A Cold Awakening

His armor was blacker than the night and he was a giant, nearly as tall as the ogres who had been destroyed by Gorion's magic just moments ago. Numerous spikes and blades adorned his armor and four horns extended from his helm while a maw of teeth framed his face. But more blood chilling were his eyes, burning yellow with infernal flame.

The armored man spared a glance at each of his fallen henchmen and laughed a cold, humorless laugh. The fallen were ogres spanning more than nine feet tall, their burned carcasses lay at the old wizard's feet with their cudgels still held tightly. Gorion stood his ground, his weathered face implacable.

The armored man began to stride toward Gorion and the wizard unleashed a torrent of fiery bolts from his fingertips. The lances of flame seemed to glance off the dark figure's armor and his laughter rose in intensity as he drew a broad-bladed sword. Gorion unleashed still more attacks but the armored man drew resolutely closer, cackling as he came.

Too soon, the armored man was upon the wizard and swung his massive sword with a single hand, his infernal eyes shining with triumph.

Saunder shrunk further beneath the brush he was hiding behind, and felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

He awoke with a start and swung blindly. Saunder felt his fist hit something and there was a cry of surprise followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground soon thereafter. The young paladin staggered to his feet, eyes adjusting slowly to the morning light, and looked down at the figure as it turned over onto its back.

"Imoen!" Saunder cried as he knelt down by his old friend, "damned foolish of me." Saunder quickly recalled the events of the previous night: seeing Gorion slain and his flight thereafter, finding Imoen and regaining some sense of security, then running for most of the rest of the night until his adrenaline ran out and fatigue set in.

Imoen groaned and murmured something unintelligible. Saunder placed his right hand over her bleeding lip. My god Tyr, hear my prayer and aid my friend. Saunder removed his hand from Imoen's face.

The bleeding had stopped and Saunder wiped off what blood remained with the sleeve of his tunic. "Imoen," Saunder tried again. The girl blinked a few times and recognition seeped into her eyes as she regained her surroundings. "I'm sorry I hit you," Saunder began, "I thought–"

"Last time I ever try to wake you up," Imoen interrupted, but her ire was fleeting, "you must have been having a nightmare about him. The one in the black armor with the . . . the yellow eyes."

Saunder nodded and a leaden weight settled in his chest. He paused for a time before speaking, "I can't leave Gorion the way he was cut down."

"He might be waiting for you," Imoen said, her eyes wide with fear.

"I will not leave him to rot."

"Then I'm coming with you," Imoen said determinedly.

"Please Imoen, if you go back to Candlekeep now they may still let you back in."

"You know better than that Saunder," Imoen returned, "you know how strict those Watchers are about letting people in. Besides, Puff-Guts would never let me out of his sight again."

Saunder sighed, "You're right Im. Just please be ready to run if there's an ambush." Saunder loosed his sword in its scabbard.

Imoen nodded.

Neither Saunder nor Imoen could recall exactly where Gorion had fallen and the woods looked different in daylight than they had during the night. At length they came across the clearing and found that Gorion still lay where he had been cut down the night before. Saunder broke down to his knees at the sight of Gorion's head, hanging onto his neck by a few pieces of flesh. When Saunder looked again he saw that no carrion feeders had yet defiled his foster-father's body. "Thank you, Tyr," Saunder prayed weakly as he stood.

"Are you going to bury him?" asked Imoen.

"We don't have the implements to dig," Saunder replied, "we'll have to build a cairn." Imoen nodded nervously. "Stay here and make sure Gorion's body stays untouched. I'll look for some rocks." Saunder emptied many of the larger items from his satchel and began his search, which proved to be more frustrating than Saunder had expected.

At length, Saunder came upon a ridge with stones of numerous sizes strewn beneath it. Saunder bent over and began placing some of the larger rocks into his satchel. Then he felt the edge of a blade pressed against his neck.

"That's a good lad, no moving now, and no noise neither," the voice was distinctly female, but rough and hoarse. "Now I'm going to give you a few choices. You can scream, and I'll cut your throat like a pig's. Or I can let you go. After that you can either run, and when I catch you I'll gut you like a cur, or you can draw that little sword of yours and we let the gods decide who walks away."

Saunder made no sound and after a moment the woman withdrew the blade from his neck. Saunder stood up and turned to face the woman. She was taller than Saunder by a few inches and built like a blacksmith. A conical helmet obscured most of her face, a mail shirt hung from her shoulders, and she confidently held a bastard sword. The woman bared her teeth in something that could have been mistaken for a smile and drew back to give Saunder some room.

Saunder drew his long sword and stepped away from the ridge, to ensure he would not be backed into it. The woman watched Saunder and raised her sword above her shoulders with the blade pointed at Saunder.

Tyr, guide my sword, Saunder prayed silently, and held his weapon in a guard close to his chest. The woman stepped forward and brought her weapon down in a descending blow. Saunder parried the attack on his cross guard but his aggressor quickly withdrew her sword and brought it around on the other side of Saunder's guard. The young paladin withdrew his leg before the woman's bastard sword could lop it off.

Saunder backed away and cursed himself for not pressing his advantage when the woman's guard was low. She started forward again, brandishing her sword and bringing it around in a wide slash. Saunder met her swing with his own sword but the woman's cut was stronger and pushed Saunder's blade away. With her own weapon inside Saunder's guard, the woman bashed Saunder's sternum with the iron pommel of her sword. Saunder lost his grip on his weapon as he fell heavily and the wind was knocked out of him.

"Men are weak," the woman muttered as she stood over Saunder, her sword poised, "tell whatever god you pray to that Shar-Teel–" Saunder heard the snap of a bowstring and seconds later an arrow was protruding from the woman's, Shar-Teel's, gut. Shar-Teel hunched over in pain.

Seeing his opportunity, Saunder snatched his sword from where it lay beside him and swung the weapon. Blood splattered from Shar-Teel's throat and onto Saunder's leather jerkin. The warrior-woman collapsed slowly, eyes frozen in surprise. Saunder rolled out of the way before the body could fall on him.

"Wench!" Saunder shouted at the corpse, as he kicked it, "the nine hells take you!"

"Saunder . . ."

Saunder stopped, forced himself to calm down, and sheathed his sword. After taking a moment to compose himself, Saunder turned to face Imoen, smiling wanly, "It's a good thing you never listen to me. You saved my life, Im." Saunder looked down to Shar-Teel's corpse and shook his head. What was that foolishness? No corpse deserves defilement.

"We should leave now," said Imoen, still holding her bow.

Saunder shook his head and looked at the rocks arrayed below the ridge. There should be enough, he thought. "No," he replied resolutely, and looked again at Shar-Teel's corpse, "now we have two cairns to build."

Saunder stood by the cairn under which he had lain Gorion, near where he had fallen. Shar-Teel's cairn had been built just by the ridge.

"Now can we go?" asked Imoen, "there may be more of them."

"You're right," Saunder conceded. Imoen had become increasingly agitated with every minute. Saunder looked down the path that would lead back to Candlekeep. "Without Gorion, the Gatewarden will not let us pass."

"As if I hadn't realized that," Imoen said, "Did Gorion have a destination in mind?"

"He did," said Saunder, "he said we would meet friends of his at the Friendly Arm Inn, but there may be another ambush there."

"What if he was only after Gorion? What if the woman who ambushed you at the ridge was only a lone brigand?"

"He was after me," Saunder said in a voice thick with regret, casting another glance at Gorion's cairn, "he told Gorion to give me to him. If he knew to find us on this path, maybe he knows about the Friendly Arm Inn as well. We should go south. Maybe we won't be expected that way."

Imoen looked at Saunder questioningly.

"It's not much of a plan but it's a start," Saunder shrugged, "At least I've enough coin to keep us warm and fed for a while."