Her eyes spotted the outline of a castle. It nestled on a different part of the shoreline. As they all moved closer, the outlines of the wall and towers appeared during lightning flashes. Two things became apparent as the party approached it from afar. First, that there were no torches or lights on or in the castle itself. Second, a light source came from somewhere over the ridge, near the foot of the castle. Flickering illumination reflected against the base of one wall.
The castle wasn’t the only thing that caught their eyes. An old watchtower sat on a section of high ground, between them and the castle. It was built far enough away from the beach so that it shouldn’t have to worry about high waters, yet its location placed it slightly out of sight of a good portion of the castle. A ridge with trees seemed to block the line of sight between the two, though in old days guards atop the tower could likely signal the castle using fire or flags. In this way the watchtower stood guard over parts of the shoreline not directly in view of the castle. The companions worried that occupants of the tower might see their approach, and warn the castle.
Petrow, Salgor, Mel and Trestan went into hiding, while Cat left behind her packs and scouted. Salgor would have been eager for them to all charge in at once. Cat reminded him that too much was unknown. It wouldn’t be hard for a watchman to alert whomever or whatever tended the fires closer to the castle. The half-elf, trained for scouting and sneaking about, disappeared into the darkness. The others settled into an uneasy silence while they waited. Mel occasionally broke the silence with a few words, mostly commenting on how fun their flight had been, or lamenting the destruction of the fine vessel. The others stayed silent. Mel contented himself with a smoke on his pipe. Ears stayed alert for any noise from the watchtower.
The darkness gave no clues, nor did they hear anything for some time. When a noise arose beside their hiding spot, it caused all of them to jump. Salgor straightened with axe ready and shield held high.
Black against the dark, it was hard to make out an outline at first. Cat’s voice carried easily to their spot. “The watchtower is abandoned. Nay eyes or ears are guarding there. It will make a good shelter for us until we know more about what is over the ridge.”
Salgor replied, “What did you see over the ridge? Did you see that damned wizard?”
Cat, irritated that the dwarf would continue to pursue the wizard despite normal caution, managed to keep her concerns out of her tone. “I didn’t explore beyond the watchtower. Once we are settled there I will scout over the ridge.”
The companions once again moved onward. The efforts of getting this far had strained their endurance. All of them were mentally leaning on each other for support as they walked forward through the gloom. Cat led them to the front of the watchtower. Tough stone composed the first level of the structure, but the taller portions were more of a wood framework from which a watchman or signalman could ascend higher to perform their duties. It had the feel of being incomplete whenever it had been abandoned. The outside had seen many years of rough weather. The upper platforms of wood were in bad shape; rot having weakened some parts and left some planks dangling from worn rope. The party moved past a creaking door into a dark interior. They could hear dripping water from above. Mel stopped to cast a spell, and a small light beamed from his hand. The simple spell illuminated the inside well enough for the others to see easily. Rainwater pooled against the inside of one wall, and lichen grew unchecked over many surfaces inside. The wooden ladder leading to the top of the structure seemed rotted and old. There saw metal brackets for torches, as well as some old weapons lying to one side. Rust had claimed everything metal. The structure had an old smell to it as well, from the rotted wood and the choking plant life slowly conquering the walls. It reminded Trestan and Petrow of the keep they had seen in disrepair during their trip south to Barkan’s Crossing. A lot of tavern tales were told about the ruined structures that predated the Godswars. They couldn’t tell if this structure was that old, but in all likelihood it was either abandoned or overrun in the dark years of recovery following those wars.
Apparently someone else had used the place as a refuge in recent history, because firewood was stacked inside in a rather dry spot. After a brief discussion they agreed to build a fire. It was felt that in the dark storm no one from the castle would see any telltale smoke. The companions wanted to give in to that one luxury while they had the chance. They built a modest fire and proceeded to dry their equipment and clothes.
Katressa Bilil was an exception. She set some of her things in close proximity of the warm fire, but kept her dark leathers on as she prepared to head out into the rain again. Trestan watched as she checked her crossbow for any damage in the firelight, and then slung it over her back. The young man asked, “How long before we should expect you back?”
“Not long,” she answered. “I just hope to see who is camped by the castle, nay more than that. It’s not too far, and the weather will aid in obscuring me from watching eyes. I will be back soon to properly enjoy that fire. Hopefully someone will get a meal cooking. I’ve worked up quite a hunger in the past hour.”
She smiled, and then was out the door.
* * * * *
The small fire warmed and dried those seeking refuge in the tower. Cooking meat sizzled inside, while bread and cheese exchanged hands. Alcoholic drinks that survived the crash had been poured already. Tendrils of smoke escaped out the top, but faded into the dark rain. Raindrops splattered the unfinished upper reaches of the tower, scattering from the impact to spray the ground below. Outside, an overhang offered limited shelter before the aging doorway entry. A lone figure stood sentry underneath despite being slightly dampened by the continual misty spray of water. Inside he could hear laughter and jokes. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the openings in the door, tempting his hungry stomach. Yet alone he stood, for he liked to find quiet time whenever he could to pause and consider his thoughts.
Trestan Karok’s muscled and stained hands gave no indication that he was also a thinker. In one hand he held the Sword of the Spirit, in the other a mug that was still near-filled with Bandago’s Brew. In the darkness and rain he did his best to capture some fleeting thoughts, while trying to avoid getting too distracted by others. Occasionally he could not help but put on a smile as he overheard some amusing tale from inside, but his mind focused on serious paths.
He still did not know who dwelled near the castle this night, for Cat had not returned. The young man felt with all confidence they were in the right place and there should a ship somewhere near. Before the battle on the bluff, he had gone over all sorts of thoughts about being a hero, or of dying terribly. His mind had conjured up plenty enough images of him riding a sea of blood to rescue the noble, and yet also feared what the minotaur or wizard would do if he was at their mercy. He had once feared the cleric, and still did, but he felt that some fear dispersed after he had flattened her so well in the opening blow of that battle. The fight was nothing he had expected, and yet when it was over he had survived two of his most feared enemies and killed a couple of their henchmen. His emotions had been a mix afterwards. He was proud to have succeeded his original quest, but he was sorry to have killed the one-eyed man who had first lunged after him. Why did he feel sorrow for a man that had tried to kill him? The same man may have been guilty of other crimes.
When Trestan had walked out of the watchtower, his first motive was to clear up any thoughts or doubts in his mind before any other battle. This last line of reasoning led him to a totally different set of questions. An issue rose up in his mind that changed his subject of consideration.
Hebden’s words stuck in his memory: “I wonder if you may have been influenced more than I suspected by Sir Wilhelm, and that you look at the possibilities of becoming a paladin.”
It had been sitting in the back of his mind for some time now. He respected and admired everything Sir Wilhelm valued represented. At the same time, he admitted it had never been a path that he himself had sought or g
iven much thought. Trestan prayed to Abriana for the qualities and virtues that his mentor championed. The young lad could get angry at people on occasion, but even that would only go so far. Part of his restraint rooted in the feeling that you could never truly understand the motivations of another person. Jareth had envisioned bad people as simply misguided, or uninformed, or any of a number of situations that caused them to diverge from a loving, caring lifestyle. Despite this undeserved compassion, and his love for all people, he nevertheless felt that many things were worth defending and fighting. Tales spoke of paladins differing in their views, depending on the gods they championed. This particular viewpoint from Abriana intrigued Trestan. It loved people unquestionably, but not blindly forgiving unrepentant criminals who would strike again. Justice was dealt from the perspective of sorrow for those that had chosen an immoral lifestyle.
Trestan admired Abriana’s virtues. He felt another life offering itself to him, all he had to do was reach out and seize it. He felt he could brave a life that championed good values, but the cost of serving someone bigger than him scared Trestan. Would he surrender control of his life? What limitations and controls would be placed upon him if he followed the lifestyle demanded by a higher consciousness? It felt good to know that Sir Wilhelm seemed content and happy with his life, but Trestan knew little of his mentor’s service before he settled down in Troutbrook. Trestan’s life had shaped around the humble footsteps of his father. Smithing appealed to him, and had been the only life Trestan had envision his future would hold. The young man stood in the dark, picturing one life or the other, balancing the goals and consequences. If he pursued the life of a paladin, he did not know where to start. Did he really crave such a life over the happiness of his home and the pounding of a smith’s hammer? It was the first time in his life he seriously considered a future different to his upbringing…and Trestan didn’t know what choice to make. The future remained an intangible vision, and the present owned its own concerns that took priority.
“Sir Wilhelm said the proper way to pray to a god was to thank them and count their blessings first,” Trestan spoke softly to his unseen patron. He had faith that Abriana heard his prayer, without expecting a response to be forthcoming. “He also said prayers should never demand anything, especially anything specific. He explained that the gods bestowed favors as they deemed, and were more likely to honor humble requests than those self-righteously demanded. In return, gods expect something from mortals as well, whether it is obedience, faith, lifestyle or sacrifices.”
Trestan paused for a moment to consider his words. His hand shifted its grip on the elvish hilt, mindful that it was the sword of a paladin. “I can’t promise anything. I can’t commit myself, at least not now, until I know my own wishes better. My faith tells me you have guided me around harm and lent strength to my courage at every step. I can’t have just been that lucky. Someone was watching over my shoulder and helping me to stand up against those who would harm those whom I love. I am in your debt.
“But what price do you ask? Am I given the choice to go home and live the life of a smith when this is done? Will I be bound to another choice, expected to take up the sword forever, and pledge my right arm to your wishes? Somehow I feel that you would not force it upon me, and I try to look at it as a choice freely offered…a gift of some kind, but one carrying a heavy responsibility if accepted. My mind argues with itself for some time now, and I just can’t make a decision. I don’t know for sure how I could decide, or whether I am pressed for time to do so. So, I can’t make any promises.”
Trestan lifted the Sword of the Spirit and stared into the contours of the leather scabbard covering the blade. “I need your help and direction. I pray you will continue to guard me and my friends. We need divine help if we are to triumph. But I just can’t promise anything afterwards. I must find my own heart and direction.”
Trestan was ready to go back inside, when a figure appeared through the rain and dark. “What were you saying?”
The young man almost jumped, though he had been expecting to see Cat return soon. As it was, the unexpected surprise caused him to spill some of the dwarf’s fiery ale. “I was just praying. I’m glad to see you back.”
Cat stepped under the overhang beside Trestan. He looked into her face, though not much was visible in the dark. Some firelight seeped through a crack in the door to illuminate one soft cheek. She hadn’t worn her helm, for fear that any reflection off of the metal would give her away to the people she had been observing. Her hair was drenched, with strings of it clinging down her cheeks, and her pointed ears.
“You are a very spiritual man; I’ve seen you praying often. They say a person has many sides to their personality and you seem to bolster that sentiment.”
Trestan shrugged. “I’m nay priest or anything but it feels good to have someone to talk to privately. It’s like someone you can’t see, but you feel that they know you and have endured your dark times with you. It helps feeling someone is always there, even when you feel alone.”
“You aren’t alone,” Cat offered.
Trestan nodded, but didn’t offer an answer. The half-elf suggested an alternate view, “Helps when you are nervous or afraid also?”
“Aye, there is that too,” he said. “I’m afraid of what we might run into, but not to the point that I would think of abandoning the quest. That doesn’t sound right, let me try it another way. I guess I’m afraid of what that other group could do, even though I know they have their vulnerable times. I think it’s called a healthy respect for one’s enemies. There was more on my mind, but not something I feel like discussing at the moment. Talking out loud can be a way to clear one’s mind, and help a person listen to their own words.”
Cat watched him and nodded her head. He could barely see the emerald green of her eyes. Trestan wondered if Cat ever prayed for anything, and what she thought of him at that moment. Like her own words, she proved a person could seem to have a number of sides to their personality. He felt that the woman, like many women, weaved layers of mysteries. A man could probably know a woman for a long time and never discover all the secrets and hidden places of their heart. Trestan would have given money just to learn what she was thinking as she watched him.
Cat then broke the silence, revealing what was on her mind, “Can I get past you and into the door there? It’s cold and wet out here.”
Trestan almost jumped out of the way. He balanced the sword and mug well enough to reach back and open the door like a gentleman. He bowed as she walked through, and she turned a smile his way. The young man followed her inside as she proceeded to discard her wet equipment. The half-elf kept a closed mouth even as the others threw questioning looks in her direction, eager for a revelation on anything she might have found. Mel somehow turned silence into confirmation of the worst things he could imagine, and Trestan calmed him. All four men eventually had to turn their backs to her out of respect. She ditched her wet clothes and put on something dryer for the night. Before long, the five of them sat around the fire sharing strips of hot meat over warm mugs.
Cat shared the news they had hoped to hear. The firelight which had thrown its glow upon the castle walls came from a camp of sailors and mercenaries. The camp sat on a beach which looked out into a bay. Sheltered from the storm waves was the same ship they had seen before. The Silver Trident was anchored in the relatively calmer waters of the bay, having transported the other party here from the scene of their last battle. Cat had even noted a familiar, one-horned minotaur present on the deck of the ship. The others were glad to have found their quarry again, even as they also unconsciously tensed their grip on their mugs. As they listened, it sounded like Cat had ventured very close to the camp to get a look. Trestan assumed that the adventuress may have tried to steal the two stones and avoid a big fight. Salgor guessed as much too, and asked her directly. Cat admitted that she might have tried for it, except that she doubted the stones were on the beach. Much of the other band’s tents had been
left behind on the bluff after that battle. The few tents on the beach looked like they served only as storage, while the few armed men present were sleeping out in the open. The castle had appeared dark and void of life. The half-elf doubted anyone was currently in the castle, and she proposed that they were probably sleeping in the comforts of cabins on board the boat. Having scouted enough with no real plan of what to attempt next, she had returned to the watchtower without trying to get any closer to the camp.
“So, now what?” Salgor asked. “What’s your plan when the sun rises?”
Cat frowned at the dwarf, willing to bet he would not accept any course that didn’t involve another straightforward fight. She spoke firmly. “We wait and watch for an opportunity. Stealing the stones won’t be enough if we can’t get off the island. Fighting may only put us in a quick grave. We’ll need the proper timing to carry off a theft and get away with our skins intact.”
Salgor shook his head in disagreement. “We should hit them as soon as possible, maybe even go down there right now and beat them up before they get a chance to defend themselves.”
Even as he said it, the expressions on the faces of the other companions indicated they were unwilling to try such a gamble. Cat offered another choice. “We might also simply try exploring that castle. Maybe it holds the clues to help figure out what is behind this. It may be that we can set up an ambush inside there.”
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 42
