14th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
Highport, The Pomarj
Cygnus turned around. Elrohir, only about ten feet behind him on the path, was partially already obscured by the weeds, vines and overhanging vegetation.
"Welcome to the jungle," Cygnus muttered to his team leader.
"I don't suppose you have a spell for this?" the ranger replied.
The wizard considered. "Yes, but I think a fireball would cause more problems than it would solve."
Elrohir nodded in sober agreement. "No doubt." He turned back to his wife, who was pushing aside a particulary troublesome branch that seemed determined to prevent her further passage. "I wish Wayne was here with us," he said to her.
Talass, who had been forced to stomp on the branch in order to get past it, looked ahead at her husband, her face flush with irritation. "I wish Wayne was here instead of us," she replied tersely. "Are you sure this path will lead us to the other side?"
Elrohir rolled his eyes, gritted out a "Yes, dearest," and returned his attention to the flora around him. He was using Gokasillion as both light source and machete and hoped that the sword's rather expansive ego would not consider this labor demeaning. Thus far however, there had been no response at all from his weapon.
The cemetery, while overgrown with weeds, gnarled bushes, and dying trees, had not nearly been so plant-choked until the party began to move through it. Slowly but inexorably, the plants had begun to both grow in size and animate. It had not been quite so sudden as to be considered an attack, but it was clear a force was at work here which was not well disposed towards the party. In minutes, only a rather feeble, winding path remained through the graveyard. They had seen two doors on the far side of the cemetery wall, and were slowly making their way, single-file, towards one of them while trying to stay on the path as much as possible.
A grunt from behind her made Talass turn her head. Tojo, still favoring his right leg, had apparently swung that foot into a tree root that had suddenly protruded up from the dusty gray soil. She saw the samurai wince with pain, then look up sharply at the cleric as he felt her watching him. Tojo's mouth tightened as Talass marched back up to him. He held up his hand and tried to move around the priestess to forestall her.
"Pain not important, Tarass-san."
"No, but it sure hurts, doesn't it?" Talass grabbed the samurai's right arm and spoke the holy words she knew so well. Tojo seemed about to react, but his face relaxed as the reduction in his agony took effect. Talass immediately released her grip and grabbed some large leaves off a nearby branch. She then handed them to a somewhat surprised Tojo.
"Here. Wipe the blood off your head."
She moved back in front of him. Her husband was now out of sight. Apparently, he had missed this exchange. Talass shook her head.
"I'm not hurt," she muttered to herself in a false baritone. "I know where I'm going." She allowed herself a small smile.
"Men..."
Argo, keeping a keen eye on his wife up ahead, saw her stop and kneel down beside a small stone marker situated on the side of the narrow path. He walked up to her.
Caroline was brushing off the layers of dust. "It's a child's gravestone," she said softly. "The 12th Day of Gathering, 480 CY. Born and died on the same day."
Argo was silent. His auburn eyes met Caroline's hazel ones as she slowly rose up. He put his hand on her shoulder.
"There are no guarantees, Caroline. You know that." The ranger's voice was low.
She looked at Argo. Her face was neutral, but he could see the sorrow in her eyes.
"No," she whispered. "I guess there aren't."
She turned around and continued down the path. Keeping a distance of about ten feet between them, Argo followed.
Aslan had stopped. He was peering off into the foliage. Nesco caught up to him just as Argo's form vanished out of sight down the path. "What is it, Aslan?" she asked. He looked at her, then gestured.
Nesco followed his hand, but she could only see the dim outline of a small building, maybe thirty feet away, its stone walls almost completely covered with ivy.
"A crypt, I'd assume," she said, then looked at the paladin curiously. "What of it?"
Aslan exhaled slowly. "I'm pretty sure I saw someone duck around the back of it," he said.
He glanced over at Nesco again. "Catch up with the others, Nesco. Let them know. I'll be right back." With that, the paladin slowly moved towards the crypt, sword in hand.
Nesco watched him go, then turned to Zantac, who was treading lightly down the path, as if afraid his footsteps might stir up something horrible. "Zantac," she said to him. "Catch up to the others. Aslan and I are going to check out that crypt." She moved off, following the paladin.
"Say what now?" the mage replied, his eyes growing wide. He stood there, glancing between the empty path ahead and the two figures who were soon swallowed up by the still-growing jungle.
Just as Aslan reached the mausoleum, he turned and saw Nesco. The ranger saw his frown and responded before he could speak.
"I sent Zantac to tell the others. It's... logical to have someone to watch your back"
The paladin considered, then flashed a brief smile at Nesco. "Well," he said. "At least you know what an undead might look like, right?"
"Thanks to a certain prankster paladin, I do now. They take a year off your life just by looking at them."
Aslan frowned again, puzzled. "Not that I know of."
Nesco put her hand over her heart and adopted a look of stark terror, then glared at the paladin. "Says you, buddy." She tried on Argo's pained smile, and saw Aslan grimace, so she figured it must be a pretty good approximation. She began to move, very slowly, clockwise around the building, as silently as she could, as Aslan began to head in the other direction.
The ranger eyed the bas-relief figures adorning the crypt walls. Although not Suloise herself, she could make out through the vines the symbol of Wee Jas, the goddess of death and magic. "Of course," she mumbled to herself. "It couldn't be a temple consecrated to Heironeous, could it?" She gritted her teeth, tightened her grip on her sword, and stepped swiftly around the far wall of the crypt.
The ghoul at the far end of the wall whirled around to face her.
It looked so much like Aslan had, those five nights ago, that Nesco blinked in surprise. Aside from the armor looking different (tattered leather), the purplish skin, the jagged fingernails, the pointed teeth, all were exactly as Aslan had shown her then. The creature made no move to attack, however. It merely gazed at the ranger, an unfathomable expression in its sunken, yellow eyes.
Nesco gave an exasperated sigh. "It's not as funny the second time around, Aslan."
"What isn't?"
The paladin's voice had come from around the corner.
"YOW!" Nesco yelped as she managed a backwards-standing broad jump, a maneuver she'd never even dreamed of practicing. Just as she moved, the ghoul snarled and lunged for the ranger, but its hands closed upon empty air. "Aslan!" She yelled, even as her body reflexively readied itself for combat. "It's a-"
"I've got one myself!" The paladin's voice carried over the sounds of combat. "I'll be there as soon as I can!"
"I can take care of mine!" Nesco yelled back, a little annoyed at Aslan's presumption. Backing up slowly, she kept her shield between her and the ghoul as it tried to claw at her. "I was just warning you!"
A horrid screeching sound came from near the crypt. Nesco hoped that was what a ghoul sounded like when it was dying.
Er, dying again, that is, she thought.
"Consider myself warned!" the paladin's voice came back to her. "Don't let it touch you!"
"That wasn't on my agenda, trust me!" Nesco shouted back as she slashed the undead thing across its chest. Most of what was left of its armor fell off, but the creature didn't even seem to notice. It charged the ranger, trying to knock her down and grapple her. It managed to get one hand on her shoulder before she drew her sword across the back side of the ghoul's left leg, cutting it clean to the bone. It stumbled briefly, allowing the ranger to gain some distance. Her shoulder felt stiff where the creature had grabbed it, but she was still able to move.
"Aslan!"
That was Zantac's voice, faint with distance.
"I've got one webbed that was attacking me, but I don't think it will hold for long. Could you-"
"I thought you were going to get the others!" The paladin's voice carried his irritation.
"Hey!" The wizard's voice came back. "I was watching your back! Fine thanks I get for it, too! I saved you from having to fight two of them at once!"
"I thought you said it was attacking you!"
There was a slight pause.
"Let's not nit-pick here, shall we!"
Nesco almost laughed, in spite of herself. "Aren't we the well-oiled battle machine!" she shouted, cutting a gouge a good six inches deep across and into her ghoul's forehead. Incredibly, it ignored its own brain fluids beginning to seep out of its skull, and continued to attack the ranger.
"Same as it ever was!" Aslan's voice rose over the sounds of his personal duel. "Stick around with us long enough Nesco, and you'll see true idiocy and foolhardiness in battle!"
"Someone call?"
That was Argo. Almost immediately, there were the sounds of what Nesco hoped was a ghoul being butchered. She thought she could hear Caroline as well, but she wasn't sure. Her attacker leapt at her again, and almost got past her defenses. She backed up again, but then suddenly hit something- a tree. She couldn't go any further.
The ghoul snarled and made one last rush, its arms reaching out for the ranger. Her opening lasted only a second, but Nesco saw it, and buried her sword right up to the hilt in the undead creature's chest. With a ear-splitting screech, the thing slid off her sword and collapsed to the ground, dead again. By the time she rejoined the others, all nine of them were together again. The other two ghouls had been dispatched.
Talass glared at Aslan, Nesco and Zantac.
"Here's a little battlefield strategy tip for you people. If you find yourself fighting undead and you've let your party cleric get out of sight, you're probably an idiot."
She whirled around and headed back up the path. "Let's go, Cygnus. We don't want to keep Hel waiting."
The tall mage's face was not as severe as Talass' had been, but his displeasure was plain to see. Without a word he turned and followed the priestess up the path. Slowly, the others followed, sticking closer together this time.
"Hel?" Nesco asked Aslan quietly.
The paladin's face was grim as he turned around to regard the ranger. "Asgardian goddess of death. Talass doesn't seem very optimistic about our chances."
"All clear!"
Talass moved back into the hallway after examining the latest empty, abandoned room. It was the third they'd encountered after entering the hallway beyond the first door in the cemetery wall. The cleric blew dust off her hands while glancing at the others. "The rectory, I'm guessing. Unused for years, and no other exits from it." She pointed towards a T-intersection down the corridor. "There was a door at the end of the left corridor. Let's try there next."
It seemed as good a plan as any. Besides, Talass seemed to be putting her personal feelings on hold for the moment, so no one wanted to do anything that might shatter that. Single-file, the party moved down the five foot wide corridor, curving snake-like around to the left and down about thirty feet to a stout-looking wooden door at the far end. Talass grasped the door handle, took a deep breath, and pulled it open with a yank.
The sound of an alarm horn came instantly from inside. Talass, and Cygnus behind her, could see the room inside was a stable. Not dissimilar to the Brass Dragon's in layout, a row of stalls lined each wall. A large set of double doors, which the Brass Dragon lacked, closed off the stables from the outside at the far end. Piles of hay lined the wall in front of the stalls, with sacks of grain beside them. Behind two of the hay bales were crouched orcs or half-orcs (it was hard to tell at a quick glance). One was in the process of putting his alarm horn back in a pocket of the cloak he wore and grabbing a halberd standing next to him. His companion already had his polearm out and set against any possible charge from these intruders.
Talass uttered an exclamation that Cygnus couldn't make out (Fruz, he guessed) and charged into the room, but a hairy arm swung into view from the left side of the doorway. The mace it carried clanged solidly onto Talass' helm, denting it. The cleric stumbled forward, off balance. Cygnus entered next and pivoted to the left, ready to attack with his quarterstaff, only to cry out in agony as a short sword stabbed into his lower back from behind.
I can't believe we were that stupid! The thought dissolved into a searing pain as Cygnus swung his quarterstaff back around in reflex, but it merely bounced off his attacker's chainmail. The half-orc grinned and raised his sword to strike again.
Gokasillion's white glow presaged Elrohir's form flying through the doorway and slamming into Cygnus, taking both of them down to the floor, right at Talass' heels. The half-orc's sword thrust and his companion's mace swing both met only empty air. Argo was next, Harve already in motion as the ranger moved between the two half-orcs. The red glow from the sword's blade was somewhat dimmed by the red blood of the now-dying sword wielder, who slowly toppled to the floor. The rest of the party moved towards the doorway, but now it was Argo who was blocking their entrance, and Caroline didn't trust herself to try and shove her husband out of the way without further endangering them both.
Now in the rear, Nesco Cynewine spun around. About twenty feet past the intersection behind them, a door in the hallway opened and orcs began to pour into the corridor. The first one looked straight at Nesco, then clutched his throat, vainly pulling at the arrow that had suddenly appeared in it. He collapsed, but another orc stepped right over him, raised a crossbow at the ranger and fired back.
"Look out!" yelled Nesco, ducking while simultaneously drawing another arrow from her quiver. The bolt whizzed by her and Zantac before bouncing off Aslan's plate mail.
In the meantime, the two halberd wielding half-orcs attacked. One slashed at Talass, scoring a glancing blow, while the other tried to impale both Elrohir and Cygnus to the floor, but could not penetrate the ranger's plate mail. The half-orc grunted with exertion as he leaned on his weapon, trying to puncture Elrohir's plate mail with brute strength.
It was hard to say who had the more frightening snarl on their face- Talass or her orcish attacker. The priestess of Forseti dodged inside the halberd's reach, grasped her war hammer with both hands and swung upwards, catching the half-orc full on the chin, flipping his head backwards with a dreadful snap. He collapsed to the ground as Cygnus struggled under Elrohir's frame.
"Let me up, dammit!" the mage yelled.
"Shut up and keep your head down!" was the response.
The half-orc with the mace swung at Argo again, but scored only a glancing hit. Argo moved around his attacker so his friends could enter the room. He dodged another swing and then thrust home; his own strike fatally accurate.
"So, Bigfellow," Harve mused as the half-orc slid off him to the floor. "Do you need any more witty banter, or do you have things under control here?"
Argo shrugged. "It's okay, Harve. I think he got your point."
"I swear I can feel myself corroding from your bad-" Argo resheathed the sword, cutting the voice off.
Caroline ran into the room, ducked under the remaining half-orc's halberd thrust, and with a mighty swing, sent his head flying. One of the three horses present neighed in protest as the head bounced off its hindquarters.
Tojo moved into the room, searching for other opponents who might be in hiding. Near the doorway where they came in, a ladder led upwards to the hayloft.
A voice came from up there.
Caroline couldn't understand the words, but she knew the language. It was Nipponese.
Everyone below stared upwards.
A Kara-Turan stood among the hay bales and grain sacks above. He was dressed in robes similar to Tojo's, and he held a katana in his hands, pointed right at Tojo. He seemed maybe twenty, and somewhat smaller than Tojo by a few inches. His face held a smirk that Caroline was sure Tojo's face never had. He spoke again, the words spitting from his lips at the samurai.
The others looked at the samurai, who was still covered in drying blood, and flinched.
Tojo was literally trembling with rage, his eyes locked upon the figure above.
Aslan and Zantac continued to move towards the stable entrance. "Nesco! Fall back!" Aslan yelled.
Nesco nocked another arrow and fired while moving backwards. The shaft sped right to its target, and the crossbow-wielding orc dropped like a stone. Two others appeared in the hallway, though. They did not fire, but advanced to the intersection in a crouch in preparation of spreading out. Two additional orcs, wielding swords, crouched behind them for cover.
Just as Cygnus and Elrohir clambered to their feet, Tojo let out a chilling scream and rushed to the ladder, pulling his katana with lightning speed en route. The others moved to stop him, but he whirled around, his right foot already on the first rung. His face was red with anger, a rare and frightening sight.
"Stay back!"
He climbed the ladder as the Kara-Turan smiled and stepped back into the shadows of the hayloft.
"Him and his damn code of honor!" Talass said, looking up in frustration as the samurai vanished from sight up above. "He'll get himself killed!"
Elrohir nodded, feeling helpless. "I know, but what can we do? You know how Tojo is, dearest. If we try to interfere, he might lash out at us."
Talass did not reply. She merely bit her lip and continued looking up.
Without a word, Argo drew his bow, fitted an arrow and pointed it upwards. "If I see that guy again, I'm taking a shot," he said quietly. "If Tojo wants to hack me up for it," the ranger grimaced and looked at the others, "he can try."
Caroline hesitated a moment, then drew her longbow and did likewise. Elrohir and Aslan followed suit, but theirs were trained down the corridor as they took up positions on either side of the doorway. Nesco backed up into the room as Zantac and Cygnus moved out of the line of fire.
The sounds of combat could be heard from above.
Two crossbow bolts flew into the room, both narrowly missing Nesco, who crouched down and returned fire, as did Elrohir and Aslan. A strangled gasp from outside indicated at least one casualty.
Amid a cloud of flying hay, Tojo reappeared above. He was grappling with someone- but it wasn't the Kara-Turan.
It was a boy, maybe twelve years of age. He was dressed in rags, and held Tojo's shorter sword, the wakazashi, in his right hand. He was attempting to stab the samurai with it, but Tojo held the child in a headlock with his left arm, while he clenched his katana in his right hand. The youth turned frightened eyes, partially hidden by curly blond hair, down below on the others.
"Help me," he gasped, his voice all but choked off by Tojo's grip. The samurai was not holding back and seemed determined to choke the boy to death.
"He's gone mad! He killed my friend! Please... stop him... help me." The hand holding the wakazashi waved feebly. "Help..."
All those below locked eyes. A decision seemed impossible.
"Tojo! Stop!"
That was Caroline.
Tojo's response was to bend down, and flip the youth over his shoulder, out into space. Argo and Caroline dove out of the way as the boy landed flat on his back.
Tojo had already leapt off the hayloft. His katana was pointed downwards as the samurai descended with a piercing battle cry.
The boy thrust the short sword upwards, but Tojo landed on his feet next to him and thrust his katana into the child's heart, then resheathed his sword.
"NO!" was torn out of several throats as people started to rush forward, but another crossbow bolt zipped through the room, just missing Argo. The paladin and the other two rangers fired back. The body of a charging, sword wielding orc rolled into the room and lay still.
Talass dropped to her knees beside the boy and pulled out her holy symbol.
"Tarass-san!"
The cleric glanced up at the samurai, venom in her eyes. "How could you-"
"Rook at boy." The samurai was breathing in deep gasps, but his voice was now calm.
Talass, along with the others, looked at the youth and gasped. His body was changing.
As they stared, he began to grow to an adult height. His clothes melded back into his skin, which took on a mottled, translucent quality. The head expanded, with large, octoploid eyes staring sightlessly. All hair disappeared. Soon, a completely alien creature lay dead before them.
Talass slowly got up, looking first at Tojo, and then at the others.
Argo nodded slowly, letting out a deep breath. "Doppelganger."
Aslan, Nesco and Elrohir fired once more, and the cries of orcs went silent. They slung their bows back over their shoulders and joined the others.
Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Aslan spoke up.
"I'm healing everyone, and I don't want to hear any objections."
There were none. Aslan saved Tojo for last. He kept his hand clasped around Tojo's right arm even after he was finished.
Tojo eyed Aslan, his eyes narrowing.
The paladin leaned in close. "He played you like a lute, Tojo."
The samurai said nothing.
Aslan wasn't done. "He used telepathy to find out what would set you off, and you walked right into it! I don't care what it was he said; he lured you out of sight, knowing you wouldn't let the rest of us follow! If he had killed and replaced you, we might never have suspected a thing until it was too late!"
Tojo was quiet.
Aslan tightened his grip on the samurai's right arm and shook it.
Tojo's mouth was a thin line. The color was starting to rise in his face again.
"Don't you see?" the paladin continued. "This wasn't a real insult to your honor, Tojo! It was a trick! A ruse!"
Tojo tore his arm free from Aslan's grasp. "Not matter," he said softly.
"Oh, really?" Aslan countered; his features ablaze. "You think about how much we all care about you, Tojo, and how little you must care about us to throw your life away so recklessly!"
Eyes widened. Lungs inhaled sharply.
Tojo's body, in spite of itself, was tensing itself up for combat again. Aslan saw it, then returned his gaze to meet Tojo's. "Do you really want to die that badly, Tojo?" the paladin asked, his voice now more sad than angry. "Is life really that painful to you?"
The samurai's hand, slowly moving towards the hilt of his katana, stopped. He sighed deeply; his violet eyes still locked on Aslan's. "We awe die someday, Asran. To die in defense of honor..." Tojo shook his head, seemingly unable to get his point across. "Cannot choose day of death, onry manner. Since must die, this... best way to die." The samurai leaned in closer to Aslan. They were nearly nose-to-nose now. "If you cannot understand; if you think I put you in danger, you... you ret me know." He looked around at everyone else. "Now."
No one looked away. As much as they wanted to, no one did. Caroline thought his eyes lingered on her for just a moment longer.
Tojo turned his gaze back to Aslan, who stepped back and bowed to the samurai as deeply as his plate mail would permit. "We are honored to be in your company, Yanigasawa Tojo." A slight smile flitted across the paladin's face. "We wish this relationship to be a very long one."
There was a long pause. Tojo's smile showed in his eyes more than his mouth. He returned the bow. "I serve gradry, with honor." He looked around at his companions, and for just a moment, an almost helpless look appeared on his face. "It onry way I know."
There was a general relaxation all around. Elrohir, Aslan and Cygnus, in particular, knew that was as close to an apology as they were ever going to get out of the samurai, and it was more than enough for them. Nesco moved over to the double doors on the far end of the stable and checked the bar that was holding them shut.
"Seems sturdy enough, but we should get out of here. I still can't believe hundreds of humanoids aren't flooding through these corridors already. We have to find the temple proper."
The others nodded. Slowly, everyone went back up the corridor.
The orc's bloody face was twisted with rage as he attacked again with his double-headed axe. Despite the weapon's size, he wielded it adroitly, the blades sweeping by in a deadly arc. Elrohir bounced the blow off his shield, but the axe continued on its path. Argo dodged, but the blade cut a shallow gash across Aslan's breastplate before moving on. Tojo avoided the attack with ease, and Nesco caught the end of it on her shield.
He may have been the last orc left standing, and certainly doomed facing five fighters surrounding him, but he wasn't going down without a fight.
"Worthless human!" He snarled at Argo in orcish. Five of you cannot beat me? You are not fit to stomp under my boots!"
"Your words hurt me, orc" replied the ranger as he swung Harve again. Which is just as well, because your fighting skills can't do it."
The orc parried both Harve and Gokasillion with the shaft of his double axe, but the other three swords struck telling blows. It was clear that the humanoid was now mortally wounded, but he still fought on.
"What did he say, Argo?" yelled Aslan.
A wide smile blossomed on Bigfellow's face as he waited for his next opening. "He said he's in love with you Aslan and wants to be your mate. I asked him what date we could reserve the temple for your wedding!"
The paladin would have closed his eyes in frustration if the tactical situation had allowed it. He settled for shaking his head. "I have got to learn orcish for myself," he muttered.
"Arways good to increase knowredge, Asran-san," came the voice of Tojo from his right.
Aslan could only spare a sideways glance, but the samurai's face was as inscrutable as ever.
"Sorry, but it's time to kill this romance!" shouted Nesco. The double axe's arc started on her end this time, but as soon as she had twisted out of its path, her sword found the orc's heart. With a last growl that quickly turned into a death gurgle, the orc collapsed, blood spewing from both chest and mouth.
"You know," said Elrohir, wiping the blood off his blade, "I'm really starting to get tired of orcs."
"Bring 'em on," Nesco managed between great gulping breaths. "Too many orc corpses is never enough."
Argo raised an eyebrow. "I take it you've been fighting them for a long time," he put in. "In the Vesve?"
His fellow ranger nodded, a modest grin on her face now. "Killed my first on my sixteenth birthday."
Bigfellow looked impressed. "Wow. All I got from my father was a pair of new gloves." He smiled at her, then moved off to check on his wife, who had sat out this last battle due to new wounds suffered in the combat immediately preceding this one.
After being healed again by Aslan, Talass and Caroline stretched out their muscles. Both looked tired and dirty, a perfect compliment to the rest of the party. Zantac sidled up to the paladin.
"How much of that juice do you have left?" the mage asked quietly.
Aslan frowned at him. "It's not like I have a scale in my head counting it off, Zantac," he said tersely, then softened his voice a little. "If I don't have to teleport again, we should be okay until nightfall."
"Assuming we can find a safe place to hole up," Zantac added sourly.
Aslan sighed. "Assuming." He turned his attention back to their surroundings.
The party was currently in the main courtyard of the temple. It was littered with the dead bodies of at least eight orcs or half-orcs. They had reached this area by backtracking from the stables to the cemetery, and then taking the second door they had found there. Ahead of them, the main double doors of the temple itself lay at the end of a 10' wide, 30' long corridor. The paladin's eyes met Elrohir's.
"Ready?" he asked with a tired grin. The party leader nodded slowly, too exhausted to even return the smile. He turned to address the others.
"Back in formation, people. Let's hope this is it."
With no little grumbling, everyone moved into their pre-assigned positions. Elrohir and Aslan held the front rank, with Argo and Caroline behind. Talass held the third rank by herself, followed by Cygnus and Zantac. Nesco and Tojo took the rear.
"It?" queried Cygnus. "What exactly is it, Elrohir? What are we looking for? This so-called Slave Lord? Someone to rescue? A safe place to camp? What?"
Elrohir tried to control his temper as he turned around. "How about a secret escape route, Cygnus? I've heard certain Suloise temples often have them. Would that make you happy?"
The wizard folded his arms across his chest. "Anything that would help us survive this would make me happy, Elrohir."
The ranger sighed. "I know, Cygnus. I promise you; I'll do my best. It's always been enough in the past, right?'
A shadow of a smile flitted across the magic-user's face. "Let's not break tradition now, okay?"
Elrohir nodded, returning the momentary grin. "Works for me."
The sides of the short corridor held alcoves. In each one was a statue, alternating orcs and gargoyles.
"Lovely," Caroline grimaced.
Elrohir and Aslan stopped at the large double doors, then placed their shoulders against them. Elrohir closed his eyes as he prepared to shove forward on Aslan's signal.
Something tells me this is going to hurt, he thought.
He was only partially right.
When Aslan said, "Now!" and the two men pushed, three things happened simultaneously.
The doors swung open with surprisingly little resistance.
The two gargoyle statues closest to the doors suddenly flew inwards, hurled by an unseen force. Caroline managed to dodge hers, but the other one slammed into Argo's left shoulder. Neither Aslan nor Elrohir heard Argo's cry of pain. Nor did Argo, or anyone else for that matter.
The third thing that happened was that complete and utter silence descended upon the party, from the second rank onwards.
As the two front-line fighters entered the room, they spread out to allow the rest of their party to enter, not realizing that both Talass and Caroline had stopped to help Argo.
The main chamber of the temple was a large open area, about 50' square, lit by braziers spaced around the perimeter. Directly across from them stood a twenty foot-tall statue of Gruumsh, the orcish god holding a spear in both hands, pointing downward. About ten feet in front of the statue stood three half-orcs, all clad in chainmail and carrying greatswords. To the left of the statue was a large font.
Ten human slaves were chained to the font. They looked as if they might be yelling to the party for help, but no noise came out of their mouths.
Behind the fighters stood a human woman, perhaps thirty years of age. She was tall, almost six feet, and looked very physically fit. She was clad in plate mail and carried a flail one hand. She was lazily spinning the spiked ball on its chain, almost like a child playing with a toy. Her other hand held a symbol of six arrows bunched together. She appeared to be chanting, but of course there was no sound to it.
A priestess of Hextor in a temple of Wee Jas that has been rededicated to Gruumsh, thought the paladin. Wonderful. It's nice to see all the evil gods getting along so well. Doesn't bode well for us, though.
Despite their lack of missile weapons, the half-orcs made no move to charge. They were clearly acting as bodyguards for the cleric.
Aslan drew his bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, aiming at one of the half-orcs, hoping to whittle them down first.
Just before the arrow reached its target, it was violently flung upwards and bounced off the ceiling, then fell to the floor. Elrohir's arrow did likewise.
The two looked at each other just as Argo, his face contorted in pain, appeared between them. Caroline was by his side. Elrohir looked puzzled at what might have happened to Argo, but he motioned the two of them forward, indicating his bow and shaking his head. The Bigfellows continued to advance, but they only made it another five feet or so before Caroline Bigfellow suddenly froze up. She looked completely paralyzed.
Aslan glanced over to the priestess of Hextor. She continued to chant silently, but a grim smile was on her face now.
Elrohir made a quick motion for everyone else to move forward, then began to advance. Aslan followed suit.
Talass was right behind them, but then she too froze up, unable to move.
Nesco and Tojo moved around her and continued to advance.
Soon, the five fighters were out of the silence field. Sounds immediately flooded in upon their ears. The chanting of the cleric. The shouts (too many to be decipherable) of the slaves, the sound of a roaring wind ahead.
There was no sign of Cygnus or Zantac. Elrohir could only hope that the two wizards had backed out of the spell's radius to plan their strategy. He also hoped they were quick planners.
When the quintet reached a distance of about ten feet from the cleric, she turned her eyes upon Elrohir and yelled out, "DROP!"
"You've got to be kidding-" Elrohir began, then stared in slack-jawed surprise as his hands opened, sending both sword and shield clattering to the floor. In the meantime, the other four had engaged the half-orcs in battle, passing through a thin but powerful wall of wind to do so. Nesco was trying to sidle around the fighter on the right to attack the priestess, but the half-orc did not seem inclined to allow that, even at the risk of leaving himself open to Tojo's attacks.
The priestess was moving fast, Nesco thought. Her movements were fluid, with no wasted motions. She gestured, and suddenly, what looked like a flail composed of shimmering energy appeared in the air between the two women. Suddenly, it moved to attack the ranger, who was barely able to catch the blow on her shield.
Cursing, Elrohir retrieved his sword and shield.
Aslan and his half-orc traded blows, as did Argo and his advesary. Like their last opponent, these opponents were no mere fodder. They handled their weapons with some degree of skill.
Nesco swung at the cleric, but she parried the blow with her own flail. The half-orc next to her feinted, and undercut her shield, cutting into her armor deep enough to draw blood. It was a long cut, but not deep. Grimacing in pain, Nesco got some satisfaction as she watched Tojo's katana deliver a somewhat more severe wound to that same half-orc. He stayed upright and in the fight, however.
Both flails, physical and energy, came at Nesco. She was able to dodge the former, but the latter slammed into the side of her helm. Stars exploded in front of the ranger's eyes, and a dull roar resonated in her ears. She could feel warm blood trickling down the right side of her face. The pain was so intense, she didn't even notice Elrohir appearing at her right side and stabbing at the cleric with Gokasillion. The blade seemed to turn aside at the last moment, just short of landing an effective blow. The priestess barked a short laugh.
Aslan and Argo were wearing down their attackers, giving better than they were getting, but it was an ardous battle of attrition.
Nesco again jabbed at the cleric but could do no better than a glancing blow. At least her half-orc had now turned his attention back to Tojo. He and the samurai traded vicious-looking wounds from their weapons.
Suddenly, four short white streaks of energy slammed into the priestess' upper body and face. She shrieked and staggered back a step.
Those who could afford to do so glanced back at the entranceway. Standing about five feet back from it were Cygnus and Zantac.
"I think silence is an overrated spell, good lady. How about you?"
She snarled at Cygnus' shouted jibe, but still said nothing. The cleric of Hextor stepped forward again and turned her attention back to Nesco and Elrohir, swinging at the former, while her spiritual weapon attacked Elrohir. Both rangers managed to avoid their incoming flails. Elrohir managed to cut the priestess enough to elicit a yelp of pain from her.
Aslan and Argo continued to wear down their opponents. "Any time now!" came from Harve, but it was unclear whether this was an admonishment to Bigfellow telling him speed things up and finish off his attacker, or a direct command to that same half-orc to just hurry up and die already.
Tojo ducked under his opponent's swing and delivered a deep slash with his katana. The half-orc managed to stay up, but both he and the samurai knew their battle was about over.
Nesco, about to swing at the cleric again, suddenly stopped.
The slaves had been yelling non-stop since the battle had begun. Their cries of "Save us!", "Look out!", and so forth had not registered as anything more than the obvious, but just now, she thought she had heard something else. Something that sounded an awful lot like...
"He's sneaking up on you!"
There it was again!
Nesco whirled. The slaves were pointing back towards the entranceway.
Moving slowly but silently along the far wall was another half-orc, clad in leather armor and carrying a short sword. Cygnus and Zantac had moved up to take opposite positions by the open doors but had not gone beyond them. The stealthy half-orc was only about fifteen feet away from Cygnus, who was oblivious to his presence.
Nesco debated stepping back and drawing her bow, but as it turned out, she didn't have to.
Caroline Bigfellow had not been able to speak or move, but she had seen the assassin from the beginning, even though he was now out of her line of vision. Suddenly, movement returned to her limbs. She was drawing her bow and readying the arrow even as she pivoted. The shaft flew right into the half-orc's side, and he cried out in pain. Cygnus peered around the entranceway, his eyes growing wide at what he saw. It lasted only a moment though, and then the mage pointed at his would-be killer and spoke an arcane phrase.
With a loud clap of thunder, a lightning bolt arced from the wizard's fingertips and struck the half-orc. He made an admirable efort to dodge, but it was in vain. His body became illuminated, and then it crumpled to the floor. The faint scent of incense in the room did little to hide the stench of burnt flesh.
Zantac, seeing as his aid was not needed in this matter, shrugged, took a quick peek around his corner to make sure there was no one sneaking up from the other direction, then let loose with more magic missiles at the priestess of Hextor. She was now looking neither healthy nor happy. This time, Nesco's blade struck true and the cleric staggered back again, clutching her stomach in agony. She roared with rage however, and came back again, swinging at Nesco while the energy flail attacked Elrohir. Neither attack was effectual.
Aslan's half-orc took a sword thrust in the gut, while Argo ran Harve into the side of his opponent's neck. Amazingly, both of them remained on their feet. Tojo's half-orc however, went down from a final strike from the samurai.
Caroline moved up, reslinging her bow and drawing her sword. Talass also found her muscles responding at this point, and moved towards Elrohir, intending to attack the cleric from behind.
With a final scream, the priestess focussed both attacks on Elrohir. Both hit, and the ranger nearly doubled over from the pain, but still managed to stab upwards with Gokasillion. The strike again glanced off the cleric's plate mail.
Aslan and Argo both delivered the killing blow to their adversaries.
Caroline moved behind the cleric from the left as Talass did so from the right. Nesco and Tojo attacked from the front.
They would debate for some time afterwards exactly who had struck the mortal blow, but judging from the grisly results, there was a unanimous consensus that it was a clear case of overkill.
The slaves had been released from their chains. Although it was clear that none of them were warriors, they were given weapons from their defeated foes. Aslan healed some of the slaves' injuries, and then some, but not all, of his party's wounds. He said nothing, but it was understood that his psionic strength was running low.
According to the slaves, a trap door in the floor directly beneath the statue's legs to the lower level, where they said the slave pens lay. These slaves themselves had not been down there personally, having been sold to the cleric shortly after their arrival in Highport about a week prior. They did warn the party however, that down below, in addition to the slavers, dwelt the terrible aspis.
"The what?" asked Elrohir.
"The insect men," one of the slaves, a middle-aged man, said quietly.
Elrohir looked at his party members. "Aspis. That ring a bell with any of you?"
Everyone shook their heads. "We probably have information on them in our Guild Library," Zantac offered with a weak smile.
"I don't suppose they deliver?" asked Cygnus wryly. Zantac, embarrassed, could only shrug.
"Let's assume they're ugly, merciless in combat and will try to kill us on sight," put in Argo. The ranger looked around at his friends. "That pretty much fits our generic enemy profile anyway, right?"
Aslan looked grim. "Needlessly flippant as usual Argo, but probably correct." The paladin glanced over at the slaves. "Taking them down there is going to be a tactical nightmare."
"That's why we're not going to do it."
Everyone looked at their team leader. Elrohir took a deep breath and continued.
"Aslan. You, Nesco and I are going below. The rest of you are to stay up here and try to reinforce all the entrances. If we find another way out of here or a safe place to camp out, we'll come back for you. If they start breaking through, come on down, but not until then. Everyone got that?"
They all slowly nodded. Elrohir got down on one knee by the trap door. The ranger glanced straight up. He was directly beneath the point of Gruumsh's spear. He then gazed over at Talass. She was looking back at him, an uncommon look of worry in her eyes.
Elrohir wiped his brow and looked at his hand. Dust, sweat and a little blood were smeared on his gauntlet. He again looked at his wife. "Dearest, I'd like to take this opportunity to officially apologize to you. I don't think we could have avoided this, and I don't think we can ever go back to the way things were before, but you were right. I'd forgotten what a nasty business this can be."
The ranger paused. "I think there's something you should tell the others."
Elrohir then glanced over at Zantac, who flipped the catch in the statue's left foot that one of the slaves had told them about, deactivating the spear trap. He then grasped the trap door's pull-ring and opened the door.
As the others began to descend, Talass wearily sat down by the font. The others gathered around her.
"I had a dream," she began.