return to index         return to tales of Darrack de'Torfane 

The following morning, nursing a sore head and a few bruises from the rather too rapid escape down the tunnel I made my way to what the innkeeper laughingly called a travelers breakfast.  I should add at this point, I don’t stay in coaching inns very often, but I’ve stayed in better stables than this one.  Gorungar, was feeling only marginally better than me, though the big barbarian didn’t let it show I caught him wincing a couple of time from a nick on his leg. 

Breakfast was a quiet affair, at least at first, Abdul and Firewalker were strangely quiet now, I guess the Baron had engaged in a long talk with them both the night before.  Long talks from Axomin tended to have that effect.  They can compel you to anything to avoid another talking to. 

Hannibal had eaten by the time I got down and was walking out of the door to do a little scouting to the north of the village.  A vague recollection of being asked to scout the south this morning surfaced in the back of my head, but my stomach was telling me missing breakfast was a bigger crime right now,  even if the blackened half burnt mess in front of me was telling me the opposite. 

About ten minutes after Hannibal had left, as I was working my way through a tough piece of bacon, the swing door of the inn crashed open and the trader Kyuza from the night before charged in, closely followed by several guards and a man I took to be the local sheriff, from the look of hapless bemusement on his face. Small town officials always have the same look of inefficient bureaucracy about them.  I groaned inwardly to myself, this on top of the hangover and burnt breakfast I did not need. 

Several of the trader’s guards were displaying the fruits of Gorungar's labours the night before, several black eyes and blanked bruises among them, and a noticeable limp on the lead guard.  The guards had eager looks about them, spoiling for a fight by the look of it.  Revenge was something they would grab with glee I imagine.  The trader on the other hand just looked mad.

“ They are the ones.  “ she shouted in her heavy Kyr accent, pointing first at Gorungar then at me, her face twisted with a sneer, “ I want them arrested for helping a murderer to escape and an assault on my guards.  “ The sheriff wasn’t a man who looked used to this kind of thing, and didn’t look remotely pleased to see us.  I guess he was hoping we would have been long gone and he could have washed his hands of the whole affair. 

I turned around to look at Gorungar who eyed the guardsmen who were fingering their weapons eagerly and slowly stood up.  Drawing himself to his full height of well over six foot the barbarian was an imposing figure.  Never taking his ice blue eyes from the sheriff and his men he casually reached back over the chair and retrieved the two handed strach leaning there.  When he spoke his voice was absolutely flat and almost emotionless.

"I helped no murderer escape last night.  I prevented the kidnap of a woman and hurt some of the kidnappers though," and at this point he scanned the assembled guardsmen who were looking a shade less sure of themselves "If any man would doubt the word of the slayer they will join me on the road to Volsun.".....

Briefly I placed my head in my hands, risking half a look to the Baron whose face betrayed as much anger as the trader’s.  This was developing in to an unpleasant morning all things considered.   I was sure The Baron would appreciate the actions of the night before, were it not for the two members of his party involved.  I groaned to myself.  And tried to put a better spin on things.   “ No murder was done last night, a few bruises perhaps, And I seem to recall your grounds for all this was that the girl was your slave …………………….  “

I didn’t get much further before the red faced trader broke into another tirade, “ She was my slave and the murderess of her master, my father, I have the right …………………… “ The sheriff pulled her back at that point before she made an attempt to grab for me.  Her words cut short by Astolan.

Still eating his breakfast the mage looked up unconcerned seemingly by the tone of his voice.   “ This sounds like a serious charge to me, but given that there weren’t any murders last night an overblown one.   Perhaps you might wish to consider the matter of a warrant before you disturb the Baron over his breakfast? Not to mention the small matter of some evidence? I'm sure we will do all we can to assist you in your enquiries but you must be aware the Baron has urgent Crown business he requires all of us to accompany him on.  “

The sheriff, looked visibly ruffled by this but the guards still had the look of menace about them and the trader was not to be quelled in her wrath so easily.  With Gorungar standing strach in hand it didn’t help matters, thankfully Astolan was aware of this also.  Turning to Gorungar he told the big barbarian to sit back down  “ I'm sure the other gentlemen will be leaving shortly and there will be plenty of opportunity to use that big axe of your where we are going." he added, before making a show of feeding his hovering ice sprite a spoonful of cold porridge and stroking it gently.  As he looked at the guards and said plainly  "Ah my little friend is hungry, lets not upset him with too much noise"

Astolan had taken some of the sting out of the situation it’s true, of which I was quite glad.  A brawl is not my favourite way to welcome a new day, and it would have taken little for this situation to turn ugly.  Gorungar’s simple view of the world tended to lead to direct solutions to these things as they had the night before.  Which is all well and good, but I like to wake up fully first.

Axomin chose this moment to rise from the table.  Straightening his robes as he did so, he glanced pointedly first at Gorungar and I, then to the Sheriff and his party.  Slowly he made his way round the table to place his hand upon the sheriff’s shoulder...."My friend I know not what has transpired exactly only that certain claims have been made regarding two members of my party".

He looked at Gorungar and I again at that point, with a rather too annoyed look on his face, giving me the distinct feeling the two of us would be on the end of some sharp words later.  He returned his gaze to the sheriff once more, and smiled in the way that makes it plain your going to lose the argument before it begins.

 “ We are here in these parts on matters most important, I cannot be more exact on their nature as the fate of too many relies on our discretion...  but needless to say we are hereabouts at the King's bidding and these fine men and women are here by my choosing “.  He pointedly swept his arm before his sitting companions to make his point.  ” Further more, as such my dear sheriff we cannot tarry here any longer due to such claims, I hope you understand ".  The Baron shows the sheriff the royal seal. “ If you have any further grievances or if the trader further wishes to plead her claims then contact the royal courts, I am certain they will see the matter resolved.”

The sheriff looks confused...and flustered "But sir..reall....."

"Fear not sir sheriff, all will be made well if the traders claims are true and I am certain one of the royal wizards can verify the legitimacy"... he says looking at the trader who shrinks away under his glare.  The royal seal the Baron flashed about so well and the manner in which he spoke got through to the trader as well as the sheriff. She looked pale at this turn of events, the fire gone out of her; she was now intent on getting out of the situation without losing any more face. However the look of contempt she gave Gorungar and I as she turned to leave said she didn’t consider this over with, just delayed.

I was tempted at that point to make noises about her membership of the BMC. My brother would sell a sheep as a lamb and smile at you as he did so. But he had no truck with slavery any more than I did.  I doubt he who turns his hand to other things not strictly legal, mind.  I suppressed the impulse however. Things were getting sorted out; there was little need to muddy the waters once more. I did make a mental note to mention her activities to Garrick should I bump into my estranged brother at some point however. There is little love between us, but what he does with the BMC reflects on all the de Torfane’s. Having truck with a slaver would not be good for the family name. My efforts to blacken it were quite enough.

As the trader made to leave, guards in tow, a contralto female voice interrupted from one corner of the room  " Besides, sheriff, isn't slavery illegal in Bereny? " As a group we paused and looked across to the young woman it belonged to. She clambered to her feet from behind the low table at the side of ours. Settling a quiver onto her back alongside a battered traveler’s backpack, an unstrung but obviously powerful bow in her hand. She was dressed in oiled traveling cloths, dyed dark green. Her clothing marked her for a ranger, one of the king’s foresters, a group with a large reputation in battle and generally thought of as the most honorable of mercenaries.

"Well, yes it is," the sheriff said slowly, not sure whether this new annoyance is also under the Baron's protection, or some new challenge to his tattered authority. Generally he had the look of a man who would prefer to have arisen later in the day when this trouble would have passed his door.

"Then wouldn't it be like kidnapping to try to enslave someone?" the young ranger continues softly, in a soothing smooth voice.

" Well, young lady, the laws are different, as you'd know if you were a law official like me, " the sheriff said, grasping for some basis to reassert his tattered authority.

" But if someone grabbed me and told me I was to be their slave, I'd certainly feel kidnapped! " continued the Ranger steadily, " Wouldn't you milord? "

" Well, yes, I spose I would young'ne, “ the sheriff relented, " but they're not really the same, y'know. "

" And if somebody kidnapped me, I'd sure try to escape if I could. " By now the ranger had made her way to the doorway, insinuating herself onto the fringe of the party. "And if one of those kidnappers caught me escaping, I might well kill him in self-defence in order to make good my escape.... Would the courts hang me for that, milord sheriff, or would they send you to arrest the surviving kidnappers? " She asked reasonably, nodding her head toward the sputtering trader and her men at arms.

Leaving the sheriff to think through that question, the ranger slid through the party and exited the door. Baron Axomin did so as well, gesturing to his followers to accompany him. Gorungar brought up the rear, glowering fiercely but silently as he backed out. As soon as the door closed behind them, all but Gorungar burst into laughter at the slaver's
double humiliation.

As they made their way to the road, the Baron turned toward the ranger, twinkling eyes betraying his formal demeanor. " What's your name, young ranger who strikes from afar with sharpened wit?”

" Cordelia Abo, milord, " she replied formally, giving the loose but respectful salute veterans use in the field. " Formerly of His Majesty's Army, but now an adventuring Ranger, and Corporal in the Bereny Eagles. "

Before the Baron could reply, Hannibal lumbered out of thicket and into view. Incongruously for a Vanniheim, he had his strach slung over his shoulder, and instead carried a longbow in one hand. In the other he had a pair of rabbits, still skewered on arrows.

" Bah, still playing with warmlander toys ! " spat Gorungar disapprovingly at his countryman. "Good for rabbits maybe, but it wouldn't have stood off those wyrmkissers inside. "

Hannibal looked angry, then confused, then disappointed that he might have missed a fight. But since nobody was breathing hard, he was able to figure out that not much had actually happened.

" Right tool for the right job, brother, " he finally replied smugly. " I use strach for big targets like wyrms and standing enemy, but I couldn't have caught this breakfast with it! So unless the villagers want to give you a cow to chop with your strach for rations... "

Gorungar growled a little at his countryman’s humor, but let the moment pass.

“ We have a problem Baron, “ Hannibal said, to Axomin, his face now serious, “ There have been signs to the north of a dragon on the wing . “ Axomin paled slightly at the news, as did we all. Dragons are rare, and rarer still attack villages and towns, but a small party on the road tended to make for an easy target for the beasts.

“ Great, “ I whispered to myself, “ All we need, “ I started to look to the sky, something most of us did, it was clear of leather winged avians that I could see, but how fast a dragon could fly and how fast they could be upon you were things I knew little of, and didn’t care to find out more. “ I’ll take the lead, and scout ahead again. “ I said, shouldering my pack and notching an arrow in my bow.

I wondered a little way ahead of the main group, losing track of a heated conversation, while I tried to find a little higher ground to take a good look around from. So what was said from that point I don’t know,  but the up shot of the conversation was that Cordelia joined the party and they began to hurry along the road, with Hannibal volunteering to be last man watching for anyone following us… and the dragon.  CeNedra stuck close to him to, I presume, keep Hannibal from acting on his barbarian instincts. Hannibal had a look in his eyes as he spoke of the dragon, the kind of look I was becoming familiar with in Gorungar’s eyes. I didn’t envy Ce’Nedra one bit. Stopping a barbarian following his instincts is not a task for the weak of heart.

We made fast progress over the next hour, though the party did become rather spread out, I guess that is not a bad thing, a large group together makes for a large target. We were several miles down the road, fast approaching the outskirts of black hag Forest once more when the dragon struck. I heard a scream from the rear of the party, and swung round to see a sight I will never forget as long as I live. The dragon swooped down out of the western sky, faster than any bird I have ever seen. In the distance Hannibal let an arrow fly at the huge creature. The last thing he did, as the beast descended upon him, taking him up in its maw and biting him clean in half. For my sins I ran for the trees, in my defence I can only say there was nothing I could do. I could have fired a hundred arrows into the beast but I doubt it would even have felt it. And Hannibal was lost to us, saving ourselves was all we had left as options. So I ran.

I was not alone. We all made for the tree line, and the safety it presented. I have never run so hard or fast in my life, and doubt I ever will again. As I reached the tree line I collapsed from exhaustion, the last half mile I had felt my heart was going to burst.

From my place of relative safety I watched the others running towards me, breathing so hard my vision was blurring. One by one they reached me and the trees, all save Ce’Nedra. As she got to within the last hundred yards of the Forest the dragon swooped down once more, grabbing her in its claw before returning to the sky and flying off to the south. I can only hope the crush of the claws killed her. Better that than to be held for long in those claws knowing death was about to claim you. Some pray for a long life. There are times when a quick death is a better prayer.

The rest of that day, in fact the next few that followed the party traveled along the Forest road. We were withdrawn for a while, each of us in our own way coming to terms with the death of our two companions. Even Abdul was silent for a while, but that did not last, Abdul as ever found ways to twist the truth of the matters at hand to suit his personal view of the world. At one point he claimed that we should have stayed in Sorrow to defend the town from the rampaging dragon. Later when we were attacked by bandits on the second day he claimed they were from Sorrow, sent to rob us, at the behest of Lady Firewalker. The towns connections to the deceased Lord Drax and Lady Firewalkers connections to the DNA been enough to satisfy Abdul of her guilt. Some thing I wonder about from time to time now events have taken there course.

This returned us to the cat calling between Firewalker and Abdul, a situation I thought we had left behind in the Coaching Inn. Baron Axomin once more managed to break this up and swore the two of them to silence, but only after some harsh words.

As the days went past I grew closer to Gorungar and also to Astolan, the RGA founder councilor talked more sense than the rest of the party put together at times. Axomin was never the easiest of men to get along with, his world view built on the iron foundations of his loyalty to the crown. Gorungar on the other hand was always locked in his remorse battered world, his slayers scars shallow compared to the ones in his spirit. Lady Firewalker was aloof, and Abdul twisted by the hatred he carried for DNA and all related to it. Cordelia was simplistic at times, her honor as a Eagle and her skill with the bow being her major topics of conversation. Only Astolan seemed to hold a rational conversation. Perhaps that was half the reason I found myself swayed by his arguments on the nature of loyalty to the crown.

I am as I have said before the son of a merchant family. What nobles tend to call new money. My view of the Royal Adventurers Guild and the royal oath they take has always been tainted by that. But at the end of the day I consider myself loyal to the crown. I may have my eccentricities but I am still a great believer in honor and the crown. Without the crown to knit us together we would be nothing but a loose collection of city states, at the mercy of the evils of the world, and the countryside would be a killing ground for every outlaw, beast, and monster that stalks it. And honor is that which binds us to uphold the kings peace, without that we are little more than beast ourselves. In the end I took the royal oath on the edge of the great waterfall abyss at Dead Drop End. But I get ahead of the story.

We pushed on for several days, passing the fork in the road we first came to after the teleport. Now we were heading southeast following the directions we had received from the crown administrator in Sorrow.

We were a somewhat more solemn group than before, with the deaths of Ce’Nedra and Hannibal. To have lost friends before we even reached the waterfall dungeon itself was not good tidings for the group, a fact that lay heavy on our minds, as each of us were affected differently by the deaths. In our own ways we grieved our lost comrades. Though as time passed Firewalker begun to be withdrawn from the group,  lagging behind, and at times distant in other ways. One night, around the embers of the camp fire, having pulled the first watch again, I sat prodding embers with a spare arrow while those around me snored in their sleep. All save Abdul and Firewalker;  he was watching her with the eyes of a hawk. Knowing Abdul he was refusing to sleep before her, lest in his twisted mind she attempted to kill us all as we slept. I yawned heavily. and glanced at the two of them, sat at opposing ends of the small camp site. Abdul watched her. But she was staring off in to the forest, though from the look of her she did not see the trees. Her eyes were glazed over, and an expression of peace lay upon her face that struck me as odd for someone sat in the middle of the wilds with a mortal enemy just yards from her. The cold southern wind tousled her long blonde hair, lashing her face, but she did not notice. She was mumbling to herself inaudibly. As if in a conversation with another, someone only she could see.

That was not the only time it happened either. But at the time, to my regret  now, I ignored this odd behavior. She was a priestess after all. And the ways of priests are not the ways of thieves. Me and the gods have something of an understanding. I keep out of their business and they hopefully keep out of mine. Besides I was right in many ways. I assumed she was communing with her personal god. In many ways she was. At least he was communicating with her.

 So our strange little group continued on it’s way. Until we came to a small village, about as far from the centre of the kingdom as you could hope to be, though why you would hope to be there is anyones guess, give me the cities of the plains any time over scratching out a living on the outskirts of the kingdom. The village lay in a narrow valley between two mountain ranges. Somewhere beyond those mountains was Kyr, but there was no pass here, just a narrow stretch of land. As rocky as hell and half barren.

Several small farmsteads had huddled together to form the village, eking out an existence of a few narrow scraps of land, and clinging to life here at the edge of the kingdom.

As we made our way along the narrow mud track down into the small valley the village occupied we could see that this little community had other problems than the daily chores of trying to grow enough food to feed itself. It was under attack from what at a distance looked like huge balls of fur.

“ Hordlings “ Gorungar spat, pulling his strach free from the harness than held it on his back, and weighing the heavy broad bladed axe in his hands. He looked back to the Baron, who was some way further back with the bulk of the party, waving his strach above his head to attract their attention. Once he was sure the baron had seen this, he turned and started down the narrow path towards the village at a sprint. No war cry. No attempt to summon the blood rush that many warriors feel the need for before a fight. Gorungar was always ready, and when he fought he fought in silence. Fast, hard and deadly, when he danced with his enemies there was only one result. The slayer who can not find death no matter how hard he sought it.

Seeing the rest of the party following fast behind us had seen Gorungar’s signal I set off after him, running hard till I got in range of the beasts whereupon I strung my bow and began picking targets for my cloth yard shafts. It wasn’t hard, there were plenty of targets to choose from.

The villagers fought bravely with shovels and pitchforks and other farmyard weapons, but had we not arrived at that moment I believe they would be this village would have been no more. Numbers can be everything in a battle, and there were far more hordlings than villagers, with not a trained man among the villagers.

Gorungar hit the hordlings like a scythe through wheat, his sheer momentum carrying him through their massed ranks and out the other side. His strach sang its own song as it flew in wide arcs through them. The hordlings fell back from this new foe and gave the villagers breathing space.

I launched shaft after shaft at the ones I could pick out, as the rest of the party caught up. Astolan and Axomin summoned up fire sprites and let fire balls fly at the hordlings who started to flee the village, while Cordelia moved to the flank with her bow and started to launch arrows of her own at the creatures. Lady Firewalker and Chirpisthra followed Gorungar into the heart of the hordlings mass, the two priests wasting no time as they joined the fray, laying about them with their blades.  Whatever Lady Firewalker’s final acts, her actions that day at the village were as brave and selfless as Gorungar’s .

Of my companions only Abdul acted in defiance to the rest. He arrived late at the battle. and played no part in it. “ This is not our fight, “ he swore loudly as he arrived. “ This village can defend itself. “ he added in grim defiance of the facts.

“ Stop your whining Abdul and help out. “ Axomin shouted at him. But Abdul just ignored the Baron and began working his way round the village, making no attempt to aid in its defence. Any respect I had for the enchanter fell by the wayside then. I can truly say that I have more respect for Lady Firewalker, despite her final actions, than I have for Abdul. How a man can walk away from his friends, and turn his back on the villagers of that nameless village I will never know. I am, as you may have guessed, a rogue and a thief, not a warrior. But there are times when you can’t look the other way and put yourself before others, and that battle was one of them. Abdul’s dead now, and I would not wish to speak ill of the dead, but had he lived I would have never trusted him again after that. As I say, I would sooner have Lady Firewalker at my back in a fight than Abdul, and I would kill her on sight for what she did should I meet her again.

The battle seemed over fast, the hordlings either falling before the fire sprites and arrow shafts or being cleaved asunder by the axe of Gorungar and the two priestesses swords. Within moments the villagers were cheering and I was preparing to walk to the village picking up my unbroken shafts as I went. But we were in for a shock.

I had moved out to the right hand flank of the village on a small rise when I first saw them. The hordlings in the village were small creatures of little real danger to a trained man without a great advantage of numbers. But coming down from the hills to the south were there giant versions of the furry monsters. They were as large as a cottage, and a round them were a horde of their lesser siblings. I turned and ran back to the village, shouting a warning to the others, grabbing what shafts I could as I ran. But I was too slow, one of the smaller creatures leapt out on me, its sharp teeth cutting deep into my shoulder before I managed to hack it off with a dagger and run once more towards the village. My mad dash was covered by bursts of flame from the two enchanters. I made it back, but collapsed almost as I got there as my blood loss overcame me.

I came round about a hour later, having missed the rest of the battle, with Lady Firewalker standing over me, force feeding me with the blessed bread the priest call mana. My wounds had been bound and the magical properties of the mana bread were fast restoring my strength. I rested there, my back against a small shack, while the villagers tried to repair their haphazard stockade. Firewalker watched over me for a short time, saying nothing, then turned as if hearing her name called out behind her. When she turned back her eyes were glazed over again, and she sat there in the mud, her lips moving silently, her eyes rolled back in her head. Lying there, my strength slowly returning, I watched silently over her as she communed with her voices, for a short time at least, before pushing myself up and trying to walk off the nagging pains of my injury. When I got back to the spot half an hour later she was still there, kneeling in the mud in her silent prayers.

The Baron was talking to the village head man, a slow fellow with a heavy accent that made him hard to understand. His dialect was one that had died out in Bereny proper a hundred years ago. Gorungar sat, nursing a few small cuts and bruises, carefully cleaning his axe blade and rehoning its edge. He looked up at me as I approached. and nodded to me, “ You live then, “ he said in his heavy southerners voice, “ That is good, “ he added, and that was all I got out of him. The slayer was ever a man of simple conversation. You survived a fight then there was no need to talk about it.

“ Thanks, “ I replied sardonically. “ It’s good to see you are still around too. “

“ The gods do not call me yet. I am not worthy to die and take my place along side Fraya. “ he replied.

“ May be they have use of you here yet my friend, “

“ Perhaps. “ he answered, and that was that. Gorungar is the only man I know who perceives surviving a battle as a slight against himself. But then I don’t know many men who seek death the way he does. For my part I was glad he was still with us. I’d miss the big bastard if he got his wish.

I moved on, talking with Astolan for a while. Mostly about the disappearance of Abdul, who had not returned with the defeat of the hordlings. Last anyone had seen he had been running to the south at full hilt. The Baron was not happy about this, Abdul going on ahead of the party didn’t sit well with him. Perhaps he feared that Abdul would do what Firewalker ultimately did and grab the cure for the plague for himself, to the detriment of Ghorst. I could understand why. I had a long talk then with Astolan on the subject of this village, and the hundreds like it, too far from the main outposts of the kingdom to receive the protection of the kings troops. Astolan believed that he should talk with his guild about sending out adventurers to train the locals in the basics of defence; a worthy aim as I told him at the time, but one beyond the resources of even the RGA.

“ That’s because we need more members, that way we would have the resources to do things like that “ the enchanter argued.

I laughed at this, “ You’re a guild of nobles Astolan. I don’t see many blue bloods riding out to places like this out of a sense of community spirit. “

“ We are not all blue bloods, “ Astolan replied defensively, “ I have long argued that we need more commoners in our ranks, I myself have no title. “

“ Aye, perhaps, my father once talked of joining the RGA before he took his vows to the White Tower. “

“ How about yourself Darrack? Do you not feel the need to join a guild? A guildsman has a second family to protect him in times of trouble. “

“ Astolan, I seriously doubt the RGA would see fit to have a rogue like me in their ranks.”  I replied

“ Why not, half the nobility are rogues of one sort or another. At least you are an honest rogue who admits his own faults. Take the oath, you’re a kings man anyway, out here in the wilds on a mission for his highness. “

I laughed again, “ Perhaps I will, they say strange things happen at Dead End Drop. And right now I can’t think of anything stranger than a flea bitten rogue who is the black sheep of his family taking the royal oath to the RGA at the head of the waterfall. Hell the chances are we may not get back out of the damned falls anyhow. “

So I did, two days later, as I stood upon the rim of the falls, that dropped down five hundred feet into the darkness of the caves below. Clinging with one hand to the rope and the other over my heart I said the words of the oath. Somehow, perverse though it seemed at the time, I have never regretted doing it. It was some time until the guild register in Crownheart knew of the latest member of the RGA. By that time I had been down to the depths of dead end drop, and faced creatures from the abyss of hell itself, and got back out alive. I guess it was too late then for them to refuse me.

return to index         return to tales of Darrack de'Torfane  To part V