16th Day of Planting, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
Sequester sped through the fog.
The pegasus didn't particularly like it. She preferred to be able to see far out in front of her, but Caroline kept her steed on a level course with a combination of coaxing, flattery, and a strong hand on the reins. The young woman loved the exhilarating feeling of the cold mist flying past her and just for now (she told herself), she would satisfy her indulgence.
The fog was starting to burn off. Now at mid-morning, its bottom half rested a good thirty to forty feet above the ground, and it was no more than twice that in thickness. If Caroline had been on her daily patrol of course, keeping inside the cloud would have been sheer folly. However, her patrol was not due for several hours. This morning, she was just having fun.
The events of two days ago had not been forgotten from her mind, but no catastrophes had befallen her or anyone else at the Brass Dragon, so after informing Sir Dorbin of everything she had seen and heard, Mrs. Bigfellow had filed the incident away in the back of her mind pending any new developments. Dorbin had looked grim at her news, but had said nothing. Caroline thought the knight looked grim an awful lot these days, but she could hardly begrudge him that. She knew full well this early ride on Sequester was therapy to ease her own troubled mind.
But what the hell, it's working, she thought to herself with a smile.
Kingus and his three friends had left yesterday for Willip, the same day that several of Dorbin's party had returned to the inn. At present, all ten of them were together inside, having been convened by their leader for some important discussion. Caroline's presence had not been requested and for that, she was grateful.
Caroline leaned forward and Sequester responded. The pegasus lost altitude, just enough to exit the cloudbank. Caroline caught side of the road to Willip underneath her. She had a quick glimpse of Dudraug and Grock running at a slight angle to the highway. The cooshee held a small dead animal of some kind in his mouth, which the smaller dog obviously wanted a piece of. The elven hound, with more playfulness than spite, kept running off at sharp angles, with the tan wardog only a few steps behind, barking for all he was worth.
The young woman smiled at the canine display of exuberance. "Stay on him, Grock!" Caroline shouted, and then banked her steed in a long, shallow turn to the right, staying just below the fogbank. When she could see that they were now oriented northwest and parallel again to the road, she coaxed Sequester once more upwards into the cloud for the final flying sprint towards home…
The fogbank was dissipating more rapidly now, so Caroline let the pegasus drop down at what she guessed what about the halfway point towards home. The inn grew larger and larger as she approached. Bigfellow began to run through the day ahead of her.
She'd get Sequester stabled, then take care of her and the other animals for a while. There were no guests currently staying at the Brass Dragon, so she wouldn't be needed at the inn to fill in for anybody. If Sir Dorbin's Oerth-shattering meeting was over or just wrapping up, she'd see if there were any administrative details as far as inventory that needed taking care of. Caroline did not usually bother with the logistical end of running the inn, but with Tad gone it seemed like it was up to her to keep a hand in on things. She had a nonsensical vision of Sir Dorbin staging a coup, proclaiming that the Brass Dragon now belonged to them by squatter's rights. She smiled again. Not very likely. Caroline knew how much they all wanted to get home. It seemed likely that between Torlina's joining the Wizard's Guild in Willip and gaining access to their Library, and Dorbin's close ties to the Valorous Church there, it would only be a matter of-
Horses?
Caroline frowned as she came in. She was going to swoop around the inn to the backside, where the stables were, but she noticed five horses simply standing together in a knot about twenty yards in front of the main door of the inn. Caroline brought Sequester down about thirty yards east-southeast of the animals. The steeds eyed the winged horse and its rider as they landed but made no move otherwise. That in itself was a little unusual, thought Caroline. They must be well-trained animals.
When she had dismounted, Caroline spoke softly but firmly to Sequester. "Go back to the stables, girl. I'll be along in a moment."
The pegasus eyed Caroline soberly for a moment, then turned and trotted off around the back as Lady Bigfellow began to walk towards the front door.
She confirmed that these animals had not been in the stables when she had taken out Sequester a half-hour ago. Although she was not as experienced a horsewoman as many of her fellow party members, Caroline could see that these steeds seemed to be in good shape. Their deep breathing and the sheen of sweat told her that they had just recently arrived, and had been ridden fairly fast and hard. Not to the point of near-death though, as the late Dak had pushed his mount.
Caroline's frown deepened. Why would arriving guests not stable their horses? Were they that cheap as to seek to avoid the stabling fee? Even if they were just here for a quick drink, it seemed cruel not to give their faithful steeds the rest and food they surely deserved. If they're really that stingy, Caroline thought ruefully, they've come to the wrong inn.
Then the door opened, and the staff began to run out.
No. That wasn't right. They weren't running. They were fleeing.
Caroline picked up her pace, ignoring the horses now. She could see four young men and woman; their cooks and servers. She did a quick calculation. If the stable boy was still in the stables where he should be, that left the barkeep and one more server inside. What was going on? Had tensions between Dorbin's allies finally boiled over? No, that didn't make any sense. None of this did. The staff began yelling and screaming at Caroline, but she didn't hear them. She had just caught a glimpse of the common room through the open door.
There was a battle going on.
She drew her sword and broke out in a dead run. It couldn't have taken her more than a few seconds to reach the inn but when she entered the common room, all she caught was a glimpse of a black-robed figure's back disappearing down the stairway to the right of the bar. The one that led downstairs, to the Brass Dragon's storeroom, and the servant's quarters.
There was a tremendous racket coming from down below, but Caroline stopped in the middle of the common room and looked around. She didn't want to overlook anything that might (literally) come back at her after she headed down the stairway. Sweet Athena, she thought furiously. Dorbin's party of ten and at least five attackers down there? They'll be so crowded, no one will have room to turn around!
The common room was not trashed completely, but it was a good portion of the way there. All of the tables in a line from the main doorway to the bar had been overturned, and numerous chairs lay either on their sides or splintered into pieces. Still, Caroline saw no one, so she drew a deep breath that she knew would not be enough to steady her nerves, tightened her grip on her sword and headed towards the stairway.
As she passed the bar, Caroline heard a shriek of terror from her left.
She stopped and looked. The last server, a girl of maybe thirteen, was on her knees behind the bar. She had put her head down and covered her face with her arm as Caroline came by, emitting a small cry of pure fear. Now as she slowly looked back at Caroline, a small whiff of relief came to the girl's face, but then vanished back into the panic that had been there previously.
It took one second for Caroline to note that the child's hands were covered in blood, and one more to see the reason why.
The serving girl was bending over the barkeep. The man had been slashed across the throat. He lay on his back, semi-conscious. A serving cloth had been pressed against the wound, but it was now saturated with blood, and small regular spurts of dark fluid were squirting around the sides.
"Help him, please!" the girl yelled.
Caroline was beside them in an instant, kneeling down and resheathing her sword. One part of her mind told her that if Dorbin and his friends couldn't handle a band of thugs half their size, she wouldn't be of much extra help down there.
The other part of Caroline's mind was calling her a coward.
She gritted her teeth and ignored that part as she examined the bartender. The man's eyelids flickered above his blond handlebar mustache. Caroline realized this man had been with the Brass Dragon for over two years at least, longer than all of their other help, and she still didn't know his name.
Now, it looked like she might only learn it at his funeral.
She grabbed a dishcloth and laid it out on the ground to her right, then grabbed the nearest bottle of liquor she could reach, pulled the top off and soaked the cloth in it, and then pressed it firmly over the older cloth.
The serving girl looked close to being in shock. "They… they… came in," she wailed.
Caroline looked up at her from her ministrations. The barkeep was unconscious but kept twitching.
"They… they were looking for…" the girl continued. The bartender moaned. Caroline didn't see any other wound on him, but the one he had taken was bad, and very probably mortal. "Keep this pressed on," she told the server, then took off her backpack and started rummaging through it.
Below, the sounds of combat continued. On the edge of Caroline's consciousness, she heard a scream.
The child had her eyes shut tightly now, her hands pressing down on the soaked cloths beneath them. "There was yelling… and then the fighting started… Sir Dorbin… he said that… you were down below-"
Caroline, having found the tiny wooden container she was looking for, glanced up sharply as she removed the lid.
"Me?"
The girl opened her eyes again. They were full of tears. She nodded, barely able to speak.
"Dorbin… he had everyone run away…down the stairs… he… they… they followed them down there. "We… we were behind the bar… as they went past… the one in black… the one with the scythe… he looked at me, and…"
Caroline spoke as firmly as she could. "Listen to me," she said as she swabbed up the white paste that was inside the container with her finger, "I want you to lift up the cloths for a moment, all right? Okay, now! Do it now!"
The child, who was used to following orders, obeyed instinctively, her panic retreating for just a moment. Caroline caught a brief glimpse of the wound. It was a remarkably clean slice, thin but deep. She smeared the paste across it as best she could. The barkeep groaned, coming to the edge of consciousness. Caroline grabbed the man's hand and squeezed it.
"Hang on," she whispered. "Just hang on."
"What is that?" Asked the serving girl. "Is it healing magic?" The hope in her voice was so heartbreaking, Caroline had to fight to keep her own tears from starting. That was a luxury she just couldn't afford right now.
She shook her head. "It's not magic. It's something my husband brought back with us when we left the Lone Heath. It can help- with certain wounds."
Caroline closed her eyes. Yes. The wounds caused by bug bites. That's it. That's all I have. That's all I can do. She took over the pressure on the wound and told the girl to find as many dishcloths and rags as she could, and soak several of them in water.
More muffled sounds came from below.
"Jack," the girl was talking as unsteadily as ever, but she just didn't want to stop. "He grabbed me and threw me behind him, and the man, he… he…"
"It's all right." Caroline cut in sharply. "I can see what happened." She looked down at the pale face below her.
Nice to meet you, Jack. Please don't die on me. I swear to Almighty Zeus, I'll never forget your name again. Just please don't die.
It wasn't going to work, and Caroline knew it. Unless Monsrek or Wescene or someone else with a healing spell came up within a minute or so, Jack the bartender was going to leak the last of his life away on the floor behind the bar of the Brass Dragon Inn. Caroline just didn't know enough of the healing arts.
Ironically, as she could feel herself losing the battle against her tears, Caroline's thoughts were not that of her husband.
Aslan, where are you? You always heal us. Please, make a miracle happen like you always do. Come back here. We need you. We need you now. I'm sorry I ever made you unhappy. Please, come home.
She opened her eyes and rubbed them clear. There was no Aslan, only a serving girl, trembling violently with fear. She held out a soaked rag. Caroline snatched it and laid it over Jack's forehead.
Below, the sound of combat continued. Caroline removed the cloths over Jack's wound and slapped on another dry one. "Keep feeding those to me," she told the girl, who nodded wordlessly.
The barkeep was no longer moving.
Caroline knew she was going to need something for her and this girl to focus on, or they were both going to become hysterical. Caroline could see that the server too knew Jack was losing his fight to live.
"The attackers!" Caroline barked at her. "What did they look like?"
It was several seconds before the girl could focus herself enough to reply.
"There were five of them. One of them kind of- kind of reminded me of Tojo. He had-"
The floor underneath them shook. A low roar sounded below. Both of their heads turned towards the staircase leading downstairs as the rumbling came out into the common room. It was followed several seconds later by clouds and clouds of a brown, foul-smelling smoke.
Fireball, Caroline thought. Oh, my sweet Lord.
There was now more yelling than ever, but now there were running footsteps, as well. Footsteps coming up the stairs. Caroline had just enough time to yell to the girl to keep pressing clean cloths down over Jack's wound, before rising to her feet and drawing her sword again.
Two figures burst through the smoke. Neither were part of Sir Dorbin's party.
The one in front was a large man, dressed in plate mail that seemed on the verge of falling off into pieces. Beneath his helm, Caroline caught a glimpse of a heavily bearded face, with a old scar running down his left cheek. It now had numerous new ones for company. He held a large, bloody battleaxe in both hands.
Directly behind him was human so short that at first Caroline mistook him for a very tall halfling. Perhaps two inches short of five feet, he had thick, slicked-back black hair. Clad in leather armor, he held a short sword in one hand that was covered in blood. He too bore the sign of numerous fresh wounds.
The first man hadn't turned to his right. He hadn't seen Caroline.
But the second one did.
His dark eyes grew wide, and his mouth opened with astonishment. His left hand grabbed the weapon belt of the large man in front of him.
"It's her!" The short man yelled, pointing his bloody weapon at Caroline. "It's one of them! Bigfellow's wife! They are here, Sbalt! They're here!"
They? Caroline thought. The question in her mind wouldn't formulate itself.
Sbalt turned to eye her. Venomous hatred spewed forth from his eyes at Caroline, but then more sounds of running footsteps came up the stairs. Sbalt glanced back at the smoke still issuing through the open doorway, then grabbed the small human by his right shoulder and nearly threw him towards the main door.
"No time!" he bellowed. "Go! Go!"
The runt, still recovering his balance, gave an instinctive snarl at Sbalt and then turned to Caroline.
"You can't hide behind others forever, bitch. We'll be back- for all of you."
He then turned and ran out of the inn. Limping slightly, Sbalt followed just as two more figures burst out of the smoke. Caroline's hope that they might be part of Sir Dorbin's band were dashed yet again.
The first figure wore black robes over chainmail armor dyed a deep red. He carried not a scythe, but something similar; a short wooden rod, from which a slightly curved, single-edged blade protruded. His eyes registered Caroline, who now stood in a defensive stance, but they just as quickly moved off her to his companion; a human dressed in the robes of an arcanist. Between their overall general condition, the smoke and the bloodstains on them, it was impossible to determine what color they might originally have been. The mage, unlike his companions, bore no battle wounds but for the peeling of some flesh on his hands and arms. Burns.
"They're coming, Frill!" shouted the man in black. "Stop them!"
Frill turned back towards the doorway and started casting. Caroline almost took a step forward to stop him, but the figure in black was clearly standing ready to intercept any such an attempt. As Caroline listened to the shouting voice of Sir Menn heading up the stairs, she cried "Look out!"
She hoped that her shout might disrupt the magic-user's incantation, but that did not seem to be the case. The two turned and ran, occasionally coughing from the smoke, without another look at Caroline. The young woman had seen no visible effect from Frill's spell, but she suddenly heard Sir Menn cry out. Then there was the unmistakable sound of the armored knight tumbling down the stairs. From the accompanying voices, it sounded like he had taken one or two of his comrades back down with him. Then, she heard Flond's voice.
"He's greased the staircase!"
"Dispel it!" came the roaring voice of Sir Dorbin.
"On it!" came the voice of Monsrek. "Flond, the smoke!"
"I know what to do- shut up!"
A blast of strong wind suddenly blew through the open doorway, dissipating the smoke to a tolerable level. Caroline saw a steady light coming up from below, and suddenly Sir Dorbin emerged into the common room.
He was a sight. Blood and fire both had made their mark on him, but he paid attention to neither. The gem set into his helm was illuminating the knight in a soft circle of white light. Flames were running up and down the blade of the sword he held in his hand. Caroline stared. She had heard of such swords but did not know that Dorbin carried one. Rage equal to that she'd seen on Sbalt's face was fixed firmly on the knight's. He glanced over to his right, and took in the scene.
"Sir Dorbin," began Caroline hesitantly.
Dorbin did not acknowledge her but twisted his head back to the staircase. "Monsrek!" he yelled. "Your healing is needed! The rest of you, follow me!" He turned back to Caroline and pointed his weapon at her. She gasped as she watched the blood coating the blade slowly sizzle away.
"Stay here!" he shouted at her, and then he was heading out the door. Fee Hal was perhaps seven or eight steps behind him. The squire seemed in better shape than his liege, but the glare he shot at Caroline as he passed froze her blood.
She didn't know why, but there was hatred in that look. The youth was gone before she could even begin to think of asking him anything, though.
Flond was next, helping along a man who looked somewhat like Unru. He was a little heavier than Caroline remembered him, though, and his face was rounder, and now sported a mustache and goatee. It suddenly occurred to Caroline that this might be Unru's true appearance, but something was clearly very wrong with him.
Unru's face was a blank mask. Flond was pushing him along, the latter making no effort to resist, but showing absolutely no reaction to anything about him.
"Flond!" Caroline managed as the pair passed her without a glance. "What happened?"
Flond, his brown hood down around his shoulders, turned back, but did not stop his movement towards the outside. "He's been feebleminded!" The mage shouted back, a half-scowl upon his face, as if the urgency of the combat situation did not permit him the luxury of a full one.
"Can you cure him?" she cried out.
The reply came back faintly as the duo disappeared outside.
"No."
Lady Bigfellow caught her breath. This litany of horrors was happening too fast.
Sir Menn, limping badly on his right leg, came up next, Wescene helping him along. A stream of colorful profanities were issuing nonstop from the knight. The elf turned to Caroline as they passed. Her expression also bore the marks of someone who has just been through Hell, but at least there was no malice there.
"Monsrek is coming up. Stay with them, Caroline," she said, indicating the barkeep and the serving girl. Then, they too were gone.
Monsrek was next. He took in the situation at a glance, then came and knelt down beside Jack. He spoke quietly.
"You can put away your sword, Lady Bigfellow. Sitdale alone remains down below. Our enemies have fled. One lays dead."
Caroline thought she was going to faint as she resheathed her weapon and steadied herself against the bar. She thought that Monsrek might be too late as she heard Jack give out a terrible groan, arch his back and then lay still again, but Monsrek seemed satisfied.
"He will live, given adequate care. Do not move him for now. Keep him comfortable," he said to the serving girl, who nodded mutely. The cleric reached out and clamped his hand on the child's shoulder. "Brave Alethea. Jack owes his life to you. Be sure to tell him that."
The server managed a half-smile, then turned her attentions back to the unconscious bartender. Monsrek stood up, wincing with pain.
Caroline's mind was whirling. Something the cleric had said.
Sitdale alone remains down below…
Faces swam through Lady Bigfellow's mind. She tried to put names with them. She knew only that something was terribly wrong. Even more wrong than what her eyes had already shown her.
Sir Menn's voice came from outside.
"Monsrek! They're getting away! They're on horseback!"
This statement, so self-evident, seemed to Caroline a bizarre thing for the knight to shout out, but it apparently had some special significance to Monsrek. The older man immediately headed for the doorway as fast as he could.
"Stay here, Caroline," the priest told her over his shoulder. "They might try doubling back on us."
Caroline nodded dumbly. She still, as usual it seemed, understood little of what was going on, but she knew it had something to do with the little human's threat- and Fee Hal's look.
Then just as Monsrek reached the front door, one small piece of what was missing came back to her.
"Monsrek!"
The cleric turned around, but his expression made it clear Caroline only had seconds to speak.
Caroline swallowed hard. "Aiclesis… Torlina. Where are they?"
Monsrek said nothing. His face showed nothing.
She started trembling violently, but she just couldn't stop the words tumbling out. "Monsrek, where are Torlina and Aiclesis? Were they not here when-"
"They're dead, Lady Bigfellow," Monsrek said quietly. "They're both dead."
He left the inn. Caroline stared at the open doorway for a while, listening to the sounds of racing hoofbeats grow fainter and fainter. Then she looked at the open doorway that led below. A little smoke and some heat continued to come from below. It wasn't hard to imagine that all the eternal misery and pain of the Lower Planes were right down there.
It wasn't hard to imagine at all.