3rd Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj
Argo wasn't used to having to look up at Aslan, and it bothered him. He wasn't going to let that show, however. He wasn't going to let any kind of weakness or hesitation show.
Not now.
"Get out of here, Aslan," he repeated, his voice low. The ranger held Harve in front of him in a battle stance. "You know what will happen if you stay."
Aslan hunched over, his hands balling into meaty fists as he struggled to master the feeling that his blood was burning throughout his massive frame.
It was a struggle he clearly wasn't winning.
"Can't... leave," he gritted out. "You... you'll..."
"Die without you?" Argo finished with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. The ranger shook his head. "Even as a ogre you manage to have a swelled head. We'll get by just fine without your magnificence, thank you."
Bigfellow stole a quick glance over his shoulder. He saw precisely what he had hoped, if not expected to see. Elrohir had gathered the rest of the team together, but not so tightly as to be obvious.
"Listen to me." the party leader said quietly, as he walked among the five individuals standing nearby. "If Aslan cannot teleport, we are all going to have to strike first, but nonlethal attacks only." The Aardian ranger held up a cautioning finger. "I know that makes it more dangerous for us, but I'm hoping the element of surprise will give us a chance to make the attacks that count."
He turned to the tall mage. "Cygnus, can you-"
The wizard cut his friend off with a shake of his head. "Sorry. A sleep spell won't work on him, Elrohir."
"Damn," Elrohir whispered.
His blue eyes then alighted upon a pair of purple ones.
"Tojo," he said, "I think we've all seen how proficient you are at this sort of thing. The bulk of this may well fall upon you. Are you..."
The ranger's voice trailed off, as did his questioning gesture with his hands. He hoped that his rather flippant statement would be taken as the humor it was rather than as a snide remark.
The samurai regarded him silently.
Is this the new Tojo or the old Tojo looking at me? Elrohir thought to himself, and then cast that notion off. There was no "new" or "old" Tojo. He was the same person he had always been. It was simply that Tojo had never talked about the problems of his past before, so Elrohir had gone ahead and assumed that they weren't worth talking about. It had been- more convenient that way. More convenient for everybody.
Until now.
Tojo nodded slowly. If the samurai's cheekbone had not been smashed, Elrohir thought he might even have tried to smile. Or perhaps not.
"I understand, Errohir-san. I wirr not fair you."
The ranger nodded. "Thank you, Tojo." He risked clamping his hand briefly on the samurai's left shoulder, drawing Tojo's eyes briefly to that spot before they returned to meet Elrohir's gaze. The ranger quickly pulled his hand back and gave his friend an embarrassed smile before returning his attention to the others.
"Start spreading out, people," he whispered. "Flank him."
Argo could see out of the corner of his eye his companions were on the move. With a conscious effort, he kept his gaze focused squarely on Grock's face.
Grock, he thought to himself. Couldn't he at least have come up with a name for himself without stealing from my dog? Argo wanted to make a crack to Aslan about that, but he was very much aware that one joke taken the wrong way could be disastrous for everyone.
And Aslan looked like he had even less of a sense of humor right now than usual.
The overriding question in Bigfellow's mind returned to pester the ranger.
Why isn't he leaving?
He tightened his grip on Harve's hilt, trying to ignore the cold sweat pouring off his hands and accumulating in his gauntlets.
Aslan was still staring at Argo, but he seemed to be losing his focus. His black eyes locked in on Harve, seemingly unable to look away from that red glow. It almost looked somehow as if his eyes were beginning to mirror that glow. The ogre's mouth hung open slack jawed, and the sound of his heavy breathing, almost a snorting, reminded Bigfellow of a bull.
No one spoke.
That is, no human spoke.
"Hellooo? I'm outside, but I'm not cutting into anything! All I feel is a cold chill- Let's get some warm blood flowing here!"
Everyone in the room gasped at Harve's sudden outburst. No one more so than Argo.
The ogre blinked. His eyes narrowed, and slowly a snarl appeared on his thick lips.
That expression was mirrored precisely on the face of Argo Bigfellow Junior.
"You cold, Harve?" the ranger shouted at his blade. "Here!"
And with a sweep of his right hand, Argo sent his sword flying behind him. The weapon spun in the air as it traveled through the air in a gentle arc, landing right in the center of the fire pit- on top of the red coals.
Bigfellow turned back to the ogre and started shouting.
"Aslan!" he yelled. "Get out of here! Go... to... the... temple! Get your sanctimonious, uptight, narrow-minded, humorless, asexual paladin carcass over there... now!"
Elrohir couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was certain Argo was going to be ground underfoot for that outburst.
Aslan's eyes, now very definitely tinged with red, went wide. His head turned upwards to stare at the stone ceiling a mere foot over his head. He opened his mouth and a half-roar, half-squeal emerged so loud that Elrohir, on pure instinct, drew his sword.
And then there was nothing to look at but an empty space.
Bigfellow nearly staggered over to the east wall, where he leaned up against it, exhaling deep breaths of relief. Elrohir could see the beads of sweat on his fellow ranger's forehead as he approached.
Argo saw his fellow ranger walking over and answered the question he saw in his leader's face. "I thought if I could keep his mind on the aspects of Aslan the paladin instead of Grock the ogre, I might finally be able to ram home the idea of teleporting out through that thick skull of his." Argo took off his gauntlets and tried to wipe the sweat off his forehead and hands. "I'm just glad he was actually able to do it," he concluded with a grimace.
Elrohir resheathed his sword, folded his arms across his chest and shook his head at Bigfellow. "Did it ever occur to you to compliment Aslan on his paladin attributes instead of insulting them?"
Argo assumed a thoughtful, distant look that Elrohir knew was patently false, and then returned his gaze to his friend.
"Nope."
He gave the party leader a smile and wink as he passed by on his way to the fire pit.
Elrohir sighed and turned his attention back to the rest of the party.
They were all more-or-less starting to wind down and relax, realizing that at least their most immediate threat had abated.
Except for Lady Cynewine. She looked so troubled that Elrohir had to constrain himself from actually running over to her, and instead settled for a brisk stride.
"Nesco?"
She glanced up, startled for a moment. Elrohir couldn't help but think You're lucky I'm friend and not foe, Lady Cynewine. You've been far too distracted on this mission. He tried to keep this thought out of his face as he inquired "Are you all right?"
Nesco bit her lip. Her words came out thin and hesitantly.
"Aslan. I'm worried that... he might... that he might not... be coming back."
Elrohir's eyebrows shot up. That wasn't what he had been expecting at all.
"Why?" he asked, unable to keep genuine curiosity out of his voice. "Surely the Valorous Church in Chendl can cure lycanthropy?"
Nesco dropped her gaze to the floor.
"I'm sure they could, Elrohir- if they were of a mind to."
The ranger frowned. He didn't like the sound of that at all.
Elrohir glanced back at the fire pit and watched for a moment as Argo, standing unharmed on the hot coals, picked up his sword and began violently shaking it. He then sighed again and turned back to Nesco.
"Why wouldn't they be?" he asked, his tone darkening further with every word. "Have we been deceived by the Royal Court?"
Lady Cynewine shook her head rapidly and put her hands forward, as if to physically halt Elrohir's train of thought. "No Elrohir, that's not it. What I meant was they would of course cure Aslan..."
Elrohir tilted his head at hearing Nesco's accent on their friend's name. "But?" he prodded, with some impatience.
Nesco eyed him steadily. "But that wasn't Aslan who just teleported back there, was it?" she asked. "It was a crazed ogre, splattered with blood."
Her fellow ranger made a curt gesture of dismissal. "They know he can polymorph."
"So what will that ogre say when they say to him, 'Aslan, is that you?' Will he reply to them, or will he do what he was on the verge of doing when he teleported out of here- growl and attack them?"
Elrohir closed his eyes as Nesco's words sunk in. She's right, he thought dully. Aslan might just have teleported to his death.
Not being able to look Nesco in the face due to his embarrassment, the party leader turned around before opening his eyes again. When he did, he saw Argo ram Harve into the hanging lizard's head and start twisting the blade around inside.
He turned partway back to his fellow ranger. "Is there any chance the priests there will show restraint?""
"I don't know, Elrohir." Nesco's voice was bitter. "Once I converted to the worship of Zeus, the clergy of Heironeous stopped coming by our house like they once did. I don't know many of the clerics there anymore." Her voice now turned grim. "And despite Bigfellow's optimism, my personal opinion is that if Aslan dies, the rest of us won't be far behind."
Elrohir sighed as he listened to Cynewine's dire prediction.
He really wished he could disagree with it.
A nearby movement caught his attention. He turned. Talass was standing off to his left, looking at him.
"We should get moving, Elrohir," his wife said evenly, after a quick glance at Nesco. "If you really want to break that door down, we're going to have to do it without Aslan."
The ranger slowly nodded, then motioned both women towards the western door. "All right. Let's get this done as quickly as possible. Tojo!" he called out. "Have our wizards come over!"
The samurai nodded and walked over to where the two mages stood, lost in a conversation Elrohir couldn't hear.
"Argo!"
Bigfellow, currently grinding ashes into the blade of his sword with the heel of his boot, looked up.
"Let's go," Elrohir told him. "We've got a door to break down!"
Argo nodded as he began walking over. "Of course, Elrohir. Myself and my faithful- and- obedient- sword are at your disposal!" the big ranger replied, using the weapon as a walking stick, emphasizing each word with a downward jab of Harve's point into a chink into one of the floor stones.
"Don't be fooled by your friend's smile, Elrohir," a weary voice emanated from the blade. "This guy's got a temper on him like you wouldn't believe."
The party waited until the dust settled.
Elrohir nodded to the others. Leaving a reluctant Zantac to watch over the north door, the other six members of the party slowly moved through the doorway, stepping on the surface of the door they had just ripped right off its hinges.
The party had no more light cantrips available, but the combined glow of Harve and Gokasillion was sufficient to bathe this thirty by thirty foot chamber in a dull pink illumination.
Elrohir blinked. This was Icar's quarters.
Not exactly certain why he was surprised at that, the ranger looked around. Directly in front of him was a small circular table. One wooden chair sat on the far side of the table, while the other lay smashed to splinters underneath the fallen door. On the table itself was a chessboard with a raised grid pattern. It appeared as if all the pieces had been in place in their starting positions, but the impact of the door had knocked many of them over. Several lay on the floor.
A carafe of wine lay on its side by the table. Elrohir picked it up and examined it. It seemed about half-full. For a moment he considered it. His throat felt dry and dusty. Wine would go down so much better than the lukewarm water he had on him. The ranger licked his lips, and then slowly set the carafe back down on the table.
I'm done making stupid mistakes, he thought.
Elrohir stepped off the wobbling door onto the floor and looked at the west wall. A robe nearly identical to Tojo's hung up on a peg there. Next to the robe hung a cloak and an old, rectangular shield that bore a Nipponese character upon it. Also hanging on a peg was a musical instrument Elrohir couldn't quite identify. It bore only a faint resemblance to a lute, and he assumed it was Kara-Turan in origin.
The party leader saw the rest of his party slowly starting to spread out to search the room.
He suddenly held up his hand. "Stop!"
Five heads turned towards him. In response, the ranger turned to look directly at one of them.
"Tojo," he said. "Check out this room. Let us know if there is anything we shouldn't touch."
The samurai nodded. Elrohir thought he might have seen a flicker of gratitude cross Tojo's features, but the ranger cautioned himself against projecting his own hopes onto other people. That was another mistake he didn't intend to make again.
They all watched as the samurai walked over to the west wall and slowly examined the items hung on it. Elrohir tightened his grip on his sword and shield as Tojo briefly handled the cloak. He half-expected it to start moving of its own accord, but it did not.
Tojo cast a quick glance at the large but simple bed that was placed along the north well. It was covered by a blanket made of tan-colored furs.
Elrohir saw Nesco turn and grimace at him. Giant weasel fur, he thought. Lord, I hope there aren't any of those monsters here.
The samurai was now kneeling down by a wooden chest sitting just to the left of the bed. There was no apparent lock upon it, but Elrohir tensed up again as Tojo slowly swung the lid open and back. The samurai's back blocked his view of what was in the chest, but it seemed that Tojo was holding up various articles of nondescript clothing and then putting them back.
Elrohir turned his head to look the other way. On the south wall, right near the eastern corner was a door with a lock upon it.
The ranger's jaw tightened. According to Gokasillion, the gold lay directly behind that door.
He turned back. Tojo was now holding up a Nipponese robe- a kimono, similar in style to the one that Tojo had once owned. This one was a silver color, and as the samurai held it up, turning it right and left, Elrohir could see that it was decorated with motifs of some kind of fantastic lizards. They reminded the ranger somehow of dragons, but they seemed more snake-like, and lacked wings.
Tojo let out an audible sigh, carefully refolded the kimono and placed it back in the chest, and then closed the lid. The samurai then stood up and faced his party leader. He said nothing, but his expression made it clear that he had found nothing here that he would consider sacred.
Elrohir looked again at the south door. "Weapons ready," he said quietly.
He could feel the others gathering behind him. The ranger stopped about five feet from the door. He stared at the lock for a moment, and then turned around to his companions.
"Cygnus," he asked. "Do you have another of those knock spells memorized?"
The tall mage shook his head. Elrohir blew air through his lips for a moment, and then turned to Tojo again.
"Tojo, please check to see if Icar has the key on his person."
The samurai hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left the room.
Elrohir slung his shield over his shoulder, turned back to the south door and slowly walked up to it, motioning for the others to hold their position. His left hand slowly reached out to grasp the metallic handle set into the wood door. He gave it a little tug, just to assure himself it was locked.
There was a noise from beyond the door.
Elrohir stiffened.
It sounded like someone breathing, and then a faint squeak of wood, as if perhaps someone was rising up from a chair.
The ranger concentrated. He could hear the sound of chains jangling, and there was a very faint hissing, as if air were leaking into or out of the room.
Elrohir was about to call out, but whoever was inside beat him to it.
"Icar, you snake's belly, release me!"
Elrohir's eyebrows shot up.
A prisoner? he thought.
Whoever it was, she sounded rather angry.
"Who's there?" Elrohir asked loudly.
There was a silence, a little longer than he would have expected, before the reply.
"Who is out there?" The voice was thick with suspicion.
The party leader cleared his throat and tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice as he spoke. "My name is Elrohir of Furyondy. My companions and I have slain this Icar. We are here to bring an end to the slavers' operation. I ask you again, who are you?"
There was an audible sigh of relief from behind the door.
"Thank the gods! Please, set me free! I am Lady Morwin Elissar of Greyhawk! I was captured and sent here weeks ago. That accursed Icar keeps me here in the dark, chained to the wall! He said he wanted to keep me here along with- his other treasures. He- he would..."
The voice broke down amidst sobbing.
"It's all right, Lady Elissar. We will have you out of there shortly. Take heart!" The ranger turned around just in time to see Tojo return to the room. The samurai's hands were empty, but before Elrohir could say anything, he saw the samurai's gaze alight upon the top of the lintel.
"Key on top of door, Errohir-san."
"What? Oh, excellent!" Elrohir reached up, and after a momentary fumbling managed to bring the key down. He immediately inserted it into the lock and turned it.
In the back, Cygnus filled Tojo in.
"There's a noblewoman from Greyhawk imprisoned within. She said that Icar is keeping her there as one of his treasures." The wizard made a sour face. "He apparently had an appetite for such treasures."
Tojo stared at him. Slowly, a frown creased the samurai's face. "That not possiber," he said quietly.
"Look, Tojo," the mage replied. "I know that Icar was a samurai and all that, but he was working for slavers, for Asgard's sake! How honorable could he have been?"
"Not possiber!" Tojo repeated, more loudly now.
Argo Bigfellow, watching this, suddenly whirled around.
"Elrohir! Don't!"
The warning reached the party leader's ears a moment after the door opened and his eyes beheld what was inside.
He never heard it. The last sound he had heard was a loud hissing.
Talass, who had been looking at her husband rather than at the door, suddenly screamed and dove forward and to the right of the doorway.
"Medusa!"
It was only after she rolled to a squatting position that the cleric hoped that the others knew just what a medusa was- and what it meant.
Fortunately, they seemed to. With yells and no small amount of confusion, the other four party members had backed up away from the door. Talass could see them now. Everyone held their weapons out in front in a generic gesture of defense, but their eyes were glued to the floor in front of them.
There was a sharp metallic clank, as if a chain had been stretched to its limits.
Well, what do you know? Talass thought to herself. She really was Icar's prisoner!
She gritted her teeth. The priestess knew what she had to do. The only question was if she would be able to do it before the enormity of what had just happened broke through to her. Talass knew she was going to be useless once that happened.
She took a deep breath and abruptly dived back the way she came.
"All of you, keep looking away!" she yelled.
"Talass! Don't try anything stupid!" Cygnus shouted.
The cleric rolled back to her feet in her previous position, just behind Elrohir. As she grasped her holy symbol and whirled around to face the door again, Talass closed her eyes, but not before she had gotten a glimpse of the stone statue that had once been her husband.
Tears welled up behind her closed eyelids.
No! Not yet!
She was about to start casting when she heard Nesco call out.
"Talass! The key! By Elrohir's foot!"
The priestess bent her head down and opened one eye slightly.
Elrohir had removed the key from the lock as he had opened the door. It had fallen from his hand when he was petrified, and now lay perhaps two feet in front of his right foot.
At the very upper limit of her current field of view, Talass could see the top of a head covered with a writhing, hissing mass of snakes. The medusa was on all fours, stretched to the very limit of her chain. A hand and arm, both covered in fine, snake-like scales was straining, its fingers only an inch or so away from the key.
Talass had to make a conscious effort to keep her one open eye from popping open even further.
The key! It must fit the lock on her chain, as well!
"What's going on in there?" came a familiar voice.
Zantac! He's coming in!
The medusa, suddenly aware of the figure near her, abruptly jerked her face up.
Talass closed her eyes just in time. She thrust her holy symbol out and started chanting.
The entire room went black.
There was a horrible screeching sound. It continued, but then Talass' voice carried over it.
"Everyone back up, towards the north wall!"
One by one, the adventurers emerged out of what they immediately recognized as a field of magical darkness. Soon, they were all clustered about twenty feet from the south doorway.
They were too stunned to say anything, but they all knew they didn't have the luxury of going into shock, so they all just stood around and trembled.
The medusa's screeching and hissing continued.
And then abruptly stopped.
Talass was the first to realize the implication.
"The key!" she shouted. "She's got the key!"
"Fireball!" Cygnus yelled and reached into his spell component pouch, but Talass grabbed his arm.
"No!" she shrieked, so loudly that the magic-user stared in shock at his compatriot.
Talass' face was wild with fear. "You'll hit Elrohir! You'll," she swallowed hard. "You'll destroy him! They won't be able to raise him from that!"
"We have no other spells that will work, Talass!" the mage shouted back. "We have no choice but to-"
Tojo's battle cry suddenly filled the room.
And before anyone could react, the samurai had plunged back into the darkness field, his katana at the ready.
"Tojo!" Nesco screamed.
Cygnus closed his eyes again. One by one, we die, he thought. I should just follow him in there and get it over with. I told Thorin I wasn't a coward. Why don't I prove it and just go in there?
But his feet wouldn't move. Cygnus, Zantac, Talass, Argo and Nesco stood there and listened as Tojo battled the medusa in complete darkness.
The medusa's screeching abruptly ceased.
There was a dull thump.
And Yanigasawa Tojo slowly, with trembling steps, emerged from the darkness.
The others quickly guided him to the chair. Amazingly, the samurai seemed to have escaped almost completely unscathed, save for a nasty-looking snakebite on his right arm. He seemed weak though, almost exhausted, and breathing heavily. Without a second thought, he grabbed the carafe of wine on the table, popped the cork off and finished off the remaining contents.
The others stared at him.
She watched as Talass leaned her head in close to the samurai's ear.
"Thank you, Tojo," she whispered.
The samurai turned his head. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, and then he nodded briefly and looked away.
Nesco came up as Talass retreated. The samurai looked at her expectantly.
"Tojo," said Nesco softly. "How were you able to battle the medusa in total darkness?"
Tojo hesitated a moment for replying. He still seemed to be trying to control his breathing. He did not look directly at Nesco now.
"I watch how Icar fight," the samurai noted. "He fight without seeing. He hear, he- sense. I try to do same."
"But- how could you have learned so quickly?"
Tojo's face took on a troubled cast. It was the face Nesco had come to recognize when the samurai was unable to find the words he wanted. Finally, he just leaned back in his chair. His voice was a mere whisper now.
"Perhaps just rucky, Nesco-san."
His eyes closed. The ranger stood back, recognizing the samurai's attempt to place himself into his meditative state.
Talass pulled Argo aside.
"He's been poisoned," she said to him quietly.
Bigfellow glanced at Tojo with concern, and then back to Talass.
"How bad?" he asked through thin lips. "And can you help him?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think that medusa venom is fatal in and of itself, but it can make the victim so weak, he can't move. I could be wrong about that, though. And no, I can't cure him. I don't even have the prayer memorized to slow the course of the poison down."
Argo said nothing.
Talass could almost hear the cracking sound within her as she could feel herself start to slip.
"This is it, isn't it?" she said. It was more of a confirmation than a question.
Before he could reply, Bigfellow turned his head. Cygnus, Zantac and Nesco were standing right behind him. The cleric's remark had been directed at them as much as at him.
Argo took a deep breath. He desperately wanted to think up witty and encouraging to say, but right now he couldn't even manage his famous pained smile.
The image of Caroline kept trying to break into his thoughts.
Who made me leader, and what were they thinking? he thought to himself wryly, and the thought was almost enough to make him smile.
Almost.
Argo gestured towards the globe of blackness in front of them. "Talass, how long will that last?"
The priestess chewed her lip. "Close to an hour."
Bigfellow frowned. "Too long. Can you dispel it?"
Talass slowly nodded.
"Do it. Elrohir's desire for treasure got us in this mess, and now I'm thinking it's the only thing that's going to get us out."
Argo grunted and groaned as he rammed Harve's trip around inside the large iron chest's lock.
"The indignity..." muttered the sword, but immediately after that comment, a crack appeared in the metal by the keyhole. The ranger stuck the sword in the tiny crevice and pulled down, using the blade as a lever. The metal strained until, with a soft pop, the lock gave way.
"That would have been easier if that damn key had fit that lock as well," Argo said, exhaling hard.
Zantac was once again guarding the north door of the kitchen. Nesco, Talass and Cygnus were already sitting down on the floor, gathered around the chest. The mage reached out and slowly opened the lid.
Gold glittered an odd color in Harve's red light. The chest was mostly filled with what Cygnus took a rough guess to be about two thousand gold pieces. Even without sifting through them, Nesco and Talass could see they were from many different lands. The Pomarj, Greyhawk, the Ulek states, and many others.
Digging through the coins netted ten polished pieces of jet, and ten matching silver and black opal bracelets. The quartet stored away the jewelry and some gold, but Talass and Cygnus continued to sift through the coins. They were looking for something else.
"There's nothing," Talass said worriedly.
"There has to be," Cygnus said reassuringly. "I've been on enough crawls to know. As I told Aslan, there are some things- you can- always-"
The wizard pulled back, a thin wooden box, perhaps six by twelve inches, in his hands. He hurriedly slid the lid open, not even considering the possibility of a magical trap until after he had done so. He breathed a sigh of relief as he looked at the others.
"-count on," he finished, smiling and looking inside.
Talass reached in and pulled out two sheets of parchment that had each been folded over many times.
Cygnus locked eyes with the priestess. "You first?" he asked.
She nodded. "All right."
Talass cast her orison and spread out the parchments on the floor in front of her. A smile slowly appeared on her face.
"They're scrolls of spells, all right. One divine, the other arcane."
The cleric's eyes flickered back and forth as she snatched up one of the scrolls and started scanning down along its length. The smile slowly faded away.
"Stone to flesh," she murmured. "Stone to flesh. Please, Forseti, it's got to be here. It's got to."
Cygnus, having also cast his last read magic cantrip, silently perused the second scroll.
Argo and Nesco looked on. Neither said a word.
Talass scowled. She nearly crumpled up her parchment before seeming to reconsider at the last moment and instead refolding it. The priestess shook her head in annoyance.
"The same prayer. Six copies of the same prayer!"
"Which prayer?" asked Argo.
Talass glared at him. "Strength. You have a particular use for that, Bigfellow?"
Argo did not reply immediately but looked thoughtful. In the meantime, Nesco waited until Cygnus had finished his examination. The wizard looked over at the ranger with a wry smile.
"Six copies of feather fall," he shrugged. "Perhaps someone got a discount for ordering in bulk."
"I'm glad you think it's funny, Cygnus."
The mage sighed and slowly got back to his feet. Talass was already moving out of the ten by ten closet where the treasure chest, bolted to the floor, had been located.
The cleric had closed her eyes so she would not have to look at the statue that still stood in front of it. She moved towards the entrance to the kitchen., then stopped and folded her arms. She did not look back at the others, but her voice was loud and strong.
"And so it ends here," Talass said. "At first, I was against all this. Then, back in Highport, I thought that perhaps it was the will of the Justice Bringer that we die in a noble cause. But this," and she waved her right hand around in a gesture designed to encompass everything, "there's nothing noble about this. Our own mistakes, our own flaws, our own weaknesses have once again landed us to the edge of death's domain. Not by our enemies do we die, but by ourselves."
The priestess abruptly whirled around. Her eyes filled with a cold, blue anger.
"Do you still have your Enemies List, Cygnus? Did you remember to add all our names to it? The record must be clear for posterity!"
Cygnus couldn't find it within himself to reply. He was once again listening to Aslan's words in his head.
Yes, Cygnus, there is something you can do. You can add all of our names to that Enemies List of yours. It'll be a blessed miracle if we all don't wind up killing each other before they do.
The magic-user closed his eyes, his right hand still clutching the arcane scroll.
Please, Lord Odin. Don't let it end like this. Let me see my son again and let Talass see hers. We've seen the worst in ourselves. Show us the best. Show us that we at least had a chance of success.
Cygnus did not hear Odin's voice in reply, however.
Only Argo's.
"I won't speak for you, my good lady, or for anyone else, but I for one intend to get out of here. I have a wife back home that I would very much like to see again; the sooner, the better. Now are you interested in helping, or just pontificating?"
Cygnus opened his eyes just in time to see Talass stride right up to Argo and stare right into his eyes.
"You have another miracle up your sleeve, Bigfellow?" she hissed. "You holding out something on us?
Argo did not flinch. He kept his face absolutely neutral.
"No, my good lady. You are."
Talass blinked. "What?"
The ranger's eyes flickered down. "To be precise, that scroll that you're holding out in your right hand."
The cleric looked at the scroll. Puzzlement battled with suspicion for control of her expression. She glanced back up at Argo. "So?"
"So how long will a casting of that prayer last, my good lady?"
Talass frowned. "Four, maybe five minutes."
Bigfellow folded his arms. "So, you cast strength once on Tojo, to get him back up to fighting form. And then, you cast it on me."
The cleric looked at the ranger expectantly. Argo looked at her and smiled.
"So I can carry Elrohir."
Talass was silent for a moment, and then glanced around at the others.
"I think we should make a break for it, Talass," said Nesco.
The cleric hesitated and then shrugged, although her heart still didn't seem in it.
"Why not?"
She unfurled the scroll and began to read.
Argo barked out orders as the party approached their petrified party leader. "Zantac! Push that barrel aside and keep the north door closed yourself! We're going to have to open it quickly. Tojo- you and Talass will be the second line behind Nesco and myself! Cygnus- you and Zantac are going to be the rear guard. I'm sorry we can't offer you protection. You're going to have to use up your remaining spells for that! Ready now- the strength spells won't last long!"
Argo grabbed the statue and heaved.
And heaved.
He managed to lift it off the ground but could only stagger a step or two before setting it down again.
"It's still too heavy."
"No," Talass whispered.
"Can you cast another strength spell on Argo, Talass?" Nesco asked hurriedly.
"No," she whispered. "It doesn't work that way."
She trembled for a moment, and then abruptly flung her arms around the statue.
"Dearest!" she cried. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
Talass burst into tears, hugging her petrified husband, as if hoping he would somehow come back to life and put his arms around her. Elrohir's left arm was flung outwards, having just swung the door open, the fingers spread slightly apart. His right hand held a stone sword, pointed off to the side. Talass nestled herself between the statue's arms and leaned her head into its cold, unyielding shoulder.
Argo clenched his fist in frustration. "Please, my good lady… Talass. We have to go!"
The cleric kept her eyes shut tight. Tears continued to trickle down her face. "I'm not leaving without my husband, Argo," she said quietly. "You go. All of you. I wish you luck."
"Talass," Nesco said suddenly. "Cast strength on me! Together, Argo and I will be able to carry him!"
Talass kept her eyes closed, but a bitter smile appeared on her face. "And who does that leave us to fight our way through the enemy hordes, Nesco? Myself and Tojo?" She shook her head. "We wouldn't make it a hundred yards." She took a deep breath, apparently accepting of her fate. "If Tojo can die with dignity, then so can I. I'll cast the prayer for you if you want, but I'm staying right here." Her voice faded to a whisper as she hugged Elrohir tighter. "With my husband- my love."
Nesco wildly looked back and forth in panic.
Cygnus looked to be on the verge of tears himself. The wizard's shoulders were slumped, and he was staring down at the floor, unable to meet anyone's face.
Tojo stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back. The strength spell had seemed to restore him to normal, if only temporarily. In the midst of what might be the party's last and emotional moments, his face had at last regained the passivity of old.
His eyes however, showed he was thinking. Thinking of something.
Argo snarled, grabbed Talass by the shoulders and spun her around.
"Now you listen to me, my good lady!" The big ranger's auburn eyes seemed almost aflame, much as Aslan's had been earlier.
"The heavens must be crumbling for me to say this, but Aslan was right! And so was Elrohir! There are times to go off on your own, and there are times where you stand together with the ones you love, and this IS that time!" Bigfellow's voice was hoarse with passion. "Yes, we may die. In fact, we probably will! If that's the case, then we'll be happier in the afterlife! Don't they teach you that in… in… cleric school?"
Despite herself, Talass smiled again. She shook her head sadly at him.
"Argo Bigfellow Junior, you are a fool."
The ranger nodded vigorously.
"Damn right I am! Have I ever said otherwise? Ask Caroline! She knows I've never had a lick of common sense! So be it- you work with what you've got! Good lord woman, even that bastard sword of mine knows that!"
Talass just stared at him. Argo held up a finger.
"Now, I have what only someone who is about to die and has no other choice would call a plan! It may raise our chances for survival from zero to one percent- that's all I can give you, but this plan needs you, Talass! I need you to cast that spell on Nesco, and then I need you to take that warhammer of yours and fight like you've never fought before!" He spun her around and almost shoved the cleric right into Cynewine.
"Cast it now! We've already wasted too much time, and for my plan to work, we've got to get out of here and back into the corridor before-"
There was a crashing noise from outside. Then it came again.
Argo, Cygnus and Tojo rushed into the kitchen. Zantac was jamming Cygnus' quarterstaff against the door, trying desperately to brace it up. He swung around to face the trio; his face wild with terror.
"The hobgoblins!" he cried. "They're breaking in!"