49 – Fool's Gold

"A horse's first instinct is to flee from danger. A cavalry charge, of course, requires that it do the opposite." –Asarus of Waterdeep, A Guide to the Proper Breaking and Maintaining of Warhorses

The rain was just pattering against the crude roof of the barn where the companions sheltered now, rather than pounding the walls like it had a half-hour earlier. They had found refuge at the abandoned farmstead in the dark hours shortly before dawn, when the storm came rolling in from the sea. Now it looked like they would weather there for much of the day.

As good a spot to rest as any, really, and far softer and dryer than many of the camps Ashura had slept in over the past few months. There was plenty of musty hay, a roof, four walls, and though Leafall was approaching they were warm enough in their cloaks and blankets.

A good spot to rest, and to ponder where to go next. Following the nearby river further would lead to the coast and the small hamlet of Ulgoth's beard, or they could turn south and return to the familiar Coastway Road. South seemed best, provided they had not been declared bandits. South to somewhere civilized, like Beregost or Elturel, where they could spend the trade bars and send Eldoth and Skie on their merry way.

For now Eldoth lay moaning in his sleep, sweating profusely under the woolen blanket Skie had tucked him into. The girl sat right beside him, sleepless eyes looking down and filled with worry. Viconia's prayers, Garrick's minor healing song, and the potions had all done what they could, but from here the bard needed rest. Most of them did, after a sleepless night spent riding.

Imoen lay curled up in her bedroll in a corner of the barn, zonked out and sleeping soundly, and Xan reclined on the hay beside her, a blank look in his distant eyes. Beside Imoen slept Viconia, and Shar-Teel lay a little ways away, sprawled out on her back in a pile of hay and still in her armor.

Coran had not been around when they fled, though perhaps that was for the best. He had been spending a lot of time with his daughter, making sure she that she recovered from her ordeal. And he hadn't been tangled up in the ransom mess anyway.

Only Garrick was wide awake and somewhat rested. He'd actually been sleeping soundly when Ashura had swept into their room and told him they had to flee. Now he sat by the drizzling overhang and looked out to the fields and the growing grey light, strumming his harp and pulling a gentle, soothing song from its strings. One of those tunes sheep-shearers and milkmaids hum as they work, slow and easy and pleasant. Ashura had heard Dreppin and Imoen's stepsisters hum such songs before. She smiled as she watched him play, and he caught her eye and grinned right back. Always that easy-going look on his face, often accompanied by a song. No matter their misadventure.

And of course Ashura was wide awake. Too much adrenaline to even think of sleeping. Instead of sitting by Garrick and pondering the soggy fields and rain, she rested against a pole in the center of the barn, eyes on the satchel full of trade bars. Eldoth's stupid plan had halfway worked at least. They had their ransom money, and with luck they wouldn't get pinned with the deaths of the guards.

They could wander the coast for a time while they made sure that they weren't outlaws, then go wherever they pleased. Ashura, Shar-Teel and Viconia would get a trade bar each, Eldoth and Skie would take the rest and be off, and that would be that. A near-disaster, but a win in the end.

There was a clink and a shuffle nearby and Ashura turned. Shar-Teel was stretching and yawning as she stepped nearer, up from her catnap. "Keeping the gold close I see?" she asked.

"Until it's sorted out, yeah," Ashura replied with a shrug.

"Still seems like a waste. Though I guess it's the price we're paying for never seeing their useless asses again." Nearby, Skie gave them a hurt look before turning away.

Ashura frowned and looked off as well. "I guess."

Squatting down beside her, Shar-Teel fixed her eyes on the sack. "You have counted them, right?"

Ashura frowned and gave the slightest shake of her head, poking at the satchel's flap and peaking in. Five bars on top of five. Sure looked like ten.

A sigh from Shar-Teel. "Bad business all 'round. Eldoth and that prick who did the handoff didn't even give us a chance to stop and test the goods." She poked a finger towards the satchel. "Let's see 'em. I promise not to run off with the gold, okay?" She was wearing her usual toothy grin.

Ashura nodded and turned, sliding the sack between the two of them, and the bigger woman untied it the rest of the way. When Shar-Teel tipped the bag forward ten slender golden bars did indeed clatter out, stamped with the stylized ship-upon-the-waves sigil of Baldur's Gate.

Lifting one of the ingots, Shar-Teel tested the weight in her hand. A frown grew on her face. Then she lifted it to her mouth and bit it, and her look turned downright murderous, lips twitching. She pulled out her dagger and Ashura found herself grasping the hilt of a sword, but Shar-Teel just used the blade to scratch the surface of the bar. Golden specs flecked away.

"Demogorgon's shaggy balls!" Shar-Teel snarled, shooting to her feet and hurling the bar across the barn. It clanged against the far wall and fell into the hay. "I knew it! I fucking knew it!"

"Not gold?" Ashura guessed, her voice even but her stomach sinking.

"It's fucking gilt-painted lead!"

Xan had shaken himself from his reverie and risen when the commotion started, and he was calmly approaching now. "Entar Silvershield did not become the richest among his peers by tossing wealth away," he noted. "It appears he has outplayed us all."

Skie's lower lip was trembling, a helpless look in her big doe-eyes.

"Bloody appears so!" Shar-Teel shouted, kicking the pile of ingots and then flinching in pain. "Fuck!"

The horses were stirred up a bit now, whinnying on the far side of the barn. "Guys…" Garrick interrupted. They ignored him, Ashura and Shar-Teel just glaring at the useless sack.

"Um. Guys!" Garrick spoke up again, shouting. He pointed out towards the fields. "There's something moving out there. A lot of somethings!"

The Fist! Ashura shot to her feet and drew her swords, rushing to the open side of the barn to stand beside Garrick. Heavy streams of rainwater dripped from the roof before them, carving out channels in the mud, and beyond that over a dozen figures walked through the fallow field, their feet sinking into the churned earth with each clumsy step.

Not soldiers at all. There was no order to them, and no weapons.

The creatures were vaguely human in shape, but what skin they had was torn open, hanging over flayed muscle and glinting bones. Little skin and little clothes; they were dressed in rags that had rotted down to a frayed, uniform brown where they hadn't fallen away. Their heads were hairless beyond mangy patches, and their skin ranged in color from grey to brown to scabby red; even a rotten shade of green.

Behind Ashura the horses moaned and stamped, smelling or hearing the hoard of decomposing things that shambled towards the barn. "Well," she muttered. "Guess we know why the farm's abandoned." Or maybe Shar-Teel's shouting had simply awakened the dead.

"Chaos will be sown from their passage…"

Above the tree line the clouds were bruised a deep blue-black and edged with grey, and somewhere in the distance a long roll of thunder sounded. A sword out at either side, Ashura stepped forward, into the rain and onto the sodden earth. She breathed in deep. Of course there would be an army of the dead waiting to greet her in the morning. Of bloody course. Father wouldn't have it any other way.

Or maybe she had guessed wrong about Davaeorn and Nimbul's words. Maybe this was just the Stormlord's doing. His way of smiling down upon her, after all the little burnt offerings she had given him as a child, back when her blood churned and raged against the walls of the gilded cage she called home.

Another rumble in the distance. Talos certain seemed to be smiling now.

She stomped forward through the mud, aware of Shar-Teel just behind her with a blade out as well. A web of lightning danced through the clouds, the storm that had once pounded the farm wreaking havoc somewhere further inland.

Yeah. The Stormlord was watching. Hopefully he'd be pleased with these things all getting hacked to bits. And after the night she'd had she really wanted to see something get destroyed.

She charged.

A few minutes later when the last rotting husk crumpled to the mud, its face an open gash of black and red unrecognizable as human, Ashura didn't know whether to feel disappointed or glad that the chore was done. Clumsy, grasping hands had proven no match for steel and quick feet, and these creatures had been far less coordinated than the undead she had fought in the past. Perhaps it was because they had no master, at least not until Viconia had taken command of the last four zombies and held them in place while they were chopped to pieces.

Straightening to wipe her brow, Ashura looked about the field, and her eyes fell upon the dark elf. Viconia stood tall upon a muddy furrow, arms crossed over her chest and lank white hair waving in the damp breeze, face free of the mask. She shot Ashura a self-satisfied smile.

Behind the drow stood Skie, unease and disgust mingling on her face as she looked down at a fallen corpse and the sword in her hand, black ooze dripping from the blade. Xan and Shar-Teel were looking about the battlefield as well, making sure that no more undead were moving.

As she searched for a proper patch of wet grass to wipe her blades, Ashura approached the drow. "Nice job there," she said by way of conversation. "Any idea where those things came from?"

Viconia just shook her head. "Not raised by anyone with a will, at least. As you could see. They were mindless."

Stepping a little closer, Ashura glanced around. Skie had turned back towards the barn door, where Garrick stood and watched the field with his crossbow in hand. "I've been meaning to ask…" Ashura began.

The drow quirked her lips at that, amusement in her eyes. Ashura went on. "You heard what Eldoth whispered to that man he paralyzed. What was it?"

Mock curiosity came over Viconia's face, and she cocked her head. "I did? I recall nothing-"

"You did. With those ears of yours." Ashura sighed. "You're going to make this difficult aren't you?"

"I am?"

"You always do. Can't get you to pass the wineskin at the campfire without it turning into a series of negotiations. And an epic power-struggle."

Viconia just curled her lips up into a smile. "'Twas amusing that night when the boisterous elf took on my watch duty and gave up his share of the dried fruit just for a sip, no? He seemed to have thought something else was promised. The wael." She chortled. "You will note that I perform fast and true when my skills are actually needed, alur. But one must find amusement where one can."

Shaking her head slightly, Ashura bent down and cleaned her swords. "Fine. Keep your secrets." She stood to leave.

"Ah. But secrets are such valuable currency to spend. And you've so much to offer in return."

Ashura sheathed her swords and started walking for the barn. "Not worth it."

A few steps and the drow had sighed and slipped in close beside Ashura. "Oh fine! Be that way jiv'elg." Viconia wrapped an arm around Ashura's shoulder and leaned in, close and conspiratory.

"If you must know," Viconia began, "he told the paralyzed man: 'The girl will follow me willingly wherever I go. If you truly want her back you'll have to pay more than this paltry sum.' Truly audacious, and foolishly so. I believe he was trying to squeeze even more payment from her father."

Ashura frowned. "If that's true then…seems like he wouldn't have wanted to abandon Skie back there. So he wasn't going to betray us…"

"So it seems. Disappearing with all the gold would have been the prudent choice, which is why you and your practical partner assumed that was the action the he was taking. But those such as he will always grasp for more. Simply snatching the 'paltry sum' and being done with it likely never even occurred to him." They continued towards the barn, and Garrick gave them a puzzled look as he put his crossbow away. "At least we can enjoy our gold," Viconia whispered.

Ashura cringed. "Uh. Yeah. About that…"

A few streaks of grey smeared an otherwise clear sky and bright afternoon sun, the stones of the Coastway warm beneath it as the procession of riders loped along. The rains were long forgotten and evaporated; the farmstead now many leagues behind. Skie would not miss the piles of rotting corpses they had left strewn in the field (Ack! It seemed that squelching sound her sword had made when it went through that zombie's eye would haunt her forever, even more than the sight and the smell of it all,) but she was already pining for the soft hay.

If there was a comfortable position to be found in a saddle she had yet to discover it, and after a full day-and-a-half of searching too. Her thighs and bottom alternated between aching, numbness, and being stabbed by pins and needles when she tried to shift and work that numbness away. The jostling and bumping in the saddle had even managed to stiffen her shoulders somehow, and even her neck was starting to ache.

The skin of mulled wine they passed around just seemed to make her throat more dry, and though it was a mild autumn afternoon, the sun had conspired with her thick leathers and warm cloak to make her feel a bit gamey. And whether it was from the beating sun, the jostling and swaying of the gray mare beneath her, or the clompity-clomp that accompanied each step, Skie was starting to develop a terrible headache. She'd have to remember to stow her cloak away next time they stopped to rest, at the very least.

Hardly how she had imagined life on the road. The Tour of the Realms! But worst of all: Eldoth had barely said a word to her since he had recovered from his wounds. And the words had cut deep.

'You said you checked those alleys.'

The first thing he had told her, propped up against a post in the barn. Then he had sighed a disappointed sigh and turned away.

She had failed him. Failed them both. Not looked hard enough; not noticed the hidden corner where her father's spies had set up their watch. And now poor Eldoth had scars to show for it. And little else. Painted lead? Had father really cared so little?

Later that day Eldoth had spoken to her some more, at least. Not the full silent treatment. He had thanked her when she handed him the wineskin. And when she had changed his bandages. He had even made a half-hearted quip when he turned the wrong way and pulled at one his wounds. But he remained sullen, and worst of all his eyes always shifted away from her swiftly. Like he was disgusted.

His quick smile and dry wit were gone, and when he elected to speak there was a tired boredom to his voice, beneath the wincing pain. Nothing like the man she had known.

He had gone through a lot, of course, but she had once thought him unflappable. Especially after that incident where they bluffed their way past the gang of thugs outside of the Blushing Mermaid. She missed that. Missed him. The the man who had tossed her about as if she weighed nothing on the Mermaid's dancefloor that night. The man who had fended off every leering, foul-smelling pirate who had gotten too close to her with looks and sly words. A warmup on the scarred floor of the tavern, then later he had swung her about again with gleeful abandon at one of the secret clubs in the Undercellars, where the Mask Dance was all the rage. What a night!

And where was the man who had shown her how to knot a rope and climb a roof or a window with it? (A trick they had used to reach her bedroom many times, though the roof of the Harbormaster's Building for a picnic above the bay had been her favorite climb.) Where was the man who had taught her the secret words to pass into the House of Thieves, merrily greeting the glaring cutthroats as if they were old friends and eventually drawing a laugh out of some scary fellow named Rededge? The man who had shown her how to bluff at Archers, how to work the odds with the Year's Turning Wheel, and how to win at Braggart's Dice ('Say you believe them even if it's an obvious lie, until the pot's big and they're backed into a corner.')

And most recently the man who had shown her the best week of her life, while they danced and drank away much of the money from her gembox at the Elfsong and planned their little game of ransom-taking. Many days spent just nestled together in the sheets, and when that got tedious (Eldoth loved that word, though he said it with such panache!) they would climb down to the taproom in search of adventure, easy going and free as birds. No late night sneaking, no rush to return to her room by morn like their earlier adventures; just her and her sweet, teasing rogue together as long as they liked.

It had been almost enough to forget poor, sweet Eddard. To forget the 'crisis of heirs' her father had snarled on about as he paced the gilded carpets. To forget the way he seemed to have mourned more for his dynasty than his own son, and the cold look he had given her the last time she was locked away. 'This is for your own good.'

And now Eldoth was giving her the same sort of cold looks.

She shook her head. It'll just take time. Love takes time. And injuries too. They'd travel together, the scars would heal, and she would find a way to grow their little pile of coins and make it all better. Their means were meager at the moment, at the mercy of this strange adventuring party, but there was a whole world out there!

For now Eldoth was sullen though. Of course, 'sullen' pretty much described them all at the moment. The big blonde woman with the horned helmet especially, who kept glaring daggers at everyone but saved the sharpest ones for Eldoth. The dark-haired girl who seemed to be their leader just kept her horse trotting well ahead of the rest, glaring at the horizon, the dark elf's eyes were sharp and dismissive, and the moon elf just looked permanently sad.

Everyone in their silent procession seemed sour, except for Imoen of course. Her and the boyishly handsome fellow: Garrick. The one who had said nice things about her brother. He was slouching in the saddle, bouncing easily with his horse while his big blue eyes curiously swished from one high stone to the next.

The road ahead cut through rocky rises stacked like layer-cake and capped with shaggy grass and moss, and high above them trees swayed in the breeze, leaves and needles whispering. The Wood of Sharp Teeth.

Skie nudged her horse a little closer to Garrick's, and he turned to give her an easy smile. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

"Familiar country," he replied, eyes twinkling at her and then giving the layers of sediment another glance. "At least I think so. This looks like somewhere we passed through on the caravan trail, before…"

"Ah." She frowned. Before the attack.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Tell me about it."

"Well, the bandits loved to launch ambushes in spots like this. Why, maybe it was that very rock," he pointed, putting a little drama into his voice, "that a team of hobgoblins came rushing down with their spears pointed at us! Though I must admit…all these rocks look about the same."

"Oh my! Hobgoblins?"

"There were a lot of those about." He smiled at her. "Think it's safer now though. And we've already passed Peldvale, so we shouldn't be too far from the Friendly Arm."

"It must have been quite an adventure."

"I don't know if I'd say…" He twisted his lips in thought. "Well, I guess it was. You just don't realize it at the time. Too busy being scared out of your wits."

"Ha. Well do tell."

"Well, the Coastway has always been…" His eyes drifted and his voice trailed off. "Oh. Hm."

Their little procession had slowed, and now they were stopping, the black-haired girl at the front reining her horse in. They had just rounded a bend, and there were people ahead on the road: a hooded man and a blonde elven woman perched upon one of the lower outcroppings and whispering to each other.

The man instantly turned from his companion and began to walk forward with a purpose and a surety that made Skie nervous. His features were hidden beneath his cowl, and he was dressed in browns and forest greens, his leathers heavily buttressed with steel to protect limbs and vitals. A pair of short, forward-curving swords hung at his hip, and the woman was dressed in glittering silver chain. She remained on the rock.

"Hail, and well met," the man greeted them, his voice deep and rich, heavy with an accent that Skie guessed was from some Moonsea nation.

Skie glanced up at the rocks all around them and a shiver ran down her back. The sort of spot bandits love, according to Garrick. Oh my! And something was moving up near a bush on that ridge! A crouching man, she guessed.

Ahead Ashura was silently surveying the outcroppings as well, then her eyes fell upon the man with a sharpened glare. She remained silent, but Garrick spoke up from just behind her. "Well met, traveler."

"Traveler." The man chuckled. "Why, that's the nicest thing anyone has called me in weeks."

The elven woman laughed as well, her voice sly and musical. "We should kill that one last, Senjak. Such good manners."

In a flash Ashura's swords were out and her horse stirred uneasily beneath her. "Seriously?" she asked, her voice equal parts incredulity and fury. "Seriously?!"

Skie noticed a faint violet glow at the edge of her sight as some sort of shield flared to life around Xan, and both Viconia and Eldoth had begun to hum in low voices. Garrick's cheerful smile had turned into puffed out lips, and his small crossbow had slipped from the small of his back to his hands. Skie reached for the hilt of her short sword, but she wasn't entirely sure what to do from there. It seemed kind of useless up here on the horse.

"We're a band of eight," Ashura went on, "armored and armed to the teeth with spells and enchanted weapons. And you're going to try and rob us? You should save this highwaymen shit for traveling peddlers."

There was a flash of pearly white beneath the man's hood as he gave them an unperturbed grin. "But those enchanted items sell for so much more than a peddler's wares. And we've no fear. We've dealt with your like before."

"Not to mention," the elf cut in, "our men on the ridge have arrows aimed at your hearts. Best surrender-"

Whatever she said after that was drowned out by the whinny of Ashura's stallion and the thump of his hooves as she kicked him into action, gripping reins and swords all at once, the charge aimed square at the grinning man.

Skie cringed and ducked as best she could, and just in time: arrows were suddenly whistling by. Her chest pressed to the saddle, a painful jolt hitting her each time her horse bucked.

An arrow zipped over Ashura's head as she leaned low in the saddle, her horse thundering past the man in the hood, his smile never wavering as he easily dodged around the clumsy charge. An instant later a second arrow streaked in and caught Ashura's stallion in the rump, sending him listing sideways as he let out a pained shriek.

Then Skie's view was blocked by her own horse rearing back, out of control and screaming. Time seemed to crawl as she hung there, realizing that one of her feet had slipped from the stirrup and terrible visions of being dragged like a ragdoll half-on-and-half-off the panicked horse dancing through her mind. She pulled her other foot out of its leather loop, and then she was just holding onto the saddle-horn.

The horse stomped forward, pulling Skie with it and sending a numbing jolt through her nethers as she slammed against the saddle, arrows seeming to fill the sky overhead. She barely managed to draw a breath before she was thrown back again, the mare bucking and her hands slipping from the sweat-slicked saddle horn.

Then she was free of it. Airborn!

Limbs flailed every-which-useless-way and she realized that she was screaming. Had been screaming for a long time. When her feet touched the ground she pitched backwards, but instead of falling back she managed to lean in and compensate, arms pinwheeling the whole time. She pitched back and forth briefly, then sank down, scraping her knees on the cobbles. Better than flopping back and shattering your tailbone at least. (Maybe? It still hurt!)

As she pushed herself up on shaking legs Skie found Imoen right beside her, dismounted and drawing her bowstring back to take aim at figures who had melted out of the rocks before them. They wore cloaks the same shade as the grinning man's, longswords or axes out as they charged. Four…six…no, seven!

Skie realized that she had stopped screaming. Maybe she was out of breath. And somehow her sword had found its way into her hand. Fencing lessons from Master Meilum came back to her, seemingly from a lifetime ago, and she shifted into a side-stance.

On guard.

Short swords are next to useless in mounted combat.

And that wasn't counting the fact that Ashura knew next to nothing about mounted combat. The storybooks were never very clear on the technicalities. And hells, she had really only started learning to ride a month ago, not counting brief childhood lessons from Dreppin and her dad.

As her lean stallion lurched and bucked unevenly down the highway, whipped into a gallop that the man named Senjak easily dodged without breaking his obnoxious leer, Ashura recalled that there had been a book somewhere in Candlekeep entitled: "A Guide to the Proper Breaking and Maintaining of Warhorses." Not a subject that had interested her, but now she wished she'd read it. Probably useless now anyway.

A meaty thunk sounded behind her and the backside of the horse shifted dangerously out of line with the front. He wobbled briefly but kept upright, the amateur charge turning into full-blown flight as the panicked horse ran. Road and rock were suddenly rushing by Ashura, and she caught a glimpse of the elven woman's grin as she passed by. Another whistle overhead; the flight of an arrow.

Clinging to the out-of-control horse like this made her an easy target. Got to get off.

She pulled herself up, wind singing by her ears as she stood in the stirrups. A foot placed on the saddle, a twist of her body, then she leapt.

The road rushed up and caught her feet with a painful smack, but she bent her knees on impact, holding her arms out wide so she wouldn't fall on her own damn swords. Then came that prickly sensation. Someone was aiming a bow at her. Keep moving. Push up. Rush blindly.

When the arrow clattered to the cobbles a pace behind, Ashura found that she was running towards the rock where the amused elven woman lounged. Good! This was the kind of charge she knew. Leave the cavalry business to someone else.

The elf simply let out a glib laugh and hopped off the rock, her leading hand gripping a polished bronze buckler as she took up a spiked ball and chain with the other. A flick of her wrist and the flail was a whirling blur, her footwork making it hard to guess where and when it would be flung.

To Ashura's surprise the buckler flashed towards her first as the elf punched with it, the flail whipping around low in a follow-through as she dodged the blow. Instead of tripping and tangling with the chain Ashura managed to shift to the side, wincing as a spike grazed her and bit into the back of her leg. Her counter-attack rang off the elf's buckler, and then it was all she could do to dance and weave away from that damn flail as it whipped around again and again; everywhere at once and no good way to parry.

The flash of bronze and the flash of silver. Punching with the buckler as the chain snaked and spun; the elf had Ashura stumbling back and dancing for her life.

One of the punches left the elf open, but when Ashura slashed at her arm she was met with the jangle of chainmail, and instead of blood only a spark or two flew. For her trouble Ashura got her head twisted by a heavy impact, ears ringing under her helmet as she stumbled back and struggled to stay focused. To stay up.

Behind the elf, up on the ridge, someone screamed in agony. Ashura's sword rang against the buckler as she dodged another swipe, noticing a quick blur of motion behind her foe. Was that…the top portion of a man? Plummeting head-first and trailed by flapping intestines, a shower of blood splattering after as the body smashed onto the rocks below? The lower half swiftly followed.

Had Shar-Teel gotten up onto the ridge somehow? It seemed rather fast, and there were still intense shouts accompanied by clanging arms down on the road.

A heartbeat later there was another pained shout from the ridge. The sounds had the elf scowling and her swings slowed, and when a second body fell to rocks -voice raw as he screamed- the elf couldn't help but pause and glance over her shoulder.

Ashura took advantage and lunged, but the elf's reflexes were quick, and she tried to punch forward with her buckler. Slipping around and past, Ashura managed to catch the elf's wrist between her arm and her chest, stabbing with her other hand and driving her blade deep through chainmail and flesh. A blow to the head from the butt of the elf's flail had Ashura hobbling back, but the elf stumbled too, clutching at her wound and trying to slip backwards and away.

Ashura was not letting up. She whirled with the elf, pursuing-

-and then she let out a sudden, pained grunt as something heavy bit into her back; chainmail rent, nerves raw and screaming. She lurched forward and spun, trying to keep her eyes on the elf and whatever had just struck her at the same time. There to her right stood Senjak, one of his kukri's wet and dripping and that damned ivory grin still on his face.

Ashura grit her teeth, a bit lightheaded and panting hard. Completely blindsided! Fuck! And he'd cut deep.

There was shouting to her right, clanging steel and the hum of magic. Her companions, fighting through the bandits. But too far for the moment. Still, she had her feet and her armor and swords.

Go for the smiley one first. Her swords could match his kukris better than they could match the flail. And pierce his armor easily. He was moving in too, testing his way forward in a dueling stance. Ashura put on a pained face and slumped a bit, trying to look more injured than she felt. Hopefully he'd take the bait.

But before either of them made a move a third man plummeted from this rise above.

This one did not fall in pieces however, nor did he scream. Instead he hit one of the lower rocks with his feet and jumped forward from there, landing in a crouch a few strides from the elf. Unphased by the fall, he stood and stretched, rising to an impressive height, his armor clinking and the greatsword that hung from his hand dripping with blood.

The pompous grin finally left Senjak's face, and he took an involuntary step back, his companion doing the same. All eyes were suddenly on the newcomer, and Ashura realized that she recognized him from somewhere. Pale skin, a porcine face, and that armor…yes! It was the pale orc from the Friendly Arm Inn. The one who had mistaken Garrick for a server and hit on him.

"Senjak! Dorotea!" The orc's voice boomed off the nearby stone. "I swore I would crush the life out of you someday. Today is that day!"

"Dorn!" Senjak rumbled, turning fully towards the orc. "You should be dead or rotting in a Luskan prison."

The elven woman straightened up, and when she spoke there was a brief tremble in her voice, though she quickly forced it down. "I- Well, I for one am happy to see you Dorn. Leaving you to take the blame was all Semmeon's idea. I protested all the way, you know."

"Spare me your cowardly mewling," the orc snarled, hefting his sword. "I have not forgotten what you did in the end, Dorotea. Nor what you told me."

She shook her head frantically. "I didn't want to. You know how I feel about you!" She pointed to the other bandit, who was watching her in shock, back turned to Ashura. "Senjak was the first to agree with Semmeon's plan! He forced-"

"Dorotea!?" Senjak exclaimed. "What are you saying?" There were flexible strips of steel protecting his lower back, at the kidneys, but the upper portion was just covered with leather.

"How could you even say this?! After all we've- Ah! Gahk!" A choked, croaking sound rolled out of Senjak's throat and his head jerked back as Ashura's blade impaled him from behind. With her other hand she brought her second sword up in an underhand grip, stabbing his chest again and again until he dropped.

Ashura found herself hopping back as Dorn charged towards her, but he stopped above Senjak's shuddering body, planting the end of his blade into the back of the man's skull. Something faint and misty swirled around the greatsword, rising up towards its bone-like cross-guard before slowly fading, the orc focusing his sharp, beady eyes on Ashura all the while. "You almost stole that from me," he growled. Then he yanked the sword free and turned from her, stomping towards the elf.

Dorotea watched him approach, her eyes briefly shifting to Ashura, then past her, then back to Dorn. The sounds of battle were gone now, the rest of the party advancing as one. Dropping her flail and raising her hands, the elf seemed to implore them all at once. "Please! If you'll just spare me I'll do anything you want!"

A shrug sent the orc's greatsword plummeting down, burying the blade deep between those pleading eyes and splitting Dorotea's skull with a rush of thick black blood that swiftly stained her golden hair. For a blink there was a waver behind the orc, faint wisps that looked like wings unfurling behind the face of a howling beast with tusks and shaggy fur and burning eyes. And above the slickened blade rose a second misty form: a woman's shape, twisting impossibly in on itself as its mouth hung open in silent agony. In that blink Ashura smelled the scent of a furnace. Of The furnace.

The apparitions vanished as the sword slid out and the head fell apart the rest of the way, a shattered mess once Dorotea's body hit the ground. "Go to the Fires of Perdition," the orc growled. "That is all I ask of you. Happy to send you there."

Ashura stood up straight, flicking the excess blood off her swords and onto the road. "Yeah. Good riddance." She looked up towards the orc. "Thanks for the help."

"Hrm." He shrugged. "You handled yourself well enough. 'Til you let that fool sneak up behind you. Take my advice and be on your guard next time."

"Good advice."

Ashura's companions were closing in cautiously now, all eyes on the blood-splattered orc. He gave them a casual glance, ramming his greatsword into the dirt next to him. "My name is Dorn Il-Khan," he announced, "and I was settling an old score. I've been hunting those two for almost a year now. That's two down, and two to go. I…appreciate the distraction you caused. It provided the perfect opening."

"Glad to hear it." Ashura glanced over her shoulder. "Garrick. Eldoth. Xan. Go see if you can round up the horses. Provided we have any left. Last I saw mine had taken an arrow."

"Trotty's okay," Imoen announced, soothing her own horse with gentle fingers placed on his muzzle, though none of the other mounts were in sight.

Xan groaned a little and started marching down the road. "Wrangling duty," he sighed. "What have I been reduced to?"

"Why, to a world-class wrangler of course!" Imoen teased him. "The best at the job. Be proud!"

"Hey, if I could cast charm spells I'd be putting them to use right now," Ashura said with a shrug.

Together Xan and Garrick walked off, much as they had many times on the caravan trail after an ambush, the human clapping the elf on the shoulder and making some joke that Xan ignored. Eldoth was still standing on the road, carefully cleaning blood off his cutlass with a cloth while Skie stood behind her, staring dumbfounded at her own bloody sword. "Hey," Ashura snapped, at the same time shifting her traveling cloak aside. Viconia had slipped in behind her to silently examine the wound.

The Illuskan turned blank eyes towards her. Ugh. "I've seen you weave magic into song," Ashura noted. "Just the sort of thing we need right now." She pointed with a thumb. "So go see if you can find the damn horses and sooth them."

For a moment Eldoth just glared, and there seemed to be a bit of a twitch to his lips. Skie rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and he started to turn, hate in his eyes.

"That's an easy thing for you, right?" the girl asked cheerfully.

For a fraction of a fraction of a heartbeat Eldoth's face twisted up even more, looking at Skie with outright disgust. Then that fixed, smug smile was back in place. "Of course dear. I'm a master of soothing songs. As you well know." And then he was off.

"That one will be trouble for you," Dorn noted, once Eldoth had disappeared behind a rock.

"Already has been." Ashura shrugged a little. "Of course he did just kill a bandit or two for us. He's a capable fighter."

Shar-Teel was just glaring at the hulking warrior, but Imoen had let go of her horse and started moving in close. When she reached the orc she craned her neck to look him in the eyes, completely unperturbed by the giant sword with the skull-and-bones-motif carved from the cross-guard (or was it really carved out of bone? Ashura gave the weapon a closer look as Viconia stepped back, a whispered healing prayer finished and the wound at Ashura's back just itching now.)

"So, I'm just dying ta know," Imoen piped up. "Are you an orc or a half-orc? I'm always hearing 'bout half-orcs living all over the place but like…how do you tell the difference? No offence meant of course. It's just that yer this big fellow with tusks and beastly features. Far as I know that's what orcs look like? How does a person spot the 'half' part?"

"I'm a half-orc," Dorn stated flatly.

"Okay then. What's the other half?"

He glared at her and there was a long silence. Eventually Imoen bit her lip. "Urm. Sorry. Was just curious."

"Halfling," Dorn stated evenly, the same deep growl in his voice as always. "Obviously."

"Well yeah, obviously. I was thinking either that or gnome. I'm an eighth pixie myself." Hooking a thumb, Imoen pointed. "And Shura over there is fiend-blooded, but she's got it in her head that-"

"Ims. Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't tell random strangers-"

"But he's not one of those. He's…" A dramatic pause, then she took on the deepest voice she could muster. "…Dorn Il-Khan!" She giggled. "Shura's got it in her head that she's the daughter of some demon-god or something, and that's where her evil powers come from. I keep saying she's probably just one-sixteenth tiefling."

"None of my concern," Dorn growled, shrugging. Garrick was walking around a boulder already, two bridles in his hand as he gently sang and led the horses on.

"Yep," Ashura agreed. She looked Dorn in his sharp little eyes. "Good luck with the quest for vengeance."

He nodded, and she turned away. "Wait!" the half-orc rumbled.

She turned back. "Yes?"

"Shura." He chewed the name a moment. "Are you Ashura? Ashura Adrian of Candlekeep?"

She faced him fully again, hands on the hilts of her swords. "What of it?"

"I've heard of your prowess."

"Oh. Really now?" Fame or infamy?

"Yes. They say you slew the Bandit King in single combat. And that you drove a hoard of kobolds from the mines of Nashkel and made it safe again. I hear you also slew a notorious priest of Cyric who was building an army of the undead from the corpses of his victims."

"See!" Imoen interjected. "We're heroes!"

"Nice to know," Ashura said. "Seems tongues are a-wagging."

Dorn snorted. "They also say that you consort with a drow witch who trucks with demons and leads an army of giant spiders. And your other lieutenant is a mercenary woman who would sooner slay a man than talk to one."

Shar-Teel laughed.

"And they say your little band of deadly women have insatiable appetites. That you slept with half the bandits on the Sword Coast before turning on them in an orgy of murder and plunder."

"Sheesh!" Imoen made a face. "When tongues start wagging they really go all-out don't they?"

"Yeah," Garrick agreed, frowning. "Next tavern we stop at I'll have to start spreading some tales of my own."

Dorn crossed his meaty arms over his chest. "No truth to the stories then?"

"None," Garrick insisted.

Ashura chuckled. "Well, we did kill a whole lot of bandits. Some of us got captured by them too. Got pressed into joining their gang, and when we got an opportunity to turn on them we wiped their whole camp out. I'm guessing some of the survivors were happy to spread colorful stories."

"And the Bandit King? I hear he was an ogre, and an exceptional one at that."

"He's dead, along with the slaver-lord who worked with him. Took a lot to make that happen. Some of our companions died."

"I see. Well, if only what you say is true I could certainly use someone of your skills. To finish the last two names on my list."

Ashura glanced around at her bedraggled party and the ruin they had made. Then she gave the half-orc an even look. "How much are you paying?"

Author's Note: A little trivia: Dorotea Senjak is the secret true name of one of the scary immortal super-sorcerers from Glenn Cook's classic fantasy series "The Black Company."

jiv'elg- 'Fun slayer.' And as noted before 'alur' is Drow for 'superior.' So basically Viconia keeps telling Ashura: 'Yes boss,' although there may be some sarcasm dripping from her voice there.

And in the game I don't think Dorn actually has a sense of humor, but I gave him a little bit of one.