D & D - Red Sands

by Tonya R. Carter

  "Who are you?" demanded Jadira. "What has become of our friends?"

  "I am Frolder, son of Narken, captain in the legion of my Lord Tedwin of Maridanta." He mockingly touched his chest and saluted them. "Your friends are on their way to Barrow Vitgis, our military camp in this province."

  "But why? We've done nothing wrong," said Marix.

  "You entered the domain of Count Tedwin surreptitiously, trampled his valuable grazing land, drank water from his river. . . need I go on? As his lordship's sheriff, it is my responsibility to uphold the law. I can't allow bands of vagabonds to despoil his lordship's property with impunity."

  "Vagabonds! Do you know who—" Marix began.

  Jadira cut him off. "How may we make restitution to Count Tedwin?" she asked quickly.

  "If you will come with me to Barrow Vitgis, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," said Frolder. He brought his horse's head around. "Follow the watercourse northward eight vanzi and the barrow will be on the west bank."

  "Uh, how far is eight vanzi?" said Marix.

  Frolder considered a moment. "One and a half Faziri leagues."

  Jadira saw Marix's hand stray to his sword hilt. No, no, not yet, she thought. Frolder saw his movement, too. He smiled behind his elegant red moustache and reached for the small silver disc that hung from a chain around his neck. He put the disc to his lips and disappeared.

  Out came the scimitar. Marix charged forward, kicking up spray. He splashed through the spot where horse and rider had iust been.

  "Where did he go?" he sputtered.

  —and there was Frolder behind him. He lifted his broadsword. Jadira had no time to cry a warning before Frolder brought the flat of the heavy blade down on top of Marix's head. Marix's knees crumpled, and he collapsed backward into the shallow water.

  Frolder smiled benignly at Jadira. "Let no one say the son of Narken is not a kindly fellow," he said. He sheathed his weapon. "The Barrow Vitgis; if you care for your companions, you will come."

  The magic amulet—for that is what it surely was— went back in Frolder's mouth, and he vanished, this time for good. Jadira rolled the stunned Marix over and picked waterweed from his hair.

  "Ow," he groaned. "What hit me?"

  "Our friend Frolder. He has an amulet that confers invisibility."

  "Is he gone?"

  She blotted his face with her sleeve. "How can I tell? I

  don't see him, if that means anything."

  She found his sword and handed it back to him. "What sort of place would this Barrow Vitgis be?" she asked.

  Marix touched the top of his head and winced. "An earthen hill, natural or man-built, topped with a stockade. The provincial sheriff dwells within, with his armed retainers."

  "How many retainers?"

  "Who knows? Count Tedwin is the richest vassal of Prince Lydon of Narsia. A hundred men-at-arms? Two hundred?" He wrung water from his robe and adjusted his sword belt. "Does it matter?"

  She admitted it did not. Jadira and Marix put the afternoon sun on their left and set out for the hilltop fortress where their friends were being held.

  Barrow Vitgis was no rude stockade perched on a pile of dirt. It was an entire village, spread out around the base of a conical mound capped by a log-walled citadel. The banner of Maridanta flipped lazily from a mast at the top of the hill. Smoke hung low in the moist evening air.

  A soldier in a black brigandine jacket barred Jadira and Marix's way with his halberd. "What do you want here?" he demanded.

  "Sheriff Frolder is holding some friends of ours," said Jadira. "We've come to get them out."

  The guard smiled unpleasantly. "O' course. Pass," he said, snapping the pole arm to the vertical. As they walked by him, the guard chuckled under his breath.

  The long palisade around the village had no gate, only a baffle to defeat a cavalry charge. Inside, Barrow Vitgis was astir with activity. Pigs and chickens ran free in the muddy lanes; peasant farmers carried bunches of turnips or onions tied to long poles over their shoulders. Here and there were other black-garbed soldiers, men of the army of Count Tedwin.

  "I hope this is not some game of deceit," muttered Jadira as they walked.

  "So do I." Marix sidestepped a trundle cart bearing a beer barrel. "We're not far from where I buried the seal." She queried him with a sharp look. He nodded to the east. "No more than half a league that way, in a star-shaped olive grove."

  At the base of the citadel mound, a spiral road began, leading to the summit. The road was corduroyed with logs to provide a steadier surface for the steep ascent. Marix and Jadira circled the hill four times. At the top they passed through another baffle of rough-dressed logs into the sheriff's military keep. An elderly man in civilian clothes accosted them. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, from which hung a miniature human leg wrought in gold.

  "Who are you? What is your business here?" said the man haughtily.

  "We are travelers, bidden here by your sheriff. He arrested four of our companions and brought them to the barrow," said Jadira.

  He looked down his beaky nose at them and sniffed. "You will have to wait until Sir Frolder can sec you," he said. "Come with me."

  He led them through a wide doorway into the dark interior of the wooden citadel. Skylights relieved the gloom in spots, but the whole aspect of the place was so austere Jadira found it depressing. Bad enough to live

  inside walls and a roof, but this!

  The old man stopped in a large octagonal hall. "You will wait here," he said. To Marix, he held out a hand. "I must ask you to give up your sword—for the time being." Marix slowly reached for the scimitar. "It is the law," the old man insisted.

  Marix drew the blade out of its wooden scabbard and handed it pommel-first to their guide. The old man regarded the Faziri weapon with distaste, but carried it away without another word.

  "Westerners are strange people," Jadira said when they were alone. "And this Frolder, he's the strangest of them all—appearing and disappearing like my grand-sire's ghost! He means us no good, I know it."

  "Count Tedwin is a shrewd leader," said Marix. "He's been lame since birth, so he surrounds himself with bold, vigorous lieutenants."

  Jadira walked the perimeter of the hall. The walls were decorated with carpets and heraldic shield covers. The floor was covered with fine white river sand. In the center was an octagonal table, finely made from some dark northern wood. Heavy cubic chairs faced the table. As Jadira swung around the last face of the eight-sided room, Frolder blinked into sight in the tallest and grandest of the chairs.

  "Good of you to come," he said.

  "May we settle accounts and go?" said Marix. "We have duties elsewhere."

  "Sit," said Frolder with a regal wave of his hand. When neither Jadira nor Marix moved, he repeated himself with more force: "Sit!"

  Marix and Jadira sat side by side. She placed her hands atop his and twined their fingers together.

  "I will tell you a story," began Frolder. "A fascinating story, but one that doesn't have an ending yet. It seems there was this band of travelers. A very select group of men and women. One had the shaven poll of a holy man; another was scraped off a filthy street in Fazir. There was a woman with skin like midnight, tall and handsome to see, who moved silently and watched everything. The next was not a man at all, but a gargoyle with wings, cat's eyes, and pointed ears to boot." Frolder leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Then came the young man. His coloring and carriage were foreign to this region. There's no mistaking noble blood, you know; no ignoring the fellow who's never bent his knee to a higher power save the gods. And the last was a woman, a nomad woman, fierce of eye and strong of will. Who were these travelers, and where did they come from?"

  "Are you asking us?" saidjadira.

  "No, I'm telling you a story. Don't interrupt; it's not polite." He turned the blood-colored velvet mantle back from his shoulders and stood up. A ruby-hilted dagger gleamed at his waist. The sheriff was enjoying his adv
antage.

  "As I said, not the usual sort of vagabonds one might expect to drift into one's domain now and then. These were people with a purpose, a mission. Now, what might that mission be?" Frolder planted his fists on his hips. "That is the question. What would keep such a disparate band together, do you think?"

  "Good comrades need no reason," said Marix. "May we see our friends, Sir Sheriff?"

  Jadira expected Frolder to resist and demand answers. Instead, he smiled and relaxed his belligerent stance. "Why not?" he said.

  Frolder swept aside one of the wall hangings, revealing an open door. He held the tapestry aside for Jadira and Marix. They ducked through. The corridor beyond was dank and hot. Clumps of lichen grew on the squared-off logs that formed the walls and ceilings.

  They preceded Frolder along the hall to a left turn. From there, they emerged outdoors again; in this case, a courtyard surrounded by a high fence. A number of posts were placed around the yard, and Marix and Jadira's friends were tied, one per post. Only Uramettu looked up when they entered.

  "As you see, I provided your comrades with accommodations similar to what they were accustomed to," said Frolder. "Warm sun and open air; how healthful! How unlike the grim life of settled habitation!"

  Jadira rushed to the nearest post. Tamakh was roped to it. His head hung listlessly, jadira lifted it and spoke to him. "Holy One, can you hear me?" His eyes were misted, unseeing. Marix went to Nabul and found him likewise befuddled. The two of them converged on Uramettu, as she seemed to be more aware.

  "My sister. Friend Marix," she said. Her normally vibrant voice was dull and without feeling .

  "What has he done to you?" Jadira whispered.

  "Sto-stolen will. Mind can't think , . ."

  "Is it magic? Is it a spell?" asked Marix urgently.

  "Can't think . . ."

  Jadira spied Elperex. The little 'strelli was tied off the ground. His wings were tightly wrapped with a cord and his eyes were open in the full light. She turned angrily to Frolder.

  "Cover his face!" she said. "His eyes can't bear bright sunshine. If you don't cover them, he'll go blind."

  "Truly? How interesting," said Frolder. Jadira's temper boiled. She quickly unwound her black cotton headdress and made a loose turban from it. This she set over Elperex !s head, swathing it completely.

  "Charming," said the sheriff.

  "Why have you done this?" Marix demanded. "We've done no harm to you."

  "Your friends were too clever and too strong for me to keep under simple lock and key. So I had my chief magicker loose their wits for them. Temporarily, until I decide what to do with them—and you."

  Jadira sprang for Froider's throat. She got a good grip before Marix could move to restrain her. The sheriffs white face filled with blood, turning the color of ripe berries.

  When he and Marix finally succeeded 111 breaking her hold, Frolder was halfway choked to death.

  "By the god's eyeteeth!" he gasped. "You have hands like a blacksmith! I think perhaps I shall have to send for my wizard to calm you as he did the others."

  "No! No, please," Marix said. "Understand, Sir Sheriff, Jadira possesses a quick temper, but is mistress of it almost all the time. She—we—will be docile, I promise."

  Frolder rubbed his bruised neck. "Your name is Jadira, eh? Well, Jadira, I owe you some attention. Later, I will—" He paused and smiled his unkind smile again. "But that is for later," he finished.

  Frolder went to where a bronze tube hung from a post by a thong. He struck this gong with his dagger blade. Two black-jacketed soldiers entered the courtyard.

  "Ah, Dredno. Take these two to the top of the citadel and put them in a guest room. Stay by the door; we don't want them wandering around the barrow with night coming on," Frolder said.

  "It shall be done, my lord," said the guard.

  The soldiers prodded Jadira and Marix out. When they were gone, Frolder said to the empty air, "Did you hear, Phraxa? He called her by name."

  A stout, bearded man of forty years flickered to solidity near the outer wall. He wore an amulet like Frolder's. The silver disc fell from his lips as he materialized. He took a deep breath, coughed, and said, "There can be no doubt now. They are the ones."

  "How much do you think we can get for them?"

  Phraxa rubbed his many-ringed fingers together. "That depends on who we ransom them to, Hurgold would pay well; Count Fernald would better him. And the sultan—" Phraxa rolled his eyes. "The coffers of Fazir are very deep, my dear Frolder."

  "They cannot be too deep for me," said the sheriff. Phraxa laughed. Frolder joined in. The wizard and the sheriff replaced the amulets in their mouths and vanished, Frolder in the wink of an eye. Phraxa seemed to have some trouble with his amulet. He faded out like a waning shadow. Only the echoes of their laughter remained.

  The Curse of Ondrin

  In another part of the citadel, two men waited for Frolder's return. Their dusty, stained armor bore witness to the distance they had come and the hardship they had endured. The taller man toyed with a golden trinket. He tapped it on the table, rubbed it with his fingers until it warmed from his touch, and let it dangle from a short loop of chain.

  "What's keeping them?" he asked testily. The younger, smaller man could only shrug from ignorance. "I hate treachery," the older man continued. "Even when it serves our master. Betrayers have no compunction about whom they betray; tomorrow, it could be us."

  "He would not dare, my brother. His Magnificence knows all that befalls us; if the foreigner breaks faith with us, the wrath of the sultan would descend on his wretched fief."

  Fu'ad closed the Eye of the Sultan in his fist. "I hope this Frolder realizes that, Marad," he said.

  Jadira paced the tiny room from one wall to the other. "We should have put up a fight," she said.

  "What good would it have done?" Marix responded. "Frolder would just have popped that necklace in his mouth, vanished, and spitted us like partridges." His shoulders sagged forward. "We have only three days left. If we don't get out of here by tomorrow, there won't be time to get the seal and make Tantuffa before the conclave dissolves into war."

  "There is a chance. ou will not like it, but there is one chance."

  "What?"

  "I will occupy Frolder long enough for you to escape," saidjadira. "Alone."

  "I won't leave you here."

  "But think, Marix; think of all the lives that will be lost if you don't put the prince's seal in Lord Hurgold's hands."

  "Am I to give you up then?" he said in a distant voice.

  Jadira stopped pacing and took his hand. "Never give me up," she said. "Just be ready to leave me when the opportunity arises."

  Two quick knocks on the door made them spring apart. The thick wooden door swung in, revealing Frolder and a quartet of soldiers.

  "Good evening to you," he said with a courtly bow. "I am here to request the pleasure of your company at dinner. As I have other guests of interest to you, I'm sure you will come along without argument. Shall we go?"

  Jadira preceded Marix to the door. As she passed closest to Frolder, the sheriff whipped out his dagger. He pressed the flat of the blade to Jadira's neck.

  "Your mind is glass to me, lady. I see through you.

  Nothing is said or done under this roof that I don't know of instantly," he said.

  Jadira put a finger to the tip of the dagger and pushed it away. "Then you know how undeniably hungry I am," she said.

  Frolder's red mustache twitched. "Of course. The corporal's escort will show you the way."

  When Marix passed by Frolder, the sheriff replaced the magic disc and became invisible. Jadira stiffened. "Keep moving and don't make trouble," Marix whispered.

  They returned to the octagonal hall where they had earlier met the sheriff. Now tbe eight-sided table was set for a meal. A tall chair was placed at each side. A brewer's boy went from place to place, filling large earthenware mugs with foaming beer. Another young boy with close-cut hair
lighted candles on the table with a copper taper-holder.

  Frolder materialized behind Jadira's chair. "Do be seated, lady," he said. She sat. He pushed the chair forward and went to the place directly opposite. He sat down and rapped on the table. A portly man in a red robe appeared on his left, already seated. Marix sank slowly into his own chair.

  "Phraxa," he said, unbelieving.

  The fat man looked startled. "Do I know you?"

  "I saw you once many years ago. You were on trial for unlawful divination by necromancy."

  Phraxa laughed, his jowls quivering like two puddings. ""Vou'll have to be more exact, young fellow. I've been tried many times for necromancy."

  "Was it in Dosen?" said Frolder after taking a long drink of beer. It was Marix's turn to look surprised.

  "Why do you say Dosen?" he asked.

  "Is that not your home? Are you not the third son of Count Fernald?"

  "What is for dinner?" Jadira interjected. Marix closed his mouth.

  "Not all my guests are here yet," said Frolder. He signaled a guard by the door. The soldier held the door wide as two men walked quickly in. Jadira recognized them immediately.

  "Fu'ad!" she said, taking up her table knife. Fu'ad and Marad went around Frolder's chair and took their seats. The officers had forsaken their mail for baggy silk pants and crimson vests, as befitted Faziri gentlemen of position.

  "Do be civilized," said Phraxa. "Put down that knife."

  "Marix, who is this fat slug?" said Jadira, waving the blunt implement at Phraxa.

  "A sorcerer of vile repute, Phraxa of Tel Noa."

  ""Vbu wound me, sir." Phraxa raised his mug to Jadira. "Lady, as often happens to great men, I am widely defamed because of my skill and success with the black arts."

  "bu're a grave robber and a poisoner," said Marix. "Even now, our friends languish under the spell of one of your filthy potions!"

  "How did you escape the 'strelli escorting you?" Jadira asked Fu'ad.

  "Did you really think Invincibies of the empire could be herded like goats by a band of winged lizards?" said Fu'ad. "My brother and I lived to continue the chase."

  "Wait, wait!" said Frolder, holding his hands out to all the warring parties. "This is dinner, and you are all my guests. Be civil, if nothing else." A tense silence settled over the table. "Good. Now for our last guest. . ."