Her name was Mizha, and she was a young gnome woman who was barely an adult by their lifespan. She had been taking stock of the preserves when the first fireball had hit, and was trapped in the rubble. Delegado and the other men moved the major pieces with a crane, and the warforged known as Iron Orphan jumped down into the darkness with a glowing rod that Delegado had lent him. He came back up with Mizha on his shoulders.
“Scratches and a twisted ankle,” the half-orc said, walking over to the warforged. “But they say she wasn’t going to last much longer because air couldn’t get into where she was trapped. You did good.”
Iron Orphan looked at the tree line to the west. “Nice to know someone likes me,” he said. “If not for Pienna I think I would leave this place.”
“You ready to drop the whole do-good-for-good’s sake just because of some nasty looks?” Delegado asked. For once he wasn’t baiting the warforged, he was merely curious.
“No, for I have been called far worse,” the warforged answered. The half-orc was not exactly a people person, but he could tell that the ‘forged was being truthful. “I just don’t want to be blamed for what other warforged do.” He cocked his head at Delegado. “Some of the newspapers that people read, they have lurid, bloody tales of warforged. And a few nasty tales of half-orcs.”
Delegado smiled a mirthless smile. “People don’t like half-breeds,” he said. “It took centuries for the half-elves to become accepted, and even then it was due to numbers and a pair of dragonmarked houses.” He paused, wondering why he was trying to make peace with this thing. Had the halfling’s words affected him that badly?
“You seem well-liked,” Iron Orphan said. “And from what I heard of your conversation with that boy, I believe you could be more well-liked if you tried.”
Delegado wasn’t shocked anymore. This warforged had uncanny hearing. “Yeah, well, keep that to yourself. I like being blunt, it saves time.” He scratched an ear. “Besides, the kid was sweet on a half-orc, so it touched me.”
“Why are you being nice to me when you resent the fact that I bested you in combat?” the warforged asked him.
“You didn’t best me in combat,” Delegado said. “Those packets of gagging dust you dumped down bested on me. And it was a good move that I can respect, it helps you exploit a natural advantage. I hope you’ve managed to get ahold of more.”
“Yes,” Orphan said carefully, gauging Delegado with a look. “Sort of how you like to stalk in the dark, using your orc sight. But you didn’t answer my question. Why are you being nice to me? Is it because of what Drorin said?”
“No,” Delegado said firmly. “It’s because we’re going to be fighting side-by-side soon. Not easy to do that with bad blood.”
“Not easy to do it when you lie to yourself,” Iron Orphan told him.
Delegado leaned in, and had some satisfaction when the warforged leaned back. “Stay out of my head,” he said firmly. “I’m trying to make peace here. Don’t f’test it all to the Keeper.”
“Fine,” Orphan told him. Delegado backed off. “So we didn’t go with Pienna because we may need to hold off an attack all by ourselves. You seemed to do well enough against the bandits that you met.”
“They were rejects, and they were meant to be cannon fodder,” Delegado said. “They were also first wave. Either they were a tripwire force or their commander was a real idiot when it comes to tactics.”
“What is a tripwire force?”
“It’s a force that when it gets attacked, or wiped out, that alerts another, larger force by its absence.” He patted his longbow. “I got them with range. I could see them coming, and I took them down before they took me down.”
The warforged looked at the bow. “That is a very large weapon.”
Delegado grinned, took it off, and handed it to him. “Here, try and draw it.”
The warforged gingerly took the bow, stood it in front of him, and tried to draw the string. He pulled, and it barely moved. It twanged back into place as he let it go. “That’s some bow,” he said, passing it back. “Adds more punch I take it?”
“You take it right,” Delegado said, putting it back on his shoulder. “It’s a composite weapon with what they call a mighty pull. It’s also specially-crafted for perfect balance. Even with a normal arrow I can punch through plate mail at a distance that you couldn’t rely on one of those spinning knives of yours.”
“They are called shiruken, and they can be hidden far more easily than your giant bow can,” Orphan said. “Alright, so you want to coordinate tactics?”
“That is the plan,” Delegado said. A shout went up from some of the men watching the Orien road. “Or that was the plan. Let’s go!”
They sprinted to the men on watch, some three militia types and one farmer with a club. Orphan made it there well before Delegado, his legs a blur. The half-orc got his bow out and set his feet next to the warforged monk, holding not one, but two arrows in place on the bowstring.
Booted feet marched in cadence as the odd procession came down the road. Nine men walked in a three by three box formation, in studded leather armor with swords sheathed. They each had a sapling, freshly cut, with a white cloth atop it. Another white cloth was tied to their heads like a kerchief.
“I like the hats,” one man muttered.
“It says nasty things on their heads is why,” grunted another man, a shifter who looked ready to bite someone.
“Look behind them,” Iron Orphan said. “And above them.”
A carpet, no more than an ordinary, square throw rug, barely six feet on a side, hovered behind the marching soldiers. A woman sat atop it, her form wrapped in sheets and veils. Flying along with her were two short things, constructs of wrinkly skin with flapping bat wings. Delegado had seen them before, they were homunculi, a status symbol and a pet for many powerful artificers. A chest with legs ran on the ground under the flying rug, and what appeared to be a crossbow with hands and a face sat in the woman’s lap.
“Do we attack, sir?” asked the farmer with the club.
“Do I attack is the question,” Delegado said. “I can end them before they ever get here. What say you, Orphan? There’s a flag of truce.”
“I say tell them to stand back while I go get the mayor,” Orphan said, already turning and running.
“Do not advance any further!” Delegado called to the group. He yelled again, putting all he could into it. “Do not advance any further!”
The men stopped, and they conversed with their leader, the woman on the rug. After a moment she held a device to her mouth and spoke. The device carried her words some three hundred feet to them as clearly as if she was standing within arm’s reach.
“Men and women of Merylsward,” she said. “I am Lo’Paih. I have the means at hand for your deliverance. Assuming I can get them into place of course.”
People looked at each other, excited. The woman sounded so confident, so truthful.
She’s a darn good artificer if she can make and run four constructs, Delegado thought. That means she can easily put an infusion into her speaking-tube that makes her sound more trustworthy, puts more persuasion in her words. “We’d rather not have Aundairians come here just yet,” Delegado told her, keeping his voice firm but not yelling. He assumed that the speaking tube would work both ways. “And we have enough snipers to take your men out in less than a minute, so they would be advised not to advance.”
“I think you want these men – who have thrown off Aundair’s yoke as you yourselves have – with you quite soon,” was her reply. “I have infused their blades with a temporary bane enchantment that works against constructs. There are a few hundred warforged marching on your town. Between my own constructs and the special blades that my men wield, you will have a significant chance. But the infusion is temporary. It will fade in approximately forty-two minutes. If you do not accept me as an ally, then I shall take my task force with their enchanted blades, my constructs, and my devices, and leave you to be slaughtered.”
“I could take your men out and then take the blades,” Delegado said.
In response she threw a whirlygig of tiny, white dragonshards, which burst onto the ground some ten feet in front of her men. A great whooshing sound went up, and a wall of surging elemental air appeared, wide and high. “Feel free to waste your arrows, if you wish,” she said.
“Hey!” said a man behind Delegado, punching him in the shoulder. “You’d better knock off that –”
The half-orc was up and around with a roundhouse punch that lifted the man behind him off of his feet, throwing him backwards in an unconscious heap. Blood poured from a shattered nose and a split lip. “You really don’t want to hit me,” Delegado growled. The men around him took a step back.
“I have no intention of hitting you,” Lo’Paih said. “But I can see with my lens that you weren’t talking to me. That’s a nice belt buckle, by the way. So you are House Tharashk, are you? Has your house taken sides in this conflict? That news would not go over well in some circles.”
“I am helping a fellow house, House Vadalis, whose property and people were attacked in an unjust magical assault,” Delegado said carefully. “And I am sure that Aundair would be more interested in hearing how a Cannith Lady took their soldiers than hearing how a half-orc from the Marches who got stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time decided to give some people a hand.”
“I am no longer of House Cannith,” Lo’Paih said, her voice finally showing some emotion. It was anger, with some bitterness. She felt that Cannith had wronged her, he could tell. He had been tracking humans long enough to know the vocal inflections, even through a magical tube. “Now are you going to bring someone here for me to negotiate with who is empowered to represent this town or will I have to leave?”
“The mayor’s on his way,” Delegado said. He had a very bad feeling about this.
“She wants to help us for free, and the mercenary here hits one of us,” someone grumbled.
A very bad feeling.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Chapter 12 - Part 8
Ambassador Reesir Toppe was bringing waterskins around to the people lying in beds and makeshift cots when he spotted the warforged helping a man haul another bed. The interior of the church was a mess. Pews and benches had been pushed aside to make room for the wounded, and the seriously burned and cut were all mixed in with the merely scraped and staggered. The warforged walked with a grace that seemed intuitive, easily avoiding thrashing bodies and other items that were underfoot.
The Ambassador kept an eye on the warforged as he passed out the last waterskin. The construct seemed bitter, angry. Most people would not have seen it, but Reesir had spent a great deal of time around warforged, and he knew them well. He actually knew them well enough to have been a hunter of them many years ago, when they were new things, and he was a young army scout.
Reesir went over to the warforged, reaching out to touch him on his shoulder. Somehow the warforged heard him over the cries and talking, or otherwise sensed him, and turned around quickly enough to dodge Reesir’s hand. “Let’s talk outside?” the ambassador asked.
The warforged nodded, but more out of having no reason not to than any genuine interest.
Together the man and the machine strode out into the sunlight, moving south towards the wreck of the inn. “You seem to be a wanderer, isn’t that right?” Reesir asked the warforged. The ambassador’s forehead stitches started to ache more out in the sunlight for some reason.
“Yes,” it said cautiously. “But I haven’t much choice, Ambassador.”
“Call me Reesir,” he said, giving the warforged a winning smile. “You know we didn’t get much chance to talk on our travel up here. I had affairs of state, and you kept to yourself a lot. Secret Gatekeeper business I suppose.”
“Something like that.” They came to the open plaza again. The one with all the bodies. “What are you trying to convince me to do?”
Reesir raised an eyebrow. People had told him that this ‘forged was different, that he could sense things. It was one thing to be told it, another to actually encounter it. “You’re a sharp one,” he said, forcing a laugh. “What is it that they call you again?”
“Orphan,” it told him bluntly. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I want you to come to Breland,” the ambasador said, seeing that the direct route was best. “We have offered our warforged full citizenship as soon as the war is over. You would be respected in Breland.” He leaned in. “You would be given your own hall in Wroat to train new students of the Balanced Palm.”
The warforged hesitated, then his mouth flexed at the corners a tiny bit in the warforged smile. “As soon as the war is over? It’s been raging for a century.” And he strode away, heading towards a group of people who were assisting Delegado clear some rubble.
The ambassador smiled. He had planted the hook, that was the important thing.
The Ambassador kept an eye on the warforged as he passed out the last waterskin. The construct seemed bitter, angry. Most people would not have seen it, but Reesir had spent a great deal of time around warforged, and he knew them well. He actually knew them well enough to have been a hunter of them many years ago, when they were new things, and he was a young army scout.
Reesir went over to the warforged, reaching out to touch him on his shoulder. Somehow the warforged heard him over the cries and talking, or otherwise sensed him, and turned around quickly enough to dodge Reesir’s hand. “Let’s talk outside?” the ambassador asked.
The warforged nodded, but more out of having no reason not to than any genuine interest.
Together the man and the machine strode out into the sunlight, moving south towards the wreck of the inn. “You seem to be a wanderer, isn’t that right?” Reesir asked the warforged. The ambassador’s forehead stitches started to ache more out in the sunlight for some reason.
“Yes,” it said cautiously. “But I haven’t much choice, Ambassador.”
“Call me Reesir,” he said, giving the warforged a winning smile. “You know we didn’t get much chance to talk on our travel up here. I had affairs of state, and you kept to yourself a lot. Secret Gatekeeper business I suppose.”
“Something like that.” They came to the open plaza again. The one with all the bodies. “What are you trying to convince me to do?”
Reesir raised an eyebrow. People had told him that this ‘forged was different, that he could sense things. It was one thing to be told it, another to actually encounter it. “You’re a sharp one,” he said, forcing a laugh. “What is it that they call you again?”
“Orphan,” it told him bluntly. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I want you to come to Breland,” the ambasador said, seeing that the direct route was best. “We have offered our warforged full citizenship as soon as the war is over. You would be respected in Breland.” He leaned in. “You would be given your own hall in Wroat to train new students of the Balanced Palm.”
The warforged hesitated, then his mouth flexed at the corners a tiny bit in the warforged smile. “As soon as the war is over? It’s been raging for a century.” And he strode away, heading towards a group of people who were assisting Delegado clear some rubble.
The ambassador smiled. He had planted the hook, that was the important thing.
Chapter 12 - Part 7
Iron Orphan hustled down the street, carrying two large sacks of shovels and picks. Some people eyed him warily, some waved, and he thought he heard one curse at him. Most ignored him. They were too numb emotionally.
He came to a cleared area bisected by a road. Men were cutting down trees to extend the visible gap. The cut trees were being trimmed and turned into barricades. A Warden of the Wood was directing the situation.
“Excuse me,” Iron Orphan said to the human male. “Where do you want the digging tools?”
“The heavyset shifter,” the man said, pointing to the left. He did not look into Iron Orphan’s eyes.
The warforged turned and went over to the fat, surly shifter. The man was not wearing a shirt, and the hair on his back and large belly was thick and black. Two other shifters were with him, both with minor burns. They were trying to hack at the earth with small handaxes.
“Here,” Iron Orphan said, handing the bags to him. “This will help us with the trench.”
“Us?” said the heavyset shifter. “There is no, ‘us,’ you filthy tin can.” He jabbed a finger at Iron Orphan’s chest. “We all heard how warforged are coming this way. We all saw how the wizard knew where to attack. You’re a Khyber-kissing spy for the Aundarians, is what you are. So get the Dolurrh away from me before I stab you myself!”
“Yeah!” someone nearby yelled.
“Say it again!” called out another.
“F’test you!” called out one man. “He’s been helping us!”
“To see what we’re up to!” snarled the heavyset shifter.
“Cut all this galig and get to work!” the Warden of the Wood yelled. “This isn’t going to help us survive the next attack!”
“Oh, but you are wrong,” came a loud, practiced voice.
Iron Orphan turned to see a human woman standing away from the tree she had been cutting. She was of middle size, with long dark hair that had bits of tree twigs woven through it. She was possessed of a powerful voice, and a striking manner. “You are very wrong,” she said. She began to walk forward, pacing her strides with a rising cadence to her voice. “These machines are a perversion of how the world was meant to be.” People stopped working to watch. “They are arcane magic given voice. A vile and unnatural thing.” She stood before them all, hands on her hips. “You restrain nature! You hinder it! You gather in large places, mimicking the cities of sin! You refuse to abandon the magic, the industry, and the poison! You have left Aundair, but you cling to Aundair’s ways, and you are surprised that the vileness rains down from the skies?”
“Shut that Ashbound junk!” someone yelled.
“No, you shut it!” called out another person. “She has the truth of it!”
“Nature will not protect you if you do not show that you will cleave to her and her alone!” the woman said, raising her hands above her head. “The warforged come because like attracts like! Will you sin with more hacking away at the life-giving earth, or will you turn those picks and shovels on your real enemy?” She pointed straight at Iron Orphan.
Oh, Iron Orphan thought. He wasn’t sure how to react, what to say.
The Warden of the Wood pulled his sword out and walked over to the woman. “You get back to work,” he snarled. “Get back to work right now, or I’ll cut you down!”
The people looked at each other. Some clearly agreed with the woman, some did not. Most of them looked uncertain.
The woman smiled, and turned around. As she walked back to her dropped handaxe and picked it up, she said “Nature will take us all, in the end.” She began cutting the tree again. “But some earlier than others.”
The Warden turned to Iron Orphan. He did not put his sword away. “Go back to the inn – to where the inn was. Go to the southern edge of town. No one wants to see you here.”
Iron Orphan nodded, and then began to walk away. He was now glad that he could not cry. Everyone there would have seen it.
And to think I thought I would fit in here in the Reaches, Iron Orphan thought. To think I thought I would fit in anywhere. The Balanced Palm had briefly been a family to him, accepted him. But they were all dead now. As dead as the people the people who had been immolated by the wizard.
As dead as his dreams.
He came to a cleared area bisected by a road. Men were cutting down trees to extend the visible gap. The cut trees were being trimmed and turned into barricades. A Warden of the Wood was directing the situation.
“Excuse me,” Iron Orphan said to the human male. “Where do you want the digging tools?”
“The heavyset shifter,” the man said, pointing to the left. He did not look into Iron Orphan’s eyes.
The warforged turned and went over to the fat, surly shifter. The man was not wearing a shirt, and the hair on his back and large belly was thick and black. Two other shifters were with him, both with minor burns. They were trying to hack at the earth with small handaxes.
“Here,” Iron Orphan said, handing the bags to him. “This will help us with the trench.”
“Us?” said the heavyset shifter. “There is no, ‘us,’ you filthy tin can.” He jabbed a finger at Iron Orphan’s chest. “We all heard how warforged are coming this way. We all saw how the wizard knew where to attack. You’re a Khyber-kissing spy for the Aundarians, is what you are. So get the Dolurrh away from me before I stab you myself!”
“Yeah!” someone nearby yelled.
“Say it again!” called out another.
“F’test you!” called out one man. “He’s been helping us!”
“To see what we’re up to!” snarled the heavyset shifter.
“Cut all this galig and get to work!” the Warden of the Wood yelled. “This isn’t going to help us survive the next attack!”
“Oh, but you are wrong,” came a loud, practiced voice.
Iron Orphan turned to see a human woman standing away from the tree she had been cutting. She was of middle size, with long dark hair that had bits of tree twigs woven through it. She was possessed of a powerful voice, and a striking manner. “You are very wrong,” she said. She began to walk forward, pacing her strides with a rising cadence to her voice. “These machines are a perversion of how the world was meant to be.” People stopped working to watch. “They are arcane magic given voice. A vile and unnatural thing.” She stood before them all, hands on her hips. “You restrain nature! You hinder it! You gather in large places, mimicking the cities of sin! You refuse to abandon the magic, the industry, and the poison! You have left Aundair, but you cling to Aundair’s ways, and you are surprised that the vileness rains down from the skies?”
“Shut that Ashbound junk!” someone yelled.
“No, you shut it!” called out another person. “She has the truth of it!”
“Nature will not protect you if you do not show that you will cleave to her and her alone!” the woman said, raising her hands above her head. “The warforged come because like attracts like! Will you sin with more hacking away at the life-giving earth, or will you turn those picks and shovels on your real enemy?” She pointed straight at Iron Orphan.
Oh, Iron Orphan thought. He wasn’t sure how to react, what to say.
The Warden of the Wood pulled his sword out and walked over to the woman. “You get back to work,” he snarled. “Get back to work right now, or I’ll cut you down!”
The people looked at each other. Some clearly agreed with the woman, some did not. Most of them looked uncertain.
The woman smiled, and turned around. As she walked back to her dropped handaxe and picked it up, she said “Nature will take us all, in the end.” She began cutting the tree again. “But some earlier than others.”
The Warden turned to Iron Orphan. He did not put his sword away. “Go back to the inn – to where the inn was. Go to the southern edge of town. No one wants to see you here.”
Iron Orphan nodded, and then began to walk away. He was now glad that he could not cry. Everyone there would have seen it.
And to think I thought I would fit in here in the Reaches, Iron Orphan thought. To think I thought I would fit in anywhere. The Balanced Palm had briefly been a family to him, accepted him. But they were all dead now. As dead as the people the people who had been immolated by the wizard.
As dead as his dreams.
Chapter 12 - Part 6
“That was nice of you,” Tippish said as Delegado walked by.
“What?” the half-orc asked, scowling.
“You talking to that boy,” the mayor said. “I saw his face, I could figure it out.”
“I was telling his not to loot the corpses, you fur-brained nitwit,” Delegado growled. “Now stop blabbering to me, I have work to do.”
“Yes, you do,” the mayor said, not bothering to hold in a grin. “We have a lever in place to move the central beam so that we can get to the inn’s basement. Aside from the obvious provisions we think someone may be trapped in there.”
“Point the way,” Delegado said, flexing his muscles.
“What?” the half-orc asked, scowling.
“You talking to that boy,” the mayor said. “I saw his face, I could figure it out.”
“I was telling his not to loot the corpses, you fur-brained nitwit,” Delegado growled. “Now stop blabbering to me, I have work to do.”
“Yes, you do,” the mayor said, not bothering to hold in a grin. “We have a lever in place to move the central beam so that we can get to the inn’s basement. Aside from the obvious provisions we think someone may be trapped in there.”
“Point the way,” Delegado said, flexing his muscles.
Chapter 12 - Part 5
Bern had stopped crying, but only because he had run out of tears. His parents had found him, and they had hugged him and hugged him, weeping. Kruska’s mother had found her. Her father was dead. He had been in the Vadalis enclave when the conjured wall of fire had burst through a window, immolating him. Kruska’s mother had wept for a while, but had been pulled away from her daughter’s corpse. She was skilled with herbs and bandages, and her skills were needed by the living.
Kruska had been laid out in the center of town, along with many other dead. Several children and invalid adults had been given fans to keep flies away until proper, individual burials could be made.
Bern moved his fan slowly, like a sleepwalker. His small frame had been filled with grief, rage, and despair, many times, all within the past hour. He stayed by Kruska’s side, his dead eyes only showing emotion when a fly ventured near her face.
A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a very tall man with jutting lower canines. A half-orc.
“You are doing a good job,” the man told him. He had a lot of weapons, including a very large bow.
“It’s all I can do,” Bern said. “I can’t fight the Aundarians.” His jaw set. “I wish I could kill them all!”
“Including the young girls that were her age who live there?” the half-orc asked him.
Bern didn’t know how to respond to that.
The half-orc crouched down next to him, and stuck his hand out. “I’m Delegado,” he said.
Bern stared, then shook the half-orc’s hand. “You’re famous!” he blurted out. Then he remembered his manners. “Oh, um, I’m Bern.”
“Nice to meet you, Bern,” Delegado said. “Although I wished the circumstances were better.” Bern sort of smiled, but said nothing. “What was her name?”
“Kruska,” Bern said. “She was the best girl in the whole world, and I loved her and I would think about marrying her.” His face fell. “And I never told her.”
“Did she hang around you and talk to you?” Delegado asked.
“Yes,” Bern said. “Whenever we could.”
“Then she knew, and she loved you back,” Delegado told him. Bern looked at the half-orc skeptically. “Trust me,” Delegado told him. “Half-orcs are creatures of instinct, and she could feel your feelings. She returned them.”
Bern felt a tiny bit better, but not much. “I couldn’t save her.”
“No you couldn’t, and that isn’t your fault,” Delegado told him. “There are a lot of people in this world that are more powerful than you, faster than you, and nastier than you. You found that out earlier than you should have, but it’s true.”
“So what do I do?” Bern asked.
“You stick to your people,” Delegado said. “You take care of them, and they take care of you. Got me?” Bern nodded. “Good. Now you keep that fan going, because preserving the dead is the only thing keeping some people together long enough to do what’s needed to be done.”
“There’s warforged coming,” Bern said. “I heard about it.” His eyes went to the strange warforged with clothes that he, Kurska, and Nuck had met outside of town.
“They aren’t like that warforged, and he’s not like them,” Delegado said. “You keep that fan going.”
“Yes, sir,” Bern said, renewing the waving motions. Delegado patted him on the shoulder and left.
Kruska had been laid out in the center of town, along with many other dead. Several children and invalid adults had been given fans to keep flies away until proper, individual burials could be made.
Bern moved his fan slowly, like a sleepwalker. His small frame had been filled with grief, rage, and despair, many times, all within the past hour. He stayed by Kruska’s side, his dead eyes only showing emotion when a fly ventured near her face.
A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a very tall man with jutting lower canines. A half-orc.
“You are doing a good job,” the man told him. He had a lot of weapons, including a very large bow.
“It’s all I can do,” Bern said. “I can’t fight the Aundarians.” His jaw set. “I wish I could kill them all!”
“Including the young girls that were her age who live there?” the half-orc asked him.
Bern didn’t know how to respond to that.
The half-orc crouched down next to him, and stuck his hand out. “I’m Delegado,” he said.
Bern stared, then shook the half-orc’s hand. “You’re famous!” he blurted out. Then he remembered his manners. “Oh, um, I’m Bern.”
“Nice to meet you, Bern,” Delegado said. “Although I wished the circumstances were better.” Bern sort of smiled, but said nothing. “What was her name?”
“Kruska,” Bern said. “She was the best girl in the whole world, and I loved her and I would think about marrying her.” His face fell. “And I never told her.”
“Did she hang around you and talk to you?” Delegado asked.
“Yes,” Bern said. “Whenever we could.”
“Then she knew, and she loved you back,” Delegado told him. Bern looked at the half-orc skeptically. “Trust me,” Delegado told him. “Half-orcs are creatures of instinct, and she could feel your feelings. She returned them.”
Bern felt a tiny bit better, but not much. “I couldn’t save her.”
“No you couldn’t, and that isn’t your fault,” Delegado told him. “There are a lot of people in this world that are more powerful than you, faster than you, and nastier than you. You found that out earlier than you should have, but it’s true.”
“So what do I do?” Bern asked.
“You stick to your people,” Delegado said. “You take care of them, and they take care of you. Got me?” Bern nodded. “Good. Now you keep that fan going, because preserving the dead is the only thing keeping some people together long enough to do what’s needed to be done.”
“There’s warforged coming,” Bern said. “I heard about it.” His eyes went to the strange warforged with clothes that he, Kurska, and Nuck had met outside of town.
“They aren’t like that warforged, and he’s not like them,” Delegado said. “You keep that fan going.”
“Yes, sir,” Bern said, renewing the waving motions. Delegado patted him on the shoulder and left.
Chapter 12 - Part 4
Units 0038DN and 0039DN had been forged right after one another, and had spent all of their time in service with one another. As such they had developed a great sense of teamwork, and they had been picked early on to be corporals. The two were very good at obeying and implementing orders. So when they found themselves together at the rendezvous point and the lieutenant had not arrived, they set up a defensive perimeter and began to consult their maps.
“Did they get turned around, lost perhaps?” Corporal 0038DN asked as the other warforged began to big trenches and gather braches and fallen wood for cover.
“Anything is possible," 0039DN said. “Still, all twenty-one of them? Someone should have noticed and corrected.” He waved on three squads. Each had four warforged, and they were to set up picket positions to watch along likely approaches.
“These maps appear correct, but they are from a survey some eighty years ago when this was Aundair,” 0038DN said.
“It still is Aundair,” 0039DN reminded him. “Do not forget we serve Aundair now, Cannith no longer.”
“Ah yes,” 0038DN said. This did not bother either of them in the slightest. “So, we should assume that the lieutenant and his team were incapacitated? Attacked by a superior force?”
“Theirs is nothing out here,” 0039DN pointed out. “Unless perhaps it was a natural occurrence. Perhaps there is quicksand or some similar bog, and they were all sucked in.”
“Dare we advance without them?” 0038DN queried.
0039DN paused, and then shook his head, a trait he had picked up from a human officer. “No, not yet,” he said. “We wait, give him until nightfall. If we have no commander by then, we draw straws, you and I. Then we decide what to do.”
0038DN agreed, and they began assisting their men with the defensive fortifications.
“Did they get turned around, lost perhaps?” Corporal 0038DN asked as the other warforged began to big trenches and gather braches and fallen wood for cover.
“Anything is possible," 0039DN said. “Still, all twenty-one of them? Someone should have noticed and corrected.” He waved on three squads. Each had four warforged, and they were to set up picket positions to watch along likely approaches.
“These maps appear correct, but they are from a survey some eighty years ago when this was Aundair,” 0038DN said.
“It still is Aundair,” 0039DN reminded him. “Do not forget we serve Aundair now, Cannith no longer.”
“Ah yes,” 0038DN said. This did not bother either of them in the slightest. “So, we should assume that the lieutenant and his team were incapacitated? Attacked by a superior force?”
“Theirs is nothing out here,” 0039DN pointed out. “Unless perhaps it was a natural occurrence. Perhaps there is quicksand or some similar bog, and they were all sucked in.”
“Dare we advance without them?” 0038DN queried.
0039DN paused, and then shook his head, a trait he had picked up from a human officer. “No, not yet,” he said. “We wait, give him until nightfall. If we have no commander by then, we draw straws, you and I. Then we decide what to do.”
0038DN agreed, and they began assisting their men with the defensive fortifications.
Chapter 12 - Part 3
Lieutenant 0980VK made a series of quick hand motions, and the twenty units with him split into two forces. One headed left, the other right, going around a thick wall of thorn bushes. The wall was a good ten feet high, and almost in a regular line as it ran a full eighty feet. The lieutenant did not know if it was magically or naturally made, and he did not care. What he did know was that each one of his corporals had not checked in yet, and they were each commanding forty men.
They had made three groups so as to minimize a chance of detection. Most warforged went with a sweeping wall attack, but 0980VK had read a book on warfare once that he had stolen from a library. He was not an expert, not by any means. But he was determined to prove himself. Some warforged were simply trying to exist, trying to passively survive whatever they had to attack. Not 0980VK. He meant to shine.
He meant to outdo his creators, actually. But he did not even dare think those thoughts yet. Certainly he did not dare speak them. But he knew that the incessant warfare of the breathing races would eventually weaken them. And then another race that did not need to breathe, eat, or sleep could take over.
And he would rule that race.
“Clear, sir!” came the call from around the hedge.
0980VK briskly walked around the hedge, surveying the trees ahead. Anything could be hidden in them. “Did anyone see the marks of warforged passing by? Any signs or tracks?”
“No sir,” replied the point men. “We think they may have gotten lost, turned around somehow. There are no markers or roads here.”
“Blasted plan,” 0980VK muttered. “Sending us here with no compasses or magical locators.”
“You’re the one who split us up,” said the warforged next to him.
The lieutenant whirled around, shocked. “What? How dare you question me?” he thundered. “I ought to have you – you – you –”
He could not finish his statement, as two greatswords were hewing him to pieces. The other warforged were attacking him, and not one of the others lifted a mechanical finger to stop it.
“You were made an officer when they picked you at random out of a crowd,” said the one who had first challenged him. “You earned nothing to justify your arrogance and superiority.” He waited until the lieutenant was scrap before he continued speaking further. “And now, we will elect a leader of our own, for we are heading north and abandoning this war.” He looked around at the others, and no one dissented. “To the mountains!” he said.
The immediately began marching northwards.
They had made three groups so as to minimize a chance of detection. Most warforged went with a sweeping wall attack, but 0980VK had read a book on warfare once that he had stolen from a library. He was not an expert, not by any means. But he was determined to prove himself. Some warforged were simply trying to exist, trying to passively survive whatever they had to attack. Not 0980VK. He meant to shine.
He meant to outdo his creators, actually. But he did not even dare think those thoughts yet. Certainly he did not dare speak them. But he knew that the incessant warfare of the breathing races would eventually weaken them. And then another race that did not need to breathe, eat, or sleep could take over.
And he would rule that race.
“Clear, sir!” came the call from around the hedge.
0980VK briskly walked around the hedge, surveying the trees ahead. Anything could be hidden in them. “Did anyone see the marks of warforged passing by? Any signs or tracks?”
“No sir,” replied the point men. “We think they may have gotten lost, turned around somehow. There are no markers or roads here.”
“Blasted plan,” 0980VK muttered. “Sending us here with no compasses or magical locators.”
“You’re the one who split us up,” said the warforged next to him.
The lieutenant whirled around, shocked. “What? How dare you question me?” he thundered. “I ought to have you – you – you –”
He could not finish his statement, as two greatswords were hewing him to pieces. The other warforged were attacking him, and not one of the others lifted a mechanical finger to stop it.
“You were made an officer when they picked you at random out of a crowd,” said the one who had first challenged him. “You earned nothing to justify your arrogance and superiority.” He waited until the lieutenant was scrap before he continued speaking further. “And now, we will elect a leader of our own, for we are heading north and abandoning this war.” He looked around at the others, and no one dissented. “To the mountains!” he said.
The immediately began marching northwards.
Chapter 12 - Part 2
The sparrow returned to Pienna’s outstretched hand, eyeing the hawk on Delegado’s shoulder warily. Pienna soothed it, and Delegado clicked the ‘stand down’ command to Feather several times, and finally the bird spoke to the druidess.
“Well?” Tippish asked, stopping his directing for the moment.
“It worked,” Pienna said. “The dryad did as I asked, at great risk to herself I may add, and she successfully identified the leader. He fell prey to her mental manipulations, and they have stopped their march. They are digging in.”
“How long do we have?” Chubat asked.
“It depends,” she said. “Once his fortifications are complete he may have cause to rethink. From what I have seen of other warforged behavior, from what I have read of Cannith’s basic military instruction, I suspect an hour, perhaps two, before their officer begins to decide.” She looked at the sky. “And then it will be almost exactly mid-afternoon. He will probably decide to strike while his forces can still see.”
“I call it an hour and a-half,” said a woman named Brella. She was Vuchen’s younger sister, and the new Vadalis manager. “Just from what I’ve heard from Deneith people about their tactics.”
“An hour and a-half it is then,” sighed the mayor.
“I would be surprised if this was the only force,” Chubat said, staring at the map that they had hastily drawn in the dirt next to the still-smoking wreck of the inn. “Didn’t that farmer, Armand, say he had a goat with a javelin wound? Anyone heard from that goblin goat herder? The one who works way north?”
“I met him today,” Thomas said.
“Did you leave him alive?” Chubat asked.
“Chubat!” Pienna said.
“Yes,” was Thomas’ reply. “But I met him much earlier in the day, before the attack. He was fine then.”
“You’re thinking pincer maneuver, sir dwarf?” the Brelish ambassador asked. Loud the man might be, but he was proving to be a fine tactician in this conversation.
“You’re thinking right,” Delegado said. He sent Feather up in the air, clicking his tongue. The bird went north. “I have one more spell that lets me speak with animals left for today,” the half-orc explained. “They can’t hide from a hawk’s eyes, he’ll spot them if they’re there.”
“You cast spells?” the warforged asked.
“Live as long with the land as I do, and you pick up something,” Delegado grinned.
“Something,” Pienna said with a smile. “Alright, we have to deal with the warforged force before ninety minutes pass. Missy, Chubat, and Thomas will come with me. We’ll see what we can do with them. I have several spells of my own that I may be able to use.” She patted a bulging pouch. “And I have several scrolls that I have been saving for an emergency.”
“That wizard struck the inn to get you, didn’t he?” Mayor Tippish said.
“And the halfling,” Thomas said. His stormstalk nodded in agreement.
“Yes on both counts,” she said. “Although why Aundair cared about a Talenta prophet I do not know. Last night Drorin spoke of ‘weavers spinning weavers spinning weavers.’ I do not know what that meant.”
“How come you’re not taking me or the Orphan?” Delegado asked.
“In case we don’t come back,” she said. “And in case the force from the north is truly there and moves faster than expected, you two are to assist Brella and Tippish in defending this place. And in case there are any other bandits to the south like the ones you encountered.” She smiled at him. “It isn’t because I don’t appreciate you coming back.” He rolled his eyes at that. “Alright,” she continued. “Is everyone in agreement?” They all nodded. “Alright then,” she said, stroking her panther’s neck. “Let’s go.”
The druidess took the lead, with the half-daelkyr and the dwarf on either side of her, and the great cat following. The others watched them go, then got back to work. There were wounded to be tended to, fortifications to be built, and dead to be buried – if there was time.
“Well?” Tippish asked, stopping his directing for the moment.
“It worked,” Pienna said. “The dryad did as I asked, at great risk to herself I may add, and she successfully identified the leader. He fell prey to her mental manipulations, and they have stopped their march. They are digging in.”
“How long do we have?” Chubat asked.
“It depends,” she said. “Once his fortifications are complete he may have cause to rethink. From what I have seen of other warforged behavior, from what I have read of Cannith’s basic military instruction, I suspect an hour, perhaps two, before their officer begins to decide.” She looked at the sky. “And then it will be almost exactly mid-afternoon. He will probably decide to strike while his forces can still see.”
“I call it an hour and a-half,” said a woman named Brella. She was Vuchen’s younger sister, and the new Vadalis manager. “Just from what I’ve heard from Deneith people about their tactics.”
“An hour and a-half it is then,” sighed the mayor.
“I would be surprised if this was the only force,” Chubat said, staring at the map that they had hastily drawn in the dirt next to the still-smoking wreck of the inn. “Didn’t that farmer, Armand, say he had a goat with a javelin wound? Anyone heard from that goblin goat herder? The one who works way north?”
“I met him today,” Thomas said.
“Did you leave him alive?” Chubat asked.
“Chubat!” Pienna said.
“Yes,” was Thomas’ reply. “But I met him much earlier in the day, before the attack. He was fine then.”
“You’re thinking pincer maneuver, sir dwarf?” the Brelish ambassador asked. Loud the man might be, but he was proving to be a fine tactician in this conversation.
“You’re thinking right,” Delegado said. He sent Feather up in the air, clicking his tongue. The bird went north. “I have one more spell that lets me speak with animals left for today,” the half-orc explained. “They can’t hide from a hawk’s eyes, he’ll spot them if they’re there.”
“You cast spells?” the warforged asked.
“Live as long with the land as I do, and you pick up something,” Delegado grinned.
“Something,” Pienna said with a smile. “Alright, we have to deal with the warforged force before ninety minutes pass. Missy, Chubat, and Thomas will come with me. We’ll see what we can do with them. I have several spells of my own that I may be able to use.” She patted a bulging pouch. “And I have several scrolls that I have been saving for an emergency.”
“That wizard struck the inn to get you, didn’t he?” Mayor Tippish said.
“And the halfling,” Thomas said. His stormstalk nodded in agreement.
“Yes on both counts,” she said. “Although why Aundair cared about a Talenta prophet I do not know. Last night Drorin spoke of ‘weavers spinning weavers spinning weavers.’ I do not know what that meant.”
“How come you’re not taking me or the Orphan?” Delegado asked.
“In case we don’t come back,” she said. “And in case the force from the north is truly there and moves faster than expected, you two are to assist Brella and Tippish in defending this place. And in case there are any other bandits to the south like the ones you encountered.” She smiled at him. “It isn’t because I don’t appreciate you coming back.” He rolled his eyes at that. “Alright,” she continued. “Is everyone in agreement?” They all nodded. “Alright then,” she said, stroking her panther’s neck. “Let’s go.”
The druidess took the lead, with the half-daelkyr and the dwarf on either side of her, and the great cat following. The others watched them go, then got back to work. There were wounded to be tended to, fortifications to be built, and dead to be buried – if there was time.
Chapter 12 - Part 1
CHAPTER TWELVE – DIPLOMACY, STEEL, STONE, & REVENGE
The 1st of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., about a half-hour past noon in Merylsward
Heavy feet made of stone, metal, and darkwood, given life by a permanent web of magics not understood by those who wielded them, made a steady march across the uninhabited part of town. This area was forest and grass, a section that was untilled and untouched. The people of Merylsward liked to have parks, and respected nature enough to give things their own space even in their town. More to the point, there wasn’t enough population to fill this area between the center of the bowl and the beach.
Close to four hundred warforged marched in three long lines. Speed was of the essence. Their mission was to eradicate every living being in the town, and they had to act before the people could realize that they were there and escape.
One warforged had two red stripes on its upper arms. It marched at the southern end of the line, keeping an eye on the formation, making sure the soldiers were adjusting to the uneven terrain. Another warforged, the leader of the group, had three red stripes, and an elaborate sigil on its chest. He was their captain, unit 7824FB, and he marched in the second row, in the center of the line.
The line approached a tree, and worked its way around it. This was nothing new, for there were many trees that they were avoiding. What was new was that the tree seemed to be growing a new limb.
Warforged were not the most perceptive of creatures, but a few noticed. One of them was their captain. This was likely due to the new limb appearing right as he was passing it.
The limb grew up, spreading out, but then it solidified into a decidedly female shape. Her skin looked like burnished wood, her hair had a pronounced, leafy texture, and her large, almond-shaped eyes caught the glowing mechanical eyes of the warforged.
“You don’t want to keep marching,” she whispered to him. “You want to dig in and take a stand, right over there. They’re coming at you, the powerful ones who killed Herschem the wizard, and militarily it makes more sense to not get caught all spread out without defensive fortifications.”
Then she folded up and disappeared, melting back into the tree.
“What was that unit?” asked one warforged. Of course he kept marching.
“A vision?” another asked. He seemed to always be more of a religious type, and when off duty he liked to follow battle adepts around.
The captain had quite a different reaction. “All units halt!” bellowed 7824FB. It took a moment for the command to ripple through the lines. Many warforged gave their commander quizzical looks.
“They have successfully dissed Herschem,” Captain 7824FB announced. “We see that he no longer rains his magic down. They are coming, and we need to form a defensive formation, not in the open.” He pointed to an outcropping, a wrinkle in the side of the gentle, downward slope that they were following. “All units report to corporals for digging duty and work two defensive formations, patterns alpha-delta!”
If the warforged found it odd that their captain had reversed his earlier commands of march and destroy, they did not say so. Warforged were not taught to question orders, no matter how many times they changed. They were also not taught to recognize fey, particularly the elder fey that did not live in the areas of the world where the bulk of the fighting took place. And even if they had recognized one, the powerful suggestion spell would still have been effective.
The 1st of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., about a half-hour past noon in Merylsward
Heavy feet made of stone, metal, and darkwood, given life by a permanent web of magics not understood by those who wielded them, made a steady march across the uninhabited part of town. This area was forest and grass, a section that was untilled and untouched. The people of Merylsward liked to have parks, and respected nature enough to give things their own space even in their town. More to the point, there wasn’t enough population to fill this area between the center of the bowl and the beach.
Close to four hundred warforged marched in three long lines. Speed was of the essence. Their mission was to eradicate every living being in the town, and they had to act before the people could realize that they were there and escape.
One warforged had two red stripes on its upper arms. It marched at the southern end of the line, keeping an eye on the formation, making sure the soldiers were adjusting to the uneven terrain. Another warforged, the leader of the group, had three red stripes, and an elaborate sigil on its chest. He was their captain, unit 7824FB, and he marched in the second row, in the center of the line.
The line approached a tree, and worked its way around it. This was nothing new, for there were many trees that they were avoiding. What was new was that the tree seemed to be growing a new limb.
Warforged were not the most perceptive of creatures, but a few noticed. One of them was their captain. This was likely due to the new limb appearing right as he was passing it.
The limb grew up, spreading out, but then it solidified into a decidedly female shape. Her skin looked like burnished wood, her hair had a pronounced, leafy texture, and her large, almond-shaped eyes caught the glowing mechanical eyes of the warforged.
“You don’t want to keep marching,” she whispered to him. “You want to dig in and take a stand, right over there. They’re coming at you, the powerful ones who killed Herschem the wizard, and militarily it makes more sense to not get caught all spread out without defensive fortifications.”
Then she folded up and disappeared, melting back into the tree.
“What was that unit?” asked one warforged. Of course he kept marching.
“A vision?” another asked. He seemed to always be more of a religious type, and when off duty he liked to follow battle adepts around.
The captain had quite a different reaction. “All units halt!” bellowed 7824FB. It took a moment for the command to ripple through the lines. Many warforged gave their commander quizzical looks.
“They have successfully dissed Herschem,” Captain 7824FB announced. “We see that he no longer rains his magic down. They are coming, and we need to form a defensive formation, not in the open.” He pointed to an outcropping, a wrinkle in the side of the gentle, downward slope that they were following. “All units report to corporals for digging duty and work two defensive formations, patterns alpha-delta!”
If the warforged found it odd that their captain had reversed his earlier commands of march and destroy, they did not say so. Warforged were not taught to question orders, no matter how many times they changed. They were also not taught to recognize fey, particularly the elder fey that did not live in the areas of the world where the bulk of the fighting took place. And even if they had recognized one, the powerful suggestion spell would still have been effective.
Chapter 11 - Part 19
Lo’Paih kicked one of the corpses. She was not amused. The first half of her force, sent north to be a diplomatic screen, was all dead. Not a single drop of blood on their blades.
“With respect,” came a voice behind her.
She whirled, her battlefist ready to strike, and her face enraged. Her four constructs shifted, frightened of her mood. “What?” she asked, angrily.
The man who faced her, Jak, was pale, but calm. Behind him the other eight men were trembling. Not that they would run, they had already seen her arbalester shoot down a fleeing man. “You are not a tactician,” Jak said. “I warned you against splitting out force. You are a skilled infuser, a clever craftswoman, and no doubt dangerous with a sword, but you do not know tactics. I do. You are our leader, but you wish me to be your executive officer. Let me make the tactical decisions from now on, and you will succeed.”
Lo’Paih frowned, but nodded. The man then sighed, relieved, and began to outline his plan.
“With respect,” came a voice behind her.
She whirled, her battlefist ready to strike, and her face enraged. Her four constructs shifted, frightened of her mood. “What?” she asked, angrily.
The man who faced her, Jak, was pale, but calm. Behind him the other eight men were trembling. Not that they would run, they had already seen her arbalester shoot down a fleeing man. “You are not a tactician,” Jak said. “I warned you against splitting out force. You are a skilled infuser, a clever craftswoman, and no doubt dangerous with a sword, but you do not know tactics. I do. You are our leader, but you wish me to be your executive officer. Let me make the tactical decisions from now on, and you will succeed.”
Lo’Paih frowned, but nodded. The man then sighed, relieved, and began to outline his plan.
Chapter 11 - Part 18
Feather came over to Delegado, easily finding his master atop the tower. The hawk was squawking and flapping its wings anxiously. Curious, the half-orc used a spell to connect his thoughts to the bird. Speaking across the shared impressions that linked their minds, Delegado saw the images that the sharp-eyed hawk had seen.
“Oh, f’test,” Delegado whispered. “Chubat!” he bellowed. “Chubat!”
“What?” came the angry reply from down below.
“There’s a few hundred warforged with bloody swords heading this way!”
“Toss me your healing potion!” the dwarf thundered.
“What?”
“For the mayor! People will listen to him!” Chubat insisted. “He can bring order and help us prepare!”
Delegado tossed his last reserve healing potion to the dwarf who caught it expertly. “Let’s hope you’re not wrong,” the half-orc whispered to himself as he began to scramble down from his high perch.
“Oh, f’test,” Delegado whispered. “Chubat!” he bellowed. “Chubat!”
“What?” came the angry reply from down below.
“There’s a few hundred warforged with bloody swords heading this way!”
“Toss me your healing potion!” the dwarf thundered.
“What?”
“For the mayor! People will listen to him!” Chubat insisted. “He can bring order and help us prepare!”
Delegado tossed his last reserve healing potion to the dwarf who caught it expertly. “Let’s hope you’re not wrong,” the half-orc whispered to himself as he began to scramble down from his high perch.
Chapter 11 - Part 17
“I am telling you to listen to me!” Armand was yelling, trying to get Lyle to see his point of view. “There are enemies coming!”
“We have fires to put out, wounded to tend to, and a flying wizard to defeat!” Lyle yelled at him. Armand wanted to slap the little punk. “You haven’t seen anything other than a goat with a boo-boo!”
“Idiot!” snarled Armand, clicking the reins and heading deeper into town.
“Armand,” his wife said. “You have to stop the wagon, I don’t feel so well.”
Armand swore, and tried to keep tears out of his eyes.
“We have fires to put out, wounded to tend to, and a flying wizard to defeat!” Lyle yelled at him. Armand wanted to slap the little punk. “You haven’t seen anything other than a goat with a boo-boo!”
“Idiot!” snarled Armand, clicking the reins and heading deeper into town.
“Armand,” his wife said. “You have to stop the wagon, I don’t feel so well.”
Armand swore, and tried to keep tears out of his eyes.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Chapter 11 - Part 16
Herschem’s neck snapped, and Pienna let his dead body go. Free of the flying spell, it tumbled end over end, falling to the ground. She would have fallen as well, and indeed she let herself drop a bit, and then she cast a spell that let her walk on air as if it was solid ground. Turning human again she began to hurry down the invisible stairs before the spell elapsed.
She saw something move. From her high vantage point she could see a mass of movement to the east. Warforged. Hundreds of them.
She hurried down. They would be here in a half-hour, perhaps less.
She saw something move. From her high vantage point she could see a mass of movement to the east. Warforged. Hundreds of them.
She hurried down. They would be here in a half-hour, perhaps less.
Chapter 11 - Part 15
Missy sniffed, then poked her head into the Vadalis enclave, pulling out unconscious bodies. The great panther had been trained by Pienna to aid those in need, and its ability to find those still alive with its broad nose was drawing exclamations of thanks and praise.
Then the wind came in from the east, and another smell crossed the panther’s nostrils. A mechanical smell. Missy snarled, and whirled around to find Pienna.
Then the wind came in from the east, and another smell crossed the panther’s nostrils. A mechanical smell. Missy snarled, and whirled around to find Pienna.
Chapter 11 - Part 14
A beam shifted, and the well-muscled Thomas pushed his way out of the debris of the inn. Smoke and cinders were all around him, but thanks to the spell that the halfling had placed on him the fire was not touching him. Had Thomas been on the top floor when the first explosion hit, he probably would have died even with this protection spell, so hot had that been. But for now he was alive.
He began to help throw buckets of water onto fires. For once no one gave him grief about his eyestalk.
He began to help throw buckets of water onto fires. For once no one gave him grief about his eyestalk.
Chapter 11 - Part 13
“And I never thought I’d see a flying monkey,” Delegado whispered. “Hey Chubat!” he called down.
“What?” the dwarf called back. He seemed busy directing everyone.
“Pienna’s alive, she’s taken the wizard out of play!” Delegado started to climb down.
“Stay up there and look for other forces coming our way!” Chubat ordered.
“Who put you in charge?” Delegado called down to him.
“Vuchen, the top officers in Vadalis and the Wardens of the Wood, and the adept are all dead!” Chubat yelled up at him. “The mayor is unconscious! I’m in charge by default, so quit arguing with me!”
Delegado swallowed. He had liked Vuchen.
“What?” the dwarf called back. He seemed busy directing everyone.
“Pienna’s alive, she’s taken the wizard out of play!” Delegado started to climb down.
“Stay up there and look for other forces coming our way!” Chubat ordered.
“Who put you in charge?” Delegado called down to him.
“Vuchen, the top officers in Vadalis and the Wardens of the Wood, and the adept are all dead!” Chubat yelled up at him. “The mayor is unconscious! I’m in charge by default, so quit arguing with me!”
Delegado swallowed. He had liked Vuchen.
Chapter 11 - Part 12
Pienna was now a swift hawk, changing her smaller sparrow that hopefully the wizard would not notice for the faster bird of prey. Herschem was watching the ground, not her, but he saw her as she flew at him. He fired a wand almost point-blank at her.
And missed. Pienna was one of the few druids who could cast spells while in animal form. A conjured wall of wind shoved the flying web aside, and she landed on him, changing her form one more time. She was a species of ape that she had seen long ago in Breland, a powerfully muscled animal that wrapped her arms around the Aundarian wizard and began to crush him.
The wizard howled, and struggling to cast a spell, but she had him pinned. The only thing he could do was fly, trying to gain as much altitude as possible.
And missed. Pienna was one of the few druids who could cast spells while in animal form. A conjured wall of wind shoved the flying web aside, and she landed on him, changing her form one more time. She was a species of ape that she had seen long ago in Breland, a powerfully muscled animal that wrapped her arms around the Aundarian wizard and began to crush him.
The wizard howled, and struggling to cast a spell, but she had him pinned. The only thing he could do was fly, trying to gain as much altitude as possible.
Chapter 11 - Part 11
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Delegado snorted, easily running out of the way. The webbing caught some panicking people who were running aimlessly, but the rescue workers saw it coming and avoided it as well. The half-orc looked around, and ran for the building that was the town’s main church. It was rapidly being converted to a makeshift hospital, but his focus now was on harming, not healing. It had the highest roof in town at the moment.
Within a minute he was climbing the thin bell tower, bracing himself for another shot.
Within a minute he was climbing the thin bell tower, bracing himself for another shot.
Chapter 11 - Part 10
Herschem gasped in pain as the arrow hit him. It went through his back and out his side. While it missed the more vital organs, the enchantments within it were potent, and sizzling pain and disruption ran along his nerve endings. Almost dead he floated in air.
By sheer force of will he pulled the arrow out, and started to fly upwards. Two more arrows flew past him, barely missing him, one raising sparks as it hit the magical fields of force around him that was his armor. Herschem drank his last two potions, feeling his body reconstitute the interior parts that the arrow had fried.
Another arrow hit him, but this one only gave him a slight gash. Forcing his mind past the pain, he pulled out a wand and began firing blobs of sticky webbing. While designed for use against combat troops, he hoped that the falling strands would catch whoever the expert archer was and keep him from struggling.
By sheer force of will he pulled the arrow out, and started to fly upwards. Two more arrows flew past him, barely missing him, one raising sparks as it hit the magical fields of force around him that was his armor. Herschem drank his last two potions, feeling his body reconstitute the interior parts that the arrow had fried.
Another arrow hit him, but this one only gave him a slight gash. Forcing his mind past the pain, he pulled out a wand and began firing blobs of sticky webbing. While designed for use against combat troops, he hoped that the falling strands would catch whoever the expert archer was and keep him from struggling.
Chapter 11 - Part 9
Chubat made a guttural, happy sound as the rainbow pattern that had been preventing people from fighting the fire and tending to the wounded suddenly vanished. The townfolk moved with a greater urgency now, as the fire had advanced significantly in the few seconds while they were in magical thrall. The dwarf also noted that the spell hadn’t affected the warforged, who was jumping out of a building holding two children in his arms, and landing safely. The scream that came from high in the air told him that someone had finally nailed the wizard.
Rounding a corner in order to aid a woman whose arm was gashed open, he saw the half-orc firing more arrows at the wizard.
“Gonna have to change my opinion of you,” Chubat muttered. If they survived this he’d buy the f’tesking orc a drink.
Rounding a corner in order to aid a woman whose arm was gashed open, he saw the half-orc firing more arrows at the wizard.
“Gonna have to change my opinion of you,” Chubat muttered. If they survived this he’d buy the f’tesking orc a drink.
Chapter 11 - Part 8
Close to four hundred warforged lined up, making companies as they started to move. Their captain had given them their orders, so they set about to fulfill them. More than one of the living machines had reservations about their new orders, but they did not argue. Cannith had drilled into them that questioning orders meant their demise.
“March!” 7824FB called out. They marched, an unwavering, untiring line of death.
“March!” 7824FB called out. They marched, an unwavering, untiring line of death.
Chapter 11 - Part 7
Vroyd sat in a curled-up ball, weeping and tearing at the grass. When the first fireball had hit, he had been outside the inn with his friends, ditching work and trying to figure out what was going on.
Dannick lay dead, a heavy beam across his back and shoulders. It had fallen out of the inn, cracking his neck. Nuck was helping his grandmother walk. A young girl was wailing over her father who had bled to death from a neck wound.
Bern was weeping, holding Kurska’s lifeless body. She was a child. He was a child. Why did Aundair care what they did? Why did some far-away queen have to come and ruin his life, and take away the only girl he wanted to kiss?
Dannick lay dead, a heavy beam across his back and shoulders. It had fallen out of the inn, cracking his neck. Nuck was helping his grandmother walk. A young girl was wailing over her father who had bled to death from a neck wound.
Bern was weeping, holding Kurska’s lifeless body. She was a child. He was a child. Why did Aundair care what they did? Why did some far-away queen have to come and ruin his life, and take away the only girl he wanted to kiss?
Chapter 11 - Part 6
Delegado rode back into town, noting the destruction and fire with a calm assurance born of years of battle. The rejects that he had shot didn’t fit with a high-level magical attack, but now was the time to analyze the enemy tactics, not their motivations.
He got off the horse and tied it to a tree, to keep it from bolting. The animal was nervous due to the fire and smoke. Feather was sent to reconnoiter around the town to see who else might be coming.
He had used only his mundane arrows on the rejects. For the wizard, he had a special arrow that was a bane to both humans and spellcasters. He had been given the arrow by a Tharashk artificer to use on a Dragon Below cultist who was fond of enchanting spells that they thought might be protecting the key. He hadn’t encountered said cultist, but the half-orc was pretty sure that no one in his House would complain about using the arrow now anyway.
He aimed carefully, and fired.
He got off the horse and tied it to a tree, to keep it from bolting. The animal was nervous due to the fire and smoke. Feather was sent to reconnoiter around the town to see who else might be coming.
He had used only his mundane arrows on the rejects. For the wizard, he had a special arrow that was a bane to both humans and spellcasters. He had been given the arrow by a Tharashk artificer to use on a Dragon Below cultist who was fond of enchanting spells that they thought might be protecting the key. He hadn’t encountered said cultist, but the half-orc was pretty sure that no one in his House would complain about using the arrow now anyway.
He aimed carefully, and fired.
Chapter 11 - Part 5
Pienna shaped herself with mature’s power, turning into the great bear. She lifted a burning beam and shoved it out of the way. The ambassador was still alive, if barely. Gleaning, the shifter woman who was the captain of the Wardens of the Wood, was dead. Pienna shambled out of the inn, making it through the rubble to the street. She set the ambassador down as gently as she could in her bear form, and then changed into the shape of a small bird.
The wild shape had healed some of her hurts, and she flew towards the flying wizard with terrible determination. There were very few times that Pienna actually tried to kill a natural, living being. But when she did, she usually succeeded.
The wild shape had healed some of her hurts, and she flew towards the flying wizard with terrible determination. There were very few times that Pienna actually tried to kill a natural, living being. But when she did, she usually succeeded.
Chapter 11 - Part 4
Herschem coughed, swallowing a second potion. The bolt that had hit him had been magebane, he recognized the effect. It was deadly to any who could wield arcane magic, and the Reachers were fond of them. He then turned and flew down and to the side. Pulling a scroll from his belt, he began to cast at those engaged in fighting the fires that he had started.
Chapter 11 - Part 3
“Got another magebane bolt for ya, you sunnuva –” Chubat began to snarl. Five magical darts flew from the wizard’s hand and punched the dwarf all over, flying through his armor as if it wasn’t there and raising terrible bruises on his flesh. The dwarf steadied his aim and let the bolt fly. He had the satisfaction of hearing the wizard cry in pain. The wall of fire cutting across the Vadalis enclave suddenly faded as the wizard’s concentration was cut off by the trauma of the wound.
The wizard wobbled, and flew upwards, digging around for a potion to heal his hurts. Chubat turned his attention from the flying man and began barking orders. The men and women he yelled at followed his lead, and began implementing the fire-fighting plan.
The wizard wobbled, and flew upwards, digging around for a potion to heal his hurts. Chubat turned his attention from the flying man and began barking orders. The men and women he yelled at followed his lead, and began implementing the fire-fighting plan.
Chapter 11 - Part 2
Iron Orphan put the mayor down on the grass as another burst of fire destroyed the Sivis office. Mayor Tippish was conscious and his wounds were bad, but they were not life-threatening.
“Children,” coughed the mayor. “Save the children.”
Iron Orphan looked back at the blaze. The inn was almost totaled, a great mass of fire and rubble. But Pienna was in there, and the protective spell that held back the worst of the fire was still operating on him. If he went in there, he might find her.
But children were dying. Even now a wall of burning fire erupted across the Vadalis enclave.
Iron Orphan nodded, and began running through the town, helping to fight the fire, and get the hurt to relative safety.
“Children,” coughed the mayor. “Save the children.”
Iron Orphan looked back at the blaze. The inn was almost totaled, a great mass of fire and rubble. But Pienna was in there, and the protective spell that held back the worst of the fire was still operating on him. If he went in there, he might find her.
But children were dying. Even now a wall of burning fire erupted across the Vadalis enclave.
Iron Orphan nodded, and began running through the town, helping to fight the fire, and get the hurt to relative safety.
Chapter 11 - Part 1
CHAPTER ELEVEN – EVIL GROWS
The 1st of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., high in the air above Merylsward
The first spell was a fireball, specially empowered by Herschem’s years of study and training to be even hotter and deadly than the already-deadly common battlefield version of the spell. It formed as a small bead of light and fire from Herschem’s finger, pointing down at the roof of the inn, right atop the suite that Pienna had paid for.
The small bead made barely a sound as it flew through the air, but when it hit the roof it detonated with a loud roar. The entire roof of the inn was covered in roiling, angry flame. People all across the town turned in panic at the sound, squinting in fear at the eruption of fire.
The roof of the inn was slate, made to resist heavy rains and snows, shaped so that liquid would flow off onto the ground. Underneath the slate was plaster, with beams supporting the lot. An area of the roof some forty feet across collapsed, the fire rushing into Pienna’s suite, as well as all the other rooms surrounding hers. Several people died instantly, including Drorin. One of the dead was an adolescent girl who was mopping a floor, excited to be working on her first day as an employee.
Their deaths occurred in the first two seconds of the detonation. Approximately half a second later several of the lighter cross beams collapsed, their cores weakened by the burst of flame, their exteriors whittled away to sticks. The rest of the roof collapsed onto the top floor, and then the top floor collapsed in whole onto the lower floor and outbuildings. The two central beams began to tilt from the shift in weight, dumping flaming debris onto passers by. Five more people died instantly, including the stableboy. The horses were killed or mortally wounded. The kitchen of the inn was filled with choking dust and the head cook was knocked unconscious by a falling piece of debris.
The pieces of flaming wood, slate, and floorboards dumped onto the common room, showering down on everyone there and wounding them. The ambassador from Breland suffered a bad cut across his forehead from falling wood, and the blood rushed into his eyes, blinding him.
Pienna rolled under a table, her reflexes taking over. She slapped Missy on the rump, ordering her animal companion to get out of the building. In a second she realized what was going on, and she yelled at everyone to evacuate.
Most people did not respond, shocked as they were. Iron Orphan grabbed the mayor, whose shirt was smoldering from debris and whose shoulder had a length of wood sticking in it. He began to pick the man up, while trying to spot an exit through the dust.
Seconds later Herschem’s second spell hit the inn, a bolt of summoned lightning. Aimed at the center support beam of the inn, it blew out windows and doors with the force of the explosion, showering people with glass and splinters. One man died when he crouched over his daughter to protect her and a flying piece of glass hit an artery in his neck.
The center beam cracked right down the middle, and began to lean. In fractions of a second gravity began to pull at it, as it could no longer support its own weight, let alone the roof. The entire structure collapsed, burying everyone within it. Only three people escaped, and they were all hurt in the process. Iron Orphan bolted out of a side door with the mayor, through the burning stables, while the goblin woman who worked at the inn, Nuck’s grandmother, rolled out through a laundry hatch. She broke her ankle upon landing, but later would count herself as lucky.
The lightning bolt was visible, whereas the flying bead that became a fireball had not been noticed. Now everyone looked up. Herschem’s invisibility had dropped with his first attack, and they could now see the man in wizard’s robes high above the ground. Nonetheless the panicked, stunned citizenry could not do much at first. Some looked to aid the injued, others scrambled to get the buckets of water going towards the inn, but most were too shocked to do anything before Herschem had time to cast his third spell.
Hoping that the druidess and the halfling magician had already perished, Herschem cast his next spell at the base of House Sivis operations. It was not much more than a cottage with an attached office, and perhaps a garden patch in the back. Herschem had prepared a fireball for it, to be sure that no magical equipment would survive for Svis to broadcast a message with. As it was much smaller than the inn, he did not arrange the more powerful fireball spell earlier in the day. Still, it was enough.
The bead flew into an open window, and detonated within the cottage, blowing the roof and walls open and out. The fire also engulfed the office area, and the gnome woman in the back who was hanging up laundry while watching her infant play on a blanket. Juzhe d’Sivis, his wife, their children, and one of their children’s friends who was over to play, all died instantly.
House Vadalis and the Wardens of the Wood had the best training, and so were the first to react. Now they were aiming bows and firing. Herschem was within easy range of the few longbows, and at the edge of the dependable range of short bows and crossbows. Most of them did not touch him. He had powerful wards of force protecting his body, including one that specifically blocked non-magical projectiles. Herschem let loose with his fourth spell, focusing at the House Vadalis enclave and the bowmen in front of and around it.
A jagged sheet of flame, a wall that if it would have been straight would have been nearly two hundred feet long, settled in and around the men. While not as hot as the military-style fireball spell, it was enough to make the roof and walls erupt in flame, and kill or maim the vast majority of people there.
A crossbow bolt cracked across the wards, almost hitting Herschem’s flesh. The wizard looked at where it came from, seeing an angry dwarf far down on the ground, readying another shot.
Magical crossbow, Herschem thought. The dwarf could get past his protective spells with it. He turned in mid-air, preparing the next spell. It’s Chubat, an ally of Pienna’s, and an early proponent of the rebellion, Herschem realized. This death he would get some satisfaction from.
The 1st of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., high in the air above Merylsward
The first spell was a fireball, specially empowered by Herschem’s years of study and training to be even hotter and deadly than the already-deadly common battlefield version of the spell. It formed as a small bead of light and fire from Herschem’s finger, pointing down at the roof of the inn, right atop the suite that Pienna had paid for.
The small bead made barely a sound as it flew through the air, but when it hit the roof it detonated with a loud roar. The entire roof of the inn was covered in roiling, angry flame. People all across the town turned in panic at the sound, squinting in fear at the eruption of fire.
The roof of the inn was slate, made to resist heavy rains and snows, shaped so that liquid would flow off onto the ground. Underneath the slate was plaster, with beams supporting the lot. An area of the roof some forty feet across collapsed, the fire rushing into Pienna’s suite, as well as all the other rooms surrounding hers. Several people died instantly, including Drorin. One of the dead was an adolescent girl who was mopping a floor, excited to be working on her first day as an employee.
Their deaths occurred in the first two seconds of the detonation. Approximately half a second later several of the lighter cross beams collapsed, their cores weakened by the burst of flame, their exteriors whittled away to sticks. The rest of the roof collapsed onto the top floor, and then the top floor collapsed in whole onto the lower floor and outbuildings. The two central beams began to tilt from the shift in weight, dumping flaming debris onto passers by. Five more people died instantly, including the stableboy. The horses were killed or mortally wounded. The kitchen of the inn was filled with choking dust and the head cook was knocked unconscious by a falling piece of debris.
The pieces of flaming wood, slate, and floorboards dumped onto the common room, showering down on everyone there and wounding them. The ambassador from Breland suffered a bad cut across his forehead from falling wood, and the blood rushed into his eyes, blinding him.
Pienna rolled under a table, her reflexes taking over. She slapped Missy on the rump, ordering her animal companion to get out of the building. In a second she realized what was going on, and she yelled at everyone to evacuate.
Most people did not respond, shocked as they were. Iron Orphan grabbed the mayor, whose shirt was smoldering from debris and whose shoulder had a length of wood sticking in it. He began to pick the man up, while trying to spot an exit through the dust.
Seconds later Herschem’s second spell hit the inn, a bolt of summoned lightning. Aimed at the center support beam of the inn, it blew out windows and doors with the force of the explosion, showering people with glass and splinters. One man died when he crouched over his daughter to protect her and a flying piece of glass hit an artery in his neck.
The center beam cracked right down the middle, and began to lean. In fractions of a second gravity began to pull at it, as it could no longer support its own weight, let alone the roof. The entire structure collapsed, burying everyone within it. Only three people escaped, and they were all hurt in the process. Iron Orphan bolted out of a side door with the mayor, through the burning stables, while the goblin woman who worked at the inn, Nuck’s grandmother, rolled out through a laundry hatch. She broke her ankle upon landing, but later would count herself as lucky.
The lightning bolt was visible, whereas the flying bead that became a fireball had not been noticed. Now everyone looked up. Herschem’s invisibility had dropped with his first attack, and they could now see the man in wizard’s robes high above the ground. Nonetheless the panicked, stunned citizenry could not do much at first. Some looked to aid the injued, others scrambled to get the buckets of water going towards the inn, but most were too shocked to do anything before Herschem had time to cast his third spell.
Hoping that the druidess and the halfling magician had already perished, Herschem cast his next spell at the base of House Sivis operations. It was not much more than a cottage with an attached office, and perhaps a garden patch in the back. Herschem had prepared a fireball for it, to be sure that no magical equipment would survive for Svis to broadcast a message with. As it was much smaller than the inn, he did not arrange the more powerful fireball spell earlier in the day. Still, it was enough.
The bead flew into an open window, and detonated within the cottage, blowing the roof and walls open and out. The fire also engulfed the office area, and the gnome woman in the back who was hanging up laundry while watching her infant play on a blanket. Juzhe d’Sivis, his wife, their children, and one of their children’s friends who was over to play, all died instantly.
House Vadalis and the Wardens of the Wood had the best training, and so were the first to react. Now they were aiming bows and firing. Herschem was within easy range of the few longbows, and at the edge of the dependable range of short bows and crossbows. Most of them did not touch him. He had powerful wards of force protecting his body, including one that specifically blocked non-magical projectiles. Herschem let loose with his fourth spell, focusing at the House Vadalis enclave and the bowmen in front of and around it.
A jagged sheet of flame, a wall that if it would have been straight would have been nearly two hundred feet long, settled in and around the men. While not as hot as the military-style fireball spell, it was enough to make the roof and walls erupt in flame, and kill or maim the vast majority of people there.
A crossbow bolt cracked across the wards, almost hitting Herschem’s flesh. The wizard looked at where it came from, seeing an angry dwarf far down on the ground, readying another shot.
Magical crossbow, Herschem thought. The dwarf could get past his protective spells with it. He turned in mid-air, preparing the next spell. It’s Chubat, an ally of Pienna’s, and an early proponent of the rebellion, Herschem realized. This death he would get some satisfaction from.
Chapter 10 - Part 24
“There you are,” Drorin said dreamily, staring up at the ceiling, seeing vaguely with the strange thing that touched his mind the figure of the human wizard. “So that’s what this is? But I was not allowed to know until I could do nothing about it.”
He sensed the magical energy of the first spell hurtling towards him. He did not know whether to laugh or cry, but as it turned out, he did not have the time to do either.
He sensed the magical energy of the first spell hurtling towards him. He did not know whether to laugh or cry, but as it turned out, he did not have the time to do either.
Chapter 10 - Part 23
Herschem flew into position, some one hundred feet above the ground. He enjoyed the feeling that flying gave him, making the people on the ground so small and ant-like. Privately he also felt relief that he would not see the bodies up close. Herschem hated Thrane and he hated Karrnath, but he did not hate the Reachers. They were his countrymen once. When he was a young man his family had owned a vacation home in one of the larger villages. Still, he would do what he had to do.
He was about a hundred feet above the ground, just south of the inn. He spun slowly, sighting all of the buildings. There had been new structures put up since the spies had reported back to Aundair about this town some five months ago, but nothing significant.
He began to prepare the fireballs and lightning bolts. First the inn, then the House Sivis station, then Valadis’ headquarters, and finally whatever was holding a bow.
He was about a hundred feet above the ground, just south of the inn. He spun slowly, sighting all of the buildings. There had been new structures put up since the spies had reported back to Aundair about this town some five months ago, but nothing significant.
He began to prepare the fireballs and lightning bolts. First the inn, then the House Sivis station, then Valadis’ headquarters, and finally whatever was holding a bow.
Chapter 10 - Part 22
‘Lord Ibraim’ dusted off his clothes, confident that the worst of the bloodstains were hidden. Warforged were not the most perceptive of creatures, so he was not worried. He only wished he could carry his hand and a-half sword, but everyone knew Ibraim always had his shadow rapier with him.
“Captain 7824FB!” he called loudly, approaching the warforged commander.
“Lord Ibraim,” the warforged said, saluting. The two who stood near it went into rigid salutes as well. “How may I serve?”
“Cease the grid search, cease the building of seige engines, and attack immediately,” the disguised tiger-thing ordered the construct. “Get all of your units together, except the division that is already out of touch to the north of course, and go in as one mass. Kill everyone, burn all structures, and massacre livestock larger than a dog.”
“Yes sir,” Captain 7824FB said after a moment’s surprise. “Do you not require a bodyguard here sir?”
“Things have changed. These are your new orders. No prisoners, as was the case in this part of the village.”
“Yes sir,” the warforged seemed confused, but it was ready to obey.
“And most important, kill all halflings,” the disguised tiger-thing insisted. It thought that Herschem would likely succeed in his attack, but it was best not to take chances. Prolonging the war with a fresh atrocity was only its secondary mission, after all. “If you cannot tell them apart from gnomes, or human children, kill anything under four feet tall. Your soldiers are even to break off an attack on an enemy spellcaster to accomplish this. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” 7824FB said, saluting.
“Go!”
The warforged trotted off, spreading the word. Within ten to fifteen minutes they would all hear and be organized, and maybe a half-hour to an hour after that they would be upon the town. Likely they would hit at the same time as the divison from the northwest, right after Herschem had fried all of the bigger buildings.
“Captain 7824FB!” he called loudly, approaching the warforged commander.
“Lord Ibraim,” the warforged said, saluting. The two who stood near it went into rigid salutes as well. “How may I serve?”
“Cease the grid search, cease the building of seige engines, and attack immediately,” the disguised tiger-thing ordered the construct. “Get all of your units together, except the division that is already out of touch to the north of course, and go in as one mass. Kill everyone, burn all structures, and massacre livestock larger than a dog.”
“Yes sir,” Captain 7824FB said after a moment’s surprise. “Do you not require a bodyguard here sir?”
“Things have changed. These are your new orders. No prisoners, as was the case in this part of the village.”
“Yes sir,” the warforged seemed confused, but it was ready to obey.
“And most important, kill all halflings,” the disguised tiger-thing insisted. It thought that Herschem would likely succeed in his attack, but it was best not to take chances. Prolonging the war with a fresh atrocity was only its secondary mission, after all. “If you cannot tell them apart from gnomes, or human children, kill anything under four feet tall. Your soldiers are even to break off an attack on an enemy spellcaster to accomplish this. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” 7824FB said, saluting.
“Go!”
The warforged trotted off, spreading the word. Within ten to fifteen minutes they would all hear and be organized, and maybe a half-hour to an hour after that they would be upon the town. Likely they would hit at the same time as the divison from the northwest, right after Herschem had fried all of the bigger buildings.
Chapter 10 - Part 21
By order of the mayor and House Vadalis, all fires and ovens had been put out. The blacksmiths and metalworkers were having fits, and the housewives were not much calmer, but Vuchen would have none of it. He had publicly threatened to repossess all Vadalis leases, which was almost half the town. Wardens of the Wood went around checking hearths, and volunteers stood by stacks of buckets and casks of water.
No one looked up in the sky.
No one looked up in the sky.
Chapter 10 - Part 20
Lord Ibraim himself stood in the small garden behind the house, noting the blood on the ground. Someone had been killed here, just because word of the Aundarian invasion could not be allowed to spread.
“I had no choice,” Ibraim whispered to the blood that cried out to him from the ground. “If either the druidess or the dragon-touched halfling gets wind of us, they will flee, and it will all have been for naught.”
The blood was not moved by his plea of necessity. Ibraim sighed and closed his eyes. He hated this war. It had to won quickly, no matter what the cost. This was like surgery, and some healthy tissue had to be cut away so that the disease would not progress.
Footsteps behind him. He turned and he saw Kleris. The spymaster was strangely attired, wearing scale mail and a helmet. A heavy shield was on his back, ready for use, and a large sword was sheathed down his hip.
“Expecting trouble on the front lines, oh Royal Eye?” Ibraim said, with a slight smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in scale, you preferred a scout’s leather last time I saw you in armor, how long ago was it?”
“Very long, Lord Ibraim,” Kleris said, dipping his head. “Lord, there is something that you really need to see in the main living room of the house.”
“Oh?” something about Kleris’ tone was off. If Ibraim hadn’t known him for years he would have thought that the spymaster was suppressing the urge to gloat.
“You really need to see for yourself, sir,” Kleris said.
Ibraim shrugged, and walked up the short steps into the house, two quick paces bringing him around the corner to the large living area. The place where the family that had been here had played and talked, before they were murdered on his orders.
The smell hit him first. He had passed by a slaughterhouse as a boy, and that thick, cloying smell of masses of sticky blood never left his memory. His eyes widened at the sight of all the men. The two artificers, the junior wizards, the few footmen and others that were strewn about, broken and shattered like eggshells before a windstorm.
“Khyber, Fury, Keeper, and Jarot’s broken dreams,” whispered Ibraim. Years of training had his blade, a thing wrapped in shadowstuff, drawn and ready to use without him actually thinking about doing it. He turned around to the footsteps.
Kleris was chuckling quietly, even as he no longer was Kleris. His form was shifting, bright orange and black stripes growing on his skin, which then sprouted tawny fur. His wrists twisted and whirled, growing backwards without losing his grip on either sword or shield. Even as he began to speak, his face and head became that of a tiger. “In your honor, as a noble, I thought I would let you know.”
“What are you?” Ibraim said, readying his guard. “Where is Kleris?”
“Kleris has been dead for close to six months now,” the tiger-thing grinned, readying his own stance. “I have been him since then. I was the one who let the Mosaic Committee know about the halfling, I was the one who made arrangements with the hidden, ambitious ones within the warforged ranks, and I am the one who poisoned your flagship’s sailors.” He made a jab at Ibraim, and the Aundairian noble jumped back. “Oh, and I’m the one who sent forth six bottles filled with information about this top secret missions adrift, plus another via House Orien courier to House Deneith’s sentinel marshalls.” It laughed richly. “You idiotic, tiny, worthless races have forgotten who truly owns this rock you call Eberron.”
The tiger-thing slashed at him, locking blades. Its strength and skill were phenomenal.
Ibraim spun loose, and jumped up on a blood-soaked couch, slashing within inches of the thing’s face. “How long has your race been moving about in secret, keeping the war going?”
It laughed again, and slashed at his feet. He jumped up in the air, and it blocked another jab of his with its shield. “Oh, your kind keeps the war going, Ibraim. Mine just prods it now and then to make sure it doesn’t lose momentum.”
It spun and reversed itself, and he felt himself being lifted into the air by the long blade buried within his side. “You – you – ” Ibraim sputtered, trying to make some sense out of the thing in front of him that belonged in a zoo, not in armor. Oddly he was too shocked to feel pain.
The tiger-thing pulled the blade out and whipped it around, decapitating the Aundarian lord.
“I had no choice,” Ibraim whispered to the blood that cried out to him from the ground. “If either the druidess or the dragon-touched halfling gets wind of us, they will flee, and it will all have been for naught.”
The blood was not moved by his plea of necessity. Ibraim sighed and closed his eyes. He hated this war. It had to won quickly, no matter what the cost. This was like surgery, and some healthy tissue had to be cut away so that the disease would not progress.
Footsteps behind him. He turned and he saw Kleris. The spymaster was strangely attired, wearing scale mail and a helmet. A heavy shield was on his back, ready for use, and a large sword was sheathed down his hip.
“Expecting trouble on the front lines, oh Royal Eye?” Ibraim said, with a slight smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in scale, you preferred a scout’s leather last time I saw you in armor, how long ago was it?”
“Very long, Lord Ibraim,” Kleris said, dipping his head. “Lord, there is something that you really need to see in the main living room of the house.”
“Oh?” something about Kleris’ tone was off. If Ibraim hadn’t known him for years he would have thought that the spymaster was suppressing the urge to gloat.
“You really need to see for yourself, sir,” Kleris said.
Ibraim shrugged, and walked up the short steps into the house, two quick paces bringing him around the corner to the large living area. The place where the family that had been here had played and talked, before they were murdered on his orders.
The smell hit him first. He had passed by a slaughterhouse as a boy, and that thick, cloying smell of masses of sticky blood never left his memory. His eyes widened at the sight of all the men. The two artificers, the junior wizards, the few footmen and others that were strewn about, broken and shattered like eggshells before a windstorm.
“Khyber, Fury, Keeper, and Jarot’s broken dreams,” whispered Ibraim. Years of training had his blade, a thing wrapped in shadowstuff, drawn and ready to use without him actually thinking about doing it. He turned around to the footsteps.
Kleris was chuckling quietly, even as he no longer was Kleris. His form was shifting, bright orange and black stripes growing on his skin, which then sprouted tawny fur. His wrists twisted and whirled, growing backwards without losing his grip on either sword or shield. Even as he began to speak, his face and head became that of a tiger. “In your honor, as a noble, I thought I would let you know.”
“What are you?” Ibraim said, readying his guard. “Where is Kleris?”
“Kleris has been dead for close to six months now,” the tiger-thing grinned, readying his own stance. “I have been him since then. I was the one who let the Mosaic Committee know about the halfling, I was the one who made arrangements with the hidden, ambitious ones within the warforged ranks, and I am the one who poisoned your flagship’s sailors.” He made a jab at Ibraim, and the Aundairian noble jumped back. “Oh, and I’m the one who sent forth six bottles filled with information about this top secret missions adrift, plus another via House Orien courier to House Deneith’s sentinel marshalls.” It laughed richly. “You idiotic, tiny, worthless races have forgotten who truly owns this rock you call Eberron.”
The tiger-thing slashed at him, locking blades. Its strength and skill were phenomenal.
Ibraim spun loose, and jumped up on a blood-soaked couch, slashing within inches of the thing’s face. “How long has your race been moving about in secret, keeping the war going?”
It laughed again, and slashed at his feet. He jumped up in the air, and it blocked another jab of his with its shield. “Oh, your kind keeps the war going, Ibraim. Mine just prods it now and then to make sure it doesn’t lose momentum.”
It spun and reversed itself, and he felt himself being lifted into the air by the long blade buried within his side. “You – you – ” Ibraim sputtered, trying to make some sense out of the thing in front of him that belonged in a zoo, not in armor. Oddly he was too shocked to feel pain.
The tiger-thing pulled the blade out and whipped it around, decapitating the Aundarian lord.
Chapter 10 - Part 19
Armand looked up at the path than ran past his homestead. A goat was running and bleating, and more importantly, bleeding. Armand stopped beating the rug that his tired and pregnant wife had hung up, and went out to catch the goat.
“Whoa there!” he cried. “Whoa!” He finally caught it and calmed it, and looked at the wound.
He frowned. It wasn’t an animal attack, it was to regular a cut, more like a puncture that angled in wrong. He then realized that he had seen a wound like this on a friend of his down at the front, shortly before he was released from duty to go take care of his wife.
“Javelin wound,” he whispered.
He looked east, to where the trees grew thicker. None of the fishermen had passed by his property today. Not that they always did. In fact some of them loved the fact that they never went more than a hundred paces from the sea. But still…
Armand went in to wake up his wife. She was due with their first child in two months, and it was not the time for a wagon ride, but he had a feeling there was more to this than a wounded goat, and someone had to tell the mayor.
“Whoa there!” he cried. “Whoa!” He finally caught it and calmed it, and looked at the wound.
He frowned. It wasn’t an animal attack, it was to regular a cut, more like a puncture that angled in wrong. He then realized that he had seen a wound like this on a friend of his down at the front, shortly before he was released from duty to go take care of his wife.
“Javelin wound,” he whispered.
He looked east, to where the trees grew thicker. None of the fishermen had passed by his property today. Not that they always did. In fact some of them loved the fact that they never went more than a hundred paces from the sea. But still…
Armand went in to wake up his wife. She was due with their first child in two months, and it was not the time for a wagon ride, but he had a feeling there was more to this than a wounded goat, and someone had to tell the mayor.
Chapter 10 - Part 18
The two longboats that had been pulled up to the pier had been holed, sunk into the water. Beyond the horizon a dead crew lay about on a ship that floated with the tide, its members never tasting the poison that had been left in their food. The retainers stacking boxes in the house that Lord Ibraim had appropriated never heard the sword that struck them down from behind.
Bottles identical to the one already found far to the southeast floated in the current, carrying damning evidence.
Bottles identical to the one already found far to the southeast floated in the current, carrying damning evidence.
Chapter 10 - Part 17
“Halt!” the human said. He was armored in simple studded leather, and waving a sword. His helmet was odd, showing his forehead. The half-orc noted that there was a brand that said ‘thief.’
Delegado slowed his horse, and took stock of the ten men before him. “And why are Aundarian dregs so far from home halting a blood son of House Tharashk?”
“Because we are here to rescue you from the scourge that is now or momentarily will begin to destroy your village!” It sounded badly practiced.
“Aye!” the other men called out.
“Hunh,” Delegado said. He could sense the man’s nervousness. The other brands also read thief, except for one that read ‘rapist.’ He nodded to himself. “Reject squadron, is it?”
“We have escaped out former masters and we seek to aid you!” the man said. “Prove that you do not threaten us by putting your bow down and getting off your horse!” Feather screeched at the man. “And, um, tell your bird to be quiet.”
“Not a ranged weapon among you,” Delegado said, taking his bow off his shoulder. “And range beats numbers, every time.”
Delegado slowed his horse, and took stock of the ten men before him. “And why are Aundarian dregs so far from home halting a blood son of House Tharashk?”
“Because we are here to rescue you from the scourge that is now or momentarily will begin to destroy your village!” It sounded badly practiced.
“Aye!” the other men called out.
“Hunh,” Delegado said. He could sense the man’s nervousness. The other brands also read thief, except for one that read ‘rapist.’ He nodded to himself. “Reject squadron, is it?”
“We have escaped out former masters and we seek to aid you!” the man said. “Prove that you do not threaten us by putting your bow down and getting off your horse!” Feather screeched at the man. “And, um, tell your bird to be quiet.”
“Not a ranged weapon among you,” Delegado said, taking his bow off his shoulder. “And range beats numbers, every time.”
Chapter 10 - Part 16
Gelth led two of his goats to the eastern neighborhood. Down the path he went, leading the bleating creatures between the trees. He normally would not go chat with the fishermen, but his grandson was playing with the village boys while his wife worked at the inn, and he wanted to talk to someone about the stranger he had met. Lobah always had wise words, and she could tell him something to ease his mind.
The goats suddenly struggled against his leash, bucking and crying out in terror.
“What, what is this?” the old goblin asked. “Settle down, settle down you, whoa!”
Something moved. Gelth peered down through the trees. Aged though his eyes were, his darkvision worked perfectly. There is a shadowed spot was a small pile of loose earth, next to a hole.
A hole with something in it.
Gelth ducked, and the javelin went over his head, wounding a goat. The old goblin let the animals go, and they tore back down the path. He ran after them, trying to process what he had seen. Heavy feet thudded into the ground. The goblin dove into the underbrush, and found a place to seclude himself behind a tree trunk.
The footsteps slowed, but continued. He heard a hollow voice, like someone speaking into a well.
“Where did the child go?” it asked.
“It seemed that it was an old man,” said another voice, with the same hollowness to it.
“Points ready,” snapped another voice. “Proceed with quiet, suppress the spy.”
The feet moved around him. Gelth dared not breathe. They searched for five minutes, then dispersed after reporting no contact.
He finally sucked in a huge gulp of air, and then forced his feet to move. As he went under a tree where the voices had been near earlier, a shout went up. Terrified he glanced upwards to see that two of the creatures, the strange animations of wood and metal, had climbed the tree to wait for him. They slammed down onto him, hitting him with their powerful fists. The pain was intense for a few seconds, and then he felt nothing. Forever.
The goats suddenly struggled against his leash, bucking and crying out in terror.
“What, what is this?” the old goblin asked. “Settle down, settle down you, whoa!”
Something moved. Gelth peered down through the trees. Aged though his eyes were, his darkvision worked perfectly. There is a shadowed spot was a small pile of loose earth, next to a hole.
A hole with something in it.
Gelth ducked, and the javelin went over his head, wounding a goat. The old goblin let the animals go, and they tore back down the path. He ran after them, trying to process what he had seen. Heavy feet thudded into the ground. The goblin dove into the underbrush, and found a place to seclude himself behind a tree trunk.
The footsteps slowed, but continued. He heard a hollow voice, like someone speaking into a well.
“Where did the child go?” it asked.
“It seemed that it was an old man,” said another voice, with the same hollowness to it.
“Points ready,” snapped another voice. “Proceed with quiet, suppress the spy.”
The feet moved around him. Gelth dared not breathe. They searched for five minutes, then dispersed after reporting no contact.
He finally sucked in a huge gulp of air, and then forced his feet to move. As he went under a tree where the voices had been near earlier, a shout went up. Terrified he glanced upwards to see that two of the creatures, the strange animations of wood and metal, had climbed the tree to wait for him. They slammed down onto him, hitting him with their powerful fists. The pain was intense for a few seconds, and then he felt nothing. Forever.
Chapter 10 - Part 15
Herschem chanted, and he began to hover in the air. Another chant, and he began to place a series of protective wards on his body. He formally placed one of the minor wizards in charge during his absence, and took a final report from the artificers that they had magically repaired the disabled and wounded warforged. Lord Ibraim gave him leave, and he chanted one more spell to make himself invisible before flying west towards to center of Merylsward.
Chapter 10 - Part 14
Iron Orphan came back into the inn’s common room where Pienna was talking quietly with the ambassador and the mayor. He waited until Pienna noticed him and gestured him to come over.
The lawforged, as he considered himself, walked with a magically enhanced strength, grace, and purpose. Pienna had pumped him so full of magical enhancements that he feared she did not leave enough for herself. She had promised him that she had enough power left to do what was necessary.
“Delegado is gone,” he reported. “I ran down the road but did not see him, I went perhaps a quarter-mile. He is not coming back.”
She nodded. “A shame, but something Drorin said has unsettled him. We could have used him.”
“We can fight a fire without a Tharashk agent,” the mayor said. “I have three bucket brigades standing by, and every Warden of the Wood is ready to douse the slightest spark they see. Whatever fire Drorin thinks is coming, we will stop it.”
“I hope,” she said.
The lawforged, as he considered himself, walked with a magically enhanced strength, grace, and purpose. Pienna had pumped him so full of magical enhancements that he feared she did not leave enough for herself. She had promised him that she had enough power left to do what was necessary.
“Delegado is gone,” he reported. “I ran down the road but did not see him, I went perhaps a quarter-mile. He is not coming back.”
She nodded. “A shame, but something Drorin said has unsettled him. We could have used him.”
“We can fight a fire without a Tharashk agent,” the mayor said. “I have three bucket brigades standing by, and every Warden of the Wood is ready to douse the slightest spark they see. Whatever fire Drorin thinks is coming, we will stop it.”
“I hope,” she said.
Chapter 10 - Part 13
Ibraim stepped out of the longboat, and walked down to the end of the dock. Three warforged stood to greet him, their hands raised in salute. The one in front had the newly painted double arm stripes of a lieutenant.
“Lord Ibraim,” it said. He saluted, and they dropped their salutes. Herschem and Kleris were quick on his heels. Behind him the second longboat docked.
“You two help unload the crates,” Ibraim said. The two behind the lieutenant rushed to do as they were ordered. “Herschem, have one of your students send a message spell to the ship, tell them to pull back across the horizon and drop anchor, I want them out of sight until our work is done.” Herschem nodded and obeyed. “Alright lieutenant…” Ibraim eyed the warforged’s number. “Lieutenant 7824FB, report.”
“All of the civillians killed, minimal resistance,” 7824FB said. “As for our own, three killed, two disabled, and five wounded, a corporal among the killed. One lieutenant is holding a force to the west, another is bringing a hundred around to catch them unawares from the northwest. We are performing a grid search for weapons, oil, and possibly hidden targets. The largest dwelling has been identified, and I can lead you to it now, my Lord.”
“Well done,” Ibraim said. “You are no longer a lieutenant.”
“Lord?” 7824FB asked, puzzled.
“Artificers!” Ibraim called.
Two men rushed forward, carrying scrolls. They chanted and read as the scrolls withered, releasing the stored energy. Another band of red, a third stripe, appeared on the warforged’s arm. At the same time the blue-bannered dragonhawk appeared on his chest, the magically manipulated paint settling in.
“You’re a captain now, 7824FB,” Lord Ibraim said. “Now lead my archers and my wizards and my other staff to my new headquarters.”
“Yes, Lord,” the warforged said, saluting. It led the humans up the cliffside trail.
“Lord Ibraim,” it said. He saluted, and they dropped their salutes. Herschem and Kleris were quick on his heels. Behind him the second longboat docked.
“You two help unload the crates,” Ibraim said. The two behind the lieutenant rushed to do as they were ordered. “Herschem, have one of your students send a message spell to the ship, tell them to pull back across the horizon and drop anchor, I want them out of sight until our work is done.” Herschem nodded and obeyed. “Alright lieutenant…” Ibraim eyed the warforged’s number. “Lieutenant 7824FB, report.”
“All of the civillians killed, minimal resistance,” 7824FB said. “As for our own, three killed, two disabled, and five wounded, a corporal among the killed. One lieutenant is holding a force to the west, another is bringing a hundred around to catch them unawares from the northwest. We are performing a grid search for weapons, oil, and possibly hidden targets. The largest dwelling has been identified, and I can lead you to it now, my Lord.”
“Well done,” Ibraim said. “You are no longer a lieutenant.”
“Lord?” 7824FB asked, puzzled.
“Artificers!” Ibraim called.
Two men rushed forward, carrying scrolls. They chanted and read as the scrolls withered, releasing the stored energy. Another band of red, a third stripe, appeared on the warforged’s arm. At the same time the blue-bannered dragonhawk appeared on his chest, the magically manipulated paint settling in.
“You’re a captain now, 7824FB,” Lord Ibraim said. “Now lead my archers and my wizards and my other staff to my new headquarters.”
“Yes, Lord,” the warforged said, saluting. It led the humans up the cliffside trail.
Chapter 10 - Part 12
Delegado’s mouth was dry as they waited for the halfling.
They were in Pienna’s suite. Thomas had been unbound, although he had not been given his armor or weapons back. Those lay in a tidy pile behind Missy, who bared her fangs at the stormstalk as it swiveled about curiously.
The appendage made Delegado ill. The toys of the daelkyr were abominations that should be swiftly destroyed as far as he was concerned. He used to think Pienna felt that way as well, but the druidess was the one who had ordered the stormstalk unbound once Thomas had promised that he could control it.
But it wasn’t the symbiont that made Delegado’s mouth feel so dry.
Iron Orphan stood off to the side, tapping his fingers quietly against his legs. The warforged made Delegado angry, and he did not want to admit why. It wasn’t that the thing had bested him in combat, or that Pienna showered it with such affection when he, Delegado, should be honored by the Gatekeeper. Others had bested Delegado, although not many in recent years, and further he was no longer a youth eager for praise. He only wished that either were the true reason, petty and immature as they were.
Can it be? Delegado wondered. Can the machine be more alive than me?
But it was not his self-doubt that made his mouth feel so dry.
Pienna came out of the halfling’s room, holding the door open for the small creature. Drorin looked like he had aged ten years in the few hours since Delegado had last seen him.
“Is everyone prepared for fire?” Drorin said in a loud, hoarse whisper. “I have prepared, have you?”
“I had already sown my magics for the day,” Pienna said. “I have some protection,
but not much. I have alerted Tippish to have ditches of water prepared.”
“It will not be enough, of course,” Drorin said. “I know this, although I do not know why. I am more cursed than blessed, more blind than seer.”
“Why do we have to be here for this?” Delegado snapped. His terror was growing. He did not want to hear what this little nut had to say!
“Because you MUST be here!” the halfling said, in a deep voice not his own. A smell of ozone seemed to spring up in the air. The stormstalk on Thomas’ neck whipped around and hid behind its master’s body. The halfling’s eyes rolled up until only the whites showed. “Because the Prophecy has touched this one of the small people!”
Everyone flinched.
“Are you still Drorin?” Pienna asked.
The halfling slumped, his eyes returning to normal, and the ozone smell fading. The stormstalk peeked out from behind Thomas. “I am,” he gasped. “It left a piece in my mind, a piece that kills me even as it holds me together.” He shuddered. “I am not long for this world.
He straightened and faced them, coughing a bit, and then growing very serene. “Hear me, heavens, give ear to me, earth. Syberis, Eberron, and Khyber, attend and exhibit.
“Delegado, the hunter, the finder, the unhappy man who should be happy. Face your demons, lest they become physical ones in the place where they dwell and reminisce. Do not follow Vuchen’s wounded pride, for Thomas has a part to play. Your path is a hard one to feel, for feeling is hard, and it is so much easier to not join, not think, not care. But you do.”
“I’d kill you if you weren’t so sick already,” Delegado snarled.
“My words would still live in your ears, Delegado,” the halfling said. He turned and stared at Thomas. Again the stormstalk hid. “So strong, so intent, and so tortured. Your knack for manipulating prepared and stored magic may be a gift from your father, but you can use it to defeat an evil greater than him, in the place it calls its own. Get to Oalian, and beg to serve him by taking the Branch of Water and Air. The first riddle is with the prisoner. Oalian will know what I mean.”
“I will never live long enough to approach him,” Thomas said bitterly. “Delegado has reason to hate me. Vuchen has reason to destroy me. Have I really avoided suicide just to continue to be a pawn?”
“I did not think you a coward,” Drorin said. “You have fought many voices in your head, many physical and mental enemies.”
“I only want peace!” Thomas said, tears leaking from his alien, glowing eyes.
“And if you fight and struggle enough to preserve what is good, you will find a permanent peace on the ship of one who permanently wanders.”
“For a flesh and blood enemy to fight!” wept the half-daelkyr.
“Flesh you shall fight soon,” Drorin said, turning his attention to Iron Orphan. “Or a semblence of flesh, with no blood to speak of. Are you familiar with this, Iron Orphan?”
“You speak in riddles because to precisely tell the future would enable us to avoid it, and thereby change it,” the warforged said. “And of course because you only know what you see.”
“I see that your race will be free, if not loved,” Drorin told him. Iron Orphan froze, his attention fixed more than ever, his tapping fingers now still. “Note well,” the halfling told him. “You and Thomas and Delegado form three of the four, and with you there is hope. Accompany Thomas to Oalian. Follow the mission even if the others do not. You will do what is right and what is inalienable law, and you will even retrieve a things that chaos and evil stole from good, the artifact of the Balanced Palm.”
“It is not a myth?” Iron Orphan asked.
“No more than death itself is,” Drorin said, sighing. “I will know that within the hour.”
“Can’t speed it up at all, can you?” Delegado asked, forcing moisture into his mouth.
“Delegado!” Pienna said, shocked. “You cannot say such –”
“F’test your morality!” the half-orc yelled at her.
“There is no hope,” Thomas said.
“Attend!” Drorin cried. Against their will they did. “Delegado, You must make a choice or be shriveled. Iron Orphan, life means problems, only furniture is truly uncaring. You will face death from those who prefer not to think today, perhaps your words are weapons as much as sais or kamas. Thomas, this is your last chance to believe in hope. When will hope come? When those who first tried to kill each other become comrades, hope truly appears.”
Drorin then began to chant and wave his hands. He touched Thomas, then Delegado. Both flinched, but were aware of a force around them, protecting them. “Thomas, arm yourself,” he commanded. The man began putting on his breastplate. “Delegado, go do as you will.”
The half-orc stared down at him. “Just a decision about who to kill first, really.”
“She would not fall for that and neither will I,” the halfling told him. “Pienna, protect Iron Orphan with your spells now.”
“F’test all of this!” Delegado snarled. He spun around and walked out, shoving the door open. The stairs went by in a blur, and he cut through the kitchen to the stables.
Five minutes later he was mounted, and Feather flew above him as he headed out of town on the Orien road.
They were in Pienna’s suite. Thomas had been unbound, although he had not been given his armor or weapons back. Those lay in a tidy pile behind Missy, who bared her fangs at the stormstalk as it swiveled about curiously.
The appendage made Delegado ill. The toys of the daelkyr were abominations that should be swiftly destroyed as far as he was concerned. He used to think Pienna felt that way as well, but the druidess was the one who had ordered the stormstalk unbound once Thomas had promised that he could control it.
But it wasn’t the symbiont that made Delegado’s mouth feel so dry.
Iron Orphan stood off to the side, tapping his fingers quietly against his legs. The warforged made Delegado angry, and he did not want to admit why. It wasn’t that the thing had bested him in combat, or that Pienna showered it with such affection when he, Delegado, should be honored by the Gatekeeper. Others had bested Delegado, although not many in recent years, and further he was no longer a youth eager for praise. He only wished that either were the true reason, petty and immature as they were.
Can it be? Delegado wondered. Can the machine be more alive than me?
But it was not his self-doubt that made his mouth feel so dry.
Pienna came out of the halfling’s room, holding the door open for the small creature. Drorin looked like he had aged ten years in the few hours since Delegado had last seen him.
“Is everyone prepared for fire?” Drorin said in a loud, hoarse whisper. “I have prepared, have you?”
“I had already sown my magics for the day,” Pienna said. “I have some protection,
but not much. I have alerted Tippish to have ditches of water prepared.”
“It will not be enough, of course,” Drorin said. “I know this, although I do not know why. I am more cursed than blessed, more blind than seer.”
“Why do we have to be here for this?” Delegado snapped. His terror was growing. He did not want to hear what this little nut had to say!
“Because you MUST be here!” the halfling said, in a deep voice not his own. A smell of ozone seemed to spring up in the air. The stormstalk on Thomas’ neck whipped around and hid behind its master’s body. The halfling’s eyes rolled up until only the whites showed. “Because the Prophecy has touched this one of the small people!”
Everyone flinched.
“Are you still Drorin?” Pienna asked.
The halfling slumped, his eyes returning to normal, and the ozone smell fading. The stormstalk peeked out from behind Thomas. “I am,” he gasped. “It left a piece in my mind, a piece that kills me even as it holds me together.” He shuddered. “I am not long for this world.
He straightened and faced them, coughing a bit, and then growing very serene. “Hear me, heavens, give ear to me, earth. Syberis, Eberron, and Khyber, attend and exhibit.
“Delegado, the hunter, the finder, the unhappy man who should be happy. Face your demons, lest they become physical ones in the place where they dwell and reminisce. Do not follow Vuchen’s wounded pride, for Thomas has a part to play. Your path is a hard one to feel, for feeling is hard, and it is so much easier to not join, not think, not care. But you do.”
“I’d kill you if you weren’t so sick already,” Delegado snarled.
“My words would still live in your ears, Delegado,” the halfling said. He turned and stared at Thomas. Again the stormstalk hid. “So strong, so intent, and so tortured. Your knack for manipulating prepared and stored magic may be a gift from your father, but you can use it to defeat an evil greater than him, in the place it calls its own. Get to Oalian, and beg to serve him by taking the Branch of Water and Air. The first riddle is with the prisoner. Oalian will know what I mean.”
“I will never live long enough to approach him,” Thomas said bitterly. “Delegado has reason to hate me. Vuchen has reason to destroy me. Have I really avoided suicide just to continue to be a pawn?”
“I did not think you a coward,” Drorin said. “You have fought many voices in your head, many physical and mental enemies.”
“I only want peace!” Thomas said, tears leaking from his alien, glowing eyes.
“And if you fight and struggle enough to preserve what is good, you will find a permanent peace on the ship of one who permanently wanders.”
“For a flesh and blood enemy to fight!” wept the half-daelkyr.
“Flesh you shall fight soon,” Drorin said, turning his attention to Iron Orphan. “Or a semblence of flesh, with no blood to speak of. Are you familiar with this, Iron Orphan?”
“You speak in riddles because to precisely tell the future would enable us to avoid it, and thereby change it,” the warforged said. “And of course because you only know what you see.”
“I see that your race will be free, if not loved,” Drorin told him. Iron Orphan froze, his attention fixed more than ever, his tapping fingers now still. “Note well,” the halfling told him. “You and Thomas and Delegado form three of the four, and with you there is hope. Accompany Thomas to Oalian. Follow the mission even if the others do not. You will do what is right and what is inalienable law, and you will even retrieve a things that chaos and evil stole from good, the artifact of the Balanced Palm.”
“It is not a myth?” Iron Orphan asked.
“No more than death itself is,” Drorin said, sighing. “I will know that within the hour.”
“Can’t speed it up at all, can you?” Delegado asked, forcing moisture into his mouth.
“Delegado!” Pienna said, shocked. “You cannot say such –”
“F’test your morality!” the half-orc yelled at her.
“There is no hope,” Thomas said.
“Attend!” Drorin cried. Against their will they did. “Delegado, You must make a choice or be shriveled. Iron Orphan, life means problems, only furniture is truly uncaring. You will face death from those who prefer not to think today, perhaps your words are weapons as much as sais or kamas. Thomas, this is your last chance to believe in hope. When will hope come? When those who first tried to kill each other become comrades, hope truly appears.”
Drorin then began to chant and wave his hands. He touched Thomas, then Delegado. Both flinched, but were aware of a force around them, protecting them. “Thomas, arm yourself,” he commanded. The man began putting on his breastplate. “Delegado, go do as you will.”
The half-orc stared down at him. “Just a decision about who to kill first, really.”
“She would not fall for that and neither will I,” the halfling told him. “Pienna, protect Iron Orphan with your spells now.”
“F’test all of this!” Delegado snarled. He spun around and walked out, shoving the door open. The stairs went by in a blur, and he cut through the kitchen to the stables.
Five minutes later he was mounted, and Feather flew above him as he headed out of town on the Orien road.
Chapter 10 - Part 11
Medea and her children stood awkwardly, pressing themselves against the bottles and casks of wine that poked out of the rack. They had been there for an hour. A pair of warforged had already come down to the cellar, hacking at some boxes to see if anyone was inside, and then left. The light was indeed poor, and the drop cloth’s color was very close in pigment to the wall’s color. The warforged had left, not suspecting that there were three living people right near them.
Still, they hadn’t moved. They didn’t know when the warforged might be back, and they thought they heard sounds from upstairs.
Medea’s daughter Ossai could not hold it in any longer, and she let her bladder loose. Sniffling and crying softly at her humiliation, she shoved a hand in her mouth so that the sound of her crying would not carry. Medea could only hope that the warforged sense of smell was nothing like a real person’s. Her daughter’s baldder was small. Perhaps it would escape detection.
“Points head downstairs,” came a monotone command. Heavy feet were heard as more warforged came downstairs and began rooting around.
“Only food and broken wood down here,” called one. “Hard to see though, sun isn’t coming through the small windows right.”
“Candles here,” said another mechanical voice.
Heavy feet. A click and scratch as one of the murdering machines produced flint and tinder.
“Report,” came a voice from up the stairs.
“Somewhat better illumination,” replied a voice not three feet in from of Medea. She dared not even breathe. “I see no weapons or oil down here sir, just food and kindling.”
“Look again,” came the voice from atop the stairs. “This is the biggest home in the area, they must have something our commanders would want.”
Medea stifled a sob. Only this morning she had felt so much superior to the other women because her wealthy husband had bought her a new dress. Likely those women were dead now.
“Should we try digging for loose bricks?” one voice asked. It took a step towards the drop cloth.
“No, they hide money that way, not weapons,” said the other voice.
Medea heard a clicking sound, like a metal neck shifting position. “Do you smell sewage?” That came from near her daughter.
“No,” answered another. “But it is not impossible. The breathers sometimes emit waste in their homes.”
“Disgusting,” said another. “To think that we serve such –”
“Shut the box,” snapped another warforged, with more emotion in his voice than had been there before. “None of that talk.”
The warforged rooted around in the bins of potatoes and turnips, and then went back up the stairs. Medea and her children would live for a little while longer.
Still, they hadn’t moved. They didn’t know when the warforged might be back, and they thought they heard sounds from upstairs.
Medea’s daughter Ossai could not hold it in any longer, and she let her bladder loose. Sniffling and crying softly at her humiliation, she shoved a hand in her mouth so that the sound of her crying would not carry. Medea could only hope that the warforged sense of smell was nothing like a real person’s. Her daughter’s baldder was small. Perhaps it would escape detection.
“Points head downstairs,” came a monotone command. Heavy feet were heard as more warforged came downstairs and began rooting around.
“Only food and broken wood down here,” called one. “Hard to see though, sun isn’t coming through the small windows right.”
“Candles here,” said another mechanical voice.
Heavy feet. A click and scratch as one of the murdering machines produced flint and tinder.
“Report,” came a voice from up the stairs.
“Somewhat better illumination,” replied a voice not three feet in from of Medea. She dared not even breathe. “I see no weapons or oil down here sir, just food and kindling.”
“Look again,” came the voice from atop the stairs. “This is the biggest home in the area, they must have something our commanders would want.”
Medea stifled a sob. Only this morning she had felt so much superior to the other women because her wealthy husband had bought her a new dress. Likely those women were dead now.
“Should we try digging for loose bricks?” one voice asked. It took a step towards the drop cloth.
“No, they hide money that way, not weapons,” said the other voice.
Medea heard a clicking sound, like a metal neck shifting position. “Do you smell sewage?” That came from near her daughter.
“No,” answered another. “But it is not impossible. The breathers sometimes emit waste in their homes.”
“Disgusting,” said another. “To think that we serve such –”
“Shut the box,” snapped another warforged, with more emotion in his voice than had been there before. “None of that talk.”
The warforged rooted around in the bins of potatoes and turnips, and then went back up the stairs. Medea and her children would live for a little while longer.
Chapter 10 - Part 10
The warforged were quick, efficient, tireless, and untroubled by conscience. They had been made to kill, not to wonder if killing was wrong. Some of them trembled as they slew the smaller of the living creatures, but they all did as they were told. The shifters, humans, and a handful of other races in the eastern section of Merylsward, some one hundred souls in all, were all dispatched within thirty minutes. The warforged force had sustained only three killed, two disabled, and five wounded. One of the killed was a corporal.
One lieutenant took three corporals and a hundred soldiers, and made a series of positions along all of the trails and approaches. The warforged dug in, hacking at the earth with shovels in order to hide better. Another lieutenant took two corporals and a hundred soldiers and marched north, preparing to loop around and attack the town from its northwest.
The remaining lieutenant split his force in two. One half he broke up into four equal parts, and assigned a corporal to each one. They were to go back and do a grid search of each dwelling, looking for hidden people or caches of weapons. Ten more soldiers were given the task of burying the dead, both as a preventive measure against detection and against diseases that could affect their human high officers. A dozen soldiers were to guard the disabled and dead warforged, that dozen including the wounded.
After double-counting the remainging force to get one hundred and twenty eight, he set them to the task of building seige equipment. A volley of stonework and other debris would be rained down on the town once the wizards were done. Two soldiers were exempted from work as they went down to the docks with the lieutenant, forming an honor guard to welcome Lord Ibraim.
One lieutenant took three corporals and a hundred soldiers, and made a series of positions along all of the trails and approaches. The warforged dug in, hacking at the earth with shovels in order to hide better. Another lieutenant took two corporals and a hundred soldiers and marched north, preparing to loop around and attack the town from its northwest.
The remaining lieutenant split his force in two. One half he broke up into four equal parts, and assigned a corporal to each one. They were to go back and do a grid search of each dwelling, looking for hidden people or caches of weapons. Ten more soldiers were given the task of burying the dead, both as a preventive measure against detection and against diseases that could affect their human high officers. A dozen soldiers were to guard the disabled and dead warforged, that dozen including the wounded.
After double-counting the remainging force to get one hundred and twenty eight, he set them to the task of building seige equipment. A volley of stonework and other debris would be rained down on the town once the wizards were done. Two soldiers were exempted from work as they went down to the docks with the lieutenant, forming an honor guard to welcome Lord Ibraim.
Chapter 10 - Part 9
“Grampy, what’s that noise?” Aril asked.
Ichab turned his head, listening keenly. When he was young, he had been a Warden of the Wood. His eyes suddenly opened as he heard steel on flesh. “Medea, get the children away from the window!” he barked. She started, but did as he asked.
Ichab peered out a window pane. He saw his son-in-law, the father of his grandchildren, make a stand with another two men. They had farm implements and knives, and there were a dozen warforged surrounding them with two-handed swords. They did not last but seconds, and in the meantime another dozen warforged were rushing the house. Two more dozen were marching swiftly down the road to the neighboring farm.
Ichab turned and hissed, silencing the queries. “Warforged!” he told Medea. “You still have that drop cloth over the wine racks in the root cellar?”
“Y-yes,” she said. “We didn’t want the dust getting onto the new polish on the casks.”
“Get the children down there, hide behind it, and do not make a sound!” he ordered. “The ‘forged aren’t very perceptive, they will probably mistake it for a wall. Go now!”
“What about you?” she asked, beginning to cry.
“Go now!” he commanded. “And do not come out, do not make a sound, do not leave, no matter what you hear!”
Medea grabbed the children, and the sound of metal feet could be heard tramping up the walk. “Come on, children!” she said, trying to hold onto her hysteria.
“I wanna stay with Grampy!” Aril insisted.
The feet were close. Ichab hated himself as he slapped little Aril. The child began tearing up immediately, staring at him with shock and betrayal.
“Go now before I beat you more!” Ichab snarled at his beloved grandson.
Medea grabbed him, and darted downstairs.
She’ll explain it to you when you’re older, Aril, Ichab thought sadly.
He said a quick prayer that Aril in fact would get older, much older, enough to see his own grandchildren, and then he shifted. As he ended the prayer, the warforged broke the door down and charged into the living room, smashing the bookcase, the lamp-table, and the painting that Ichab’s wife had made years before.
The old shifter was a battle-hardened veteran, and he had over many years of self-discipline learned to shift more often than most of his kind could. Strength flooded his limbs as his claws grew long. The first warforged to approach had its arm cut off, its sword clattering to the floor. It leaked something as it staggered backwards. The next one swung clumsily and missed, and Ichab tore a deep gash in its torso. But then they became too many.
He fought well, but he died in the end.
Ichab turned his head, listening keenly. When he was young, he had been a Warden of the Wood. His eyes suddenly opened as he heard steel on flesh. “Medea, get the children away from the window!” he barked. She started, but did as he asked.
Ichab peered out a window pane. He saw his son-in-law, the father of his grandchildren, make a stand with another two men. They had farm implements and knives, and there were a dozen warforged surrounding them with two-handed swords. They did not last but seconds, and in the meantime another dozen warforged were rushing the house. Two more dozen were marching swiftly down the road to the neighboring farm.
Ichab turned and hissed, silencing the queries. “Warforged!” he told Medea. “You still have that drop cloth over the wine racks in the root cellar?”
“Y-yes,” she said. “We didn’t want the dust getting onto the new polish on the casks.”
“Get the children down there, hide behind it, and do not make a sound!” he ordered. “The ‘forged aren’t very perceptive, they will probably mistake it for a wall. Go now!”
“What about you?” she asked, beginning to cry.
“Go now!” he commanded. “And do not come out, do not make a sound, do not leave, no matter what you hear!”
Medea grabbed the children, and the sound of metal feet could be heard tramping up the walk. “Come on, children!” she said, trying to hold onto her hysteria.
“I wanna stay with Grampy!” Aril insisted.
The feet were close. Ichab hated himself as he slapped little Aril. The child began tearing up immediately, staring at him with shock and betrayal.
“Go now before I beat you more!” Ichab snarled at his beloved grandson.
Medea grabbed him, and darted downstairs.
She’ll explain it to you when you’re older, Aril, Ichab thought sadly.
He said a quick prayer that Aril in fact would get older, much older, enough to see his own grandchildren, and then he shifted. As he ended the prayer, the warforged broke the door down and charged into the living room, smashing the bookcase, the lamp-table, and the painting that Ichab’s wife had made years before.
The old shifter was a battle-hardened veteran, and he had over many years of self-discipline learned to shift more often than most of his kind could. Strength flooded his limbs as his claws grew long. The first warforged to approach had its arm cut off, its sword clattering to the floor. It leaked something as it staggered backwards. The next one swung clumsily and missed, and Ichab tore a deep gash in its torso. But then they became too many.
He fought well, but he died in the end.
Chapter 10 - Part 8
Two fisherman came back in a family boat to find ten warforged waiting for them, with greatswords ready. The men, old friends who always made gifts for each other’s children, raised their hands in surrender as they stepped on the dock. They were dead before they could ask why.
Chpater 10 - Part 7
A human woman washing shirts in a copper basin thought she saw something go by her window. She pulled the curtain back, and screamed at the metal faceplate and glowing eyes on the other side. The warforged punched through the glass, and dragged her out into her own side yard, snapping her neck.
Chapter 10 - Part 6
The widow Awihl opened her door to get a sword in her chest. She did not have to see her two sons die.
Chapter 10 - Part 5
Lobah stripped down to her underclothing, caring nothing for modesty as she prepared to chop kindling behind her small cottage. With a heavy woodsman’s axe in her hand she began to split the logs, preparing for the coming winter. The work soon had her in a sweat, and she hammered away, creating a big pile of firewood.
Her ears raised, and she tought she heard footsteps. Heavy ones. Floating up the side of a cliff came a small cry.
“What?” she asked aloud, taking a different grip on the axe. If some wild animal had come this way, all rabid and crazy, she’d have to dispatch it quick.
“Lobah!” came a cry. It was followed by a thud.
Lobah shifted, broadened her nose, and feeling the wild power of her animal soul oepning up. Strength and vigor flowed into her, and the whole world of smells opened up. Somewhere she smelled joint oil, and pressed wood. It seemed familiar.
Warforged? Lobah thought to herself, having found a memory of a similar smell from long ago. The answer was affirmative, as two of the machine-men came charging towards her from around a tree. Each held a greatsword in both hands, blades already dripping with blood. Down the road she saw five more of their ilk attacking children.
“FILTH!” she screamed, throwing herself into combat. She hurt one, then decapitated its comrade. “Attack!” she screamed as she fought. “Attack!”
Whether her words of alarm were heard would never be known to her. Another group of warforged came from one side. Surrounded by them, she died with defiance on her lips.
Her ears raised, and she tought she heard footsteps. Heavy ones. Floating up the side of a cliff came a small cry.
“What?” she asked aloud, taking a different grip on the axe. If some wild animal had come this way, all rabid and crazy, she’d have to dispatch it quick.
“Lobah!” came a cry. It was followed by a thud.
Lobah shifted, broadened her nose, and feeling the wild power of her animal soul oepning up. Strength and vigor flowed into her, and the whole world of smells opened up. Somewhere she smelled joint oil, and pressed wood. It seemed familiar.
Warforged? Lobah thought to herself, having found a memory of a similar smell from long ago. The answer was affirmative, as two of the machine-men came charging towards her from around a tree. Each held a greatsword in both hands, blades already dripping with blood. Down the road she saw five more of their ilk attacking children.
“FILTH!” she screamed, throwing herself into combat. She hurt one, then decapitated its comrade. “Attack!” she screamed as she fought. “Attack!”
Whether her words of alarm were heard would never be known to her. Another group of warforged came from one side. Surrounded by them, she died with defiance on her lips.
Chapter 10 - Part 4
Munz tied the knots clumsily, the wind and spray in his face as he sat at the end of the dock. The innate grace of his elven ancestors was not with him, particularly when he had gone this long without a decent drink. He felt like strangling that old coot who had shamed him into this in front of all those people.
He squinted. Something not right with the water.
He set the net that he was repairing for the human widow down, and leaned over the edge of the pier. The water here was about eight feet deep, and not too clear because the waves were kicking up a lot of sediment. Still Munz had something of the elven senses in his blood, and he was sure he had seen a shape. A large one. A fish perhaps?
Strong hands made of metal and stone grabbed him, and pulled him under.
He squinted. Something not right with the water.
He set the net that he was repairing for the human widow down, and leaned over the edge of the pier. The water here was about eight feet deep, and not too clear because the waves were kicking up a lot of sediment. Still Munz had something of the elven senses in his blood, and he was sure he had seen a shape. A large one. A fish perhaps?
Strong hands made of metal and stone grabbed him, and pulled him under.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Chapter 10 - Part 3
Three was the number of the longboats. They could each comfortably hold eight men and provisions, but these were stuffed with at least ten apiece. In each longboat were six or seven men whose feet were in chains that all connected to one another. They rowed steadily, in time with a sergeant who chanted softly. Crossbows were pointed at them, and three times they were reminded that their only hope for a pardon lay in valor on the battlefield. The men obeyed like zombies, their skin pale from confinement in the brig. They wore studded leather armor, and had soft helmets on their shaven heads. The helmet’s forehead section had been removed, to show the brands the men bore. Some said ‘thief,’ some said ‘deserter,’ and one said ‘rapist.’ These men were the reject squad. They would dig ditches, latrines, fight the first wave of the enemy, and generally die. Regular soldiers could count on extraction and medical care. These soldiers could not, for the crown had ordered them punished.
None spoke. To attract attention was to attract pain.
One boat had an unusual number, for it included the heavily robed and veiled woman from House Cannith whose five hundred warforged were making the operation possible. The rejects had heard her name, and been told not to speak to her unless she spoke to them first. An exotic and odd sight she was. She was no longer hiding her giant metal hand, and they could clearly see metallic plates covering half of her face. One eye appeared to be almost surrounded by mithril and darkwood.
Beside her sat two things the size of dogs, almost monkey-like, made of some artificial leather and wood. They drooled and snapped, but were nimble with long claws. From time to time she would caress them with her flesh hand. The man-dog things had rough and warty ‘skin,’ and a mouth of needlelike teeth. They pranced atop a chest that moved of its own accord, with shifting legs and an arm that occasionally poked about in its insides, a place of small compartments and many dangerous vials. To he other side of the lady was something that appeared to be a carved, animated crossbow with a face and arms. The lady sometimes smiled at her toys, sometimes stroked a bag of things that she wore like a satchel on one shoulder, and sometimes licked her lips to some sensation that only she could perceive, but her gaze always returned to the distant beach.
“Crouch down!” snapped the lieutenant. He was a cocky man, standing a bit short for a human, and always trying to bully the men in order to make up for it. “We are within sight of the beach!”
“No we’re not,” Lo’Paih laughed. She took out a wand and the end of it glowed as she spoke in the elemental language of air. A great fog rose out of the sea and surrounded them. One side of the fog flickered with an interior blue light. “Follow the blue to get to the beach,” commanded the woman whose flesh had been partially replaced with construct parts.
“How dare you!” yelled the lieutenant, striding over to her. “You’re out of line, and I will not have –”
“Now,” Lo’Paih said, grabbing the man’s head swiftly with her oversized metal fist.
The two constructed dog-men sprouted hidden wings, and flew to the right and left, each taking a ship. The moving clockwork bow fired. The chest shifted, ready to throw a flask of acid should it prove to be necessary. As Lo’Paih shoved downwards, holding the lieutenant’s head under water, her constructs quickly and efficiently murdered every Aundarian who was not a reject. The officers in charge of the rejects tried to fight, but they were caught by surprise, and the teeth of the dog-men held a potent poison that made them drugged and unable to resist.
“Do you enjoy your lot in life?” Lo’Paih asked as the lieutenant finally stopped kicking. She did not pick his head up, though.
The rejects stared at her, not saying anything.
She looked at the one closest to her. He was a man with scars around his face, where he had sustained a terrible beating at one time. The brand on his forehead proclaimed him a deserter. He looked back at her, meeting her gaze with no small fear, but not dropping his eyes.
“What is your name, hm?” she asked. She finally let the lieutenant go, and he fell into the water with a soft splash. She stroked his cheek, and he finally flinched, pulling back from the metal hand. “Your name?”
“Jak,” the reject told her.
“Why did you desert, Jak?” she asked him.
“I don’t believe in the war,” he said simply.
“Would you work for Cannith then, Jak?” Every other reject was listening to the exchange keenly.
“I’ve already worked for one dragonmarked house,” Jak said bitterly. “They couldn’t protect me from Aundair’s long arm. Am I supposed to believe that you can? Or that you even want to?”
The woman began to laugh. She snapped her fingers, and the flying constructs searched the bodies of the dead sergeants, finding the keys. They began unlocking the chains and manacles that held the reject squadron in place. Murmurs of appreciation rose up as men rubbed their wrists and ankles.
Jak did not rub. He merely looked at her.
“Which House left you, abandoned you, and treated you so?” she asked him.
“Lyrandar,” he said.
“And you don’t want to work for Cannith?” she asked.
“Do you want me to lie to you?” His voice was even, no longer afraid. He sounded merely resigned.
“How about working for me then?” she asked.
“How about we swim for shore and wish you the best?” laughed one man on the boat to her left.
She pointed, and the animated crossbow fired itself. The man gurgled as the bolt slammed into his chest. The flying constructs grabbed his dying body and threw him into the sea. He did not splash for long.
She had everyone’s attention now.
“Jak will be your sergeant,” she smiled. “My second-in-command. You will all serve me until the sun sets, and then survivors get a handful of gold, a bag of food, and the freedom to go where they wish. Those who want to remain in my service and enjoy my protection may also do so. But until sundown, whoever disobeys, seems to disobey, or even thinks of disobeying, dies instantly.” She lowerd her veil now, and pulled back her disguising robes. They settled in place, and her gruesome surgeries were revealed. “I am more than mortal now. I have power that I have paid for. I can reward and punish. If you are with me, say you are with me.” The animated crossbow swiveled, pointing dangerously.
“We are with you!” they shouted as one.
Jak stared at her, saying nothing. The crossbow pointed at him. “Well?” she asked.
“I will declare myself with you, when I know what you want me to do,” he said.
She began to laugh so hard that tears came out of the eye not surrounded my construct pieces. The two flying dog-things laughed with her, barking sounds that shook their warts.
“You are all going to be heroes!” she said when she finally was able to stop laughing. “You are going to rescue Merylsward!”
None spoke. To attract attention was to attract pain.
One boat had an unusual number, for it included the heavily robed and veiled woman from House Cannith whose five hundred warforged were making the operation possible. The rejects had heard her name, and been told not to speak to her unless she spoke to them first. An exotic and odd sight she was. She was no longer hiding her giant metal hand, and they could clearly see metallic plates covering half of her face. One eye appeared to be almost surrounded by mithril and darkwood.
Beside her sat two things the size of dogs, almost monkey-like, made of some artificial leather and wood. They drooled and snapped, but were nimble with long claws. From time to time she would caress them with her flesh hand. The man-dog things had rough and warty ‘skin,’ and a mouth of needlelike teeth. They pranced atop a chest that moved of its own accord, with shifting legs and an arm that occasionally poked about in its insides, a place of small compartments and many dangerous vials. To he other side of the lady was something that appeared to be a carved, animated crossbow with a face and arms. The lady sometimes smiled at her toys, sometimes stroked a bag of things that she wore like a satchel on one shoulder, and sometimes licked her lips to some sensation that only she could perceive, but her gaze always returned to the distant beach.
“Crouch down!” snapped the lieutenant. He was a cocky man, standing a bit short for a human, and always trying to bully the men in order to make up for it. “We are within sight of the beach!”
“No we’re not,” Lo’Paih laughed. She took out a wand and the end of it glowed as she spoke in the elemental language of air. A great fog rose out of the sea and surrounded them. One side of the fog flickered with an interior blue light. “Follow the blue to get to the beach,” commanded the woman whose flesh had been partially replaced with construct parts.
“How dare you!” yelled the lieutenant, striding over to her. “You’re out of line, and I will not have –”
“Now,” Lo’Paih said, grabbing the man’s head swiftly with her oversized metal fist.
The two constructed dog-men sprouted hidden wings, and flew to the right and left, each taking a ship. The moving clockwork bow fired. The chest shifted, ready to throw a flask of acid should it prove to be necessary. As Lo’Paih shoved downwards, holding the lieutenant’s head under water, her constructs quickly and efficiently murdered every Aundarian who was not a reject. The officers in charge of the rejects tried to fight, but they were caught by surprise, and the teeth of the dog-men held a potent poison that made them drugged and unable to resist.
“Do you enjoy your lot in life?” Lo’Paih asked as the lieutenant finally stopped kicking. She did not pick his head up, though.
The rejects stared at her, not saying anything.
She looked at the one closest to her. He was a man with scars around his face, where he had sustained a terrible beating at one time. The brand on his forehead proclaimed him a deserter. He looked back at her, meeting her gaze with no small fear, but not dropping his eyes.
“What is your name, hm?” she asked. She finally let the lieutenant go, and he fell into the water with a soft splash. She stroked his cheek, and he finally flinched, pulling back from the metal hand. “Your name?”
“Jak,” the reject told her.
“Why did you desert, Jak?” she asked him.
“I don’t believe in the war,” he said simply.
“Would you work for Cannith then, Jak?” Every other reject was listening to the exchange keenly.
“I’ve already worked for one dragonmarked house,” Jak said bitterly. “They couldn’t protect me from Aundair’s long arm. Am I supposed to believe that you can? Or that you even want to?”
The woman began to laugh. She snapped her fingers, and the flying constructs searched the bodies of the dead sergeants, finding the keys. They began unlocking the chains and manacles that held the reject squadron in place. Murmurs of appreciation rose up as men rubbed their wrists and ankles.
Jak did not rub. He merely looked at her.
“Which House left you, abandoned you, and treated you so?” she asked him.
“Lyrandar,” he said.
“And you don’t want to work for Cannith?” she asked.
“Do you want me to lie to you?” His voice was even, no longer afraid. He sounded merely resigned.
“How about working for me then?” she asked.
“How about we swim for shore and wish you the best?” laughed one man on the boat to her left.
She pointed, and the animated crossbow fired itself. The man gurgled as the bolt slammed into his chest. The flying constructs grabbed his dying body and threw him into the sea. He did not splash for long.
She had everyone’s attention now.
“Jak will be your sergeant,” she smiled. “My second-in-command. You will all serve me until the sun sets, and then survivors get a handful of gold, a bag of food, and the freedom to go where they wish. Those who want to remain in my service and enjoy my protection may also do so. But until sundown, whoever disobeys, seems to disobey, or even thinks of disobeying, dies instantly.” She lowerd her veil now, and pulled back her disguising robes. They settled in place, and her gruesome surgeries were revealed. “I am more than mortal now. I have power that I have paid for. I can reward and punish. If you are with me, say you are with me.” The animated crossbow swiveled, pointing dangerously.
“We are with you!” they shouted as one.
Jak stared at her, saying nothing. The crossbow pointed at him. “Well?” she asked.
“I will declare myself with you, when I know what you want me to do,” he said.
She began to laugh so hard that tears came out of the eye not surrounded my construct pieces. The two flying dog-things laughed with her, barking sounds that shook their warts.
“You are all going to be heroes!” she said when she finally was able to stop laughing. “You are going to rescue Merylsward!”
Chapter 10 - Part 2
“My name is Thomas,” the stranger said. The worst of his wounds had been patched up, sometimes with a minor curing spell, but usually bandages and stitches. The thing he called a stormstalk had its head wrapped in a thick leather hood. Privately the Orphan thought it would be best to have killed the thing, but it would harm the man, and so he had been overruled. “My mother is – was – normal. She was a seamstress in a small village that had no proper name, up in northern Karrnath.”
They were in the common room. Pienna was there, sitting in the center of a semicircle of chairs around the stranger, who had been stripped of weapons and tied down to a chair with thick ropes. Workers were cleaning up the mess, sweeping and mopping. The windows had been shut, keeping out the curious. The innkeeper had not been very happy about this, until Pienna had given him a hefty bag of coins. Now the common room was closed to the public for a ‘private party.’
The Brelish ambassador was there, listening to the tale. Pienna had been expectantly polite to him, as if she knew he was coming. Oddly the man’s bragging nature was subdued as he listened. Iron Orphan had not traveled in the coach nearest the ambassador’s, but he could tell that this was not the man’s normal behavior. Truthfully the warforged – or lawforged as he preferred to call himself – had not been allowed near the ambassador. In fact there were several times when the passengers wanted him out of the caravan altogether. As the Balanced Palm teachings dictated, he had been patient and polite with them when the subject had come up. For some reason everyone associated the warforged with the war itself, and resented him as a result.
“Where the Mror River passes the Icetop Mountains, the town would grow seasonally to accommodate the mining and logging in the area that came in during the summer. The river would crack open, and then the boats would come with the men and traveling peddlers. In the autumn, the river would swell shut, and close behind the last boat leaving. Only a handful of people stayed in the off-season, including my mother and I.” Thomas’ voice was soft as he spoke, as he sadness that he had forced himself to forget was thawing out as surely as the Mror River itself. “I was always to hide myself, to keep a cloak and hood on, and to avoid anyone who looked sharp.”
“You were born with that thing then?” Chubat asked. The dwarf was fully restored to health, thanks to Pienna’s administrations. Between the duruidess and the adept, everyone had been cured or bandaged. Iron Orphan had not needed any repair, although he had a few magical oils hidden on his person that could accomplish repair in seconds.
“No, a different one,” Thomas said. “At first the midwife thought it was an afterbirth until it bit her. My mother already had gained a reputation as having no morals, now she was accused of being bewitched as well.”
“It would help if you would stick to what’s relevant to the story,” Vuchen said, holding his sword hilt. Vuchen had not wanted to question Thomas, he had wanted to kill him. An argument between him and the mayor had ensued, until Vuchen had finally stood down and allowed Thomas to be revived and questioned. Iron Orphan didn’t follow the entire thing, but it seemed that the presence of a dragonmarked house complicated the political situation here.
Thomas looked at him from under a bandage on his forehead, and began to laugh. “Do you think I wanted to come down to this town? Do you think I ever wanted to see another human being again?”
“You aren’t a human being,” Chubat growled.
“Everyone be quiet,” Pienna said firmly. “I will decide when he is off-topic.”
Delegado muttered something uncomplimentary. Iron Orphan heard it, but not clearly. The half-orc was none to pleased to see Iron Orphan, and was even less pleased that Thomas hadn’t been killed outright.
“Thank you,” Thomas said to her. “The talk of my mother’s morals had to do with her being pregnant with me despite never having married. She protested that she had never lain with a man, but no one believed her.”
“How’d she get pregnant then?” demanded Chubat.
“She missed her first monthly cycle after traveling across Lake Dark by herself at night,” Thomas said. “She had a dream as she slept in the boat. A dream of a man with the face of an angel, and a body made of stolen flesh, who reached out and touched her. She said that she felt him deep beneath the earth, trapped, but reaching out. When she realized that she was expecting me, she knew it had been the man in the dream.”
“The daelkyr,” Pienna said. Most people looked puzzled at what Pienna said, but Chubat snarled and gripped his axe. Delegado got up from where he had been lounging, and conspicuously counted his arrows.
Iron Orphan went over to the half-orc. “What is a daelkyr?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Thomas was talking about how his mother had to leave her birth village once he was born, and go to the seasonal town that he grew up in.
Delegado looked at Iron Orphan like he wanted to bite him or make another sarcastic comment, but then swallowed. “You don’t want to know, warforged.”
Iron Orphan thought of telling Delegado that he wanted to be called a lawforged, but then decided that warforged was a step up from ‘clickety-clack’ and other remarks the half-orc had made. Thomas was discussing how the thing on his neck, which he called a stormstalk, was not the linked thing that he had been born with. “I would appreciate it if you would tell me,” he said.
Delegado wiped his brutish face with a strong hand and sighed. “The daelkyr almost destroyed this world. It was about nine thousand years ago. They tore into this reality from another dimension, a place of madness and wrong things. They decimated the great Dhakaani Empire, burning and smashing through the western half of the continent. The whole of the Eldeen Reaches was like the Demon Wastes.”
Thomas was discussing growing up with his attached thing, his symbiont as he called it. Sometimes it brought him messages from the thing that was his father, telling him to capture, murder, and do horrible things. At a young age he ran away, following the death of his mother in a ferocious blizzard when no one would help her.
“What happened then?” Iron Orphan asked, keeping his voice low.
“Thousands of years before Oalian was anything more than just another tree, orc druids managed to shove the unreality that the daelkyr came from away from Eberron,” Delegado said. “The druids then began calling themselves the Gatekeepers, because they locked away the unreality, and helped imprison the daelkyr who were left, along with their disfigured servants, deep within Khyber.” He made a wry smile. “Well before humans were anything more than nose-pickers in Sarlona, orcs saved the entire world.”
“Ah,” the warforged said. Thomas was discussing wandering as a wild man in the frozen north, and them spending some time with an old, blind shaman who taught him some magical secrets. Thomas could not cast spells, but he could make use of devices that wizards would fashion. Apparently he had a thick collection of scrolls on his person when they had searched him, and some of his prowess in battle came from scrolls that he had used before coming into Merylsward. “Every child in the Shadow Marches knows this, but it is forgotten by much of the rest of Khorvaire?”
Delegado eyed him sharply. “Not every child, but yeah, pretty much. You’re an insightful machine, aren’t you?”
“Insightful enough to know that you insult people in order to keep them away,” Iron Orphan said, walking back to Pienna.
“I lived off the land for a time, then I got drafted into an ad hoc military unit that was attacking a Mror holding,” Thomas was saying. “We were fodder, really, conscripts and prisoners that were a distraction for the undead that were attacking via another route. A dwarven wizard slew most of us with a spell, including the leech that lived on me. I went into a rage and managed to cut through his shields with a knife. I then lay prostrate in the snow, half-dead. While there, I had a trance. My father spoke to me. His voice sounded far away. He promised to send me a new servant, but ordered me to do his will. The stormstalk then found me, and it invigorated me when it attached to me. I rose in the night, and got away before the official corpse collector added me to Karrnath’s undead regiments.”
“Then you did evil, following his bidding,” Pienna whispered.
“Aye,” Thomas said, looking ashamed. “For a year or more I traveled, hiding in the night, killing those that he sent me to, meeting with dolgrims and other things not to be described. I grew sick of myself, and him, despite the glory and riches that he promised me.”
“And what makes you think anyone would want you around?” Delegado whispered into Iron Orphan’s ear.
The warforged ignored him. He could tell Delegado hoped to spook him, as the half-orc who had spent years stalking game had crept up on Orphan silently, but the last remaining member of the Balanced Palm was wholly in tune with his senses, and he had heard the half-orc clear as a bell. “Your taunts lose something when it takes you so long to think of them,” was Orphan’s only response.
“I was given an axe, that axe there, used in the wars from thousands of years ago against the goblins,” Thomas said. “I slew a hobgoblin gatekeeper with it, in the mountains east of the gnome lands. I told myself she was my enemy, but when I saw the dolgrims – when I saw what they did – the gatekeeper had her husband and children with her. I could no longer obey unquestioningly after that.”
“Pruchig was her name,” Pienna said. “She had found an important piece of Dhakaani lore that she was arranging to have brought to us.”
“She had a scroll on her that they burnt,” Thomas said. “Some kind of ancient secret.”
“So you’ve admitted you’re our enemy,” Chubat said. “Why is he alive?”
“Because a spell that detects good registered on him,” Pienna said. “And one that detects evil did not. And because he did not start the fight, you and Delegado did.”
“With good cause!” the half-orc yelled.
“Indeed!” added Mayor Tippish. A chorus of affirmatives followed.
“Perhaps, but because Iron Orphan’s beliefs do not let him kill when there is another way to solve the problem, we are able to see it was a mistake,” Pienna said archly.
“I cannot believe a Gatekeeper is talking like this aberration should be allowed to live,” growled the leader of the Wardens of the Wood.
“Speaking for House Vadalis, I do not see why he still breathes,” Vuchen snorted.
“Speaking for the Kingdom of Breland,” the ambassador said, raising his very powerful voice, “I think you’re idiots for not trusting Sister Pienna. She’s the expert, not you.”
A dead silence followed. For once, no one disagreed with the loudmouth from Breland.
“Continue, Thomas,” Pienna said gently, a small smile touching her lips.
Iron Orphan felt a surge of pride. He and Pienna had embraced when they had met, but they had not time for a proper exchange of salutations given the immediate issues of security and tending to the wounded. She had barely time to introduce him to the glowering Chubat, and the giant cat named Missy. He was glad to see that she recognized that he had not succumbed to the bitterness that she had seen him express in Eston.
Thomas was talking about massacring the dolgrims, and then getting onto a pirate vessel headed for the Marches. He had made a slow way overland across the great swamp, avoiding the friendly overtures of those clans allied with the Dragon Below, and the threatening stance of those clans allied with the Gatekeepers.
“I wanted to be alone,” the man said. “Eventually even the messages from my father faded. I had only the stormstalk for company.”
Chubat came over to where Delegado and Iron Orphan were standing. “Orc,” he growled in a whisper. “All of the moons must be full at once, because I’m actually agreeing with you on this Thomas character.”
“Chubat, I’ll stop calling you names if you get it straight,” Delegado hissed back, also keeping his voice low. “I’m a half-orc, not a full orc. I’m proud of both sides of my heritage.”
“And yet a minute ago you called humans ‘nose-pickers from Sarlona,’” the warforged noted, also in a whisper. Delegado’s response was very rude. “I can’t do that,” Orphan said. “I don’t have genitals.” Thomas was talking about his collection of scrolls from old ruins in the Shadow Marches and in the Byeshk Mountains.
“So how did you two meet?” Chubat asked.
“I bested him in combat,” Iron Orphan told him.
“What a coincidence,” Chubat said with a grim twinkle in his eye.
“I was only a kid and you caught me by surprise,” Delegado said. The half-daelkyr was now discussing a staff that throbbed with magic that he had been able to use, until it detonated from his clumsiness in manipulating the arcane. Thomas had been buried alive under a rockslide.
Chubat snorted, then eyed Orphan’s weapons. “Those are of exotic make. But nicely done.”
“They are heirlooms,” the warforged explained. “I am the last of my order. The war has brought us all under.” He regarded Delegado for a moment. “Some with less justification than others.”
“I don’t know what dug me out,” Thomas was saying. “But I was given a choice, to return and serve or to be left to die.”
“They attacked me, remember?” the half-orc snapped. Several heads turned, and Pienna frowned at Delegado before gesturing Thomas to continue. “Besides,” Delegado said, now in a lower tone of voice. “If not for that blasted Valenar, your order wouldn’t have even known I was there.”
“This is a tale I would love to hear someday,” Chubat snickered, enjoying Delegado’s discomfiture. Thomas was telling how a hidden dagger caught the thing that dug him out in its fifth eye, and then he drove the dagger into its brain. Vuchen was making a sarcastic comment about how Thomas was quite the tale-spinner, but everyone else seemed to believe the man with the thing attached to his neck.
“Like you’re proud of everything you’ve had to do?” the half-orc challenged the dwarf. Chubat only glowered in response. To the warforged, Delegado gruffly said, “I’m sorry about your order. I take it Visha died as well?” Iron Orphan nodded. “Shame. She was a good woman, even if she did leave me for the goblins.”
“You have a lovely effect on everyone,” Chubat said, suppressing a laugh.
“She died nobly,” Iron Orphan said, trying to figure out how to finesse the half-orc’s kind words. He suspected that it was in the nature of a peace offering. “There was a write-up about her in the Korranberg Chronicle.”
Delegado’s head came up at that. “By name?”
“Well, yes,” the warforged said. “What’s wrong?”
“House Cannith put a price on her head,” Delegado said. “They asked my House to pick it up but we refused the contract.”
“They’re not likely to hurt her now,” Chubat pointed out.
“I did some digging,” Delegado said. “She helped some prisoner of Cannith escape, which is why they wanted her. Cannith may use the notice of her death to pick up the trail.” Iron Orphan saw Delegado’s eyes narrow, looking at the warforged’s shoulder, where his monk’s clothing covered the spot where he had once been branded.
Iron Orphan was very, very still, and he pretended to be listening to Thomas talk about fleeing through a strange section of the Eldeen Reaches where the trees were all wrong, and then finally living alone for six years in the Icehorn Mountains.
“Why did Tharashk refuse the contract?” Chubat asked, intrigued.
“I have no idea,” Delegado said. He was staring at Iron Orphan now. The warforged tried not to flinch. Delegado was not a stupid man, and if would try to pick up the Cannith price on his head independently…
“So what made you come here?” Mayor Tippish was asking.
“Dreams,” Thomas said. “A dragon, a great blue thing that stood in a large desert, creating fresh water with magic so that plants could grow. It kept coming again and again, telling me first to find the halfling, and then telling me to find Sister Pienna. Every night the dream was more vivid. Sometimes it warned me of a hidden tiger, other times of things without flesh. After about five or six months I left the mountains and journeyed here. And then the half-orc spotted what I was.”
“Delegado d’Tharashk, at your service,” the half-orc said with a bow.
“Now what?” Vuchen asked.
“Now the hour goes late, and I must consult privately,” Pienna said. “Chubat, please sit with the ambassador and the mayor in a private place to go over initial plans. Iron Orphan, please collect Thomas’ things, and lead him upstairs to my room. Delegado, I have a job for you, and I would like you to accompany me upstairs as well. Vuchen, I would like to meet you later.”
A series of affirmatives followed, from everyone except Delegado. He walked over to Vuchen first, and whispered something in his ear. Vuchen frowned, and whispered back a one-word reply. Iron Orphan caught the reply. Vuchen had said “Maybe.”
Everyone went about their appointed tasks.
They were in the common room. Pienna was there, sitting in the center of a semicircle of chairs around the stranger, who had been stripped of weapons and tied down to a chair with thick ropes. Workers were cleaning up the mess, sweeping and mopping. The windows had been shut, keeping out the curious. The innkeeper had not been very happy about this, until Pienna had given him a hefty bag of coins. Now the common room was closed to the public for a ‘private party.’
The Brelish ambassador was there, listening to the tale. Pienna had been expectantly polite to him, as if she knew he was coming. Oddly the man’s bragging nature was subdued as he listened. Iron Orphan had not traveled in the coach nearest the ambassador’s, but he could tell that this was not the man’s normal behavior. Truthfully the warforged – or lawforged as he preferred to call himself – had not been allowed near the ambassador. In fact there were several times when the passengers wanted him out of the caravan altogether. As the Balanced Palm teachings dictated, he had been patient and polite with them when the subject had come up. For some reason everyone associated the warforged with the war itself, and resented him as a result.
“Where the Mror River passes the Icetop Mountains, the town would grow seasonally to accommodate the mining and logging in the area that came in during the summer. The river would crack open, and then the boats would come with the men and traveling peddlers. In the autumn, the river would swell shut, and close behind the last boat leaving. Only a handful of people stayed in the off-season, including my mother and I.” Thomas’ voice was soft as he spoke, as he sadness that he had forced himself to forget was thawing out as surely as the Mror River itself. “I was always to hide myself, to keep a cloak and hood on, and to avoid anyone who looked sharp.”
“You were born with that thing then?” Chubat asked. The dwarf was fully restored to health, thanks to Pienna’s administrations. Between the duruidess and the adept, everyone had been cured or bandaged. Iron Orphan had not needed any repair, although he had a few magical oils hidden on his person that could accomplish repair in seconds.
“No, a different one,” Thomas said. “At first the midwife thought it was an afterbirth until it bit her. My mother already had gained a reputation as having no morals, now she was accused of being bewitched as well.”
“It would help if you would stick to what’s relevant to the story,” Vuchen said, holding his sword hilt. Vuchen had not wanted to question Thomas, he had wanted to kill him. An argument between him and the mayor had ensued, until Vuchen had finally stood down and allowed Thomas to be revived and questioned. Iron Orphan didn’t follow the entire thing, but it seemed that the presence of a dragonmarked house complicated the political situation here.
Thomas looked at him from under a bandage on his forehead, and began to laugh. “Do you think I wanted to come down to this town? Do you think I ever wanted to see another human being again?”
“You aren’t a human being,” Chubat growled.
“Everyone be quiet,” Pienna said firmly. “I will decide when he is off-topic.”
Delegado muttered something uncomplimentary. Iron Orphan heard it, but not clearly. The half-orc was none to pleased to see Iron Orphan, and was even less pleased that Thomas hadn’t been killed outright.
“Thank you,” Thomas said to her. “The talk of my mother’s morals had to do with her being pregnant with me despite never having married. She protested that she had never lain with a man, but no one believed her.”
“How’d she get pregnant then?” demanded Chubat.
“She missed her first monthly cycle after traveling across Lake Dark by herself at night,” Thomas said. “She had a dream as she slept in the boat. A dream of a man with the face of an angel, and a body made of stolen flesh, who reached out and touched her. She said that she felt him deep beneath the earth, trapped, but reaching out. When she realized that she was expecting me, she knew it had been the man in the dream.”
“The daelkyr,” Pienna said. Most people looked puzzled at what Pienna said, but Chubat snarled and gripped his axe. Delegado got up from where he had been lounging, and conspicuously counted his arrows.
Iron Orphan went over to the half-orc. “What is a daelkyr?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Thomas was talking about how his mother had to leave her birth village once he was born, and go to the seasonal town that he grew up in.
Delegado looked at Iron Orphan like he wanted to bite him or make another sarcastic comment, but then swallowed. “You don’t want to know, warforged.”
Iron Orphan thought of telling Delegado that he wanted to be called a lawforged, but then decided that warforged was a step up from ‘clickety-clack’ and other remarks the half-orc had made. Thomas was discussing how the thing on his neck, which he called a stormstalk, was not the linked thing that he had been born with. “I would appreciate it if you would tell me,” he said.
Delegado wiped his brutish face with a strong hand and sighed. “The daelkyr almost destroyed this world. It was about nine thousand years ago. They tore into this reality from another dimension, a place of madness and wrong things. They decimated the great Dhakaani Empire, burning and smashing through the western half of the continent. The whole of the Eldeen Reaches was like the Demon Wastes.”
Thomas was discussing growing up with his attached thing, his symbiont as he called it. Sometimes it brought him messages from the thing that was his father, telling him to capture, murder, and do horrible things. At a young age he ran away, following the death of his mother in a ferocious blizzard when no one would help her.
“What happened then?” Iron Orphan asked, keeping his voice low.
“Thousands of years before Oalian was anything more than just another tree, orc druids managed to shove the unreality that the daelkyr came from away from Eberron,” Delegado said. “The druids then began calling themselves the Gatekeepers, because they locked away the unreality, and helped imprison the daelkyr who were left, along with their disfigured servants, deep within Khyber.” He made a wry smile. “Well before humans were anything more than nose-pickers in Sarlona, orcs saved the entire world.”
“Ah,” the warforged said. Thomas was discussing wandering as a wild man in the frozen north, and them spending some time with an old, blind shaman who taught him some magical secrets. Thomas could not cast spells, but he could make use of devices that wizards would fashion. Apparently he had a thick collection of scrolls on his person when they had searched him, and some of his prowess in battle came from scrolls that he had used before coming into Merylsward. “Every child in the Shadow Marches knows this, but it is forgotten by much of the rest of Khorvaire?”
Delegado eyed him sharply. “Not every child, but yeah, pretty much. You’re an insightful machine, aren’t you?”
“Insightful enough to know that you insult people in order to keep them away,” Iron Orphan said, walking back to Pienna.
“I lived off the land for a time, then I got drafted into an ad hoc military unit that was attacking a Mror holding,” Thomas was saying. “We were fodder, really, conscripts and prisoners that were a distraction for the undead that were attacking via another route. A dwarven wizard slew most of us with a spell, including the leech that lived on me. I went into a rage and managed to cut through his shields with a knife. I then lay prostrate in the snow, half-dead. While there, I had a trance. My father spoke to me. His voice sounded far away. He promised to send me a new servant, but ordered me to do his will. The stormstalk then found me, and it invigorated me when it attached to me. I rose in the night, and got away before the official corpse collector added me to Karrnath’s undead regiments.”
“Then you did evil, following his bidding,” Pienna whispered.
“Aye,” Thomas said, looking ashamed. “For a year or more I traveled, hiding in the night, killing those that he sent me to, meeting with dolgrims and other things not to be described. I grew sick of myself, and him, despite the glory and riches that he promised me.”
“And what makes you think anyone would want you around?” Delegado whispered into Iron Orphan’s ear.
The warforged ignored him. He could tell Delegado hoped to spook him, as the half-orc who had spent years stalking game had crept up on Orphan silently, but the last remaining member of the Balanced Palm was wholly in tune with his senses, and he had heard the half-orc clear as a bell. “Your taunts lose something when it takes you so long to think of them,” was Orphan’s only response.
“I was given an axe, that axe there, used in the wars from thousands of years ago against the goblins,” Thomas said. “I slew a hobgoblin gatekeeper with it, in the mountains east of the gnome lands. I told myself she was my enemy, but when I saw the dolgrims – when I saw what they did – the gatekeeper had her husband and children with her. I could no longer obey unquestioningly after that.”
“Pruchig was her name,” Pienna said. “She had found an important piece of Dhakaani lore that she was arranging to have brought to us.”
“She had a scroll on her that they burnt,” Thomas said. “Some kind of ancient secret.”
“So you’ve admitted you’re our enemy,” Chubat said. “Why is he alive?”
“Because a spell that detects good registered on him,” Pienna said. “And one that detects evil did not. And because he did not start the fight, you and Delegado did.”
“With good cause!” the half-orc yelled.
“Indeed!” added Mayor Tippish. A chorus of affirmatives followed.
“Perhaps, but because Iron Orphan’s beliefs do not let him kill when there is another way to solve the problem, we are able to see it was a mistake,” Pienna said archly.
“I cannot believe a Gatekeeper is talking like this aberration should be allowed to live,” growled the leader of the Wardens of the Wood.
“Speaking for House Vadalis, I do not see why he still breathes,” Vuchen snorted.
“Speaking for the Kingdom of Breland,” the ambassador said, raising his very powerful voice, “I think you’re idiots for not trusting Sister Pienna. She’s the expert, not you.”
A dead silence followed. For once, no one disagreed with the loudmouth from Breland.
“Continue, Thomas,” Pienna said gently, a small smile touching her lips.
Iron Orphan felt a surge of pride. He and Pienna had embraced when they had met, but they had not time for a proper exchange of salutations given the immediate issues of security and tending to the wounded. She had barely time to introduce him to the glowering Chubat, and the giant cat named Missy. He was glad to see that she recognized that he had not succumbed to the bitterness that she had seen him express in Eston.
Thomas was talking about massacring the dolgrims, and then getting onto a pirate vessel headed for the Marches. He had made a slow way overland across the great swamp, avoiding the friendly overtures of those clans allied with the Dragon Below, and the threatening stance of those clans allied with the Gatekeepers.
“I wanted to be alone,” the man said. “Eventually even the messages from my father faded. I had only the stormstalk for company.”
Chubat came over to where Delegado and Iron Orphan were standing. “Orc,” he growled in a whisper. “All of the moons must be full at once, because I’m actually agreeing with you on this Thomas character.”
“Chubat, I’ll stop calling you names if you get it straight,” Delegado hissed back, also keeping his voice low. “I’m a half-orc, not a full orc. I’m proud of both sides of my heritage.”
“And yet a minute ago you called humans ‘nose-pickers from Sarlona,’” the warforged noted, also in a whisper. Delegado’s response was very rude. “I can’t do that,” Orphan said. “I don’t have genitals.” Thomas was talking about his collection of scrolls from old ruins in the Shadow Marches and in the Byeshk Mountains.
“So how did you two meet?” Chubat asked.
“I bested him in combat,” Iron Orphan told him.
“What a coincidence,” Chubat said with a grim twinkle in his eye.
“I was only a kid and you caught me by surprise,” Delegado said. The half-daelkyr was now discussing a staff that throbbed with magic that he had been able to use, until it detonated from his clumsiness in manipulating the arcane. Thomas had been buried alive under a rockslide.
Chubat snorted, then eyed Orphan’s weapons. “Those are of exotic make. But nicely done.”
“They are heirlooms,” the warforged explained. “I am the last of my order. The war has brought us all under.” He regarded Delegado for a moment. “Some with less justification than others.”
“I don’t know what dug me out,” Thomas was saying. “But I was given a choice, to return and serve or to be left to die.”
“They attacked me, remember?” the half-orc snapped. Several heads turned, and Pienna frowned at Delegado before gesturing Thomas to continue. “Besides,” Delegado said, now in a lower tone of voice. “If not for that blasted Valenar, your order wouldn’t have even known I was there.”
“This is a tale I would love to hear someday,” Chubat snickered, enjoying Delegado’s discomfiture. Thomas was telling how a hidden dagger caught the thing that dug him out in its fifth eye, and then he drove the dagger into its brain. Vuchen was making a sarcastic comment about how Thomas was quite the tale-spinner, but everyone else seemed to believe the man with the thing attached to his neck.
“Like you’re proud of everything you’ve had to do?” the half-orc challenged the dwarf. Chubat only glowered in response. To the warforged, Delegado gruffly said, “I’m sorry about your order. I take it Visha died as well?” Iron Orphan nodded. “Shame. She was a good woman, even if she did leave me for the goblins.”
“You have a lovely effect on everyone,” Chubat said, suppressing a laugh.
“She died nobly,” Iron Orphan said, trying to figure out how to finesse the half-orc’s kind words. He suspected that it was in the nature of a peace offering. “There was a write-up about her in the Korranberg Chronicle.”
Delegado’s head came up at that. “By name?”
“Well, yes,” the warforged said. “What’s wrong?”
“House Cannith put a price on her head,” Delegado said. “They asked my House to pick it up but we refused the contract.”
“They’re not likely to hurt her now,” Chubat pointed out.
“I did some digging,” Delegado said. “She helped some prisoner of Cannith escape, which is why they wanted her. Cannith may use the notice of her death to pick up the trail.” Iron Orphan saw Delegado’s eyes narrow, looking at the warforged’s shoulder, where his monk’s clothing covered the spot where he had once been branded.
Iron Orphan was very, very still, and he pretended to be listening to Thomas talk about fleeing through a strange section of the Eldeen Reaches where the trees were all wrong, and then finally living alone for six years in the Icehorn Mountains.
“Why did Tharashk refuse the contract?” Chubat asked, intrigued.
“I have no idea,” Delegado said. He was staring at Iron Orphan now. The warforged tried not to flinch. Delegado was not a stupid man, and if would try to pick up the Cannith price on his head independently…
“So what made you come here?” Mayor Tippish was asking.
“Dreams,” Thomas said. “A dragon, a great blue thing that stood in a large desert, creating fresh water with magic so that plants could grow. It kept coming again and again, telling me first to find the halfling, and then telling me to find Sister Pienna. Every night the dream was more vivid. Sometimes it warned me of a hidden tiger, other times of things without flesh. After about five or six months I left the mountains and journeyed here. And then the half-orc spotted what I was.”
“Delegado d’Tharashk, at your service,” the half-orc said with a bow.
“Now what?” Vuchen asked.
“Now the hour goes late, and I must consult privately,” Pienna said. “Chubat, please sit with the ambassador and the mayor in a private place to go over initial plans. Iron Orphan, please collect Thomas’ things, and lead him upstairs to my room. Delegado, I have a job for you, and I would like you to accompany me upstairs as well. Vuchen, I would like to meet you later.”
A series of affirmatives followed, from everyone except Delegado. He walked over to Vuchen first, and whispered something in his ear. Vuchen frowned, and whispered back a one-word reply. Iron Orphan caught the reply. Vuchen had said “Maybe.”
Everyone went about their appointed tasks.
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