by T. H. Lain
"I may well do that," suggested the cleric. "Since death is never the final chapter for one who serves the lord of life, I may well have that opportunity. We have no wish to compound your troubles, but Pelor has chosen me for this quest and my companion has been commissioned by Heironeous. We dare not ignore the will of the gods, even should you riddle us with arrows." The cleric paused for a moment and apparently decided that a closing word of praise might not be amiss. "Judging from the perfect fletching of that arrow and the straightness of that shaft, I've no doubt you rarely miss."
"Well-spoken," the archer conceded. "The truth is that I'm just a hunter and I have no real authority in the town, but as Pelor is my witness, I vow that if I find you've caused more heartbreak in Pergue than we've already faced, I will turn your corpses into porcupines with these arrows."
"And does Pergue always show such hospitality?" responded Alhandra. "Perhaps your ill-manners are the cause of your heartbreak!"
Obviously fearing an unnecessary battle, Jozan interposed his timing influence once more. "Please pardon my companion," he pleaded, "I fear she sees all of life in light and darkness without a place for dawn or dusk. Your threat appears to her as rudeness and she cannot sense the pain beneath your hostility. I assure you that we will not add to your misery."
"You had best not," he countered firmly. Turning to Jozan, the hunter uttered his first civil remark. "You are right about the arrows, good brother" he said, replacing the arrow in his quiver. "They are my own work and they fetch the highest price in the kingdom. Even a mediocre shot rarely misses with these." So speaking, he melted into the woods as quickly as he had emerged from them.
Alhandra turned to the cleric and scowled at him with annoyance. "Dusk and dawn, indeed! Where do you get such drivel?"
"Observation, Alhandra," replied the cleric, "observation."
"I still say it's drivel," responded Alhandra with only a bit of the annoyance leaving her voice. "But at least you were right about one thing. It was too quiet."
She hid her amusement and turned to follow Jozan into Pergue.
The cleric led the way and surely heard her muttering behind him, "It's hard to believe you have difficulty with language. You certainly weren't at a loss for words back there."
Jozan celebrated in his inner feelings. He didn't know why he felt that what this woman thought about him was so important, but he knew it mattered to him and he knew he felt much better knowing that for one short moment, she had begrudgingly admired him. He hadn't felt so good about himself since the Master General sent him on this mission.
The warriors walked their horses slowly, never knowing when another ambush might appear. The late afternoon gave way to the peculiar shadows of dusk and the odd isolation of the road continued until they found themselves in full view of the center of Pergue. Yet, oddity continued. The blacksmith had an eye patch over his left eye. Every woman on the street was covered with a veil or a cowl. A merchant covered the left side of his face with his hand and ducked down a side street away from the newcomers and many of the men wore hoods that shaded their faces. It had every appearance, Jozan thought, of what he imagined would be the attire at an assassin's convocation. He was beginning to wonder what they were riding into.
The weary travelers dismounted at the Boar's Tusk Tavern, a building that looked like it might be the busiest place in town. It was also one of the few two-story buildings in town, something that usually indicated an inn. Alhandra breathed deeply as they walked through the door and realized that everyone in the tavern was hooded. Everyone wore a hood, that was, except for a bartender with a patch over his eye, a serving girl with an emerald dangling in front of her empty left eye socket, and a large, gray-skinned half-orc who had no deformity beyond the savage appearance of such a half-breed.
Jozan motioned for Alhandra to take a seat at the one empty table in the tavern and stood at the bar to order wine. The serving girl took his order and poured the crimson liquid into two goblets, all the while offering her right profile to the cleric. Even so, it was hard not to notice the emptiness behind the emerald.
Turning to approach their table, Jozan got a better look at the half-orc. The barbarian slurped the last of his shepherd's pie with the enthusiasm expected from one of the tavern's namesakes at a feeding trough. The tavern crowd gave wide birth to this savage. That is, everyone in the tavern gave him plenty of room except for the serving girl and Alhandra, who sat near him as though she'd known him forever. The girl, who moved among the customers, kept glancing at the barbarian with such a nurturing, concerned look in her eye that Jozan wondered if she might not be in love with the monstrosity, or perhaps had been paid in advance for her company.
Jozan stepped back to the bar to ask the bartender about procuring two rooms for the night. Even while he waited for an answer, Jozan couldn't help but stare at the woman with the emerald hiding her disfigurement. At times, when the light caught the gem just right, it sparkled like the woman's remaining eye.
The bartender was laughing at something the old man in front of him said, so he barely acknowledged Jozan. He simply cleared his throat and flashed five fingers in front of the cleric. Jozan clawed five silver pieces out of his bag and placed them on the counter.
Having finished his hearty laugh, the bartender looked at the coins and grunted, "Five per room!"
It took Jozan a moment to realize what the tavern owner was saying because he had been staring at the serving girl again.
As Jozan hastily counted five more silver pieces onto the counter, the woman spoke, her voice sharp with hurt. "We wear the prizes from the Black Carnival, not the badges of choice!"
Before any other questions could be addressed to her, she ran crying from the room.
Jozan heard a stool scrape the floor, the unmistakable sound of the half-orc rising behind him. He started to turn, ready to defend himself, when he heard Alhandra speak in friendly but mocking tones.
"So, the dour Krusk is in love. How the mighty have fallen!"
Jozan turned to see Alhandra facing the half-orc with that wicked smile she wore when baiting the cleric. Krusk ignored her and pointed a menacing finger at Jozan.
"Not hurt one eye!" he growled.
"Look around you, Krusk!" commanded Alhandra. "Who are you trying to intimidate with that northern orc speech? Do you get better service pretending to be the big, bad barbarian?" She glanced in the direction of the back room and turned back to the half-orc. "Yes," she answered her own question, "I see you do!"
The barbarian flashed one more stern look at the cleric before turning back to the paladin. "It never hurts to keep them guessing. Captain Tahrain taught me that."
Alhandra introduced Krusk to Jozan and Jozan to Krusk. The cleric apologized for his bumbling approach toward Yddith and then suddenly realized that the entire crowd was listening to their conversation. Turning to the room, the cleric offered an olive branch.
"I beg Pelor's forgiveness," said the cleric soothingly, "and I beg forgiveness of all in hearing. My companion and I come in the names of our gods. We have a holy quest and do not wish to add to your suffering. In penance, I offer a drink to everyone here and pledge to tame my curious eye."
The round on the house did much to allay any ill feelings within the tavern. Certainly, the additional coinage in trade loosened the bartender's tongue. He told the story of how the Black Carnival had appeared in the middle of the night and announced the performance of the banned play. He shared how he and some other men tried to destroy the wagons on the day of the play, but how the wagons had shimmered as though they were an illusion or might have been winking back and forth from one plane to another. With the talent of a trained bard, this amateur raconteur told of the valiant fight led by the priests of Pelor. As tears from his one remaining eye threatened his proud visage, he explained how an enchanted priest had killed his own leader and how their own guardsman had returned as a zombie. He turned toward the doorway through which Yddith had disappeared and told of her
courage as they walked in the slave caravan. He recounted the chain trick with relish and pointed to Krusk as their liberator.
Pinally, his tale winding down, the tavern owner stared at the sun disk of Pelor around Jozan's neck. "Have you come to staff the monastery of Pelor?" he asked, taking Jozan off-guard.
"I might," he answered thoughtfully, "Pelor willing. Right now, we seek a certain one-eyed priest."
Suddenly, Krusk touched the handle of his axe and spoke once more in the accentuated inflection common to the orcs within these environs.
"Gruumsh priest. Krusk kill!" grunted the barbarian.
"Oh you will, will you?" countered Alhandra. "If you do, you'll have to travel with us. If you travel with us, you'll need to speak naturally. Are we together on this?"
"Don't you ever tire of being punctilious?" replied Krusk. "Count me in. After all, you saved my life, once. Maybe I can return the favor."
Jozan responded carefully, not knowing how solid this rapidly forming alliance might be.
"I hope you do kill the priest, but we have to find him first. Do you have any clue where he might be?"
To his amazement, the half-orc responded by explaining about Calmet's gold mine.
"Ah," returned the cleric, "that explains the use of slaves, doesn't it? Where is this gold mine? I'm sure there are plenty in these mountains."
"I believe it's near Scaun," suggested the barbarian.
"I see," stated Jozan. "Excuse my ignorance, but I think we need to be a little more precise. Where is the mine compared to Scaun?"
Krusk shrugged and sat down in disgust.
Jozan's frustration was rising. He was certain that Krusk knew more about the situation than he was revealing, but he couldn't figure out how to dredge any more information out of the barbarian. He decided to give him the classic clerical stare. Sometimes, Jozan knew, if a man of god looked at you as though he knew your thoughts, people would open up and confess nearly anything.
Just as the cleric readied to give Krusk "the stare," Alhandra stood beside the half-orc, put her hand on his shoulder, and said, "Don't lose patience, Jozan. Krusk is merely a little shy when he meets new people. He'll open up a little later and you'll see that he can be quite a help."
"You mean you trust this…this… barbarian?" All of Jozan's cache of eloquence disintegrated in an explosion of pure jealousy.
Alhandra didn't seem to understand Jozan's agitated demeanor, but she answered quickly and quietly, "I know Krusk as a very brave man who fights against evil at every opportunity. I've fought beside him and I even sought Heironeous's guidance a moment ago to guarantee that this is the Krusk I know. There is no way I couldn't trust him."
At that moment, Jozan had the eerie experience of watching a past sermon come true. On several occasions, he had preached about the providential protection of Pelor and how evil has a tendency to overplay its hand.
Even before he could apologize to Krusk and Alhandra for his almost hostile behavior, a cloaked merchant crashed through the door shouting, "Orcs! Wolves! Boars!"
As one, the tavern regulars pulled knives, swords, and axes that seemed more recently scavenged than used. They certainly weren't the well-honed weapons of even an active militia. As they started walking shakily but resolutely toward the door, Jozan saw the empty eye sockets within their hooded visages. He observed their resolve born of desperation and humiliation as they moved unenthusiastically toward the pending battle.
All these observations took only a moment and they were punctuated by an almost involuntary reaction. Krusk crashed out the front door and, with mace in hand, Jozan followed. Alhandra, he was not surprised to discover, was beside him. They heard the mob, Pergue's makeshift militia, moving behind them, yet the main attraction was clearly before them.
A one-eyed orc priest adorned with bone necklaces and antlers in his hair was driving a two-wheeled cart pulled by the largest one-eyed dire wolf Jozan had ever seen. The cart's wheels were augmented by radiating spikes oozing a sticky substance, and the druid was joined by a large eagle, two large, one-eyed orc warriors atop similarly deformed war boars, and six smaller orc soldiers. One of the orc soldiers pounded a crude cadence on a drum adorned with human skulls and stretched, Jozan suspiciously assumed, with human skin, as well.
Seeing the motley assemblage moving to meet him, the orc wrapped his reins around one arm and moved his other hand in small spirals descending from head and face to below the sides of the cart. Then, as the cart drew nearer, the orc's gray skin began to glow with an eerie, green tinge followed by a brown crust that seemed to crawl from forehead downward. In only a few seconds, it seemed as if the orc had changed his skin to the texture of tree bark.
Jozan realized he faced a potent rival-a druid.
10
Yddith heard the drumming and the shouts. Even with tears forming a crystalline stream below her one good eye, she recognized the danger.
"Not again," she said to herself and shuddered.
Even as the makeshift militia decided it was better to go down fighting than to be captured again, Yddith re-entered the common room and moved swiftly to the shuttered window where she could observe the action through its narrow slit.
"I am Hassq!" intoned the priest, speaking in the preferred mono-syllabics of the orcs but without the harsh accentuation and awkward grammar exhibited by most of the northern orcs. "Come, slaves! Come now or lose more eyes!"
"Not on your life!" shouted a blacksmith as he charged forward. This precipitated similar shouts from other townsfolk and a few angry syllables from Krusk. It also sparked considerable action.
Yddith saw Hassq's eagle take to the air and launch itself against Dyffid, the wine merchant, as he charged the druid. She saw the bird rake a claw across the man's face and peck frighteningly close to the merchant's remaining good eye. She was encouraged to see Dyffid stab the bird with a rusty dagger stripped from a dead slaver's body and she almost cheered as she watched him withdraw the blade with a new adornment of feathers and blood. Then the eagle squawked and flew upward to circle around for another attack.
Yddith was frightened. She couldn't keep track of all the separate battles in the rapidly darkening street. She watched the dire wolf charge, pulling the cart directly toward the ragtag defenders. She saw Krusk and Alhandra closing on the two mounted orcs and even saw the town's blacksmith join with Alhandra against the orc. All the while, the drum pounded. The orc soldiers continued advancing to the sound of the drum and Yddith knew that she needed to stop them before they entered the fray.
Yddith reached for the curtain nearest her and started slicing off some of the cloth with a greasy kitchen knife when she saw Jozan lift his mace and point its head at the drummer. She heard him summon the power of Pelor and watched the mace glow with the sun god's blessing.
"Run!" commanded the cleric in a mellifluous tone that engulfed the orc percussionist with sound and tiny sparkles of sunlight that danced around his head.
The drummer missed a beat. Then, with panic in his yellow eyes, he turned to run. Jozan thanked Pelor aloud for intervening and smiled in grim satisfaction. As the drummer ran, the remaining orcs looked at each other in confusion.
Yddith intuitively grasped the young cleric's intent. She took a portion of the woolen curtain she'd just chopped off and rolled it into a ball. Then, quietly summoning the power within her that had saved her life once before, Yddith breathed the power word. This time, as she invoked the grace of Pelor, Yddith concentrated on creating the sound of armor clanking behind the closest orc. The soldier spun around to face the non-existent threat behind him and received a meat cleaver wedged in his back as his reward. Yddith hadn't realized that Imel the butcher was about to throw his cleaver just as she'd seen him do in every spring festival for five years running, but she was thankful for Imel's prowess. The orc stumbled and his remaining compatriots looked even more confused.
Satisfied that she had helped throw the orc infantry squad into confusion, Yddith glanced qui
ckly at the rest of the battle. She saw Lovan, the miller, joining in the melee alongside Krusk. The orc warrior they fought was shouting something in its own guttural language just as Lovan swung a rusty axe at the war boar and struck the orc's knee by mistake. The cut wasn't deep, but it got the attention of both the orc and the boar. The tusked mount shifted to slash at Lovan. The boar missed, but only because its tusk was partially broken off. Unfortunately, as Lovan stumbled backward, the animal sank its teeth into the miller's leg and ripped away a large gouge of flesh and muscle.
Yddith winced as she saw the boar fear at Lovan's leg, but she also recognized that the maneuver had brought the orc within range of Krusk's axe. Krusk smashed the side of his weapon like a hammer across the orc's shoulder blade, toppling the warrior backward. From this distance, Yddith couldn't hear the bones cracking like dry firewood over the sounds of battle, but she saw the stain of blood splashing down the warrior's weapon arm like ale pouring down a drunkard's shirt. The orc's shattered arm dropped but he kept his grip on his weapon. With the grit and concentrated effort of an experienced veteran, he reached across the saddle with his good arm and reclaimed the axe from the useless, blood-slickened right hand. In a moment he was trading blows with the half-orc, his handicap offset by the advantage of being seated on the giant boar.
Yddith's attention was riveted on Krusk's challenge. She didn't see the eagle dive at Dyffid again and again, clawing and pecking until the poor wine merchant covered his remaining eye and fell exhausted and bleeding to the ground. She missed the brave intervention of Kix, the stable boy, as he impaled the bird on his pitchfork, saving Dyffid from further clawing and biting.
She was vaguely aware of the orc and war boar charging Alhandra but Yddith failed to see the paladin fall under the swine's ferocious charge or Riedel, the blacksmith, hacking at the orc as he rode by. Riedel pounded the greataxe into the monster's body with all the strength in his body, born of years spent pounding a hammer onto the anvil. Riedel's blow was strong enough to split the orc's armor, even as the orc's own blow was deflected by the paladin's enchanted armor.
