CHAPTER TWO - Fox Fennel
The pale, full moon shone down through the trees, illuminating the ground enough for Toranes to move both quickly and quietly, dodging the small scattered groups of orcs and orogs that crossed his path. He moved like a ghost, around them, past them, in one case between them.
It was a difficult test for him, a measure of his strength of will, to keep moving, and not to strike at them, and rid the face of Faerun of a few more orcs. Had he not known how desperately the young woman needed for him to find the fox fennel, and return quickly, he would have reveled in the havoc he could have caused amongst them. The girl's life hung in the balance, though, and that made all the difference.
Off in the distance, he heard the short, sharp bark of a fox, and turned toward it. He'd been gone nearly thirty minutes from the campsite when he heard the soft sounds of a babbling brook. He figured it was his best chance.
As he followed the sounds of the brook, north and east, another sound caught his ear. The harsh sound of orcish voices carried through the trees, speaking quietly, at least for orcs, but obviously engaged in some kind of argument. He approached, as quietly as he could, and listened carefully to what they said. He had long ago decided it would be of great benefit to him to learn the language of his most reviled enemies.
There appeared to be three of the creatures, on the near bank of the brook, arguing over the battle they had just fled and their next course of action. As Toranes slipped up close, he saw that all three were orogs, and as ill luck would have it, none seemed any the worse for wear. The largest of the three, almost eight feet tall, was speaking, "Nuruk say we cross stream and head back to caves."
"No, Nuruk," argued the second creature. "We no find food yet. Madak say we find other orcs, take humans from village," he stopped and scratched his head in obvious thought, "…that way," he said finally, pointing Southwest. There was in fact a small farming community in that direction, just outside the edge of the forest, maybe eighty hardy folk.
"Me agree," said the third, thumping himself on the chest. He was the smallest of the three at roughly seven foot two or so, yet he seemed even more confident of himself than either of the others.
Letting his line of sight trail just beyond the three beasts, Toranes could see the thin, swaying, reed-like blades and red-brown tipped heads of a patch of fox fennel growing near the edge of the stream, not fifteen feet from the orogs. In the back of his mind, he could feel the seconds slipping away, and with each one, he knew that the young woman, Myrian, edged just a bit closer to death.
Toranes was at least as accomplished with the saber at his hip as he was with the bow, but just himself against the three orogs, with no one else to back him up, was a bit of a risky proposition. Given a choice, he would have shown some patience, moving away and using his bow to advantage, or sneaking around and attempting to slip in behind the creatures to take the plant without their interference, or even just waiting for them to move off while remaining concealed. There simply wasn't time for any of that.
What he did instead, was to summon forth a spell to mind. Ironically, it was the same one that Kyera had used first an hour earlier, chosen because it required no physical components, and no lengthy chanting of words of power, which might warn them of his attack.
"Laninok!" Five coruscating balls of magical energy, a pale bluish-white in this case, leapt from his left hand and straight into the chest of the largest of the three, Nuruk. The creature let out a howl of pain that split the night air. Toranes slid the saber, Redlan, from its sheath and charged in amongst them. His blade bit deeply into the side of the nearest creature, Madak eliciting another roar of pain and rage. The orog swung wildly, clubbing the woodsman on the side of the head with a fist the size of a small ham. Toranes rolled with the blow, slashing and dancing his way past them.
Nuruk, his chest blackened from the magical barrage reacted quickly, snatching up his club and swinging it in a roundhouse arc. Unfortunately for Madak, Toranes saw it coming. He threw himself into a forward roll between the two creatures, coming up behind both. The club whistled through the air above him, slicing through the spot he'd occupied just a second earlier, before landing squarely in the center of Madak's chest with a sickening crunch as a pair of the orog's ribs gave way. He stumbled and fell.
The third, unnamed creature proved to be the slyest of the three, waiting for Toranes' dodge and reacting quickly, racing around Nuruk, his spear stabbing forward to catch the woodsman in the left leg, just above the knee. Toranes' parry was just a bit too slow in coming. He forced back the cry that seemed to want to tear from his own throat. Instead, he pulled the jeweled dagger from his belt and launched it at his assailant, catching the creature at the joint of its right shoulder. It released the spear and gripped the dagger, preparing to pull it free. Behind him, Toranes sensed that Nuruk was just beginning to turn. Madak could clearly be heard thrashing about in pain on the ground.
Toranes reversed the grip on his sabre, driving it straight back into the dense flesh of Nuruk's side. The creature howled again and swung his fist back, catching Toranes in the shoulder and driving him to the ground near the brook.
Things were not going well. He'd managed to hurt two of them badly, but the third remained mostly uninjured while Toranes himself was beginning to feel more than a bit battered. He pulled the spear tip from his leg and scrambled awkwardly to his feet. The wound in his leg throbbed and he could feel the hot, wetness of his own blood running down his leg. He threw the spear into the underbrush on the far side of the brook.
Nuruk, his pig-like face a mask of rage and pain, turned and took a single step toward Toranes, who backed away as best he could. Nuruk stumbled and fell, clutching at his side. Thick black blood flowed freely through his sausage-like fingers. He tried once to regain his feet, but stumbled again, falling facedown. A few seconds later, he was still.
Madak, once again on his feet, charged at Toranes, his club whistling through the air at the woodsman's head. Toranes sidestepped to the left, almost losing his balance when his weight came down on his bad leg, and brought Redlan across in a parry to his right. The impact from the club jarred his shoulder, numbing his fingers. He took a step back, and spun to the right, his blade flashing across, opening a line across the orog's throat. Madak made a gurgling noise as he fell back, hands grasping at his ruined throat. He died quickly.
Toranes' leg throbbed. He could feel himself beginning to get just a bit light-headed from the loss of blood. He forced himself into a ready stance, sword upraised before him. He was facing the last orog, who now held Nuruk's club in one large hand and Toranes' dagger in the other. Instead of attacking, the beast turned and disappeared into the trees, apparently not quite ready to face the woodsman alone, even injured. For a split second, Toranes regretted the loss of his fine dagger.
Under other circumstances, he would have pursued and finished the job. Instead, he limped to the stream, gently lowering himself to the ground. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head, and set about gathering up a good supply of the fox fennel, wrapping it in a wet cloth and placing it into a pouch at the front of his sword belt. He took a few minutes to clean his leg wound and wrap it with bandages. He could feel his shoulder tightening up, and he had no doubt that his left eye would be swollen shut before long.
As soon as he finished, he heaved himself to his feet, and headed off as quickly and as quietly as he could, back toward the camp where his companions, and the travelers they had just met, awaited him. It took a bit longer, and it was a bit more difficult for him to get back unseen and unheard with his injury. Somehow he managed, fighting through the spikes of pain which shot up his leg with every step.
He'd been gone more than ninety minutes by the time he approached the clearing. The travelers had a full sixty seconds warning before he appeared, when Blizzard got up and trotted to the edge of the clearing. Gunthar and Reldrin began to rise and draw weapons, but they were motioned back to the ground by Kyera, who put a pot of water back on the fire.
"If it was anyone but Toranes or Tharkunn, she'd be growling and howling by now," she said. They looked questioningly at one another but they stayed where they were.
Less than a minute later, Toranes limped out of the trees, straight toward the fire. Kyera was on her feet and by his side, an arm around his waist in a flash. Gunthar and Reldrin started toward him as well, but Tharkunn appeared out of the trees just then. He and Toranes shared a brief look, a few quiet words, and a nod before he disappeared back into the trees along the route that Toranes had used to come in. Blizzard trotted after him.
Of the travelers, only Gunthar, Halion and Reldrin were still awake. Halion sat near the fire, holding Myrian's hand. Tears flowed freely down the big man's face. He obviously believed he might lose his sister, but there was a light of hope glistening in his eyes when Toranes limped into the firelight.
Gunthar rushed to the other side of Toranes and helped Kyera support him on the way to the fire. The woodsman nodded his thanks to them both.
Gunthar also felt hope blossom in his heart at the woodsman's return, until he got a clear look at the purplish welt on his face. Between that and his limp, it was quite clear that Toranes had been in a fight. Had he failed? The concern and pain that Kyera felt at just seeing his injuries were plain on her face, but Toranes didn't seem to notice. As he helped lower the woodsman to the ground near the fire, he asked, "Did you find the herbs you were looking for?" Kyera shot him a look over Toranes' shoulder, but it softened immediately into one of sympathy and understanding.
"I did," Toranes answered. "I had to fight my way through a few orogs, but I got what we need." As he spoke, he opened the pouch and pulled out the fox fennel. Kyera produced a small stone mortar and pestle. He thanked her and pulled the rust colored tips off a handful of the reeds, dropping them into the bowl and began to grind them into a thick paste.
It was obvious to Gunthar that Kyera had seen him do this before. As he ground at the reeds, she reached over his shoulder with a wineskin and poured a trickle of dark red wine into the paste as he worked, thinning it quite a bit and darkening the tinge of it from a medium reddish-brown to a deep burgundy. She stoppered the wineskin and set it aside, then reached for the water she'd set to boiling. All of this was done without a word from Toranes.
After he'd finished with the paste, Toranes leaned forward and removed the bandages from Myrian's shoulder. The flesh around the wound was an angry red color, and it burned to the touch. He winced, just a bit, as a jolt of pain from the injury to his thigh ran up his leg. It was going to be a close thing.
He took a few seconds to wash his hands with hot water Kyera had poured into a small bowl. He dried them on a swatch of cloth she laid across his shoulder as he washed.
The concern in Halion's eyes was like a dagger to Gunthar's throat. He'd grown to love his companions, and not least of all the brother and sister, whom he thought of as his own younger siblings. He found himself silently urging Toranes to hurry.
The woodsman held the bowl of paste in his left hand and dipped the first two fingers of his right hand into the bowl. He gently rubbed the paste into the wound on Myrian's shoulder. She moaned and stirred a bit as the pain of his efforts managed to penetrate through the haze of her mind. He asked Halion to hold her still, and gently rubbed in a bit more, before he carefully lowered himself back down next to the fire.
"She'll be a'right now?" Halion asked hopefully in his thick brogue.
"I don't know yet," Toranes answered wearily, yet honestly. "The poison is powerful, and she was near to dying before I got back." The big man's face dropped a bit with every word. Toranes considered a moment and said, "I think I was in time, but there is still a chance that the fox fennel won't be enough." He started slathering the dark colored paste onto a fresh bandage, which he handed to Kyera. She used it to re-wrap Myrian's wounds. "With luck," he said, "even if it is not enough on its own, the fox fennel might just help her hold onto enough strength to last through until morning, when your friend," he gestured to Kaylin, "may call upon the Morninglord for a spell to cleanse her body of the poison."
When she was done re-bandaging Myrian's wound, Kyera produced a pair of small glass vials. She carefully scooped the remainder of Toranes' fox fennel paste into them and stoppered each one with a bit of cork. He'd used only about a third of what he'd created. When she was finished, she tucked the two vials into the pouch on Toranes' belt, which he'd removed and set aside.
Gunthar was still worried, but even now, he thought that Myrian's color was a little bit better already. He began a fervent prayer to Torm that he might watch over Myrian, and that he might give her the strength to fight through this. She certainly had enough courage to impress Torm the True. Sometimes, he thought, she could do with a bit less courage. For a moment, he wondered if Torm would consider such a thought blasphemy.
Toranes scooped up the rest of the fox fennel, he'd gathered, what he hadn't already ground up, and lifted the lid on the teakettle. He crushed it in his hand and sprinkled it into the tea water. As he finished, Kyera dropped down beside him and began to unwrap the hasty bandages he'd used on his leg. She hissed as she tugged it loose, and the wound began to bleed again. She tossed the blood-soaked cloth aside and set about cleaning and re-bandaging his wound. Toranes winced, but remained quiet. Seeing the wound, Gunthar was impressed that the half-elf had managed to walk back into the camp.
As she was finishing her work on Toranes, muttering under her breath, low enough that Gunthar could only make out about every seventh word, and none of the ones he heard very complimentary, Tharkunn appeared out of nowhere, seeming to just materialize out of the darkness. He stopped a few steps away and took another glance at Toranes. After a very brief pause, he asked in a gravelly voice, "Is he alright?"
"Yes he is," Toranes answered before Kyera could speak up. She simply nodded her confirmation.
"It's all quiet out there," Tharkunn said. "However many of them were left after the fight. They've certainly decided to try and find some easier prey. Blizzard and I finished a few who tried to hide nearby."
"Are you sure of that?" Gunthar asked. The man certainly seemed competent, but Gunthar judged him to be a man more at home in the city than in the wild.
"He's sure," Toranes said. "He looks like he belongs in Waterdeep, or Silverymoon, or even Baldur's Gate, but you'll find few men who are better trackers, short of another ranger." He laid himself back near the fire and closed his eyes. "Besides," he said, "I also saw them moving off, and from the little I heard of them, they had no desire to come back and fight again tonight. We should rest while we can."
Gunthar nodded to himself. Rest would be best for everyone. He decided he would take the first watch himself. Tharkunn disappeared back into the trees again. Gunthar made a small wager with himself that the man would not sleep at all.
Toranes opened one eye and looked at Kyera. "That tea should come off the fire in another ten minutes." He tilted his head toward Myrian, "She'll need to drink a cupful every two hours when she wakes."
Kyera smiled at him and nodded. "I know," she said softly. "You should rest now. I'll keep an eye on her." He nodded. "I'll wake you straight away if anything changes," she said. He smiled back at her and closed his eyes.
"Thank you," he said. Within moments, his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep. She took the tea from the fire, allowed it to cool for fifteen minutes, then poured it into a waterskin, which she stoppered and set aside. She watched Toranes as he slept for a while, with a small smile on her face, and then checked on Myrian again before spreading out a blanket and lying down a few feet away.
Gunthar, feeling a bit more confident about Myrian's chances, peered off into the darkness. Although it was his intention to wake Reldrin after a few hours and get some rest himself, he instead wound up watching until dawn.