by Lars M.
"The caravan route?" I gasped.
Tirane smiled at me. "Yes. A couple of hours should lead us right to Grant's Crossing – we’ll make it around midnight or so." Her smile turned into a wicked grin. "We can finally speed up a little, instead of this snail's pace we've been keeping."
"Snail's... you're a demoness. You know that, right?"
"Try to keep up, will ya?" She winked and started marching, shouting at the leading guard, "Morine, get airborne. We're close enough that we'll want a glimpse of what we're walking into. Stay low, stay hidden, report back at any sign of danger."
Even on the caravan route itself, the path wasn't exactly paved or straight. The dirt road wound its way through difficult obstacles, and we were unable to spot a glimpse of our destination. An hour later, Morine touched down near Tirane and immediately started a whispered conversation.
Alarmed, I approached them. "What's going on?"
Morine was checking her weapons while she spoke. "Trouble. There's smoke in the air and shouts in the streets. We may be too late."
We soon discovered that she was right, as columns of smoke appeared on the horizon. As we walked, we formed a simple battle plan. Harpies in the sky with ranged weapons, with the exceptions of Lyle and Tirane for our protection, leaving Arack, Atlas, and myself on the ground. We broke through the cover of the forest as the village stretched before us, running for the main entrance with the harpies hanging back to provide airborne support. As we finally reached the village, the chaotic scene was hard to understand. The surrounding ground was littered with bodies, turned into pincushions by arrows. The grisly scene was backlit by a dark orange glow as large plumes of smoke rose from within. People were running everywhere, some appearing ready for war, others carrying water, and some simply panicking. Cries and confusion filled the air, and I spotted bodies on the ground inside the village as well. When we entered the gate, I finally recognized somebody as Gillem's kid, Jebediah, came running, only to freeze at the sight of the harpies.
"Jeb?" I said, calmly and then repeated his name louder. "Jeb. What's going on?"
Suddenly, the gnome kid sprinted towards me, bawling his eyes out, and hugged me ferociously.
It took at least a minute before he'd calmed down enough that I could understand him, and when he'd told his story, we stashed our weapons and got to work.
We were too late. Only by an hour, but even so. We were too late. They'd attacked from the north under the cover of darkness, sprinting for the main entrance. A group of thugs, bristling with weapons and bedecked with armor, accompanied by a druid and a giant wolf had stormed the village.
" 'cept we were ready for 'em. The harpies spotted ‘em earlier, sneakin’ through the woods like the filthy vermin they were. Da' told me to stay, but I snuck to the gate to see. Benneth 'n Darya stuck half of 'em full of arrows, 'n Mr. Callahan hisself took the fight to 'em with one of ol' Autoria's summons next to him. He tore that wolf in two 'n Kiff punched the druid 'till he gave up breath. They was all cheerin’, happy..."
We were rushing through the streets, the harpies running with us, aiming for the place that, according to Jebediah, needed help the most.
"'n that's when the screams started. Fires, too. I ran to help, but suddenly there was this sorcerer flingin’ flames, and she laughed." He started crying again.
I could see the fires now. A few houses were still blazing. Most of them were subdued, but one building was a huge, raging bonfire. The darkness of the village had me disoriented, but with that size... it could only be the Harbormaster's house. I took in the scene before me, trying to make sense of it, and came to a conclusion. Over pain-filled cries and the snap of the fire, I roared at the others. "We need to help. Those fires could spread unless we do something." Too true, a nearby building was starting to smoulder as we spoke, and nobody seemed to have spotted it yet. Their improvised bucket chain was woefully short of people and containers, and too many villagers were standing around, panicking. A glance at Tirane told me that she was close to panic herself. "Tirane. We need your attention right now!"
"Fire," she gulped, "we don't deal well with fire. Our wings..."
I growled. "Well, help elsewhere, then. Get people patched up, then send them over here. We need buckets. Containers. Anything to hold water. Where the Pits is Mallard? A rain miracle would do wonders right now. Lyle, you help with that bucket chain, and I'll see to it that the other building is saved."
For the next half hour, we fought the fire. I took charge and started ordering people about. Obviously, I had no authority, but nobody seemed to mind. I browbeat people into joining the bucket chain, harassed others into running to Mrs. Bertinga's for extra buckets, healing potions, whatever she could spare. Lyle's mother was hurt, stumbling about in a daze, and I told Jebediah to go with her to the town square and arrange a field hospital. Then we started spreading the word, telling everybody to gather the wounded in the square. I had never been near a live fire before, but it was not an experience I itched to repeat. I would have imagined that the worst part of the experience would be the heat and pain, but the smoke was worse. It stung the eyes, making it difficult to see, and invaded my chest, causing me to cough constantly - and when I coughed, breathing was even harder. I soon found myself unable to talk without coughing and moved back from the fire a bit. I was almost done in. My strength and endurance didn't lend themselves well to the fire quenching tasks, and my frustration was mounting as I realized there was nothing useful for me to do... so I took out my violin and played.
It would have made for a good joke. Rome is burning. People are hurt. Everybody is helping as best they can. The bard is playing as the tears streak down his face. Why tears, you ask? Well, he's just realized how much his class sucks.
At least, when my strength and body failed me, I still had my magic. I walked among those struggling and I played Hoe Down by Copland, straining to push the maximum from my Affect Emotions and imbue my people with strength. When I noticed the effect starting to take hold, I wanted to break down, but I saved it for later, moving through the city to play. I burned through every piece of food, every mana potion I had to give me one extra point of mana, squeezed every final bit of effect out of my songs. Where I moved, the villagers found strength, their flagging spirits restored, and they threw themselves back into the battle against the inferno.
Hours later, I did cry. When the final fire was doused, the village was wrapped in darkness and despair. In the pitch black of night, the town square had become the gathering place, and somebody had managed to collect torches, lanterns, and magic lights enough to illuminate the square. And once you managed to ignore the wails and groans of the injured, the cries for help and explanations, and the thousand tasks that needed doing... you started noticing the bodies. There were not many, but the prone forms, covered with sheets, could be nothing else. To my extreme relief, most of the people I knew were safe, even if many were going to suffer from lingering or permanent damage. Autoria was there, arranging for everything to be handled. Most of the villagers stopped by with only enough time to be granted the next task. It was a relief to see the kobolds joining in, helping where they could. Still, even though I did what I could to lighten the mood of everybody else, my own spirit sank as my subconscious started tallying up the people who were missing. Several times, I almost walked over to check under the sheets, but couldn't bring myself to it. I just didn't want to face the thought of Gillem or any of the others having died.
I was starting to nod off, when a ragged cheer grew in the square, and I raised my head to see Darya entering the square alongside Gillem and Grant Callahan. They were battered, bloody, and filled with soot, but very much alive. I ran toward them with sobs wracking my chest.
Darya dove into my arms, holding me fiercely tight for a while until her voice, raw with emotion, blurted out. "They killed Mallard."
A short while later, we rested in the square. Gillem had opened the tavern for those who needed medical help and fired up his kitche
n, dragging out food into the square where everybody else was. We had eaten our fill in the square, and Darya was resting her head on my stomach.
"We thought we had them. We really did. You know, when the harpies landed with your message, we almost attacked them. Still, they managed to explain themselves pretty fast. In front of the entire village, of course." She sounded so tired, for a moment, I thought she'd fallen asleep. "Everybody went nuts. People were yelling at each other. Some ran to start packing and leave the village, others fetched their weapons, bragging about what they were going to do. Would you believe Mrs. Darkvine even yelled at the Council that it was all your fault and we were doomed? Doooooomed." She snorted and sniffled again. "Sorry. That was... sorry. Autoria got everybody standing in line pretty fast, though, and when they attacked, we were ready. Those harpy scouts and Benneth made sure we knew exactly when they arrived, and with the time we had, we had managed to build a scaffold on the inside of the palisade." She grabbed my hand and held tight. "You should've seen it. Every able-handed person with a bow was there, feathering those villains with arrows. What few stragglers made it to the main entrance were so filled with projectiles, they looked like hedgehogs, and Mr. Callahan and the rest took them down in seconds. Even Naevys jumped in with those snakes of hers." Her voice cracked with emotion. "That should have been that - except apparently, those damn harpies didn't spot the second group. We found out afterwards that they'd blown a hole in the fence, near the edge of the Jagged Rush. With all the commotion near the entrance, nobody noticed them, right until they torched the Harbormaster's house."
Gillem plopped down next to us, groaning in pain. "Damn knee. Darya's right. We were lucky that nobody was inside, but it still took a while for everybody to realize what was going on. It wasn't until the fires really started." He glared. "It was that elf - the one from the caravan, remember?"
"Shareena something?"
"Sareena Gloridien. Yes. She and a handful of thugs went through the streets like wildfire. Not random, though. They went straight for the council. Torched Mr. Callahan's house, and then went for Mallard." His eyes sparkled with something dark and he continued in a low tone. "He never stood a chance. They went for his house first, and when they didn't find him there, they went to the temple where he was, praying. Jebediah saw everything. They fell on him like a pack of wolves while the elf stood there, taunting him and his god." Gillem wiped his eyes, smearing soot all over his face. "I can't imagine what would have happened if we hadn't been warned - but instead, the bastards were met by the entire force from the main entrance rushing to deal with the fires."
Darya slammed the ground with her fist. "They just ran, though. One good look at our force, and they fled, torching houses as they ran. We got a couple of them, but they made it out. Some of us tried to follow, but they lost us in the dark. Benneth has gone out there again, trying to find the trail."
I caressed her hand. "We will take them down. We've got the aid of High Hold now." I gathered my courage and asked. "Who did we lose?"
Gillem stared with unseeing eyes into the darkness, . "We don't know for sure yet. Mallard is gone. His wife, too. She was inside their house when it was torched. A number of kobolds have died. When that second group tore through the village, they smashed right through their encampment. Nobody expected them to, but some of the kobolds actually held their ground - and paid for it."
In a small voice, Darya added, "Herbert is in a bad way, too. They don't think he's going to last the night. And Tora – that adorable little dwarf girl – was hurt bad… her face…" She choked up.
"Oh no. And Herbert was still imprisoned inside the Harbormaster's house?" An involuntary shudder swept over me as I realized the dwarf warrior had been locked up for a month, only to be suddenly engulfed in fire. "What a terrible way to go. I hope they can make him-" Suddenly, I froze. "Wait. That's it! Herbert might know where their camp is."
Gillem didn't move; he just looked forlorn. "They've been trying to make him talk for a month, now."
"Don't you see? His own friends just tried to kill him! Gillem, you need to come with me. I need the authority of the Council here. Darya... I’m sorry to do this, but we have a real chance to solve this now! Could you help locate one of the scouts? We may need to send a message to High Hold soon."
Herbert was a mess. His face was swollen and red, and the skin had cracked from the fires, leaking pus everywhere. His left eye... I averted my eyes, trying to keep down my food.
"Heh. It's not like you're too pretty yourself, lad." His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper. "You should see my fingers, though. Who knew opening a burning door was bad for the skin?" His rasping laughter evolved into a coughing fit. When the cough had finally relented, he lay back, drained of energy.
"Herbert." I swallowed. "Do you know who did this to you?"
"What? The fire?" His voice was growing weaker, like he couldn't summon the energy to continue talking.
"Yes. Your old friends are the ones who torched the place. Those slaving bastards. Tried to kill the Council."
Silence. I could feel my heart beat as I waited for an answer. So much hinged upon how he took this. In the end, he spoke just one word, but the pain shone through his voice. "Why?"
"They believe that we have learned about their operations here in the forest and wanted to kill off everybody who could possibly know." I let my bitterness shine through. "Well, joke's on them, because we don't know anything, except that they're absconding with people." I waited, but Herbert didn't respond. His rattling breath was unsteady, and at one point it, sounded like a sob escaped him. "Herbert. We need your help. If we want to stop them preying on the entire forest, help us get justice for what they did today."
"I don't know-"
I interrupted him, cold. "They killed Mallard and his wife. Killed you, too - your body's just going through the motions. Oh, and remember that sweet half-dwarf girl with the beautiful voice? Tora? She's never going to sing again. Listen, I don't care if you make it or not, but I swear to Serune, if you do not help us, I will ensure the story of your betrayal is spread all over Aeion. How's that for an epitaph?"
Gillem added. "This is not an empty threat, Herbert. Every Chronicler on Aeion will hear the name of the dwarf who refused, on his dying grave, to help his own people."
A whimper escaped from him. "I... I really don't know anything. They always came to pick up the goods... people. Othell was the one to talk to them. Maybe... something in his house?"
I looked at Gillem who shook his head. "We've gone over his house several times to see if we could find something."
Another cough ripped through Herbert's body - for a few nerve-wracking moments afterward, he didn't breathe, until the rattling of his voice resumed. "Stash under his table. Under the floorboards."
The gnome jumped up. "I'll check it out. You keep at it."
I watched the retreating back of my friend before turning back to Herbert. "You can't have been completely oblivious. Who were they? Where did they go? How far away?"
"I... don't know. They always showed up as a group. Normal clothes, dirty, but nothing special. At one point, they gave Othell a necklace - silver, I think. One of the others had one, too. Oh. Once, Othell had to go visit them. Took him... two weeks to get there and back. Maybe a little more. He never said anything about it, though, except… he mentioned a castle once?"
I nodded, keeping my eyes on his. "That's useful. Helps us minimize the area where they could be."
He spoke on. His face had gained a feverish flush as the words spilled out. "I... they aren't slavers. I said so once, got chewed out bad. Don't know what they are, though. To us, they were just an easy paycheck. Listen. Arcangelo. You know Berthold and me never meant to get into this mess, right? Just wanted to fool around and do nothing all day. Things happened as they did, though and... well, you've been a pain in the neck for us since you got here. Not saying we deserve it, but I'd ask you for a favor."
Really? That was pretty optimistic of
him. "Which favor is that?"
He lifted his arm to grab me, but the charred claw that emerged from under the sheet would never grasp anything again. He looked at it for a second and a sound between a sob and a laugh escaped him. "Do it. Tell the world what we did. Blow the whole thing wide open. Liayenne, this hurts. I mean it. Pits, it might stop somebody from making the same mistakes we did."
You have been offered a quest:
Dying Wishes (Chronicler Quest)
With his dying breath, Herbert Gardarson asked you to expose the secrets behind who's been preying on The Dawnlight Forest and spread it far and wide.
Reward:
Unknown.
Accept/Decline?
I clicked accept and wondered how to proceed with my inquiries, only to discover that Herbert had fallen into a fitful sleep. The pallor of his splotched, cracked skin was beyond unhealthy, and I couldn't find it in myself to wake him up again. Instead, I ran off to find Gillem and help him search.
Othell's house was unimpressive. It was more of a large shed, really. The inside was even less assuming. In fact, it looked like the dirt-poor medieval version of a motel room. Single bed. Single table. Single night stand. A single candle on the nightstand, lit . One cupboard, well battered. A tiny excuse for a kitchen. One privy. It was all cheap, well-worn, and without any personality whatsoever.
Gillem was seated on the floor as I entered and didn't react except to scoot over, allowing me to look at what he'd found. It was a tiny stash - just a small tin box, holding three things. A piece of paper, a vial I couldn't identify, and a small handful of coins. He waved the paper at me. "This is what we're looking for, except... look at the damn thing. I don't know what it means."
'The damn thing' was a rough map of the northern part of the Dawnlight Forest. On it was marked a dozen or so circles, placed all over the map without any rhyme or reason. Each oval held a letter or two in the middle and made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever.
