Soriah's senses returned to her slowly. She heard the echoing groans and gasps of an other nearby. She felt the cold pressure of damp stone against her cheek - the cheek that had borne the touch of the Silver Queen. She tasted the first bitter tang of fear at the back of her throat. She opened her eyes and it all swam into focus.
She was lying face down on flagstones. It was dark - indoor dark, lit fitfully by guttering torches. Shadows played along the fitted stone walls and filled the domed ceiling overhead. Pushing herself to her knees Soriah saw that she was in a circular room perhaps 50 feet across. Two corridors intersected the room on opposite sides. Both were swallowed by darkness after only a few feet, obscuring where they led. A small stone pedestal about five feet high was situated in the center of the chamber. An enormous fist-sized diamond that twinkled with some inner light was embedded in the top of the pedestal.
There was one other in the room with her.
To her left a male half-elf was getting to his feet, his pale blue eyes regarding her with curiosity. A ring twinkled in his left earlobe. He was dressed as a warrior, wearing studded leather armor and carrying a longsword at his hip. An unstrung longbow lay on the floor beside him. He appeared unharmed although old blood stained his right thigh and a new scar stretched across his forehead.
It was a pale and insignificant thing really compared to mark that she had carried for the last ten years
He looked familiar, but Soriah couldn't remember where they might have met. The last thing that she could remember was encountering a dying man on the road through the Mantru Peaks that separated Haven from the city-state of Orlane. He had been wounded, she remembered, far beyond her abilities to give comfort and he died shortly after she arrived to pray at his side. In his hand he had clutched a mithril coin that had been pierced and strung on a broken leather thong. Evidently the man had ripped it from his attacker's throat during their struggle.
The half-elf beside her wore an identical coin around his own neck.
"Who are you?" he asked in guttertongue. "How did we get here?"
He checked himself, dusting off his armor and giving his cloak a shake.
"I am Finian Talteppe, Archer of the Green," he added. His voice was thick with the accent of one from the southwestern lands of Pellham.
"You ask many questions for a man borne of the solitary woods and hunt, Archer," Soriah said flatly and examined herself for injuries. Her armor was undamaged and aside from some general aches she felt fit. "Oh," she continued, "if you are in pain and in needing of assistance, advise, and I will render the aid that I am able."
"I'm uninjured," he responded. His eyes flicked again to the pedestal in the center of the room. "I suggest we draw our weapons since there could be danger present."
He hesitated, his hand on the hilt of his longsword. He glanced at Soriah to see her reaction to this. She almost smiled - to think that she'd be afraid of a drawn sword...
She slipped her mace from its thong with well-practiced ease. The weight of it felt good in her hand. "I suggest you pull your bow and head down the right corridor and go one hundred yards and I will do the same down the left. We will meet back here after," she told him. "I have no interest in diamonds; I only wish to know how I came here."
Without waiting to see his reaction to her chosen course of action, she walked across the room, passed the pedestal and to the left doorway.
The space beyond was dark. The domed chamber's torchlight penetrated no more than a dozen paces before being swallowed up by shadow. She hesitated only a moment before continuing on. Once within the darkness, she paused again to give her eyes a chance to adjust. In the darkness she listened. The only sounds that reached her ears were her own breathing and the sounds of the Archer in the chamber behind her.
Her eyes didn't adjust. Inky blackness swallowed all light. She mentally cursed; this darkness was obviously magical in nature. She turned out of back the way she'd come and after a few paces, her vision began to return. She could see the torchlit outline of the doorway ahead.
"Cleric!" she heard the ranger call softly. "Come back!"
His voice sounded anxious - even fearful - to her, but she couldn't be sure. She wondered what sort of warrior this Archer of the Green might be.
Soriah had heard of the Archers, of course. Only the Knights of the White Drake from her homeland outstripped their fame as warriors of virtue. She had little doubt that he was a capable fighter, but she was still unsure of his motives - particularly when she returned to the chamber and found him looking intently at the huge diamond set into the stone pedestal. She blinked in the torchlight; after the pitch-blackness of the hallway, the torches seemed very bright indeed.
He looked up at her as she entered the room and made her way to stand opposite him, keeping the pedestal between them. His eyes traveled across her face in the way that men's eyes always did - with a mixture of awe and revulsion. She had grown accustomed to this look in others' eyes. It disgusted her, but no longer caused much pain.
He forced his mouth into a smile and offered his hand in greeting, swapping his longsword to his left hand. "I'm glad that you've returned, cleric. My name is Finian Talteppe."
Soriah looked at his hand and then looked away. He was a fool, putting his sword in his off hand; she could swat it away with ease and have him at the mercy of her battle mace in an instant.
"Yes, Ranger, I know your name," she said, flatly. "You told it to me before. Names have power, and I do not know you, or how I got here. So for now, you may call me what you wish."
The ranger lowered his hand and cleared his throat. He went on. "This gem could be a clue as to why we are here."
Soriah couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was this half-elf a fool? She shook her head and replied, "I do not think it wise to examine a diamond sitting open as trap for the greedy when there are two darkened hallways that lead right to its heart."
He seemed put out by what she said, as she expected he would be. " The people or thing that brought us here could have killed us. There is no reason for them to set a trap for us," he tried weakly to explain. " We were not robbed. I still have all of my gems and money."
'Of course you do,' Soriah thought to herself. Such an empty assurance held little weight when she had no way to know how many valuables he had. And even if it were true, perhaps shiny trinkets weren't to their captors' liking. She made a "harumphing" sound and scanned the room with her eyes. Everything appeared as she remembered it: two darkened doorways, flickering torches, and a too-obvious diamond.
"Let's look around and see if we can find clues," the Archer concluded.
Soriah began to have a feeling that the Ranger hadn't even explored his darkened corridor. He had looked intent on examining the diamond - as if he had been at it for a while. "What did you find down your hallway?" she asked, fearing that she already knew the answer.
"I did not go in the tunnel because I sensed danger!" he replied. "I want to examine the gem."
He seemed to be giving an ultimatum. She shrugged, not looking at him and continued to scrutinize the room.
"I am not being greedy," he defended - and Soriah knew then that he WAS being greedy, "but, many times gems have magical qualities (or so legends say) and one this large and magnificent may. I suggest I examine it and you watch the left corridor, I did not like what I sensed coming from there at all!"
Soriah turned to look at the half-elf. He was getting exasperated with her. She didn't think that he liked her overly much, which was just what she wanted. As long as she could rely on his sword when the time came, the rest - the niceties and smiles - could go to Graath for all she cared.
"Ranger," she began, "I am not suggesting that you are greedy, although maybe you are. I am suggesting that no one would leave an obviously large gem in the open for anyone to just seemingly take. If the ones who left us here are the same who are in control of this gem, I will be wary of it. You touch it at your peril."
"If we are looking for a safe way out perhaps the left corridor is worth a further look... TOGETHER," the Archer offered, putting particular emphasis on the word together. "One warrior is easy target to a skilled group. We have no clue how we got here, so obviously a skilled group overtook us. I find it foolish to proceed until we examine, if not take, the gem."
He found it foolish? From the look of him, he'd spent the best part of his years eating muskrat outside a wooden hut somewhere. How dare he...
"Perhaps this is a test?" he added.
Soriah considered this for a moment. Perhaps this WAS a test. If nothing else, it was a test of her patience, being stranded here with this backwoods warrior. Could the Silver Queen be testing her? She scowled then nodded; it was certainly possible.
"I will offer a compromise," she said finally. "I will wait for you to play with the gem, if you will then come with me down the left corridor. I hear that you half-breeds can see in the dark. I am used to the dark, and can usually see a little in the dark. That cursed hawk scarred my eyes, but not my sight. However, I cannot see down the hall even a little."
"Here," the Archer said, going to the wall and pulling a torch free of its wall sconce. "We could throw this down the darkened hallway and see what awaits us there."
He was truly a fool! But if this was, in fact, a test, it was one she was determined to pass. She shook her head and looked away from him. "Of course a torch would work, but I do not want to alert anything to my presence. We do not know why we are here, so let's not trust anything."
He said nothing in reply.
"Do we have an agreement?" she asked through gritted teeth. She forced herself to look at him.
The Ranger nodded and she turned away again. "Good," she said coldly. "Go and touch your gem already."
She fought to keep her anger in control. This half-elf was a truly disagreeable sort.
Her eyes peered into the darkness of the right-hand corridor. It appeared much the same as the one that she, herself had explored briefly. With one noteworthy exception: an unmoving gloved hand was thrust out of the gloom along the right-hand wall as if someone in the darkness had fallen forward toward the light.
Why hadn't the Ranger seen this? Had he even looked down the corridor?
She approached the doorway and felt something... unsettling. Her guts seemed to turn as she looked at the darkened doorway. She moved closer and the feeling of dread increased. Her skin grew cold. Her stomach clenched. Her head pounded.
It was the most clear and visceral sense of disgust that she'd ever had in her life. She'd had a lot of experience dealing with disgust her whole life, however, and she was able to push the feeling aside, reach in, and grab the gloved hand around the wrist.
She tugged on it and pulled an unconscious half-elf out into the light. She had only a moment to look at him - black hair, slim build, fine clothes - before she heard the Ranger gasp in pain. The light in the room had taken on an orangish glow even as she let go of the arm and turned toward the pedestal.
The diamond had begun to glow as if it were on fire. The Archer took a hasty step back, clutching his hand as if he had burned it.
"What have you done, half-breed!?" Soriah screamed at him.
He said nothing, but looked at her with a mixture of confusion and pain on his features. Orange fire-glow filled the chamber and painted his face in harsh shadows.
The room smelled of smoke, the air getting uncomfortably warm.
"What have you done?" She screamed again, readying her battle-mace and raising her shield to shade her eyes as a column of fire shot up from the diamond like a geyser. The flame filled the dome, charring the stone on contact.
The air was getting uncomfortably hot and Soriah wondered if it would be breathable at all soon.
That was not, however, her most pressing concern.
A figure, huge and hulking and swathed in a nimbus of flame was stepping, impossibly from the fire geyser. Its huge, fang-filled head moved from side-to-side, surveying the three creatures before it. A cat-o-nine tails dangled easily from its left hand, a flame-bladed bastard sword was in its right.
It's eyes flashed with unholy anger. "YOU SHALL ALL PAY THE PRICE FOR DISTURBING ME!" it bellowed.
She recognized the figure from the faerie rhymes of her youth. It was the fire goddess Kossuth's horrible ogre-son. It was from the fire ogre that The Silver Queen's husband, Orin, had stolen his flaming shield to light the daytime sky. It was a cruel and dangerous demon of terrible might.
"Fir Flinderkin..." Soriah muttered the ogre's name, knowing full well that it would likely be the last words she ever spoke. "It can't be!"
The demon turned its attention on her. Eyes like two burning embers glared at her. She could feel the heat of the thing - like that of an open bonfire - through her mail.
"OH, BUT IT CAN, INSECT!!" the demon bellowed, it's blistered lips pulling back in a malicious grin. Black teeth, like sharpened points of obsidian gleamed in the firelight.
She could see the Ranger out of the corner of her eye. He dropped his torch and was drawing a wicked-looking knife from a sheath at his belt. The demon didn't seem to notice him.
"TREMBLE BEFORE ME!" It said.
"How are we to face such a mighty demon!?!" she called out, her voice a trifle louder than she intended it to be. "One that has been angered by your beloved Husband, my Goddess??"
"YOU DARE MENTION THE HATED ORIN!!!" Fir Flinderkin's voice was like an explosion in the small chamber. It threw its head back, drawing in breath...
... and Soriah knew from legend what was coming.
"Ranger, GET BACK from that cursed jewel and stand behind my shield!" she yelled and the half-elf complied, diving behind her a moment before Fir Flinderkin vomited a stream of flame at her. Her shield bore the brunt of it, but the air in the room was getting smoky. It was hard to breathe let alone speak, but she managed to voice her fears to the Ranger. "This demon will surely slay you, me, this elf and half of creation without so much as a shred of remorse! We've got to flee! Follow my lead!"
The flame subsided and the demon chuckled darkly. Soriah seized the moment to speak again.
"Oh Mighty and Great Fir Flinderkin!" she cried out, peering over her smoking shield. The demon looked very happy with itself. "The half-breed knows not what he touches nor what he does. He knows not that he has disturbed thee Oh Mighty One. He humbly asks for your forgiveness and your pity. We have come here not under our own will and only seek our way from this place. The half-breed thought that this jewel might have answers to our escape from this dungeon. He does not covet thy jewel."
Fir Flinderkin growled like thunder, its glowing eyes flashed tiny flames. "IF THIS FOOL SEEKS MY MERCY, LET HIM ASK IT!" it said.
"Move toward the hallway to the left," Soriah muttered under her breath as the Ranger stepped out from behind her shield.
He did so, slowly, hesitantly. His weapons were in-hand, but looking at the fear in his eyes, Soriah doubted that he had the will to use them. He swallowed loudly and said in a very humble tone, "I didn't mean to anger you. I beg your mercy."
"I HAVE NONE TO GIVE!!" Fir Flinderkin said with a smile that turned Soriah's heart to ice despite the heat in the room. "FOR YOU OR ANY OTHER INSECT ON THIS REALM!!"
"RUN!" Soriah shouted, knowing that it was the Ranger's only chance. He didn't seem to need convincing and he took off for the doorway with Soriah following behind.
It was too far to run, however, and Fir Flinderkin was too quick. It lashed out with the flail in its huge left hand.
The twisted barbs that had once flayed Orin's flesh bit into the Ranger's left forearm, shredding armor and flesh in one casual swipe. His dagger went flying from his hand.
He cried out, stumbling and fell to one knee. Soriah was right behind him and she slipped her mace arm around the half-elf, dragging him up again. He was unsteady - the wound was severe, but the heat of the cat-o-nine-tails had cauterized it, so he was losing no more blood. The pork-like smell of burning elf-flesh assaulted Soriah's nostrils.
"YOU WILL ALL PAY!!" Fir Flinderkin bellowed behind them and she could hear the sound of the flail's barbs chattering along the flagstone's as it brought the weapon back to strike again.
She kept her shield up, urging the injured Ranger toward the doorway. They were very close, but not, as it turned out, close enough.
Soriah felt a searing agony as the red-hot metal ripped through her armor and tore flesh on her left shin. The wound was less severe than the half-elf's, but the pain was incredible. Her left shin felt on fire, burned through to the bone. She could smell her own cooked flesh.
"RUN, INSECTS!! FLEE BEFORE THE TERROR OF MY WRATH!!!" the demon roared, filling the chamber with its inhuman voice.
She half-fell through the doorway, into the shadows beyond. The corridor was cooler than the chamber, but the cooked meat smell followed them as they staggered down the hall.
"YOU CAN'T ESCAPE MY VENGENCE!!" Fir Flinderkin shouted.
Soriah glanced back and saw the demon trying to squeeze its enormous bulk into the corridor. Impossibly, inexorably, it succeeded, forcing itself onward. Its flaming body filled the tunnel behind them from floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall.
And it laughed. "THERE IS NO ESCAPE!!" it said. "ONLY CLEANSING FIRE!"
Soriah forced them to move faster, the pain in her left shin plaguing her with every step. The Ranger also groaned with each motion, but both knew that death awaited them if they slowed.
They plunged into the magical darkness that Soriah had encountered earlier and she was forced to use her shield arm to guide them along the wall. She could still hear Fir Flinderkin behind her, but it was fading. Her own ragged gasps and those of the Ranger filled her ears now.
"I think we're-" the Ranger began and then the floor dropped away...
...and they were sliding down a chute of some kind.
The slide lasted only a matter of seconds before they were unceremoniously deposited into a well-lighted chamber. After the darkness, the torch-light was dazzling, but from where she and the Ranger lay in a heap, Soriah could make out irregular stone walls, a mound of broken tree trunks in the center of the room, and a well-dressed half-elf standing nearby.
He was the same one that Soriah had pulled, unconscious from the corridor. He was awake and alert now and he regarded her with bright green, curious eyes. He wore green breeches and a white jerkin, with thigh-high leather boots, gloves, and bracers. He carried a wooden staff in one hand, and a bulky traveler's purse was slung easily across his thin body. A fine brown cloak hung about his shoulders.
Before she could speak, he raised a finger to his lips and whispered, "Shhh. I don't think we're alone in here."
"What else is in here?" the Ranger whispered back to the half-elf. Soriah heard him let out a little cry as he made to raise his sword.
Apparently he too was in some pain. Her own was considerable.
She looked down at her leg. It looked bad - torn open and horribly burned. Just how bad it was, she couldn't say without giving it a more thorough inspection.
"By the way," the Archer whispered to her, "thank you for your assistance out of the room. The creature packs quite a wallop."
She continued looking at her shin. The sickening possibility of poison rose up into her mind. If it were poisoned, she knew it would likely be her death.
"You seem to know quite a great deal about him, Cleric," he went on in the same hushed tone. "What exactly is that creature?"
And it would be the fault of this gem-greedy half-elf.
She looked up at him and was gratified to see him recoil slightly from her. "Consider yourself lucky as you escaped with your life after releasing one of the Mightiest Demons with enough malice to kill all of creation," she snapped, her words full of venom despite their hushed tones.
She had to get off her feet and look at this wound. Some stalagmites and loose rubble to the left of the chute that had deposited them in the chamber seemed to be the best bet for a makeshift triage. It was perhaps thirty paces from where they stood and looked to be the most defensible position in the room.
She winced as she took her first step, grinding her teeth as she went. The pain was incredible. "I suggest you tell your fellow half-breed to step away from the chute as I am sure the Demon is not far behind us," she groaned.
Then she added, almost to herself, "I am not sure exactly how we escaped it."
The journey of thirty paces seemed like thirty leagues. A searing brand of pain shot up her leg at each step, but eventually she made it. Once behind the stalagmites, Soriah dropped heavily onto her backside, wincing as she did so.
The first step here would have to be removing her boot to get a look at the condition of her leg. Removing it in the traditional fashion would, of course be impossible. The boot itself went over her knee and some of the material looked as if it had burned into her flesh. She withdrew the dagger from her belt and began cutting through the boiled leather at her left knee.
The material was tough, but gradually, it gave way to Soriah's expert blade. She made a vertical cut, from knee to ankle and then set the knife aside. Gritting her teeth, she slowly, painfully, peeled the leather away from her burned flesh. It made tearing sounds as it came, but she could barely hear them over the pounding of her own heart. Sweat trickled into her eyes, making them burn.
She blinked away tears and looked at the exposed wound. It was as bad as she'd feared.
"Do either of you have wine?" she asked her half-elven companions, breathily.
They both shook their heads.
"Water, then?"
Again they shook their heads.
"Dammit," she cursed, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a snarl. These two were useless.
She leaned back, her head against the rough rock wall, eyes close. Her massive chest heaved as she fought to contain her frustration. If this was indeed the Silver Queen's test, then Soriah felt sure that she was failing miserably...
The Archer squatted down beside her, keeping his arm cradled across his chest. He needed a sling for it, she knew, but she didn't have the energy to make one.
The inevitability of death was sinking into her.
"After you have healed yourself I may take you up on your kind offer earlier to heal my wounds," he whispered. "I am quite a skilled fighter and my skills will come in handy."
Soriah smiled at that. This Ranger was truly a fool. He seemed to think that she held her Goddess' favor. That she could call down divine healing as she wished.
"Without any tools, how can I apply my trade?" she asked, looking up at him.
Would someone who was held in esteem by their Goddess be scarred so by her? Would they be forced to walk the Realms an eternal outcast, abhorrent to the sight of others?
"Ranger, I fear that no one will get any healing this day."
She started to rest her head back against the wall, then the answer floated to the top of her mind as if by divine inspiration.
A splint. She could make a splint out of several of the Archers arrows, binding it with scraps torn from her cloak. True, it would be a temporary measure, but at least she could walk.
She snapped her head back upright and looked at the Ranger with renewed interest.
"Your arrows," she commanded. "Give me your arrows."
"Why do you need my arrows?" the Ranger asked as he foolishly placed his sword flat on the cave floor beside him. If she were in better shape, she could simply kick the weapon away and have him at the mercy of her mace. Of course, she wasn't in shape to do anything of the sort...
He reached into his quiver, and Soriah heard his breath hitch in his chest. He looked as if he might feint.
She took the arrow without a word and tried bending it. It was a sheaf arrow, lighter and more flexible than the war arrows she had hoped they'd be. She frowned and said, "I'll need four of them."
The Archer repeated the awkward action of drawing the shafts from the quiver, handing them to the Soriah one at a time until he had given her four.
She tested each in turn by bending it slightly. They were all the same, and would need some work to function as she needed them to. When she had all four she picked up her dagger again and went to work at sawing through the leather cord binding the arrowheads to the shafts.
She heard the Ranger gasp quietly.
"It will be very difficult for me to use my bow when my arm has nearly been burnt off, so if we get into combat it will have to be hand to hand," he whispered in hushed tones. "But still, I would like to know why you're destroying my arrows."
Soriah had removed the arrowheads and stripped the fletchings from each arrow. She lay them in a neat row beside her and began pulling her cloak out from behind her. She thrust her knife through the material and began cutting a strip off the hem.
"Ranger if you would like your arm healed, as I am sure you do, first I need to be able to walk," she said without looking up at him. "I am going to fashion a support out of my cloak and your arrows. A splint for my leg and then your arm."
She finished slicing off the first strip of her cloak and held it up. It looked a lot like a dark blue bandage.
"If we are poisoned then we are doomed," she continued as she began making another cut. "I have no knowledge regarding poisons other than how to detect some of the most basic ones and basic treatment. Although of course I was trained by the ecclesiarchy regarding both spiritual and traditional healing, I did not pay much attention for I was....uh...never mind."
Her voice trailed off. "The pain must be making me delirious..."
When she had two strips of blue cloth of equal length, she went on.
"I also do not blame those of you who are untrained to withstand the power of lust and greed therefore I do not blame you for your weakness and attempt to take the gem. However, I notice you have a bag of herbs," Soriah said. "I will need to make a poultice for our burns else our skin will soon constrict and become infected."
Perhaps she remembered more of her training than she thought. She looked the Archer in the eye and added, "You know how to make a salve don't you? I suggest you start the process as I make the splint."
The Ranger shook his head. "I think that is a good idea, Cleric," he said. "I'm well-versed in the use of herbs. But I fear that the woundwort I carry in this pouch will do no good on a burn. And without wine or water, I could not create a poultice even if I had the correct herb."
Soriah cursed. Without a poultice, the burns would degenerate within hours - a day at most.
"Well," the woman began, "then we'll need to make haste from this place or it will become a grave for us both."
She focused on the task at hand, arranging her leg and the arrows and using the strips of cloth to bind the rig to her shin.
"I can help you if you want to keep moving," the Archer said as he watched her work. "I think that your demon will not be following us since he would have caught us already if he had wanted to. He does not regard us as a serious threat, which in the future we may use to our advantage."
Soriah almost cried out in pain as she worked - it was an excruciating process - but when she had finished, she had created a quite impressive splint. The four shafts supported the wounded limb, leaving the flesh exposed to the air. The bottom of the splint extended beyond the sole of her boot (which she had cut into a sort of hard leather slipper) so that it would take her weight as she stepped down, transferring it to her knee. In this way, she bypassed the weakened shin entirely.
She looked critically at her craftsmanship, made a "harumphing" sound and looked up at the half-elf.
"Your turn, Ranger," she said. "I'll need more arrows and the use of your cloak."
The Archer did as she asked, offering her four more arrows. She stripped them as she had the others and trimmed them down to size. She cut his cloak into green strips and went to work on assembling the splint. She was as gentle as she could be, but his wound was nearly as severe as her own, and he gritted his teeth and whimpered as she worked.
When she was finished, Soriah tied the remains of his cloak into a sling, binding his arm loosely to his chest.
"That is as good as we are going to get under these conditions," she said, making some final adjustments.
"Thank you, Cleric," the half-elf said, offering his hand up.
She needed no help rising to her feet! She slung her shield onto her back and used her battle mace as a sort of crutch to push herself up off the ground. "I may have need of your sword, Ranger," was her only reply.
The splint worked fairly well, considering the circumstances. She was able to hobble on it without too much pain. At least she no longer felt like she might black out from it. Still, she was mindful of the fact that infection was lurking on the horizon if she didn't find a way out of this dungeon.
She scanned the room again.
It was much as she had remembered it: perhaps 100 paces by 60 paces at its largest and lit at regular intervals by torches. The floor was stone, littered here and there by stalagmites and bits of loose rock. An enormous pile of deadwood was mounded near the center of the room.
She could now see three things that she hadn't noticed before: there was a shadowy corridor leading out of the room further down the wall to their left; something silver - like a rod or sword - glittered amongst the branches and tree trunks; and the other half-elf had disappeared.
"We must be near the surface," the Archer offered. "Those trees didn't grow underground."
"Ranger," Soriah said, slinging her shield back onto her arm. "Where has your 'cousin' gone?"
"Look there," Finian pointed at the silver sword thrust amidst the tangled branches. "We should examine-"
"Great Moons," Soriah interrupted. "You don't learn. Like a trout to a lure you are foolishly attracted to all that glitters."
The Ranger turned and looked her in the eye, whispering: "I do not consider this foolish, Cleric. Perhaps it is a valuable item that can be useful."
Soriah felt certain that he'd said the same thing about the demon's gem. She shook her head and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
"Go play with your sword, Ranger," she said as she slipped her shield over her shoulder. "I am going to fashion a crutch from this wood and then I am finding a way out."
"Fair enough," the Archer replied. "I am not a pack mule, but I will help you carry your gear, Cleric, if that will make our trip easier."
She didn't need his help. And even if she did, she wouldn't let him know that.
She ignored his offer and shuffled painfully over to the pile of tree trunks and branches as far away from the silver object as she could get. If his actions were going to result in further danger, she was going to make sure that she was further away from the center of it.
She surveyed the tangle of branches and sticks. There were whole trees in this massive pile, but there were several branches of the right stoutness and length as well. She spied one that was within easy reach and grabbed it.
It came free with a tug and someone grabbed her from behind.
There were hands on her arm and a shoulder in her side. She fell to the ground, the weight of her attacker easily overbalancing her.
Pain exploded again in her shin and blackness began to cloud her vision. She heard herself scream.
Then her eyes cleared and she could see that it was the other half-elf on top of her - the one she had dragged from the corridor, the one who kept disappearing. It was he who had driven her to the ground. He looked scared.
"Oh, no," he whispered as he looked up at the pile of branches.
Soriah could see that the pile was shifting and collapsing.
The pain in her leg was almost unbearable and she felt a low rumbling in her stomach as well. It was so low that it resonated in her gut even before she heard it. It went on and on, rising in volume until she was horribly certain of what it was.
A growl.
The half-elf rose off her quickly and jerked her back to her feet. She felt less than steady.
The pile of branches and tree trunks shifted again.
An enormous scaly head - fully as wide as Soriah was tall - rose up from what she now thought of as a huge nest. The head turned slowly, deliberately atop a long neck, a forked tongue flicking wetly between long pointed teeth.
And its eyes, huge and cold and unfeeling, traveled confidently over the three adventurers who quaked on the ground thirty feet below.
"Comrades," the Ranger yelled. "Make for the exit! I will distract it while you escape! I think I can keep it occupied then escape myself!"
Soriah almost laughed. There was no way that she could outrun this monstrosity; she was hobbled. There was no choice but to stay and fight.
Grimly, she hunkered down on her good leg, readying her shield and mace.
The second half-breed was standing nearby, practically wetting himself in shock.
"Cousin," Soriah heard the Archer shout to the other half-elf, "help the foolish woman to safety! We are no more match for this creature than we were for Flinderkin!"
The Archer was right about his assessment of the situation, at least. There was very little chance that they could defeat this brute, but she hoped to at least blind it before she went. To die at the fangs of such a beast was an honorable death. She could ask for nothing more.
She struck out at the creature as it neared her. Her mace missed by a wide margin, however as the monster changed directions quickly. It turned away from her and leapt, instead, on the Ranger. To his credit, he managed to avoid the beast's claws, and raise his weapon before the great head descended, snapping his swordarm off at the elbow.
The Ranger paled instantly and looked dumbly at the stump of his arm before collapsing in a cascade of blood.
Soriah hoped that she could avenge his death and readied herself to take another swing while the reptile was occupied with its kill. As she got into position, she heard two objects go whistling passed. She saw two throwing knives sail toward the lizard's head: one went horribly wide, but the other embedded itself up to the handle in the thing's cheek.
It roared, the sound shaking Soriah to her very bones, and turned.
She readied herself as the beast came at her, trying to time her swing. She missed, however, and dimly felt as talons ripped into her face and neck and shoulders.
Then she felt nothing more.
Finian, Hawk and Soriah awoke abruptly and were surprised to find themselves sitting, completely unharmed in a large chamber. The chairs that each of them sat in were comfortable, but plain, unlike the rest of the place.
The room was richly appointed and lit by six large chandeliers that glowed with magical brilliance. The entire ceiling was composed of large panes of glass, and through them they could see that the cloud-freckled sky was fading into sunset.
Before them, on a raised dais was a huge stone table backed by ten throne-like chairs with high backs and plush grey cushions. Four of the chairs were occupied currently, and they recognized the members of The Grey Company immediately.
Criraseth, a human warrior of great renown, trained as one of Garn-Zanuth's Watchers, sat to the far right. His hair and beard were dark shot through with strands of grey and he was dressed in fine but simple clothing. A swordbelt bearing a sheathed bastard sword hung from the back of his chair.
To Criraseth's left sat Mirelich, an elven mage. He looked youthful with hair like cornsilk and smooth, porcelain skin. They knew from legends, however, that he was well over 800 years old. He seemed to be smirking at them, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
A few chairs down from the elf sat Ocif Rocksinger, a dwarf. His left eye was patched and his black beard was fashioned into clever braids decorated with small red ribbons. The braids rested easily on the tabletop, spread out in front of him like the rays of a sun. He appeared somewhat bored, his fingers tapping idly at the surface of the table.
Beside him sat Freraloth a half-elf. His face was grim; his eyes glared out at them like tiny silver flames. They could see that the tabard he wore over his robes was decorated with a mailed fist, the symbol of Ibrahil, the True, god of duty and justice.
"Finian Talteppe. Hawk. Soriah Chaste," Freraloth addressed them in turn, nodding slightly at each of them. "You have just completed the test of skill."
"Each of you approached Grey House bearing a symbol of entry," he continued, holding aloft a leather thong threaded through a mithril coin. "How you came by said symbols is of no import to us. The hand of Umba delivered you to the Company and you have been received as is our duty."
"The test of skill," Mirelich said in a thin musical voice, "may be considered an entrance exam of sorts. We four, being those who most closely represent your chosen professions, have watched you throughout the test."
The elf noticed them squirming uncomfortably in their chairs: they had all died, after all. That couldn't be a very auspicious start...
"You all passed the test," he said chuckling.
Ocif snorted and added, "Barely!"
Freraloth nodded. "Ocif's words ring true, although, in fact, none are meant to survive the challenges of the test. Much can be learned from failure if those who fail but look into their hearts."
There was a pause.
Criraseth rapped on the tabletop, drawing their attention. "What Freraloth is trying to ask is: what did you learn from your experiences in the test? Think carefully, for much depends on your answers."
There was another pause as each of them considered what they had learned.
Suddenly, Hawk spoke up, breaking the silence.
"I...," he stammered. "I BORROWED this necklace from a Guild Mage here in town. I am on a quest of my own and did not come here seeking membership to your Company."
"As I said," Freraloth countered, "How you came by said symbols is of no import to us. You are here now and-"
"I understand that you don't care," Hawk interrupted. "But I DO care. This was not my intention in coming to Barnacus."
"I see," Freraloth said gravely. "So you learned nothing from the experience?"
The half-elf considered the question and finally replied, "I learned that this is not the place for me. Not now at least. I have heard much of the Grey Company's exploits and I would be honored to be counted amongst its members. But now is not the time. I have other things to attend to before I can give myself over to such a group. I am sorry."
"Ye've naught ta be sorry fer," Ocif spoke up. "I did much the same as ye when first ah came 'ere. There be no shame in't."
"Membership to our ranks cannot be withdrawn from you at this juncture even if we wished it," Mirelich added. "You may leave freely and return at another time to take up the grey mantle. Such is your right."
"Aye," Criraseth said, leaning forward to speak to them, "Perhaps Freraloth didn't explain enough about the Company. We're not here to force you into anything. Either you will join our ranks or you will not. The decision, at this point, is between you and the gods."
Freraloth nodded his grim head. "I can see that I have neglected my duty to our journeymen members. Such is my shame. I will rectify my oversight now."
He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He was a smallish half-elf, but his presence seemed very large indeed.
"The Grey Company was founded to strike at the heart of Evil and injustice," he began. "Its goal was to see that no great campaigns against the Realms went unchallenged as was the case during the Undead Wars. To this end, the Company has gathered knowledge and power unto itself and its members and remained ever-vigilant to the first fledgling signs of discord."
Ocif interrupted his companion. "That's our main goal, ta be sure. But we always take on little jobs 'ere an' there, ta pay the bills an' such."
"And that is where our journeymen members may earn their keep," Criraseth finished. "Helping those who come to us seeking assistance."
Mirelich chuckled to himself. "Aren't we all getting a bit ahead of ourselves? Two of the three before us have yet to speak. We could well think them mute if we hadn't had opportunity to listen in on their conversations while within the test."
The elf kept smiling and winked playfully at them.
Freraloth seated himself once more and cleared his throat. "Mirelich speaks the truth," he said. "Whilst it saddens us to hear that Hawk will not be actively joining our ranks, we must not allow ourselves to be sidetracked. The question before each of you remains: what did you learn?"
"Ranger," Criraseth said, "You answer next."
Finian looked at his arms since the last thing he remembered was that one was bitten off and the other was burned to a crisp. He thought for a minute or so about his answer before replying and then humbly said: "We should learn from our successes and mistakes in this matter."
"Personally I have learned that exploring things that you do not understand can have horrible consequences," he went on. "Myself dealing with the gem and unleashing the demon and the cleric with the nest disturbing that horrible dragon. Unfortunately nothing new in life can be discovered without some risk and creative exploration. I think I would act similarly in the future, but perhaps more cautiously. It is hard for me to resist something new and perhaps magical that would be of use to us."
"I did learn positively that deep in my heart I acted somewhat bravely, yet foolishly in drawing the dragons attack. I do not know what happened after that, but apparently the risk did not pay off for the rest of my party apparently suffered a similar fate. I do believe that giving my life for a noble cause is a worthy thing to do and I wanted the party to escape to warn the city of the havoc that had been caused by my actions."
"I do not know if this is an issue, but the cleric rubs me like a burr under the saddle would rub a horse. To be a successful adventurer, one needs to respect each other's abilities, both their strengths and weaknesses. Hawk did not share his information with us, which was deadly in the end. If he sensed danger perhaps he should have been specific instead of just bouncing in and out of sight."
"Lastly I learned that the saying 'he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day' Is not necessarily a coward's saying, but that of an experienced warrior. We survived the demon by fleeing and should have done the same with the dragon. I have had a death wish since my father was killed on patrol and did not care too much about anything but killing orcs and whatever was in my sword's range. It was from he whom I inherited this mithril coin. I decided that I do not want to die, but to live a noble life to honor his memory and eventually avenge him and his company."
"Thank you for providing this valuable experience. I am honored to have met you and to have been accepted by you."
"You have learned much, it would seem," Mirelich smiled. "I wonder if you have left anything for your companion to learn?"
"Well, Battleguard of Shaharizod?" Freraloth asked the Cleric. "What have you learned?"
Soriah, who had been sitting quietly, evidently deep in thought, raised her head toward the half-elf. She threw back the hood of her deep blue cloak, revealing her scarred face and close-cropped blonde hair. She had a rather bewildered smile on her lips as she announced in a loud clear voice: "I am the beloved and the chosen of my Queen, Shaharizod. I now wear the marks of my Queen proudly and not with shame."
There was another pause to see whether she had anything else to add, then Ocif kicked back from the table. Finian gave her a confused look.
"Well, that's it then!" he said, rising to his feet.
Freraloth shot him a fierce look that the dwarf waved off with one hand.
"I've 'ad enough o' this fer one day, Freraloth," he said in a pleasant tone. "They've all spoke their piece an' Mirelich and my boy's buggerin' off as it is."
"No offense intended, Hawk," Mirelich added quickly.
"Aye," the dwarf agreed. "No offense. But it's just question an' answer an' the tour left. The two o' ye can answer their questions and Etoewyn's always lookin' for an excuse ta flap 'is gums, so 'e'll do the tour."
He began to walk away from the table.
"The wiz an' me've got work up ta my beard out in the shop that ain't getting done wit' us both sittin' here." He smiled at Finian and Soriah as he trundled passed them on his way out. "Good ta 'ave ye aboard," he said as he went.
Mirelich rose gracefully from his chair and nodded at the assemblage.
"By your leave," he said as he made a few strange gestures with the fingers of his left hand. Then he vanished.
Criraseth sniffed loudly, drawing everyone's attention.
"Like Ocif said: We're up to the question and answer session," he stated. "Do either of you have any questions?"
As soon as the room fell silent again, Finian spoke up.
"I have many questions," he began. "What do we do now, for instance?"
"That will depend," Criraseth replied, "on what requests are made of the Company. You will have the opportunity to serve soon enough."
Finian hesitated, his face taking on a pained expression. He pressed his lips tight, obviously debating how to continue.
"What is it, Finian?" the Watcher asked him.
"I came to Barnacus to seek the Grey Company," Finian said, holding onto the mithril coin around his neck. "My mother, Carali, gave me this coin. It was from my father, Seinne Talteppe and I wanted to gain any information I could about him, his exploits and hopefully bring his death and the situation in Dannibrae, my home, to the Grey Company's attention."
"I remember Seinne Talteppe," Freraloth interjected. "He was a fine warrior and he served the Company well. It was before Criraseth's time, fifty years ago or more, but I remember him from my youth. What ill has befallen him?"
"Two years ago, while on an extended patrol deep into the Black Forest, my father and several other Archers were ambushed," Finian answered, his voice heavy with emotion. "Only two Archers survived the attack by what they reported as highly organized, magic-wielding orcs nearly as large as ogres. 'Alkarg', or Elf-Killer, has come into their possession. This concerns me that the scum of the earth have gotten that powerful and bold as to attack a patrol of some of the finest warriors in the land. The fact that they won clearly states that they are a threat. Subsequent patrols sent in to locate and retrieve the bodies of the slain rangers found no traces around the ambush site. Any tracks had been carefully obscured and corpses removed. Funerals for the fallen Archers were held without bodies."
"That is truly a troubling tale, Finian," Freraloth said gravely. "You came seeking the Company's help with this situation in the Southland?"
"I hope to find the source of this problem and wipe out the Iron Claw tribe and whomever else is responsible for my father and the other archers' deaths," he said, his voice full of hatred. "I need to keep my village safe and avenge my father. That is something I would like to do as part of the Grey Company. I want to keep my home safe."
He seemed to calm somewhat and released his tight grip on the coin. His eyes looked imploringly at the two men seated on the dais.
"Would my situation be something that the Grey Company would help with or are there other tasks we should follow?" he asked. "I am uncertain what to do next."
"Vengeance is a noble endeavor," Criraseth answered, quickly tracing the sign of Garn-Zanuth over his heart with his right hand. "But it is one that should be sought privately so that the sweet taste of it may be savored fully."
"The nobility of vengeance is not at issue here," Freraloth added. "Your tale speaks of dangers to The Realms that do bear investigating. We will contact our agents in Pellham and have them look into the matter. However, I do not feel that any force which could wipe out an entire patrol of Archers of the Green would be a force that junior members of the Company would face."
"Perhaps after you have developed your skills and proved yourselves a time or two in battle...," the Cleric said. "As for what you will do next, we will need to consult with Afendamar, as it is he who receives and sorts the many demands for our services. That can wait for the morning, however, as you still must have the tour of Grey House this evening, and the hour grows late."
He rang a tiny bell that rested on the tabletop, its tinkling notes drifting sweetly about the room.
Soriah stood then and addressed the senior members of The Grey Company. "I wonder, My Lords, if I may ask for a few favors," she said, "a few that I shamelessly do not have with me, but I need to have in order to perform the Dalhtuh. I notice that tonight is the most holy of nights: that of the crescent moons."
Freraloth looked up at the great canopy of glass overhead. The sky, which was darkening rapidly into night, was overcast. "I had not noted the state of Shaharizod's Mirrors," he said, "But I have heard it spoken that her faithful can tell the phases without seeing the sky. What are these favors, Soriah?"
"I require two small candle holders of the size necessary to hold tea cup candles," she answered quickly. "I also need a long white dress hemmed with silver with a large slit necessary for the movements of the Dalhtuh."
Freraloth's face had clouded over like the sky. His brow furrowed.
"I realize that this is not the Convent where one of my order can purchase items such as these" Soriah continued. "However, I thought I might beg your indulgence and at least inquire."
"No, Battleguard," the elder Cleric responded. "You are well within your rights to ask for such things, and I am shamed to say that we were unprepared for these requests. The candles and sticks are, of course, no problem. Nor should finding a slitted white dress - even one for a woman of such a robust frame as yours - be a concern. The Company keeps a full stock of clothing of all sizes and types. However, I fear that finding a white dress trimmed in silver may be beyond our capabilities. Abernathy will seek out these items for you."
"Yes, sir," a voice from behind them replied. Finian and Soriah turned to see a tall, thin, grey-haired human, dressed in the finery of a well-paid manservant. He had entered the room without them noticing, and stood by the double doors at the rear. "Will that be all, sir?" he asked, bowing slightly at the waist.
Soriah turned once more to look at Freraloth. "I also will beg your indulgence for one last thing," she said. "I need time and a place to retire and perform the rights of the Dalhtuh. A room or cell where I may be with only my Queen."
"It shall be done," the Cleric answered. "Each member of the Company has their own, private room. There, you will not be disturbed, and you may retire after you have taken the tour. Abernathy, place the items that Soriah has requested in her room when you have located them."
"Very good, sir," Abernathy replied, bending deeply, and making a flourish with his arm. "And, sir? The King's emissary has arrived."
"So soon?" Criraseth growled.
"The timing is perfect, brother," Freraloth said to the Watcher. "We have almost completed the questions and are nearly ready for the tour. What better time to introduce the King's agent?"
"Send him in, Abernathy."
"It's a 'her', sir," the manservant replied.
"Well send her in, then."
"As you wish, sir." He half turned and opened one valve of the double doors revealing an elegantly fitted hall beyond and a single figure waiting there.
Abernathy made another flourish with his arm and bowed deeply. "Most esteemed Companions, may I present the newest initiate to the Grey, the King's Janissary, Ledare Eelsof'faw."
The figure strode forward into the audience chamber, moving toward the dais.
Finian and Soriah watched her approach, noting the polished chain and plate armor. A tabard bearing the symbol of the Realms, an eye surrounded by rays of light, was worn over the armor, and a cloak in the dark maroon color of Elcaden flowed from her shoulders. A longsword hung at her left hip, and a quiver of crossbow bolts hung from the right. She carried her helmet under her shield arm leaving her head bare.
She was a half-elf of some beauty, they could see, with auburn hair and copper-colored eyes. She had an aristocratic air about her that seemed incongruent with her youthful features.
She bowed her head to the two men seated at the table as she reached the front, clicking her boot heels together.
"Janissary Ledare at your service, good sirs," she said in flawless Guttertongue.
"Welcome," Criraseth said, "to The Grey Company. If there are any questions you have, be seated and they will be answered."
There was a pause as the Janissary's gaze traveled around the room, taking in the assemblage. Her face was expressionless.
"Well, Janissary Ledare?" Criraseth prompted. "Have you any questions or shall we proceed with the tour?"
"While I was waiting," she began slowly. "While I was waiting in the hall, I... overheard some of your discussion. My questions pertain to that conversation."
"Ask your questions," Freraloth said. "There are no secrets in this House."
"One of you spoke of an attack and the loss of your father," she began, looking from one face to another. "I would ask for more information about the attack."
"That can best be answered by one of your fellow initiates to The Grey." Criraseth nodded to Finian. "Ranger, would you answer Janissary Ledare's query?"
The half-elf stood up and smiled at Ledare. " Allow me to introduce myself: I am Finian Talteppe, Archer of the Green... er... Officer Ledare."
"Janissary Ledare is more proper, Archer Finian." Ledare nodded, smiling. "Hail and well met."
"A pleasure, Janissary Ledare," Finian replied before going on with his tale. His face became fierce as he began again. "I am from Dannibrae, which is a village in Pellham. Reports have it that the Iron Claw tribe of orcs that infest Western Pellham have discovered a powerful weapon that can destroy all of elvenkind: Alkarg."
He almost spit out the last word as if it were distasteful to him.
"What is this Alkarg?" Ledare asked, obviously very interested in the story.
"It is reported that Alkarg - or Elf-killer in the pig faces' own tongue - is a weapon that has a mind of its own and craves elven blood. It always strikes true against all elves and half-elves since it is so hungry for our blood and its hunger never stops. Alkarg gives the orc who wields it strength and those in the wielder's tribe bravery that the cowards could never possess on their own."
Finian paused to collect his thoughts. His face was becoming more and more red as he related his tale. "I would not be surprised if it was used in the attack I just mentioned against the patrol my father was in, since I have heard that Alkarg gives magical powers to the pig faced ones. There were reports of orcs in that area having special magical powers and tremendous strength."
"Most tales say that Elf-killer is a broad sword but I have also heard reports that it could be a spear. I have heard tales of swords with minds of their own so I tend to believe the prior," he said, becoming more agitated by the moment. His face had darkened almost to the tips of his pointed ears. "Regardless, the weapon must have been created by their gods since, as we all know, orcs are too stupid to create anything magical on their own. They only create terror and evil!"
The Ranger's hands were clenched into fists as he finished. All assembled could see the muscles in his jaw twitch as he ground his teeth together in rage. His eyes stared at the floor, but it seemed as though he was reliving scenes from his memory.
"That," he said through clenched teeth, "is the whole of my tale."
He sat down.
"In many ways, your past mirrors my own," Ledare replied softly. "My family, too, has endured attack by the races of darkness. And, although their plague has been the vile followers of Chag, the result is largely the same. The Chagmat slew those close to me and-"
Her voice trailed off and she paused before adding, "Thank you for sharing the knowledge about the troubles in Pellham, Archer Finian. I can see that it pained you to do so, and for that I am sorry."
"Does anyone have anything further to add?" Freraloth asked. "Finian?"
The Archer shook his head.
"Ledare?"
"No, honored sir, I have nothing," the Janissary replied, nodding her head.
"Soriah?"
The Cleric, who had been sitting quietly throughout the previous exchanges rose to her feet. "I would add that the hour grows late and I must have time to perform the Dalhtuh before moonset."
Freraloth rose to his feet. "I understand your impatience, Battleguard. The needs of the gods must ever weigh heavily on a priest's mind. Let us retire to the Inner Hall. Etoewyn will join us there and conduct the tour."