The only member of the Tarot group not following Magnatha was Digger. Her beetle couldn't keep up with him.
***
Sarah couldn't move, see, or speak. The ropes that bound her, as well as the gag and blindfold, had been secured tightly. She could, however, hear, and since waking shortly after the ambush, which basically began and ended with a single blow to the back of her head, she had in fact heard quite a lot.
She had heard the female Dwarf's voice shift in tone while barking orders at unseen yet easily detected Ogres in their own speech as the She-Dwarf became the He-Halfling. She had received an even more intense exposure to the Ogre's aroma while being picked up like so much laundry, and then tossed into the cage on the beetle's back.
She had gone through the entire spectrum of struggling in protest against the unforgiving bite of the rope. She had strained so vehemently during this exertion that she had in fact felt a certain impending signal, prompting a certain potential loss of internal management, which also served as an indication of her lack of ability to succeed in escaping in this fashion. As such, she relaxed while considering what other options might avail.
After a short time, the barge lurched forward until regaining the road. It then continued its journey in earnest. Shortly thereafter, she heard several new, yet very familiar voices as the barge passed a small group of travelers. This was when she reasserted her previous efforts against the ropes, ending in the previously forewarned conclusion of her obligatory bladder, whose version of I-told-you-so took on a decidedly disconcerted dampening of any such further efforts.
Her rising hope upon hearing what represented salvation inevitably dropped as their voices dwindled in the growing distance, and then faded altogether. When she could no longer hear them, she relaxed yet again, now minus her previous optimism. All that remained were her fears and frustration, made manifest in the form of her tear-soaked blindfold.
You're leaking like a sieve, you little coward, her inner voice told her. Or was it her inner voice? It might well have been the Slut's inner voice. It was becoming difficult to know for sure anymore. And I'm not a Slut!
After what felt like an eternity, the voices of hope and salvation returned yet again. Her heart raced in anticipation as she heard Marcus hail the barge.
She prepared for liberation as she listened to the ensuing short conversation. This began with cordial greetings passing among Marcus, Borin, and the driver, and ended with Reginald's intoxicated observation concerning the male Halfling's unscheduled replacement of the female Dwarf he had noticed when they first passed the barge.
There followed a short skirmish, after which the driver loosed the canvas that concealed the now reloaded ambush party. She knew this procedure without actually seeing it, as the sounds were almost identical to her experience during Crumly's insistence on assisting the shapely Dwarven damsel. First came the whoosh of falling canvas walls, followed immediately by the driver's "Now!" command to those huddled around the outside of the cage, yet still under the canopy that overspread the canvas walls until the trap was sprung.
The protesting voices of Reginald and Marcus became muffled, and then silent, as their gags were drawn tight.
Borin himself made no protest that she could hear, and at first she thought that he might have been killed during the fray. This particular fear was quelled as she felt the impact of three separate bodies being tossed into the cage with her.
A moment later, one of the Ogres demanded the life of his comrade's killer. When the driver ordered the Ogre back into rank, his protest continued. "Me claim Blood Rite! Me claim Bl…" The protest ceased as the Ogre's body thudded loudly against the beetle's shell, and slid limply to the ground.
"Moron!" spat the driver at the corpse. "If you had but waited until after Clawtorn's interrogation, you would have been granted your insipid little Blood Rite!"
Then the canvas was reset and the barge began its trek south again. There followed several hours of steadily increasing discomfort as the barge plodded along until coming to a stop while the Halfling-Dwarf mumbled something under his-her breath about "Accursed detours!"
After yet another eternity, the barge slowed to a stop as the Halfling first slid to the ground, then continued to lead the barge for a short distance before calling out, "Hail the camp!"
Chapter Eight-Wild Card
Nefari was quickly nearing the end of her mana. She might have enough for three more bolts of lightning, or one meteor, but then there would be nothing left for healing.
This became academic when the main body of Ogres began another hard push forward, while the Dark-elves behind them prepared to skewer, hack, and or crush anyone to fall within range of their weapons.
One meteor it is, she thought, drawing upon the last of her resources in preparation to loose a molten ball into their midst before they could reach the makeshift barrier of the beetle's corpse, behind which lay the children and injured.
A dagger thrown by someone from the blue crowd trailing the Ogre's forward offence struck her in the forearm as the forming ball of fire launched just over the Ogres' heads. It exploded harmlessly several hundred meters away, impacting on the inclined path to the west.
***
Borin, Marcus, and Sarah suddenly burst out of the cage, rushing the Dark-elves before the Ogres could respond. Behind them, Braumis and Crumly assisted Reginald away from the cage, and out of harm's way, in spite of his inebriated protests.
Of their trio, Sarah was the only one to carry arms. This was her own dagger, drawn from a scabbard that had been hidden in a place her captors had failed to consider.
As she and Marcus cast a combination of Holy Obfuscation and Distraction's Aura, Borin leapt, delivering a full body slam to the closest four Dark-elves, thus propelling them into their larger comrades. The resulting force was sufficient to draw the attention of the entire forward offensive as they all wheeled about just as both Paladin spells struck.
Distraction's Aura enveloped the entire crowd, thereby rendering mild confusion among the majority of Ogres and Dark-elves alike. Of course, this effect was more easily detected on the faces of the Elves, as the Ogres' expressions were already of a similar demeanor, until the latter combatants got struck by Holy Obfuscation, which caused their entire witless collective momentarily to meander about as if lost in fog.
The effects of both spells proved almost as short-lived as Borin's own diversion, though their combined efforts had served its purpose. The enemy had been successfully dispersed. Now they must somehow be dispatched. Were they to regroup, then the element of surprise would be lost, as would the battle.
Borin motioned the others to spread out. Rather than draw the invaders back into a single collective, this would force those not stunned to push through those who were. It also purchased a bit more time for any remaining allies to regroup.
Having seen Reginald safely out of the way, Crumly quickly returned to join them in time to engage the small number of enemy who had avoided both body-slam and spells.
Their primary crisis was the numbers. Nefari's last attempt had been the end of the original Allied defense. Everyone else had either been forced to retreat, or take refuge among the injured.
With the element of surprise now utilized, the Ogres were left with six active Warriors, while the Dark-elves had three Warriors, two Dis'Errants, and one Magician.
As for the Allies not meditating or yet tending to the wounded, there remained one Warrior, one Rogue, two Paladins, and one unemployed Paramedic from Houston Texas in a second-hand Jester costume.
"HY'AHH!" That sharp, raucous shout issued from atop the barge beetle's back. In response to the command, and to the unforgiving sting of loose, slapping reins on its tender mandibles, the beetle jerked forward with surprising speed for a domestically bred barge of just over three metric tons.
As the barge bore down on the entire crowd below, Jesse rushed to tie the reins off to the outermost corner of the cage. Then he commenced to unfasten the four
latched mooring cleats that had been affixed to the creature's shell with bolts.
The first three were simply a matter of lifting the latch, and removing the spring pin. The last of the four was more difficult, as the heavy iron cage had swung about to hang and then bounce wildly with the rhythm of the beetle's six-legged stride.
The latch itself had came up easily enough, though the pin continued to jam on each downward thrust of the now bouncing cage. It could be slid freely when the cage came up, but its rhythm was fast and erratic, with the iron cleat slamming against the pin whilst backed by the reoccurring iron weight of the cage itself.
If he missed, then it could easily take his hand off in the process. With no way to judge the strike, Jesse closed his eyes and slapped at the pin's outer ring as fast as he could.
In missing the ring completely, he continued to pivot, coming about one hundred and eighty degrees before catching himself in time to see the quasi-Halfling wield an Ogre club into his solar plexus as though it were a baseball bat, thus expelling the majority of air in Jesse's lungs.
An audible "Ooof" escaped as he was propelled backwards to trip on the pin and fall through the open cage door as the now sprung spring-pin abruptly popped out, allowing the cage to fall, though still attached to the reins that were in turn attached to the beetle's massive head.
As it struck the ground, the cage dug in at one corner, forcing its own inertia to vault the structure into a wild bouncing spin along the radius of the rein's tethered pivot.
At this, the Barge immediately balked due to an unexpected force of a centrifugal nature, thus generating a greatly increased strain on the beetle, whose normally bovine eyes were suddenly bulging at the limit of their sockets.
In turn, this action added a slingshot effect to the rapidly disintegrating mass of twisted iron bars, thereby increasing its velocity, and eliminating its radial path as it broke further apart with each impact.
Sarah, Marcus, Borin, and Crumly all managed to dive out of harm's way, but the greater majority of Ogres and Dark-elves, only now emerging from the puzzling Paladin spells, were yet unaware of the spinning blur of iron protrusions yet plowing through their midst.
After mowing through the bulk of invaders, the now rattling ball of scrap metal bounced one last time. Then its overall cohesive structure collapsed upon final impact, casting debris for some distance along the trajectory it would have traveled. Near the end of that stretch of scattered wreckage tumbled the occupant of the now thoroughly dismantled cage/wrecking ball/death trap.
Other than the all-hell-just-broke-loose consensus among all remaining Factions concerned, this peculiar tactic had served to even the odds, leaving the Dark-elves with only one Dis'Errant, one Warrior, and one Magician while the Ogres were left with four, or five if one counted the Halfling-Dwarf, who now morphed into Ogre form to join them.
Of the Allies, Sarah, Marcus, Borin, and Crumly, who formed one group, covered the northeastern quadrant of the clearing-battlefield, while several of those comprising the injured Bard-Tarot combination group now moved to take positions along the western path where they stood between the enemy and the more seriously wounded. This included Digger, Tuda, Morgyn, half of Hobson, and Ezlea, who was yet involved in some form of lengthy incantation.
On the positive, the Allies now held the advantage of numbers. On the negative, three of the Fighter Class group was yet unarmed with the enemy between them, thus preventing any possible scavenging of fallen weapons.
Morgyn now sported Merfee's sword, but had very little knowledge of swordplay. He held the weapon before him like a talisman, hoping for some as of yet unfathomable insight as to how he might play said instrument.
Digger was armed with an entire compliment of very effective teeth, but he had been caught in one of the explosion spells from the enemy Magician. Subsequently, his left foreleg dangled from a thin section of severed sinew as he limped to the semicircular front line forming about the regrouping Dark-elves and Ogres.
Now acting as the Commanding Ogre, Effigee surveyed the battlefield, what remained of her/his ambush squad, and the scattered remains of the cage and the trail of corpses marking its passage. "Would anyone here care to actually engage in a proper battle?" she boomed in an uncharacteristically intelligent and feminine voice. "Or are you to continue with yet more of your cowardly antics?"
"Enchanter!" Borin shouted, drawing the false Ogre's attention. "If its battle you seek, then seek you me!" he grinned while motioning with both unarmed hands in a universal palms up, fingers curling invitation.
Recognition of her old acquaintance hadn't come until hearing his voice. Effigee momentarily dropped her assumed formed to reveal her true Race, and specific identity. "Why Ambassador," she smiled. "Fancy meeting you here."
Upon recognition of the old embarrassment Effigee represented, Borin rushed forward. Battle was no place for personal conflict. Rather than fall into her trap, he would use the opportunity to catch her while in her true form.
As a Master of her Class, Effigee was easily capable of reverting back to Ogre form in time to confront the enemy charging her. What she hadn't considered was that Borin's attack would be so quickly joined by his Allies.
***
In averting his concentration to buffer his hands with Barbs of Righteous Indignation, Marcus suddenly found himself dangling by one arm when abruptly jerked off his feet by a notably acrimonious Ogre Warrior. As a result, the spell meant for himself went awry, landing instead on his assailant's face and thereby sprouting a series of random protrusions, bearing close resemblance to large thorns and thus serving to lend further accent on the behemoth's expression of ill intent.
The now thorny Ogre commenced to draw Marcus closer, his broad face twisting into a malicious grin as that maw of greenish broken teeth loomed while expelling a wholly noxious suspiration of semi-digested substances, enigmatic in origin, and proffering a truly fetid animosity that drifted over the now helpless Paladin, who in that moment would have eagerly given up his life for just one last breath of untainted air.
"Hi ya, handsome," came a silken vamping of unmistakably feminine quality, thus prompting both the Ogre and the pendulant Paladin to swivel their attentions to unavoidably gape at an Ogress.
To Marcus, the only observable characteristic to discern her gender was the creature's mountainous if not appealing bosom.
The thorny male Ogre continued to exhibit a grin, roughly similar to that of the one so abundantly displayed while on the verge of biting and no doubt swallowing the helmed head of his foe, although now, with the further exhibition of his lolled tongue, he further displayed his reaction to what was obviously an attractive member of his opposite sex.
This is when the object of his romantic attentions revealed her right hand, fashionably clad within the metallic housing of a finely crafted gauntlet: Hobson, who in joint effort with his mistress delivered a single, neck-breaking blow to her already amorously stricken male counterpart at breakneck speed.
Upon recovery, which involved regaining his feet and breath, Marcus began to express his profuse gratitude for the preservation of both his life and olfactory nerves, when he noticed that his pseudo-Ogress benefactor had already returned to the business of engaging the enemy. She and her gauntlet continued to entice and then neutralize yet another Ogre.
***
The elongated shadow continued its approach, inching along the ground and slipping about the dead beetle's shell. It moved silently closer to Perdil as he finished the last of his own mana on the Field of Generation now surrounding Cleetis, who yet lay unconscious. When it drew no more than a meter from its target, the shadow stopped, and then slowly crouched, as if in preparation to pounce.
Perdil jumped with surprise, and then turned in reaction to the crashing thud behind him.
Lying quite still and face down on the ground was one of the Dark-elves, his crushed head surrounded by semi-squished yams and the remains of what had once been a large wooden crate.
/> "Looks like someone has to keep an eye on you at all times," Tuda informed him from atop the defunct supply transport.
Beside her, the young brunette Wood-elf continued to stare at the crate she had just helped drop. "Braumis isn't going to like this one bit."
***
After missing the elusive target, the Ogre-Enchantress stepped back, and then lunged, swinging its massive club with all its might.
Borin feigned right and then left in a shoulder roll as his hand came down on the hilt of a small scimitar, which he grasped without thinking as he continued to roll into an upright position.
Realizing the danger in facing an armed Warrior, Effigee turned on her/his heel and fled as Borin pursued. Abruptly, she shifted in size and shape, becoming a large bird which then took flight, quickly disappearing into the tree line.
***
"I don't know who she was," Ezlea began. "I'm just relieved I didn't have to face her myself. Judging by the way she was shifting, I doubt that I would have stood a chance. Incidentally, how were you able to detect my evil counterpart?"
"My hand mirror," Goppi answered in a whisper, followed by another harsh bout of coughing.
"What, by all the Sirens, did you think you were doing?" growled Minuet while applying pressure to the wound in his chest as it continued to gush his life's blood with each heartbeat.
"Stupid of me," he agreed with a gurgling resonance as more blood trailed his nose and mouth.
"Natura forgive me," Perdil muttered, sitting quickly to commence his meditation.
"Just shut up and restore your blasted mana!" barked Ezlea.
"Not his faul…" began the Maestro, but a spasm cut short his words as blood filled his lungs.
"Lie still, Goppi," Minuet urged in a softer voice.
Maestro Spinwyp shifted his gaze to Minuet. "Ornery old hag," he smiled.
"Shut up, Goppi!" her voice cracked in urgent Gnomish, tears now streaming down her face.
"Still quite fet…fetching, though," he told her with a rattle now forming in his chest.
Rendering Nirayel - Thief's Prophecy Page 11
