3rd Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj
(120 miles south of Highport)
The fortress sat in the moonlight.
Elrohir bit his lip and stared. The ranger, currently crouched down behind a large boulder, rubbed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to wipe away the fatigue. A quick glance to his left showed the other six members of his party were also watching from behind cover. Elrohir scanned the night skies above him.
There was still no sign of Aslan.
Nine days of travel through the Drachensgrab Hills were over. Their destination lay a scant five hundred feet or so south of their present position. The slavers' trail, currently about fifty feet to their right, wound down the slope they were presently perched atop to end at a that marked the only visible entrance to the stockade.
There were no forks in this packed dirt trail. It led straight from Highport to here. Its sole purpose was to help keep the fortress supplied.
Elrohir took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together, watching the little puff of steam escape from between his lips. It was cold tonight; no question about it. The ranger tried to straighten his back without exposing too much of himself. His legs and back were hurting, although he was sure the rest of his party were as tired as he was. Well, they had at least a while longer to rest, and Elrohir hoped they were taking advantage of it. They would take no action until Aslan returned from his reconnaissance. At that point- well, at that point it would be up to Elrohir again. He was making the decisions here.
The ranger frowned and again turned his attention back to the structure before them.
The fort sat atop a low hill. Actually, despite its conventional rectangular shape, it would be more accurate to say that it sprawled over the uneven surface of the hill. The stone curtain wall which faced north was set about halfway down the hill, with the earthen rampart that constituted the rest of the building's perimeter climbing at perhaps a twenty-five degree angle up the slope until it more-or-less leveled out, continuing for what Elrohir guessed was about three hundred feet. Argo had already returned from a circumnavigation of their quarry and had reported that the south facing wall ran straight and contained no other entrances.
While the curtain wall was three stories tall, its top was currently below where the party was, due to their position atop a higher hill. They could see past it, catching a glimpse of an open courtyard sloping up the hill, and ending at a solid-looking gatehouse, four stories tall, which controlled access into the fortress interior.
There were figures visible atop both the curtain wall and the gatehouse but from this range, and in this light, nothing could be made of them. Elrohir, not for the first time, cursed himself that as one of the Hidden, he had not been blessed with his mother's keen elven eyes.
Still, he reflected. They were all here. They had made it.
Right from the beginning, Elrohir had determined that this time, it was going to be different. In his mind, they all had made a royal mess of things at Highport. They had not prepared adequately. That would not happen this time, he had vowed.
Per his instructions, Aslan and Nesco had again been the first to teleport, returning to the same wooded campsite they had used last time. Although there had been signs it had been reused since their last visit, it had once again been empty upon their arrival. The following morning, Aslan had gone back to Chendl and returned with Elrohir. The trio had then headed southwest until they had found the trail. Every night, and every morning, Aslan would return for another party member. During the day, they had traveled, so that by the time the whole party was together again, they had already passed the plains of the northern Pomarj and entered the Drachensgrabs.
Another idea of Elrohir's that had born fruit was having Aslan spend the majority of his time in the form of a bird. The paladin scouted ahead of them on the trail about a half-mile or so, while one of the rangers covered their rear in a similar fashion. This way, they could gain the terrain benefit of taking the trail through the hills and still have enough advance warning of any fellow travelers to be able to hide off road.
This had happened twice. The first time, four days out from the campsite, it was a caravan of unknown goods heading northwards. It consisted of two horse-drawn wagons, each with a pair of orc drivers. A bearded human in a dull gray cloak, who seemed to be the leader, rode alongside them. The party had counted eight goblin guards on foot, but there had been two unidentifiable creatures that had consumed most of their attention.
They seemed wretched creatures, more of a mistake than a true species.
They were perhaps five feet tall but walked hunched over. They had gray, scaly hides, pointed ears and large bulbous eyes that seemed to shine in the dark. Their hands seemed overly large, with long, thin fingers. Each sported a tail, but one carried what looked to be a stinger on the tip, while the other seemed prehensile. They wore loincloths and leather belts, and nothing else. The two never left the human's side, their heads swiveling back and forth, apparently on the alert for an ambush. No one in the party could identify the creatures.
Argo and Nesco had suggested an attack, confident that they could take the caravan without difficulty. Besides, they argued, they might obtain valuable information from the man. Elrohir, after talking to Aslan, had vetoed the plan. Cleaning up after the battle in order to leave no trace of it would take longer than he wanted to spend. Thus, with some grumbling audible behind him, Elrohir had watched as the caravan rounded a hill and was lost to sight.
The second encounter, the following evening, had been more nerve-wracking. Nesco had come rushing up from behind, ordering the party again up the slope and out of sight. Soon the sounds of a large group approaching came from the north.
It was a shipment of slaves, heading towards the stockade. Six carts, all pulled by oxen, carried nearly forty slaves of varied race, age and gender. An equal number of hobgoblins, plus perhaps a dozen kobolds, trudged along as guards. It seemed that there was no one hobgoblin as leader, but rather several. Unable to understand their guttural language however, the party was unable to pinpoint which ones.
This time, it was Aslan who wanted to attack, but he was universally opposed by everyone except Talass in this. The paladin had been slow to concede this point however, until Tojo had motioned everyone to be quiet, pointing down from their hiding place towards the slave train passing by.
One of the hobgoblins was holding a leash. Attached to the far end was another wretched-looking creature. This one was even smaller than the others, perhaps three feet high, with dark blue, oily-looking skin. Its features somewhat resembled a distorted goblin face. Unlike the two previous monstrosities they had seen, this creature kept up a never-ending stream of unintelligible whining and gibbering.
Until it abruptly stopped and turned its large head directly at where the party was hiding.
Its bulbous nose began sniffing frantically, and then it set up a high-pitched keening that had Elrohir and the others clutching at their ears.
The octet swiftly backed off, further into the hills, but the hobgoblin had apparently dropped the leash and let the creature loose. It clambered swiftly up the broken and uneven rocks towards them.
Aslan had motioned the others away. "Go!" he hissed, and then moved so that the creature could see him, but the hobgoblins could not. Aslan had then polymorphed into a goat, of which they had seen several in these hills, and then dashed past the humanoid at an angle, exposing himself briefly to the caravan's sight. Although he still couldn't understand them, the paladin had heard some laughter among the hobgoblins and then what sounded like the creature's handler calling to him. It squatted there a moment among the rocks, shaking its head violently and squealing, but the hobgoblin had pulled a whip from his belt and cracked it in the air. The misshapen creature had grumbled and then, to Aslan's surprise and consternation, disappeared and instantly reappeared by its handler, who picked up the leash and then pulled it back to the caravan.
The party watched in silence as the caravan was soon lost to sight ahead of them.
Aslan, once again himself, eyed his party leader sourly. "You know what this means, of course," he had said. "The Highport operation is back in business." The paladin crossed his arms and stared down the trail. "Our expedition there was a complete waste of time," he said bitterly.
Elrohir had been unable to think of anything to say, but Nesco had.
"Not at all," she said softly.
Aslan regarded the female ranger through narrowed eyes. "You have something to say which contradicts what we've just seen with our own eyes, Lady Cynewine?"
Nesco nodded. "I'm sure Cheriken would, or Ethily, or Captain Thrumb. Besides, you're drawing conclusions that may not be accurate, Aslan," she offered, motioning back towards the north. "They may have just reestablished their operation. That may have been the first shipment of slaves heading to the stockade in two months." She shrugged. "Just because we didn't know about this stockade when we went to Highport doesn't invalidate what we did there. We're all still alive," she smiled, "and once we take out this Markessa and her subordinates, our task will be over."
Aslan sighed, and looked off.
"I'd better get back to scouting," he mumbled, and before Nesco could say anything else, a horned owl was flapping its wings and rising up into the starry sky. It wheeled around and flew off to the south.
Nesco looked around. No one else had seemed particularly swayed by her words, either.
"Nesco!"
She looked up. Elrohir's hissed command had shaken Lady Cynewine out of her sulking reverie. Equal parts embarrassed and annoyed, she crossed the distance between her and their party leader in a kind of crouching walk, joining him behind the large boulder.
"What?" she asked, more harshly than she had intended.
Elrohir stared at his fellow ranger for a moment. He had been signaling Nesco using one of the hand signals they had developed over the past several days but she had not responded, apparently lost in a daydream of some kind. Elrohir had devised the signals so as to make better use of invisibility and silence spells this time around, to counter for their woeful lack of any kind of stealth.
While the two mages had no problem with this idea, they had resented their team leader's pointed inquiries as to exactly how many of these spells they could memorize at one time and had then gone further by making several suggestions as to their entire inventory. The previous morning, Zantac had finally erupted.
"Don't tell me about spellcraft, Elrohir, and I won't tell you how to swing a sword! Okay?"
The ranger had shaken his head. "No, it's not okay, Zantac! That's what went wrong last time! We all have our individual skills, but we don't use them together as a unit. Not nearly as much as we need to!"
"You were the one who split us up in the temple! Listen Elrohir, I didn't leave one tyrannical Guildmaster only to have another-"
"Look, Zantac," Elrohir cut in, trying hard to keep his voice from rising, "I'm not saying we're still not going to make mistakes. I'm just saying we can still work together without having to go overboard on rules and restrictions. Argo!" Elrohir swung his head around. "Back me up on this, Bigfellow. Tell him how we've made it work before."
His fellow ranger however, said nothing. He bit his lip and looked back and forth between Elrohir and the wizards. He then turned away without a sound, looking at the rugged hills around them.
Elrohir had sighed. This, I don't need, he had thought, and then walked over to Bigfellow.
"Argo," he said, hoping the sympathy in his voice overrode the tension he was feeling, "Caroline will be all right. You haven't received any more sendings from Monsrek, have you? You know he'd keep us informed of any new developments."
"Unless he's dead now, too," Bigfellow replied, his voice uncharacteristically thin. His auburn eyes met and held his friend's gaze. "We should send Aslan back to the Dragon, just to be sure. One extra day won't kill us."
"You've been obsessed with this every day since we left, Argo," Elrohir replied, feeling himself starting to lose the battle here." If Aslan came back and told us everything was fine, you'd be all right for today, but what about tomorrow- and the day after that? Come on, Argo, we need to-"
"Obsessed?" his fellow ranger interrupted. His eyes grew wide, and then a visage of real anger began to appear on Bigfellow's face- something that Elrohir never liked to see. "Of course, I'm obsessed! She's my wife, dammit- she's my soul mate! Without Caroline, I'm just a sad, pitiful, walking bag of flesh, carrying an obnoxious talking sword and cutting down other fleshbags!"
"Then why did you leave her behind?" Elrohir knew he was shouting, but he just couldn't deal with this anymore. "Or why didn't you stay home with her?"
"I don't know!" Argo shouted back, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. "She wanted to stay, and I thought she'd be safer at home and that she'd resent me if I stayed for being overprotective of her! I know she thinks that!" He paused briefly, and Elrohir could see his fellow ranger also struggling for control.
"I don't know why I'm feeling this way, Elrohir." Argo's voice dropped to a hoarse, near-whisper. His eyes held none of the confidence Elrohir had grown so used to seeing there. Argo turned and began to walk away. Elrohir felt the anger start to rise in him again until he saw that Argo had merely stepped behind a boulder about ten feet away and crouched down behind it, so that the others couldn't see him. Bigfellow put his arms over his knees and dropped his head to his chest.
Elrohir glanced back. Talass was looking at him. For once, he could actually read the expression in his wife's face. He gave her a slight shake of his head to keep her back. Cygnus and Zantac were seated some distance off, their spellbooks on their laps. Nesco was talking quietly to them. Elrohir couldn't make out the conversation, but both wizards raised their arms, showing off the golden bracers on their arms that he knew gave them some measure of magical protection. Nesco ran her hands over both sets of bracers. She looked thoughtful.
Tojo was of course standing apart, standing guard silently.
Elrohir crouched down next to Argo and put his hand on his shoulder. "Argo-" he began, but his fellow ranger cut him off by clamping his own hand down on Elrohir's outstretched arm.
"Elrohir, my friend," Bigfellow said with what truly seemed to be a genuine sad smile, "I'll be all right. Just give me a minute, okay? Then, I'll introduce Zantac to his new best friend."
Elrohir raised an eyebrow.
Argo's mischievous smile returned. "That large rock on the ground next to him." The big ranger's eyes grew thoughtful. "I foresee a very close relationship developing."
The party leader grimaced. "I was hoping for something more along the lines of a few snippets of that renowned Bigfellow wisdom, Argo."
His friend shrugged. "I suppose that'd do as a backup."
Elrohir smiled as he straightened back up. "Aslan's not here, Argo," he said. "Take advantage of it. You could tell Zantac to-"
An angry shout split the air. More shocking than its suddenness was its source.
Tojo.
Elrohir, Argo and Talass came around. Nesco was standing a few feet away from Tojo, her hands raised high in a conciliatory gesture that Tojo apparently had no interest in.
"What?" she cried. "What was it? What did I say? Whatever it was, I'm sorry! I didn't know that just asking about-"
"Do not speak to me!"
Shocked, Nesco turned around, but the expressions she saw on the other's faces mirrored her own. Tojo had practically spat out the words, stalked about ten feet off, and now stood looking away from them all, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Even from behind, his stance made it clear that he would brook no visitors.
Cygnus and Zantac had gotten to their feet now. The party regrouped some distance off in a huddle.
"What was that all about?" hissed Cygnus, annoyed that his morning spell memorizations had been disrupted, if only for a few minutes.
"You tell me!" Nesco snapped back at him. "I was just asking him about those bracers that he wears. I said you told me they were called dastana, and I told him they were very beautiful, and I asked him if they were magical, like yours were, and if they came from Nippon. He looked at me as if I had just bitten him and then exploded!"
"What is it with him?" Nesco's angry eyes now took in all her compatriots before settling on Elrohir. "You keep saying we're supposed to be a team, Elrohir- have you told Tojo that? What kind of cohesiveness can we have when one of our own is ready to take our heads off at some imagined slight?" Lady Cynewine shook her head angrily, then returned her stern gaze to the party leader.
A slight smirk soon crossed her features.
"You have absolutely no idea what I said that might have set him off, do you?"
She didn't wait for Elrohir's reply but turned back to Cygnus. "And you?"
Cygnus and Elrohir exchanged helpless glances. "No Nesco, we don't," Elrohir said quietly. The ranger glanced over at the samurai. He didn't know whether or not Tojo could overhear them but didn't think it made much of a difference at this point.
Nesco's reply was in somewhat more of a conversational tone now. "Have you ever asked him about his bracers before?"
Elrohir looked back at Cygnus. "No," he admitted, looking back at Cynewine. "None of us ever thought to. You must understand Nesco; we have never been to Nippon. We met Tojo in the kingdom of Seltia on Aarde. He'd traveled almost a thousand leagues before we first met him."
Cynewine shook her head. "Aslan told me that the samurai are very similar to knights, but-"
"There are differences, Nesco," Argo said.
"Yes, I noticed," she replied sharply, then looked over at Tojo's back before returning her gaze to the others. Her features held a touch of sadness now. "I have known knights who would strike a peasant if they believe that they've insulted their honor. I don't even agree with that, but Tojo…" The ranger shook her head again, seemingly at a loss for words. "Doesn't he consider us his equals?"
There was no answer for that. Nesco sighed loudly and walked off as the huddle broke up. Cygnus returned to his studies as Argo drew Zantac aside to speak to him privately. Elrohir and his wife began to cook up the morning meal.
Tojo stood silent and still. He did not move until the party began its travels for the day, and then he seemed as if the incident had never happened.
Except that he would still not speak to Nesco.
Elrohir had been about to upbraid his fellow ranger for her tone, but he could still see the hurt in Nesco's eyes. He decided not to make any comment, but rather indicated the fortress again with a nod of his head. "You know more about this area than any of us, Nesco. Is there any information you know that might be useful? The original purpose of that fort, for instance? That may help us determine the best way to gain entrance."
Lady Cynewine considered, while trying to stave off a fit of shivering. "The stone fort itself was probably built by the original Suloise imigrants to the Pomarj. A trading outpost, perhaps. It would have offered protection against the native Flan tribesmen. That wooden stockade looks like a more recent addition. I'm sorry, but I wouldn't know anything about its possible layout."
Elrohir nodded. Although they had not encountered any of the Flan hillmen on their journey, the three rangers had noticed numerous signs that they still frequented this area. It was just as well that the tribesmen seemed to be avoiding them. From what Elrohir had heard, they were unremittingly hostile.
Cygnus came walking up. Elrohir tried to signal him with his hand gestures to assume a lower profile until he had reached the cover of the boulder, but the wizard's face registered only confusion as he arrived. "What were you signaling me for?" he asked.
"Never mind," Elrohir mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment.
We haven't even begun, and things are looking worse by the minute, he thought, then opened his eyes again. "Are you and Zantac ready with your spells?"
Cygnus nodded. "I've cast an enhancer." Assuming that neither ranger would understand what he meant (which they didn't), the mage elaborated. "It's a spell that allows me to memorize other spells- more so than I could do otherwise, as long as I cast them within a day." He made a face. "It's one of my newest spells. I've never cast it before. I hope I did it right."
"Asran return."
Tojo had crept up, just to the point where his quiet voice would carry to them. He pointed briefly to the south.
Elrohir nodded acknowledgement, all the while noting that Nesco was staring right at Tojo as if trying to get the samurai to admit her existence, if only by looking away. The samurai however, kept his eyes fixed firmly on his party leader.
The horned owl swooped in low and landed. Not for the first time, the party marveled at how quickly Aslan's Talent allowed him to transform back into his normal form.
"I've made several circuits, and learned about all I can, Elrohir," the paladin began.
Elrohir nodded. "Hold up, Aslan. Let's all get together on this." He motioned the others to follow him and then, crouching, they all returned to where Zantac, Argo and Talass were waiting. The party again formed a huddle. This time, Tojo took part, although he remained directly opposite Nesco.
"Let's have it, Aslan," said Elrohir.
"Those figures we saw are hobgoblins," Aslan reported. "Between the stockade wall, the gatehouse and the guard tower, I'd say we're dealing with at least three or four dozen. They're all armed with bows, and I saw at least two ballista stations. There were no humans, but I did see two of those small, blue creatures, like the one that tracked us earlier. Whatever they are, it seems the hobbies are using them like guard dogs. I wouldn't be surprised if they could even sniff out even an invisible intruder."
Elrohir sighed and managed a weak smile. "Any good news for us, Aslan?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it an engraved invitation, but I did notice something," the paladin continued. "There's a small window leading into the west walkway on the second floor of the curtain wall. Now, while the hobbies are using torches-"
"Don't they have darkvision?" interrupted Nesco.
"For warmth," Cygnus put in. "It's damn cold out."
Nesco fell silent, embarrassed again. She should have known that.
Aslan resumed quickly, as if trying to cover for her. "The second floor of the curtain wall seems dark, and there's a lot of dust about. I don't think it's in use." He glanced over at the samurai. "If we can use your rope of climbing, Tojo, I think we can all get in there."
Tojo nodded but added the point that was already forming in several minds.
"Space not used is wastefer, Asran-san. They must have reason. Froor may not be safe."
"Or there may be something there that they're afraid of," Nesco added quickly, hoping to make a useful comment, and was relieved to see it taken seriously. Even Tojo, after a split-second glance at Lady Cynewine, maintained a neutral face.
Elrohir noticed the others were now looking at him.
"We'll go for it," the ranger announced, hoping he sounded more authoritative than rash. "Aslan," he added, "what do you think our odds are of getting up to the curtain wall undetected? According to Cygnus and Zantac, we don't have enough invisibility spells to cover us all."
The paladin shook his head. "I don't think we'll need them just yet, Elrohir. Between one silence spell and our diversion, you should have no problem."
Elrohir's eyes narrowed. "What diversion?"
His only reply was a high-pitched squeak as a large bat, with a wingspan of at least four feet rose swiftly into the air and headed towards the fortress.
"Aslan!" Elrohir hissed after him, but the flying mammal was already heading towards the curtain wall.
"Damn it," the party leader muttered. "He's going to get himself shot full of holes!"
"Impulsive and chaotic," Argo said with a thin smile. "He's been hanging out with the wrong people."
Elrohir wanted to share the joke, but he just couldn't find it within himself. "You think so?" he snapped at his fellow ranger, as he motioned for the others to follow him and then began to slowly descend the ridge.
"Oh, absolutely," Argo continued, nonplussed, as the party started to move. "I'd watch Nesco closely, if I were you."
They were standing at the foot of the curtain wall. There had been some anxious moments as they caught glimpses of Aslan circling above, squealing and flying dangerously close to the stockade wall. They had heard one or two arrows being fired but could not tell if they had hit their target or not. Aslan had done his job, though. None of the hobgoblins was immediately above their current position, although Elrohir knew that wouldn't last long.
The party leader turned around. "Tojo, now. Zantac, stand ready. The rest of you stay close. We'll have about five minutes of silence."
The samurai was now holding an unexceptional coil of rope, perhaps a quarter-inch thick, in his hand. He raised it to about eye-level, stared at it intently, and spoke a single word in the Nipponese language.
Instantly, the rope began to uncoil, one end rising up into the air. When it had reached the bottom of the window, Tojo spoke another syllable, and the rope snaked inside and out of sight. There was a brief vibration in the line, and then the samurai tugged on the rope, finding it secure. He spoke another phrase, and knots appeared at one-foot intervals all along the rope. Each was accompanied by a violent jerking motion as the line shortened slightly with each new knot.
Tojo let go of the rope and nodded at Zantac, who began to incant.
All sound ceased. Nesco could feel herself tense up. This was only the second time she had been encased in magical silence, and she found the effect most disconcerting. Elrohir was already motioning her to start climbing however, and she didn't want to be caught not paying attention again, so she placed her feet on one of the knots, grasped the rope above her and started climbing.
I must really be out of shape, Cynewine thought to herself as she finally gained the window entrance, small puffs of steam coming out of her mouth at regular intervals from the exertion. She wondered how Elrohir and Argo, clad in plate mail, were going to manage the climb, but Argo was already ascending the rope, so Nesco clambered inside.
The pale light of a full Luna gave a dim cast to what she was seeing. Aslan had been right. This place was thick was dust. It was nothing more than a small walkway, perhaps ten feet by thirty, with a closed door at one end. Small slivers of light snuck through arrow slits in the north wall. Any items that might once had been in here had been removed. Still, the floor seemed safe, and there were certainly no monsters present.
Nesco looked down at the floor again and frowned. If it actually was unsafe and creaking loudly below her, she couldn't hear it in the silence.
She moved aside as Argo Bigfellow entered the room. The ranger took it in with a quick glance, then smiled at Nesco. His eyebrows pumped up and down, and Nesco had to grin, in spite of herself.
The others followed in quick succession. Elrohir motioned for them to line up facing the door, in the formation they had assigned beforehand. The party leader took the lead on the left, with the space next to him reserved for Aslan. Behind him was Argo, with Talass on Bigfellow's right. Behind them were the two wizards, Cygnus and Zantac.
Lady Cynewine and Tojo filled out the rear. Nesco grimaced to herself. This arrangement had been made before the samurai's outburst, and Nesco hadn't dared to suggest a rearrangement to Elrohir. She was stuck with it now. She risked a glance over to her right, but Tojo was looking all around, in every direction but hers.
Elrohir looked behind him and nodded to Argo. Both rangers drew their swords, and a soft pink glow resulted from their mixed radiances.
Nesco tapped her foot, glad for the moment that her nervous mannerism wouldn't be audible to anybody and stared out the window. Where was Aslan?
After about a minute or so, the bat appeared. It landed on the windowsill, and suddenly the paladin was there, squatting on his haunches, looking uncomfortable and tired, but unhurt. With a facial expression accompanied by thankfully silenced groans, the paladin made his way over to his position in formation and nodded to his party leader, indicating he had no news to report.
Elrohir gave one last look at his friends.
Stay with me, people. Stay together.
They moved towards the door.