26th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj
The sounds outside both doors were growing closer.
Elrohir gulped and stepped into position on Aslan's left.
The howling of wolves (along with other unidentifiable sounds) could still be heard from beyond the double doors, but the knocking had stopped, and Blackthorn was no longer responding to anything the party said. The rear door continued to resound with the sounds of weapons, mainly axes, chopping at it. Cygnus had been forced to throw his own hold portal spell to reinforce that door. That had bought them some time, but the wizard had made it clear to the party that it wasn't going to hold indefinitely.
The two magic-users were triangulating the rear door from about forty feet out. Meanwhile, Elrohir, Aslan, Tojo and Nesco had lined up facing the double doors at about the same distance. Talass stood a few steps behind Aslan.
The party leader steadied his nerves with a deep breath and looked over to the paladin.
"This is what you were afraid of, eh?"
Aslan nodded grimly. "Yes. Blackthorn lets us wear ourselves down doing his dirty work for him, and then he sweeps in and picks up the pieces."
"And we're the pieces," muttered Nesco.
"I hope your guess about Blackthorn's friends was right, Aslan," Talass, currently standing behind Nesco, said to the back of the paladin's head. Her hands gripped her warhammer tightly. "Otherwise all these preparations will be for naught. As it is, all our protective spells have already worn off."
"I'm right about this, Talass," Aslan responded without turning around.
I've got to be, he thought. He looked again at Elrohir and the two locked eyes but didn't speak. He could see the ranger examining his entire party while trying to be discreet about it. Aslan knew Elrohir was checking out their remaining wounds and making silent estimations as to their battle readiness. Aslan had thrown massive amounts of his Talent into healing but everyone except Nesco was still wounded to one degree or another. The paladin instinctively glanced over to his right and gave a smile of encouragement at her. At least she'll survive.
Nesco caught Aslan smiling at her, and the ranger's eyes widened momentarily before she threw her glance elsewhere. A faint blush appeared in her cheeks, and she seemed for some reason to be trying to suppress a smile of her own.
Aslan frowned in puzzlement, but at that very moment the double doors unexpectedly swung open.
There hadn't been so much as a tap on them, but both doors suddenly swung inward of their own accord. There was a man standing just outside them. He seemed to be in his late fifties, with short white hair that ran down the sides of his head to merge smoothly into a stubbly white beard. He wore a chainmail shirt over nondescript brown clothing, and a dull gray was cloak draped over his shoulders.
The paladin frowned. Something about this man didn't look right.
In his right hand, the man carried a worn-looking longsword. His left hand held a small wooden rod of some kind, whose tip had been carved into the likeness of a clenched fist. This he now stuffed under his belt as he gazed at the party inside with a small smile.
There was no sign of Blackthorn. And yet...
Aslan kept his eyes on the man while speaking out of the corner of his mouth to Elrohir. "From what I heard Markessa saying, Blackthorn has the ability to polymorph. I think that may be him."
"I don't think it is," came the voice to his left.
Aslan looked over in surprise. "How do you know?"
Nesco shrugged. "That's the slave driver we saw on the road on our first trip here. Remember? There's no reason as far as I can see for Blackthorn to assume his likeness."
Elrohir nodded now. "She's right. That is him."
"Well, fine," Aslan conceded. "Then where is Blackthorn? And where are his-"
From the shadows beyond the doors, three figures came charging into the room. All were completely covered in short, silvery-gray fur. From their lupine faces erupted a series of howls, snarls and growls. Their lean, muscular legs powered them forward faster than any man, and they ran hunched over for speed, their pointed ears pressed flat against their heads.
The creature in the center headed straight for Aslan, effortlessly leaping over the operating table en route to the paladin. The others had to alter their course slightly to get into line with Elrohir and Tojo, their intended targets, but came on just as quickly.
Just as the three were about the reach their human quarry, Aslan made his tactical decision and spoke up.
"The middle one- fire!"
Four hands aimed and released their grip. Four bowstrings twanged. Four arrows sped towards a single target, which took no notice whatsoever except for an evil, toothy grin that seemed to reveal an utter disregard for the actions of its prey.
That grin vanished as the arrows hit.
The werewolf yelped like a kicked dog as four silver arrowheads buried themselves in its flesh, one severing the major artery in its neck. Spinning and twisting, trying vainly to snap at the arrow shafts, the lycanthrope lost its balance and stumbled to the ground at Aslan's feet, where it writhed in agony.
The other two launched themselves at Elrohir and Tojo tooth and nail, trying to rend tender flesh between slavering jaws and beneath filth-encrusted nails.
"Cari! Filch! Sic 'em!"
Aslan shot a glance over towards the double doors and frowned. He had assumed the gray-cloaked man's command had been issued to the two surviving werewolves, but she could see now that the man wasn't even looking into the laboratory; he was facing back into the corridor.
The mystery was quickly solved. The two gray-skinned, misshapen creatures that they had seen accompanying the slave merchant earlier came loping into the room. One, carrying a dagger in each hand, came skirting around the operating table to the west. The other wielded only one dagger, but its stinger-equipped tail came up and over its head, scorpion-like, as it came around on the other side. Both creatures emitted moaning sounds of gibberish as they came, saliva pooling and then dripping out of their deformed mouths.
The memory of a tortured creature on that same table suddenly flashed through the paladin's mind. By the High One- these are Markessa's creations! He shot a quick look into the room's southwest corner, where the body of the stockade leader still lay crumpled in a silent heap.
Your legacy survives you, Markessa, he thought. Unfortunately. How many others have you done this to?
"Damn it!"
Talass, the only one who could currently afford the luxury, glanced backwards. Cygnus was facing them, his left hand outstretched and a sour expression on his face.
"Sleep?" the priestess asked wryly.
"I don't know what those things are!" the tall mage shouted. "I thought it might work!"
"Save your spells!" Aslan shouted over the sounds of his combat with Elrohir's werewolf. "We don't know what might be coming through that back door!"
"Seems like there's already plenty coming through the front door!" Zantac chipped in. "Are you sure you can handle it?"
"Yes!" Aslan yelled back.
Maybe, he thought, but then a feeling of quiet confidence unexpectedly flowed through the paladin.
We'll come out on top, Aslan decided, as a small smile played around his lips. Somehow, we always do.
Behind him, the source of that confidence incanted softly as her left hand closed around her holy symbol.
Bless us in our trial, Lord, Talass prayed. See us through.
Elrohir, having experienced his wife's blessing before, smiled inwardly. He let his plate mail bear the brunt of the werewolf's scrabbling claws as the ranger dropped his bow, drew a dagger and brought his shield into position. The creature's jaws lunged towards his face, just in time to catch the edge of Elrohir's shield on its upwards swing. The lycanthrope's teeth closed briefly on the steel surface before jerking back in disgust.
Nesco couldn't tell if Tojo was grateful for his hated dastana at the moment, but she was certainly glad he had them. Despite the calming effect of Talass' bless, Cynewine's heart nearly stopped as she saw the werewolf's teeth and claws stop inches away from tearing into the samurai's skin. Like Elrohir and Aslan, Nesco had also discarded her bow in favor of a shield and a silver dagger she had picked up in Chendl. Tojo had insisted on using his katana, and there had been no convincing him otherwise.
I hope that'll be enough, Nesco thought as she tried to distract the were-creature that was still trying its best to claw the samurai. I hope we can-
Everything went white.
It was all instinct and no thought that threw Elrohir forward into the very arms of the creature that was trying to kill him. For all the foolhardy maneuver that it was, it spared the ranger the full force of the terrible, killing wave of cold that passed by from his left. Even so, the back of his skull seemed to scream out with its own voice as a chill so severe that it burned swiped at his body. Elrohir's cry of pain merged with his battle cry as he hugged his surprised opponent- and then buried his silver dagger in the werewolf's back.
It wasn't a lethal blow- Elrohir's hand had been trembling too much for that. The party leader did manage to yank the weapon back out while pushing the lycanthrope back with his shield. He glanced over to his left- and saw exactly what he was afraid he would see.
Aslan's unconscious movement had not been to dodge, but rather to throw up his shield on his left side and hold his face as close behind it as possible. The agonizing frigidity that sapped all of the life out of the rest of his body at least missed his head. It seemed like small comfort as the paladin struggled to keep the silver dagger in his right hand from falling out of his frostbitten fingers.
He looked over at Elrohir's attacker, and then buried the weapon in the werewolf's right shoulder.
"Hold onto that for a moment, would you?" he asked the creature, ignoring its latest howl of agony as the paladin tried to shake the life back into his limbs.
Yanigasawa Tojo, while closest to the origin point of the cone of cold, had sensed the presence of something to his left. In that split second, the samurai had bent backwards from the waist nearly ninety degrees in a limbo move that, like his companions, has spared him the worst of the polar blast. Nonetheless, it left him instantly covered in frozen perspiration. In the next fraction of a second, the Nipponese warrior had made his decision. His already in motion katana altered its trajectory and pierced the now-visible Blackthorn's chain shirt to briefly penetrate a solid foot into his bony chest.
A cry of pain was forced out of Blackthorn's throat and he staggered slightly, but the gaunt figure used his nagamaki polearm to keep himself upright. He quickly regained his composure and grinned at the samurai, his sunken eyes registering his triumph.
"Not good enough, samurai," he said softly in Nipponese. "Not nearly good enough."
Tojo was preparing to strike again, assuming that Nesco would deal with the werewolf that had been attacking him when it occurred to him that he hadn't heard anything from the female ranger after the cold had hit.
There had been nothing for the samurai to hear. Not a sound had escaped from Nesco Cynewine. Unlike the others, she had born the full brunt of the hellish cold. She stood in shock, swaying slightly. Underneath the overlay of white frost that coated her, every inch of Nesco's exposed skin had turned blue, and parts were now turning black and hardening. Her green eyes, also coated with frost, didn't seem to be looking at anything.
Talass, standing behind her, had managed to duck down and avoid the worst of the killing freeze. However, she had already been wounded as much as anyone, and now the blood froze to her forehead and her left side, making every attempt at muscular movement an exercise in agony. The world blurred in front of the priestess and she could feel her knees beginning to buckle, but she knew Nesco was in the same shape- and the ranger was still in the front line.
Screaming with the pain the effort cost her, Talass reached for Nesco's shoulders to try and pull Cynewine back, but the lycanthrope that had been attacking Tojo sensed easier prey and lunged at the ranger first.
It seemed nothing less than a miracle that this action snapped Nesco back into cohesiveness as quickly as the deadly frost had robbed her of it. Or perhaps it was plain luck that her silver dagger managed to find itself square in the path of the werewolf's oncoming jaws.
The were-creature shrieked and pulled back, blood dribbling from it's sliced tongue.
Elrohir couldn't even spare the time for shouting. The monstrosity that the bearded man had called Cari had now pulled up next to the ranger's lycanthrope opponent and started stabbing and slicing with both daggers at him. It wasn't a particularly skilled fighter though, and the ranger breathed a silent sigh of relief that it didn't seem to have the tactical sense to get behind him. For now, he'd continue to concentrate on the werewolf.
Filch, like the other werewolf, seemed to zero in on Cynewine as an easy target. It moved directly in front of the ranger and swung its tail at her, but a mere flick of Nesco's shield batted it aside. Nesco still had no expression on her face at all, and she still said nothing. Talass swallowed hard. It was possible that Cynewine was running only on adrenalin now, and when that faded-
If I heal her, she'll just get attacked again, but if I join in, she may collapse anyway, the cleric thought frantically. What do I do?
In her own addled state, Talass had forgotten about the party's own arcane contingent.
Cygnus ran up about twenty feet and cast. Suddenly, both werewolves stopped their attacks. Whimpers of fear, sounds that they had never made before, issued from their throats.
Zantac was just trying to decide what to do about Blackthorn when the rear door gave way. He whirled around to stare into the savage grin of a hairy figure nearly seven feet tall.
The mage was ready though. He cast and the bugbear and all its allies behind it found themselves suddenly entangled in a white, sticky web. Ignoring their shouts and screams of frustration, the Willip wizard turned back to the main combat.
Zantac knew the web wouldn't hold them for long, but he also saw that there was no one who could spare the time right now to help him.
Talass was just about to try pulling Nesco out of the front line again when she saw the slave merchant coming up.
A sinister grin on his face, the man was coming up near the west wall of the room, apparently intent upon flanking Elrohir.
"Not happening," Talass growled as she concentrated again, feeling her holy symbol growing warm in her frozen hand.
The slave dealer had of course been nowhere near Blackthorn's cone of cold when it went off.
That didn't stop him from suddenly freezing up, however.
Immobilized, he could only stare in frustration as the two werewolves (one still with a silver dagger embedded in its shoulder) suddenly turned and bolted back out through open double doors, yipping in fear.
Blackthorn's nagamaki came up barely in time to parry Tojo's katana. The tall man leaned forward breathlessly as both combatants tried to push the others' weapon aside.
"You're doomed," he said simply to the samurai. "You know that, don't you?"
Tojo was about to reply when he noticed the blood abruptly stop pouring out of the hole in Blackthorn's chest.
His hollow laugh was still ringing in Tojo's ears when Blackthorn vanished from sight.
Elrohir didn't even spend the extra second to draw Gokasillion. The ranger feinted, and then made his move. His silver dagger plunged into and out of Cari's long neck. The creature's bulbous eyes were still registering surprise when the dagger plunged back in again, this time popping its heart like a worn balloon.
Not having his dagger handy anymore, Aslan did pull out his longsword. "Tojo-" he began, but the samurai uncharacteristically interrupted.
"Not gone! He invisiber!"
"Are you sure, Tojo?" Zantac shouted from the rear of the room. "I can detect if need be! We don't know how powerful a magic-user he may-"
"He not magic-user, Zantac-san," Tojo again interrupted, his violet eyes somehow locking and holding Zantac in place with that statement.
There was a slight pause. "How do you know?" the mage queried.
Tojo's face was once again that old familiar blank mask.
"He not human."
Filch screeched as the tip of his tail, which had now been swinging at Tojo, went flying across the room- severed by Aslan's sword strike. The misbegotten creature turned its attention towards the paladin, and thus never saw the katana swing that decapitated him.
The samurai swung his sword around him in sweeping, searching arcs. "Must find quickry," he announced. "Must awe attack at once, or Brackthorn sray us awe."
"What is he, Tojo?" Cygnus asked as he came up to stand next to Talass. "Are you all right, Nesco?" he continued, not waiting for the samurai's reply.
The sound of her name seemed to register somewhat on the ranger. She slowly turned around to face him.
"I'm so cold," she whispered.
It looked to a stunned Cygnus like Nesco was trying to cry from the severity of her injuries, but she couldn't. He realized with a start that her tear ducts had been frozen solid.
"Someone heal her," Cygnus whispered, but Nesco had already replaced her dagger and drawn Sundancer. Her eyes seemed drawn to the illusionary sunlight gleaming off its blade.
"Tojo is right," Lady Cynewine said, still in a whisper. "We have to find Blackthorn before he-"
A small sigh of relief escaped the ranger's frozen lips as Talass laid her hand on Nesco's shoulder. A small fraction of warmth returned to Cynewine's cold-wracked frame. Nesco hesitated for a moment, and then turned to look at her healer.
"Talass," she croaked. "You needed that as much as I did."
The cleric managed a weak smile and pointed at the party's paladin. "We've got Aslan for that."
Aslan looked troubled. In point of fact, he was way beyond troubled. His eyes scanned the room, trying to come up with some miracle as he did so. "Talass, that prayer you mentioned-"
"Assistance please!"
The others turned. Zantac was by the open space that formerly held the rear door. The Willip wizard was swinging his quarterstaff at the bugbear webbed in the doorway but seemed to be having little effect other than to make the large goblinoid even angrier than it already was.
A wave of anger suddenly surged through Aslan. "Dammit!" he shouted. "Someone take care of him!" the paladin yelled, pointing towards the held slave merchant. "I'll see what I can do!"
"I'll handle it," Elrohir muttered darkly, drawing Gokasillion and striding towards the slaver, who could only show his terror in his eyes.
In the meantime, Aslan had now arrived in the rear, and stood about twenty feet from the web, staring grimly at the assorted bugbears, gnolls and hobgoblins entrapped within. There were at least ten of them as far as he could see, and as he watched, some of them began to tear free from the sticky strands.
Aslan motioned Zantac out of the way, and the wizard quickly complied. Father of Victory. The paladin closed his eyes for the silent prayer. Save my friends. One more time. Save my friends and deliver the slaves here to freedom.
He opened his eyes again.
Here goes everything.
Aslan fired a psionic blast at the doorway.
The humanoids shrieked and started clawing at each other. The final strands of the web gave way as the creatures bolted back down what looked like a twenty foot-wide corridor before vanishing down a turn to the left.
That'll give us a minute, the paladin thought. Maybe one minute. At most.
He turned slowly around to face the others.
"I've got nothing left, people."
"Spread out!" Tojo ordered the others (something he almost never did) as the samurai backed up towards the eastern wall, his eyes still darting around the room. His katana waved through the air like an ant's antenna.
Aslan was still staring at the open doorway when it suddenly filled with white.
Instinctively, expecting another blast of frigid death, he threw up his shield again and turned his head. Aslan saw a figure move up behind him and tensed up even further, but then relaxed as he realized it was merely Cygnus, standing there with a sad smile on his face.
"Blackthorn's not the only one who can manipulate ice," the tall wizard said quietly, "but this means we'll have to deal with the werewolves again when my fear spell wears off- and that shouldn't be too long now."
Aslan nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Cygnus," he managed, before trying out several deep breaths to clear the still-cold air in his lungs.
He doesn't know how right he is, the paladin considered, his recent spurt of confidence a distant memory now. It won't be long now.
Elrohir looked over his shoulder as he strode towards his intended victim. "Do you have any healing at all left, Talass?"
The priestess hesitated.
"One more time," she finally said, "but that's only if I give up my purge. I was about to cast it."
"Cast it, Talass," Nesco told her, the ranger's voice unexpectedly back at its normal volume. "It's our only hope to defeat Blackthorn."
"Then say goodbye to hope!"
Everything happened at once.
Blackthorn materialized directly behind Talass, his nagamaki already in motion even as the echoes of his last boast still lingered.
Nesco reached forward, her left hand dropping her shield as it grabbed hold of Talass' left shoulder and pushed down. Still weak and unsteady from her injuries, the cleric cried out and went down at Cynewine's feet.
There was a sharp pressure on Nesco's chest when the polearm struck her, but it didn't hurt as much as she would have supposed. But then suddenly Nesco's feet left the ground. She stared down with bewilderment at Blackthorn's eyes, sunken deep in that skull-like face. Her neck was still mostly frozen, so the ranger couldn't really glance down to see how badly she was hurt.
Then she was being swung around in a half-circle, and then she dropped back down to the floor, where she lay on her back, staring up at the continual lights that illuminated the ceiling far overhead.
They looked rather pretty, Nesco thought, then decided to rest for a moment and take it easy. She needed to regain her strength….
All other combatants forgotten, the party converged on Blackthorn, attempting to surround him. Only Talass did not participate. As Elrohir raised Gokasillion for the charge, he could hear his wife's voice as she bent over Cynewine.
"Hang on, Nesco. Blackthorn won't get away now- I can spare the healing, and besides, we need you back in-
"Nesco? Talk to me, Cynewine- hang in there now. Give me a sign… Nesco?"
"NESCO!"