would be a death sentence," Elyana replied. Especially, she thought, given that the summoner and his monster have almost surely honed in on the expedition by now. She felt certain the summoner would not allow the expedition to advance much further without demonstrating his murderous powers. But she didn't say this to the girl or the young man. "If you're out there on your own, you're liable to be killed. Even a strong hunting party's in danger from the beast."
"Then we will join you," the girl told her. "Free of charge."
Lisette laughed. "Oh, that's rich. We can't be distracted looking out for people that barely remember to wash behind their ears."
"I'm a trained warrior," the boy objected. "Your captain saw me. He knows I can handle my blade."
"You two can barely handle a mud bath," Lisette said.
Elyana held up a hand. Lisette fell silent, but this merely left an opening for the boy to continue his pleas.
"We don't wish to be paid," he continued. "We just want to help. That thing has to be stopped."
"Most of the applicants agreed with you," Elyana reminded him. "But they had the sense not to follow. Tonight you'll bed down with us, and help keep watch. First thing in the morning, you must return."
"We won't," the girl said. "We'll still follow you."
Elyana frowned. "We'll see." She looked to Illidian. "Give them back their weapons and find them a spot out of the way."
The elf's reply was laconic. "As you command."
Elyana addressed the brother. "You, what's your name?"
"Poul."
"And your sister?"
"I am Melias."
"Well, Poul, Melias, you'll have to take care of your own horses, and eat from your own supplies."
"We expected to carry our weight," Poul insisted. "We're just asking you to give us a chance to prove we can do it."
"I'm giving you a chance to sleep in as safe a place as we have out here." Almost she spoke on about how she was certain the beast and its master were aware of them, and might even be seeking them, but she held her tongue. If the beast had a human master, mightn't the master have human informants?
Suppose the boy or the girl was the summoner? Either was too young to have mastered the level of proficiency this kind of magic surely required, but she well knew that powerful spellcasters could alter their appearance.
She sighed to herself. "Go on. Illidian, get them out of here."
"Leave your horses here with ours," Illidian instructed. Galarias walked with him, shooing Poul and Melias away almost as though they were lambs. Aladel lingered, though.
"Would you like me to picket their mounts?" the dark-haired elf asked.
"Kind of you," Elyana replied.
Aladel bobbed his head. "The boy and girl are exhausted," he said. "I thought I'd save them the time."
"Was there anything ...strange about them, Aladel?" Elyana regretted the question almost the moment she said it.
The black-cloaked elf arched an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
"She's wondering if they really are who they seem to be, I expect," Lisette explained. "We're chasing a magic-worker."
"Of course," Aladel answered, then gave Elyana a brief nod. "I didn't see any surprising sign of competency, if that's what you mean. They were astonishingly simple to ambush. And even if you were pretending incompetence, why make yourself miserable by backtracking into the bog?"
"Maybe if you're working hard on your part," Lisette suggested.
"It may be," Aladel allowed, politely. "But I think they're nothing more than they seem to be. A boy and a girl, driven by vengeance and grief."
"Thank you, Aladel," Elyana said. She considered him with a little more care, for his judgment had impressed her.
He offered a brief smile, bowed his head, then clicked his tongue and led the horses off to where the others were hobbled, a few paces back. She watched him retreat.
Lisette smirked. "I can guess what you're thinking now."
It took a moment for Elyana to change the track of her thought. Of course—Lisette assumed she was admiring Aladel's physique, despite the fact that his cloak obscured it. Humans had such one-track minds. "Do you mean I'm thinking that, if someone had to follow, I wish it had been that berserker dwarf?"
Lisette laughed and stepped away.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Eight
An Unexpected Guest
Drelm
Drelm hadn't said a word of complaint, but Marika had teased him good-naturedly as they finished their work, for his stomach had been growling for the last quarter-hour. If Marika had been under his direct chain of command, he would have reprimanded her, but seeing as the woman was working hard with the planting of spikes, he let the matter lie.
Still, when supper was ready he didn't join Marika and Grellen, sitting instead by the huntswoman, Cyrelle. It wasn't that Drelm didn't mind a good joke; he just didn't enjoy being a target. Through most of his life all jests aimed toward him had been malicious.
Those on first watch had already eaten, and the cool twilight of the woods gathered around them like a cloak, bringing with it the fresh scent of pine, unfortunately seasoned with a hint of wet decay from the nearby bog. Already he heard the hoot of an owl and the chirruping of insects. The croaking of frogs had grown into a cacophony.
The bread had been freshly baked this morning and was a welcome treat, even if the bakers of Delgar routinely baked chewy rather than crisp loaves. Drelm wondered if he could have Daylah make him crisp loaves when they were married. He preferred the solid crunch of them when he bit down.
He was tearing into a strip of dried venison when the halfling sat down near him.
Drutha gave him a polite good evening and then dug into her pack to remove an elaborate assortment of individually wrapped ingredients—slices of mushroom and tomato, a flaky-looking bread and a sort of grayish-green paste that she spread over its top with a small black knife, some crisp young chard, and several slices of mutton. Drelm couldn't help staring. Finally, Drutha sat everything upon the bread, then folded it in upon itself and took a bite.
It was only then that the
halfling noticed she'd gained an audience, and stared by turns at Drelm, Cyrelle, and the grim-looking Calvonis, who had just taken a seat on the grass at the halfling's right.
"I didn't plan on being the evening's entertainment," she said lightly, then took a small, neat bite.
Drutha was a creature of browns. Curling brown hair, large brown eyes, brown vest over a whitish brown shirt, brown leggings. Her feet were likewise topped with curling brown hair so thick it almost seemed fur. Now that he considered her in detail, it occurred to Drelm that he didn't usually see halflings looking so prosperous. Surely they rarely ate so well.
Cyrelle laughed. "It's good to see someone who appreciates a decent meal. You look as hungry as I am. I wish I'd packed a sandwich that looked so good!" Cyrelle, like Drelm, was eating the expedition fare.
Drutha chewed and swallowed. "Well. I thought I might not come back from this one, so I splurged a bit. I've had enough dry meat." The good humor faded slightly from her eyes. "And gone without too many times."
"I hear you there, halfling," Calvonis said gruffly. The lanky former soldier still wore his battered helmet and armor. "Wish I'd planned that well."
For all that he said he was twenty-five, Calvonis looked as if he were in his late thirties, for his frame was gaunt, his skin leathery. He'd handled both sword and bow well, but been reluctant to say where he'd seen service.
So said many in the River Kingdoms.
"What brings you along?" Cyrelle asked.
Calvonis's dark eyes flicked up. "The beast killed my wife," he answered tonelessly. He was fingering a little silver necklace that Drelm recognized with a start as a Razmiri mask. He'd thought Razmir only attracted cowards and fools.
"Did you see it?" Drutha asked, taking another nibble before continuing. "The beast, I mean?"
"No one can ‘see it,'" Calvonis returned. He ceased rubbing the mask and let it hang loose in front of his armor. "But no. I just found the evidence. I returned from hunting, and..." He fell silent and savagely tore off a hunk of dried meat.
"It needs to be stopped, friend," Drutha said into the awkward silence. "I don't mind the pay, at all. I assure you." The halfling woman offered a brief smile. "But I'm for the cause myself."
"I'm with you, Drutha," Cyrelle assented. "Where do you hail from, anyway? You don't hear tell of too many halfling woodswomen. Woodhalflings. You know what I mean."
"I rode from Mivon. We have a small community south of Jovvox." Her eyes took on a dangerous light. "We're not all wee little city folk begging for work."
"I never said you were," Cyrelle replied amiably. She took a long swallow from a large wine sac at her side, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand and offered the drink to the halfling.
Drutha brightened, gave a nod in thanks, and transferred her sandwich to one hand so she can take a quick bolt. "Wow—quite a kick there! You're from Riverton?"
"I come from there now, if that's what you mean." Cyrelle received the wine sac and the halfling resumed work on her sandwich.
"I hear you've a way with all beasts," Calvonis said to Cyrelle, his voice sounding lonely and remote. "That you can tame anything that comes your way."
Cyrelle chuckled. "People do talk, don't they? I'm good, but I'm not that good. It's not just a matter of snapping fingers. It takes years to train an animal up right, even if you do have the touch."
Drelm found himself nodding in agreement. Elyana surely had the touch, but it took her long months to ready one of her horses for the saddle and longer still to ready it for battle.
"I was just wondering," Calvonis said, "whether your powers could control or confuse the beast."
Cyrelle shook her head. "No, lad. I've got no delusion about mastering it, or even distracting the thing."
Calvonis had been staring at her wine sac. "Is that corn whiskey?"
"It is. You want a swig?" Cyrelle offered her wineskin.
"I do."
She passed it over and Calvonis took a belt. Drelm saw a cold smile spread over his face as he closed his eyes. For a brief moment he seemed at peace. He then returned it.
"You must have a stomach on you," Cyrelle said. "That's a pretty potent mix."
"Just right, I think."
Drelm finished up his own meal and stood to wipe bread crumbs from his clothes.
"What of you, Captain Drelm?" Drutha asked
"What of me?"
"How did a tiny little spot like Delgar rate you and Elyana?"
Drelm wasn't sure how to answer that.
"Don't be modest," Cyrelle said. "A lot of folk around here have heard about Elyana's feud with a pack of shadow wizards in Taldor. And how you rode into a Gray Gardener stronghold in Galt to save one of your friends."
"I haven't," Calvonis said.
"I have things to do," Drelm said, and moved away, ignoring Drutha's plea to tell the stories in his own words. It wasn't becoming to speak of oneself like that, and Elyana's past wasn't their business unless she wished to speak of it. Drelm was pretty certain that she didn't.
Drelm knelt down near where the horses were picketed and made his nightly prayer to Abadar. As was lately his habit, after bowing his head and reciting the Prayer of Balance, taught to him by Baron Stelan, he thanked the god for leading him to so many opportunities, and strengthening his will so he might better find balance. Lately he'd added a new innovation, for the matter of Abadar's worship in Delgar, or lack thereof, nettled him. "I'm no great speaker, Lord," Drelm said. "But if you guide me, I'll show the folk of Delgar that you're more than the god of rich men. I would lead them to you, and share your teachings, if I could find a way to be a better man."
Abadar was the lord of civilization, and that meant patience and balance. It also meant laws. Drelm put great stock in laws, for without guidance society would descend into chaos, just as he himself would.
So far as Drelm understood, Abadar held sway over nearly everything that was good in life, and Drelm remained grateful to him. It continually saddened him that Drelm hadn't been able to bring the lord mayor to Abadar's worship, for Avelis reminded him, in many ways, of Baron Stelan, the man who had first introduced him to Elyana. Both men led by example. And both loved wise words, the mayor even more than the baron.
Drelm closed with a final request. "If you but steady my hand, I will slay the beast in your name, and bring you even greater glory. Amen."
After his prayer, Drelm appraised the spots where he and Elyana had posted sentries, then relocated Grellen to one of the lower branches, because without a stronger light source a human was fairly blind up there. After that he walked a circuit a quarter mile around the camp with Cyrelle and two of her hounds, looking for spoor. They found many signs of wildlife, but nothing that seemed related to the summoner or his ghostly horse.
"Maybe he's steering clear of us," Cyrelle suggested as they made their way back to camp.
"Maybe he's waiting," Drelm responded.
And wait he did, until the dead low hours of the morning, near two bells.
Drelm was on watch when the monster came, along with Drutha, Calvonis, and Aladel the elf.
The dim glow of the firelight showed him the sign of the beast's passage as it dashed up from the trees, for it set limbs swaying and trampled the undergrowth. The ground shook as the beast charged up the grassy slope. It knew, by scent or some magical sense, where they'd concealed the spikes and the shallow pits, and bypassed them all.
Drelm shouted the alarm and sent one throwing axe flying before dropping from the tree. He was glad for the fight. "Cyrelle! Send out the hounds!"
The hounds were already barking, of course, but the huntswoman was supposed to dispatch them to seek the summoner, sure to be lurking somewhere just beyond the campsite.
Elyana was awake and shouting for a volley. And that was good, because it meant Drelm need no longer worry about the overall conflict, and could focus on the battle. That's what he preferred. He had a score to settle with the beast. With Abadar's grace, he would
avenge young Melloc.
A flight of arrows came streaming overhead, and he heard them sink into the beast's side. Two of the three shafts stuck quivering in what seemed midair. A third sailed past it on the right.
As Drelm's second axe tumbled forward, Votek dashed up beside Drelm and threw his hands out while shouting an incantation. The wizard's red beard and hair were matted to the left and he wore no shirt, but he looked far from ridiculous when his fingers glowed and energy streamed forth from both palms to strike the oncoming beast. In moments, the wizard's spell had defined the left side of a large, lizard-shaped skull and much of a huge, turtle-like body behind it sparkled with golden dust.
"Good!" he heard Illidian's distinct voice shouting. "Fire at will!"
The rest of their group was up and moving in the dim firelight, and as Drelm lifted his battleaxe he heard war whoops from Grellen and Marika. Cyrelle's hounds raced into the woods to the east, barking furiously.
The beast lumbered on. The Oaksteward stepped up to Drelm's left and swept his staff around as he sonorously expounded a spell of his own.
Before he could finish, a gout of burning liquid sprayed from a space out ahead of the sparkling dust—presumably where the thing's mouth was.
"Down!" Drelm shouted. He and the wizard dropped. The Oaksteward did not, and his spell was disrupted by an agonized scream. Drelm scrambled quickly to his feet even as he heard the distinctive pop of gunfire and the dull twang of additional bowstrings.
The Oaksteward went down in a smoldering heap. Drelm spared him no time; he would either use magic to recover, or he'd die. Nothing the half-orc could do would change any of that.
And then, beside him, something flamed into existence. Drelm spun, axe raised, and found himself staring at the back of an immense horned ape, half again his size. The creature's fur glowed red and fire rolled along its edges. Votek screamed in agony as the beast's massive hands clutched his chest and face. The sound of sizzling flesh rose into the air, along with an awful stench.
Drelm's axe cut deep into the muscles of the thing's back and it roared and spun, wielding the limp wizard like a whip. Drelm sidestepped as the sizzling, screaming wizard's legs flailed into the ground beside him. Drelm swung again, but the monster was nimble and leapt back. It bared gleaming black fangs and roared at him, then flung the wizard to the earth and jumped on him, caving in his chest. Poor Votek let out a final cry of pain and then fell silent as his clothes caught fire from the monster's burning feet.
Stalking the Beast Page 12
