15th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
Highport, The Pomarj
"Zantac?"
The mage turned around at the sound of that voice. The thought occurred to him that he would be very pleased indeed to hear that voice every day for the rest of his life.
Marisee was walking back towards him from the former slaves. Zantac could see the group was starting to get very restless. Some had been sleeping earlier, but now they were all awake. Some looked on edge, either looking forward to some imminent combat or dreading it. Others constantly darted glances at the Slave Lord, and their fists clenched or tightened around the handle of whatever weapon they had scrounged up. Even Marisee, Zantac noted, carried a thin dagger stuck in her belt. He noted grimly that the weapon's blade was coated in dried blood. He then noticed something else he hadn't before.
"Where did you get those gloves?" he asked.
Marisee smiled at him. She held up her hands, displaying the leather gloves, dyed an ivory color. "One of the other slaves found them, in one of the boxes your friends brought up from below. I traded some rations I had found for them, and a bottle of perfume." She indicated a miniscule bottle that was wedged between an old belt and her filthy rags, then turned her hands around, looking at them in admiration. "They're much more beautiful than any I've seen, even in the shops of Elredd." She then looked up at Zantac in alarm.
"You don't think I was foolish, do you? Trading food for silly things like these? I know- I was, wasn't I? It's just that I've never had these things before. My parents couldn't afford them even if they had wanted to. I know I'm just a village girl, but…" she trailed off, looking down at the stone floor, as if she had just committed a cardinal sin.
With a trembling hand, Zantac softly took her chin in his hand and lifted her head up to look at him. "You deserve all that, and much more. And once this is over, you will have it all, if you want."
She smiled back at him, her lips trembling and eyes moist, then threw herself around into Zantac's arms and hugged him tightly Zantac closed his eyes as well, hoping and praying that this was not a dream.
Marisee pulled back and then looked back over at the group of former slaves. She cleared her throat and tried to save them both face by changing the subject. "They're getting restless."
The wizard could only nod helplessly. "I know."
Marisee looked deeply into Zantac's eyes. He could see the worry that was there. "If the others don't return soon, I'm afraid something may happen. And besides…" she broke off, looking away.
Zantac was puzzled. "What?'
Marisee hesitated, and then said to him in a near whisper. "There's something important I have to tell you, Zantac. Can we go somewhere private for a moment?"
The mage closed his eyes for a moment. Please Marisee, don't tempt me. He opened them again and gave her a wan smile. "I'd like to, but Elrohir's all fired up about not letting anyone getting out of sight." He leaned closer to the young woman. "Whisper it to me."
Disappointment flashed in Marisee's eyes for a moment, but then she leaned in to the magic-user's ear. "There were rumors", she said. "Passed amongst some of us late at night, when none of the slavers or guards were around. They said that there was a spy put in with the other slaves. He was used to check on the reactions of potential buyers, to insure that they were who they said they were. Also, it was said that he reported back to one of the orcs about any 'problem' prisoners; those who might be planning an escape."
She hesitated. "I fear that spy may be here with us now."
Zantac chewed his lip, then looked back at Marisee, who was watching him intently.
"I wouldn't worry about it too much, my dear," he told her. "Elrohir and Nesco said they killed the orc chieftain, and we have the Slave Lord himself in our custody. I can't imagine any of them could-"
"No. Not Chief Arrn," said Marisee. "Rezshk. The witch doctor was the truly powerful one. Everyone knew it but they preferred to deal with Arrn, and Rezshk seemed to prefer it that way. But it was said the spy reported directly to him."
Zantac frowned and looked over at the group of slaves again. "Which one of them could be a spy?"
Marisee shrugged. "The strongest."
The wizard's eyes narrowed as he gazed at Sarkos. The bare-chested warrior was pacing back and forth among the group, talking with them. He had clearly cemented his status as leader in their eyes. They spoke hardly at all to the rest of the party now.
Zantac tried to keep a clear head about this. "We have no proof of any of this, Marisee. And further, even if it were true, we shall have the truth out of the Slave Lord soon enough."
There was a pause, and then Marisee leaned in close to whisper to Zantac again. He could feel her warm breath; her lips almost touching his ear.
"Unless the Slave Lord does not last that long."
Zantac looked again at Sarkos, who was glaring now at their prisoner. Even at this distance, he could see the planning going on behind those eyes.
"How long has it been?" Caroline asked aloud, to no one in particular.
Talass, who seemed to have a better internal sense of time's passing better than any of them (with the exception of Aslan) sighed and muttered "About six hours."
Elrohir's voice was firm. "They will be back soon. Aslan should be at his full strength by now."
"And then what?"
Elrohir turned around to see his fellow ranger walk up to him, his face unusually grim.
"I've been running through the scenarios," Argo Bigfellow said. "I count forty-four of us total, not counting Aslan and Cygnus. It'd take Aslan a month to ferry us all out by teleportation. He could try polymorphing into a dragon or some such as a mount, but he wouldn't be as tough as the real thing, and that would just make him the target of choice. Even his psionic blasts couldn't clear out a big enough area for us to make a break for it; we're moving too slowly. And if there exists some spell that could help us, Cygnus never mentioned it." He finished with a glance towards the temple doors, then turned back to eye Elrohir. "Sooner or later, and probably sooner, that mob out there is going to break in. Any more miracles up your sleeve, oh fearless leader?"
Elrohir sighed and gave Argo a small grin. "Miracles are our specialty, Argo. We can't seem to come up with them until the moment we need them, but trust me, they're still in stock."
Argo seemed to consider for a moment, then gave his friend a large smile. "I'll take a dozen, please." He started to walk back towards Caroline, then turned around again.
"To go."
Elrohir's grin grew to match his. "Please wait to be served until the gods call out your name, sir."
"Nesco?"
Lady Cynewine had been watching the banter between her two fellow rangers, smiling inwardly at the obvious comradeship between the two men. That was something she desperately wanted to join in. Despite the sometimes fierce arguments that raged amongst them, all of these people were long-time friends. Even Zantac, who had just joined recently, seemed to be finding his niche. Nesco was getting there, though. Everyone seemed to respect her skills. Even Caroline, who had seemed suspicious of Nesco at first, was acting much more friendly towards her now. Things were not actually going that bad.
Not counting their imminent demise, of course.
It took a moment for the mage's voice to register. When she turned around, Zantac was standing by her, casting furtive glances around him. Nesco was mildly surprised. This was maybe the second time since she'd come up from the surface that she'd seen the wizard without that attractive young woman at his side. The ranger tried to suppress a smile as she pictured the two of them together. "Yes, Zantac?"
The magic-user looked troubled, more so than even their current situation might account for. He looked at her soberly. "I'd like to speak with you for a moment."
Nesco tried to take it all in.
"That sounds a little far-fetched, Zantac."
"Why?" the wizard queried. "What would Marisee have to gain from making up such a story? "
Nesco considered. Admittingly, she couldn't think of any logical reason. Then a stray idea struck her.
"Sir Enkos," she murmured.
Zantac looked at her curiously, but Nesco was deep in thought.
I wonder if that was what he wanted to talk to me about. The spy.
"Hmmm. You may be onto something, Zantac," she said softly. A frown settled on her face. "I wish Sir Enkos were still here."
Zantac's voice was quiet. "And who was the last person to see Sir Enkos alive?"
Nesco's eyes grew wide. "Sarkos."
She glanced over at their captive, still standing meekly by them. The ranger pressed her lips together. "I don't suppose you'd care to offer any information as to the veracity of this tale?" she muttered at him.
The Slave Lord raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. "Would you believe anything that I might say?"
He then looked past the duo, a troubled look appearing on his face.
Nesco and Zantac turned around. Tojo was standing about five feet away, staring at them, his face even more serious than usual. It seemed not like him to eavesdrop, but before either of them could say anything, the samurai took a step up to Zantac and addressed him with a slight bow.
"Kumquat not arways faw on right side of tree, Zantac-san."
With that, Tojo turned around and walked away.
"Huh?" shouted Zantac at the samurai's retreating back. "What in the Nine Hells does that mean?"
Everyone else in the chamber looked over at him. Zantac's face grew red but before he could even begin to think up something to say, the noise outside, which had noticeably dimmed in the past half-hour or so, suddenly increased. It swiftly grew to its former volume- and then beyond.
"Everyone on their feet!" Argo shouted, running past them on his way towards the temple doors. "Time to go to work!"
A few minutes later, everyone was assembled in the cemetery. The ex-slaves were a sea of frightened faces as they looked at the sky above, and even the party didn't like what they saw.
It was dark, some hours past midnight in all probability. A thick layer of clouds covered the entire sky at a terrifying low ceiling, two to three hundred feet, at most. What were probably hundreds of torches outside illuminated their undersides, which rolled and boiled an angry a dark brownish-red. Occasionally, flashes of lightning lit up the clouds from within, but the rangers noted that the air did not have that smell with it that often preceded a storm. A somewhat larger glow was coming from the north or northwest, possibly from the docks area, which lay six to seven hundred feet from their current position.
The party members looked at each other. Zantac let out a deep sigh.
"Only two spells left, and I've got to use one of them," he said loudly, then handed off his quarterstaff to Nesco. "Hang on to this." He started digging through his spell component pouch.
Marisee grabbed hold of his shoulder. "Zantac, don't! It's too dangerous!"
The wizard looked back at her. He figured he was one of the few so far in the group who hadn't yet tried to imitate Argo's pained smile, so he gave it a try. From Marisee's reaction, he thought she was probably wondering if he was having an attack of gas. All the brave and clever quips in his head went flying off and were lost.
"I'll be all right," he said simply and walked over to the wall. "I just really hate this spell, that's all."
The wizard looked up. The stone wall looked to be about ten feet high and perhaps two feet thick. Zantac glanced at his left hand that he was now holding over his head, grimaced and then closed his eyes, tipped his head back and opened his mouth wide. He felt the drop of viscid tar land on his tongue. Despite his better judgment, he peeked through one eye and watched the tiny spider's legs writhing as the creature struggled between his thumb and forefinger.
I really, really, hate this spell.
Zantac climbed slowly but nimbly up the wall, his hands and feet sticking securely with each contact. When his head was almost level with the top, he took a deep breath and moved up a foot further, peering over the top.
Nothing he saw encouraged him.
As he expected, the temple, or at least the eastern portion of it, which was all he could see, was still surrounded by a hostile crowd that looked to number in the hundreds. The closest of them were maintaining a distance of at least ten feet from the wall, though. To the northwest, Zantac could see the source of the glow the party had seen earlier.
It was a ship.
Just coming into view from behind a warehouse was a vessel perhaps seventy or eighty feet in length. Zantac knew a little of ships from his fisherman brother but could not place what kind of a vessel this was. It had the shallow flat bottom of a keelboat but no room for oars. And instead of one large sail, which most keelboats carried, this one had two smaller sails.
Had it not been for the source of the glow, the one thing that would have captured Zantac's attention more than anything else was the obvious quality of this ship. Even from here, he could see the masts, prow and other woodwork were carved into pleasing humanoid forms, although he could not make out the finer details. The sails rippled as though in a strong breeze, although Zantac could feel none. The ship was moving slowly westwards, paralleling the docks and sailing as close as possible to the piers. The wizard could make out no crew on the ship, although he supposed that might be due to the distance. Or more likely, due to the source of the glow.
The ship was on fire.
Flames were engulfing most of the rigging, although not yet the sails (magically resistant, Zantac guessed). Most of the deck seemed aflame, as did the small forecastle. The wizard turned his head around and down towards the others, who were looking up at him expectantly.
"Well?" Talass asked. "What is it?"
Zantac told them.
Elrohir was visibly upset. "That's supposed to be our escape route? Our mysterious savior sends us a ship and doesn't realize it'd get shot to pieces, or burnt to a crisp before it even makes dock?"
Zantac was about to reply when a noise coming from the other direction, south, made him turn back and look.
A massive battering ram was slowly being wheeled towards their location. It was currently making a wide turn around the temple's southeastern corner. Two ogres, both wearing harnesses, were pulling the contraption along, keeping the siege weapon at a distance of about fifteen feet from the walls. The ram's housing alone looked to be at least as high as the temple walls. Around the ram swirled a mob of shouting humanoids.
Not good, the mage thought. He updated the group below. "They must have cast some kind of spell on that ram to make immune to whatever force is hurling people away from the walls who get too close."
"Or it's simply too big to be effected by that force," offered Caroline.
Zantac considered and nodded. "Either way, it'll be in position in no more than two minutes, by my reckoning. Suggestions, anyone?"
The reply to his query came, not from any of the party, but from Sarkos, who had been standing further back in the cemetery, near the crypt.
"Someone is coming up the stairs!"
At that pronouncement, several of the slaves started wailing again, despite the best efforts of Sarkos and the others to stop them. Zantac turned back to the scene outside, desperately hoping to see something that might aid them, when an arrow whizzed by just over his head. It was followed by several others.
He had been spotted. Some in the crowd surged forward towards the wall but were immediately hurled back. The mob began yelling for the ram to be brought into position.
"Our number is up, Elrohir," Argo said grimly as he drew Harve from its sheath. "Miracle time."
Elrohir stared back, then slowly drew Gokasillion and nodded to the others, who also drew weapons. Zantac came back down from the wall and retrieved his quarterstaff from Nesco. Marisee rushed over to the mage and clung to him tightly.
Elrohir addressed the party. "We make our own miracle today, good people. And if we fail," he took a deep breath, trying to calm his own nerves as much as everyone else's, "then at least Aslan and Cygnus will survive." The ranger looked over to Sarkos and the others. "I'm sorry, people. We did our best. We won't begrudge any of you if you decide to surrender, but in all honesty I don't think they'll accept it at this point."
"They will if you let me go."
Nesco stared at the Slave Lord standing next to her. Despite his hands being bound in front of him, he seemed more confidant than any of them as he continued speaking, raising his voice in order to be heard above the riot outside.
"Condemn the slaves to death if you wish, Elrohir, but know that their blood will be on your hands, as well as that of all your friends here. I can guarantee the safety of all of you, but you must surrender to me. Now."
Sarkos had started striding towards the Slave Lord when he had started speaking. Now he stood right in front of him, his hand white-knuckled with the tight grip he held on the hilt of his sword. The others tensed, ready to intervene, but Sarkos merely thrust his face in front of the Slave Lord, glaring at him eye-to eye."
"Then we all die. The only dishonorable death will be yours."
Zantac and Nesco glanced at each other, but Sarkos was already moving back to the slaves, trying to keep them from falling completely apart.
Elrohir, Talass beside him, moved into the guardhouse and made ready to remove the wooden beam holding it shut. He hoped that their unknown benefactor had not made his wizard lock proof against them as well. Elrohir turned back to the others. The noise was even louder, and only by shouting could he make himself heard now.
"Everyone into position! We'll make for the ship! If there's enough left of her to board, maybe we can put the fire out!"
He was speaking nonsense, and he knew it. They wouldn't get thirty feet before they were cut down, but he didn't want to die without a plan, no matter how impossible it might be. As the others started getting ready for their final battle, Elrohir looked over at his wife, whose blue eyes were now gazing calmly into his. There was no fear or pain now and for that Elrohir was grateful, but he still couldn't work up a last smile, no matter how hard he tried.
His own guilt remained.
"I'm sorry, Talass," he told her. Both of his hands held weapon or shield, so he put his right arm around her shoulder as best as he could. "I guess I didn't do my father very proud, did I?"
She smiled at him and cradled his cheek with her left hand.
"I tell you this as a priestess, my husband. Your father today looks down upon you from Asgard and is filled with pride. And one day, when our son Barahir is grown to manhood, we will look down upon him from above and our hearts too will swell with pride. For the past, the present, and the future are all filled with stirring tales of bravery, of courage and of fighting the good fight, waging the just battle, and showing others just what it means," her voice cracked, and a tear just as likely born of happiness as of sorrow rolled down her cheek, "to die for what you believe in."
Elrohir stared at her in wonder. Talass gave him a guilty smile and wiped her face.
"You were right, dearest. Retirement is for those who can choose it, like Cygnus. Our paths were predestined for us." She looked into his eyes again, and her smile grew wider until he could see nothing else. Or cared to.
They kissed, one last time.
Talass pulled back and cleared her throat. "I'll take the five hundred on the left, you take the five hundred on the right," she told him.
Elrohir smiled.
"Works for me."
Caroline was amazed at how calm Argo seemed, although she was aware of the raging storm that must be within him. She clutched his left hand tightly. He glanced over at her and smiled.
"Please don't think me heartless, but I'm glad you're with me."
Caroline nuzzled up to Argo for what she guessed would be the last time. "Anyone else might think it so, but I know you too well, Argo Bigfellow Junior." Her face turned down. "I'm sorry, my love. I know I promised you children-"
Argo cut her off. "And I shall hold you to that promise, my love."
She gazed back up at him in wonder.
He returned the look. "We shall have them on Mount Olympus," he said calmly, as if it was self-evident.
Caroline couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "Is that permitted?"
Argo shrugged. "I'm not sure, but all happens according to the will of the Mighty Zeus," he said, then cocked an eyebrow at her. "I'll sweet talk him, you flash a little skin, and we'll make the magic happen." His auburn eyes, made even more majestic in Harve's red glow, sparkled. "We always did."
They embraced, then kissed. Argo then turned back towards the front and raised his sword high over his head. "We shall fight until we shatter our weapons on the bodies of our enemies!" he yelled.
"Hey!" yelled Harve. "Let's watch that crazy talk here, shall we?"
Argo and Caroline laughed, but were just barely able to make out the voice of Tojo behind them.
"You arways make jokes."
They turned around in wonderment. Caroline for one, couldn't believe that Tojo would choose his last moments on Oerth to suddenly bring up unknown grudges he had been holding back.
But Yanigasawa Tojo was bowing deeply to them. It was at least as deep as the bow that he had given King Belvor. When he rose up, the samurai's face held only his eternal, inscrutable expression.
"I not rearn so much if I not reave Nippon; if I not meet Errohir and Asran-san, and then meet awe of you. Your rafter uprifts my spirit. Is easy to die with honor."
He cocked an eyebrow at them.
"You make me raff."
Argo and Caroline stared incredulously at Tojo, as did Nesco and Zantac behind him. The samurai still looked as grim as ever.
Argo spoke slowly, just a trace of a smile on his lips. "I'll have to take your word on that, Tojo-sama."
Without warning, Yanigasawa Tojo's face broke out, not into just a full smile, but into the best imitation of Argo's legendary pained smile that Caroline had ever seen.
"Onry wish they had been better jokes. You pretty rame sometimes, Bigferrow-san."
Nesco was still smiling even as Tojo had turned around and bowed to he, as well. Like Argo and Caroline, she returned it as best she could, wincing at the pain the effort involved.
She and Elrohir were still by far the most seriously injured of the party. Their usefulness in the upcoming melee would be limited to the first weapon strike of their opponents that hit.
Nesco glanced over at the Slave Lord, standing next to her. From the expression on his face as he eyed her, he seemed well aware of this fact.
"So, Lady Cynewine," he said in his high-pitched voice. "Are you ready to die needlessly?"
Nesco scowled at him and held her sword close to his throat. "Perhaps. I will have your example to learn from."
She got a small nugget of satisfaction from the frown that crossed his face. The Slave Lord took a deep breath and resumed his former demeanor, a bit more nervously now. He looked straight ahead of him at no one in particular as he spoke.
"How tragic. To come all this way in search of your brother." He looked back over at Nesco and smiled again. "You do realize he was sold to the stockade weeks ago?"
The ranger nodded. "So Sir Enkos told me. You do realize that you will pay for-"
He interrupted her. "Who?"
Cynewine frowned impatiently. "Sir Enkos! My brother's companion and fellow Knight of the Order! He was one of those we freed, but-"
Again, her prisoner cut her off. "We had no such prisoner."
Nesco wondered how many seconds she could take of this before her sword arm started swinging of its own accord.
"You lie poorly, wretch. I saw Sir Enkos. I spoke with him!"
The Slave Lord frowned. "Only Sir Miles of that party was taken prisoner. The others were slain or were unaccounted for, at best."
"And why should I believe anything of what you say?" Nesco snarled. "Have you suddenly decided to tell the truth out of the goodness of your heart?"
The rogue smiled sardonically at her. "My logs were meticulous and well-kept. They were in one of those boxes you people tore through like rats. Did you not bother to read them, or were you interested only in the pretty baubles?"
Nesco hesitated. If what their prisoner was saying was true…
A vision came speeding into her head, as if shot from an arrow. A hideous creature lying dead on the floor of the stable, its large, octoploid eyes staring.
"Doppelganger," she whispered.
She whirled around to stare at Zantac.
Marisee, panicked, was clutching at the red-robed wizard. "Please!" she cried out. "I can't go out there! I'm afraid! I'm sorry, but I am! I'm not a warrior", she said, her voice weak now, staring wildly at the dagger she clutched in her hand. She looked back up at Zantac, her brown eyes wild with fear. "I don't know how to use this! I don't want to die!"
Neither do I, thought Zantac, but it's probably only minutes away for all of us. He looked again at the petrified young woman and couldn't bring himself to lie to her. Instead, he hugged her close.
"Stay close to me," he whispered. Wordlessly, she nodded, then buried her face in his shoulder.
A loud boom came from behind them, from the crypt. Zantac had wizard locked it hours earlier. Now, small chips of stone were falling off the door as it rattled under the assault of something from the other side.
Slowly, Elrohir lifted the wooden crossbeam off the slats holding it in place and laid it beside the door. There was so much noise coming from just outside that he doubted the mob would have heard it.
The ranger took one last look at his wife and at his friends. He took a long, deep breath and glanced up at the sky overhead, which was now illuminated almost constantly by lightning within.
Father of Victory, he prayed. Please save these people…
He yelled "Now!" and yanked the door open, but other than Talass, it was doubtful anyone heard him.
Far behind Elrohir, in the cemetery at that exact moment, the stone crypt door shuddered and fell off its hinges, toppling to the ground with a mighty crash. Behind a massive wooden club, its head shod in iron, a large face moved into view. It had light brown skin, a sloping brow, bushy eyebrows, large flared ears and a bulbous wart on its nose. Beady eyes stared at the assembled humans, and the creature began to move through the opening, stooping low to do so.
"KIIIILLLL!" Glarg screamed, but even the ogre's shout lost in volume to another sound.
A blast of thunder from above quaked the city below.
The clouds opened, and the sky began to rain comets.