6th Day of Needfest, 566 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
"How can one person truly sum up the life of such a unique individual as Argo Bigfellow Junior?"
Aslan paused as he stood behind the table that held the coffin that supposedly contained the dead body of his friend.
The paladin's mouth twitched.
"Well, I'm going to give it a try."
Elrohir, currently standing behind an identical table and coffin twenty feet to Aslan's right and like him was facing the crowd who stood about twenty feet back, had to fight to suppress a grin that he knew would not only totally inappropriate for a funeral but more importantly, might tip off any enemies who might be watching.
And every single instinct that the Aardian ranger possessed and which he had always relied on was screaming out silently to him that they were indeed watching.
"Argo was, as anyone who knew him could attest, the type of man who always insisted on carving his own way in life, even if that did involve his magic sword more than his own wit…"
Elrohir had just finished delivering a simple but heartfelt eulogy for Caroline Bigfellow. They had been pretty much the same words he'd have used if he'd ever had the terrible task of doing it for real; a labor he hoped would never materialize. He'd emphasized her caring, her passion, her prowess in battle and actually had to pause at the end as he felt a lump in his throat, imagining the young woman dead for real in the coffin before him.
Ukansis was standing directly between Elrohir and Aslan. The cleric of Zeus wore no armor, only a white tunic that served as his clerical garb for religious ceremonies such as this one. Elrohir knew that Cygnus had cast some kind of protective spell on the priest and Ukansis did have a heavy steel shield emblazoned with the Aegis symbol of Zeus, although it was currently strapped to the cleric's back.
Ukansis himself, a man in his middle thirties with hazel eyes, long chestnut hair and anchor beard, tightened the grip on his shortspear, the only weapon he carried and had planted into the ground beside him. He kept moving his gaze from left to right, eyeing the sixty-some individuals assembled for the funeral before them.
The Olympian priest had opened the ceremony with some generic homilies about the deceased and the need for everyone to accept the inscrutable will of Almighty Zeus, Hurler of Thunderbolts. He'd toned down the martial aspects of the Bigfellows' lives as warriors in deference to the "Peace Among Men" theme, which had actually been painted over the door to the Brass Dragon inn in white letters.
"…and although Argo certainly died a hero, let us not proclaim him a martyr. Argo himself once told me he saw no future in that."
The two mages stood in line with Elrohir, Ukansis and Aslan; Cygnus fifteen feet to Aslan's left and Zantac the same distance to Elrohir's right. There were too many intervening figures for the party leader to see Cygnus clearly, but Zantac was making no attempt to hide his nervousness. The Willip wizard shifted his weight constantly from one foot to the other as he swept the scene with anxious eyes. Elrohir knew that Zantac had shined himself up with defensive spells, but the ranger had no idea how long they lasted and could only hope that the mage hadn't cast them too early. Although the ceremony was finishing up, it would still be a good thirty minutes before the party would be safely ensconced in the Tall Tales room and the spells of disguise cast.
"Many people spoke often of Argo's forgiving nature, and he did indeed forgive people quickly for lapses in judgment; no one more so than himself…"
Yenom was standing about fifteen feet from Cygnus back towards the inn and in the corresponding position from Zantac was Nesco Cynewine. Elrohir's fellow ranger didn't seem as overtly nervous as Zantac, but Elrohir could see her body language was tense and alert; her left hand clasping her shield and her right hand never straying far from Sundancer's hilt.
"Argo was a true friend and he wisely treasured those friendships. The gods knew he needed every one he could get…"
Gastar was standing a further fifteen feet from Yenom towards the inn, and in the equivalent spot from Nesco was Laertes. The half-orc, clad in his studded leather armor, clutched his shortspear and glared at the crowd, few of which dared to return his stare. Surprisingly, the youth seemed more confidant, if grim, than most of Elrohir's long-time companions.
"And so, dear friends and companions," Aslan finished, taking off his helm of telepathy, placing it on the coffin in front of him and bowing his head, "let us conclude with prayer that the soul of Argo Bigfellow finds its way to its deserved reward in the afterlife."
His mouth twitched once more, and his last line was muttered so low that no one but Ukansis could hear.
"Lord knows I pray for that every day."
Out of the corner of the paladin's eye, he saw Ukansis raise an eyebrow at him, but the Olympian priest was struggling just as hard as Aslan to avoid breaking into a smile.
The odd thing was, even as the paladin raised his head and reached out for his helm, his last thoughts were indeed of Argo Bigfellow Junior and his wife Caroline, but they were entirely sobering ones: concerns for his friends' safety and how much he would be devastated if they ever indeed perished.
He honestly couldn't imagine life without them.
Zantac also suppressed a smile as he saw Aslan bow his head. The magic-user was far too distant from the paladin to hear his last prayer, but he could take a pretty good guess as to the content.
Zantac considered himself much closer to Argo's worldview than Aslan's, but a small portion of himself could sympathize with the paladin. Argo could indeed grate on one's nerves, but in the final analysis, anyone could fit that category.
He took a deep breath and turned around to get another sweeping view of his surroundings. Everything seemed normal, although a tingling sensation- his unnamed and indescribable something that far too rarely raised its head- was telling him that was far from the case.
The air was cold but bearable, the sky a brilliant, cloudless blue. Over a hundred feet up, a hawk was slowly circling; riding on the updrafts and no doubt searching for prey.
Then Zantac saw a brief but brilliant flash from the hawk as it turned.
It was the flash of sunlight on metal.
Nesco was glad the ceremony was winding down.
Not that Lady Cynewine was actually looking forward to the hypothetical upcoming assault; let alone one inside the Brass Dragon, which to her was now synonymous with the word home.
She mused on that for a while. Home, friends…
Aslan.
The ranger sighed and turned away from staring at Aslan, as she'd done nearly non-stop since he'd started Argo's eulogy. True, she'd enjoyed watching the paladin struggle to keep a straight face at times, but then Nesco always enjoyed watching Aslan.
She could relate, though. She'd had many first-hand examples of how irritating and frustrating the big ranger could be, but she loved both him and Caroline deeply and sent not the first of her silent prayers to Zeus that these coffins were empty and the whole thing merely a charade.
Nesco hoped with all her heart that this wasn't the calm before the storm.
The ranger took a quick glance away from the crowd to scout out the terrain again.. The plains were as empty as they'd been since the funeral started but then something caught her attention.
About twenty feet away was a small circular patch of dirt, sand and charred wood that had recently been used as a campfire for the patrol that had just passed by; there were always several of those around the inn, when there were more people seeking shelter than even the inn's common room could accommodate.
But now Nesco Cynewine saw a very small plume, only inches high, of dust rise up in the air as the imprint of a boot suddenly appeared in the ashes and dirt.
A boot twice the size of any human.
At that same moment, Elrohir heard two sounds that were as far apart in both composition and volume as any two noises could possibly be.
The first was a faint but sharp intake of breath from his left.
Elrohir had known that Ukansis had cast his detect evil prayer sometime short of an hour ago. It was only natural: having Aslan pause during his prepared remarks to scan the crowd would have looked highly suspicious so the cleric of Zeus had done so once his opening services were concluded and all attention shifted to Elrohir.
The priest had detected nothing any more than Aslan had.
Until, apparently, now.
The second sound was a canine bark so loud that every single person present was frozen into stunned silence.
Cooshee as a rule did not bark any more than they whimpered. The reason was that the sound was so loud- audible a mile off, the legends claimed- that it would disrupt the entire elven community in which they were stationed. For this reason, they were trained to bark only under the most dire of circumstances; suspicious noises or smells did not qualify; only the direct observation of a dire threat which demanded an immediate and drastic response from its handlers would suffice.
But now Dudraug barked.
Elrohir looked slightly to his right in astonishment as his faithful elven dog, which he had left stationed in front of the inn, came charging around the crowd, ran directly at his master and then, while still ten feet away leapt directly at him, fangs bared and unrestrained fury in his eyes.