"I don't want to be a part of this," the fighter muttered. He moved away from the others, stepping back out into the flower-strewn field. He heard the hobgoblin shriek in agony, and he quickly walked away, heading west along the tree line. To keep his mind off the torture of the hobgoblins, he concentrated on finding any trails that might lead further up the slopes of the hill.
He found one at the northwestern edge of the clearing. It looked like someone or something was maintaining it and keeping it clear of debris, which was not a good sign. It was a narrow trail, and it sloped upwards at a good pace. After about half a furlong, it turned slightly to the left, and he could see no further along its length. This must have been the trail the hobgoblins had used, and it most likely led to their lair. If Gareth and his friend had gone this way, the hobs had most likely gotten them. Would they still be alive? Hobgoblins loved taking prisoners and torturing them to death. How long this took depended upon how much sport the victims provided. The fighter tried not to think about it. How many days had already passed since the boys had disappeared? It had to be at nearly a week, since Deft's hometown of Verdun was a two day journey from Fort Gaston. It would have taken Ganth's messengers two days to get there to deliver the summons, and it had taken Deft two days to reach the Fort. The odds were not good that the boys had survived, but the fighter decided against mentioning this fact to the dwarf. Ganth had to hold on to his hope, no matter what. Without it, the mission was already doomed.
Deft decided to suggest to the cleric that they not take the trail. They would be easy prey for the hobs, and could be overrun and taken prisoner themselves. They had to go another way, a way the hobs would not expect. The fighter's eyes went to the waterfall. Following the stream would be a better plan, especially if there were no trails near it. But it was a source of water for the hobs, so the party would have to be careful if they went that way.
The fighter walked over to the waterfall and studied the rocks. They were rough and craggy, and he figured he could climb to the top and have a look around at the lie of the land.
He had an easy time of it, and soon stood on the rocks at the top of the falls. He looked upstream to see the waters come tumbling down the rocky slope. The stream looked clear and refreshing. They would most likely be able to refill their water skins if the need arose.
The fighter turned around and stared back over the waters of the Shrill, filled with fishing boats. Fort Gaston squatted on the banks of the river, looking tiny and alone. Deft wondered if he'd ever make it back to the "right side of the river". His sense of duty could get him killed over here. But if the worst they had to face was a tribe of hobgoblins, he had hopes they could survive it. And if that was the case, then what happened to all those other groups of adventurers that had crossed over to the Hill and perished? Had they been unlucky? Inexperienced? Or was there something more sinister lying in wait on these dangerous slopes? The fighter decided he would not let his guard down, until he and his party were safely back on the east side of the Shrill.
The fighter heard a sharp whistle, and saw Ganth and the others standing near the tree line. Deft quickly joined them, scanning their faces for clues as to what had happened with the hobgoblins.
"Did you learn anything?"
"No." The cleric's face was grave. "They would not talk. They just kept telling us their names, and that they were warriors with the Broken Skull tribe."
"What did you do with them?"
"I did not torture them, if that is what you want to know. I am a cleric, Bladehaft. I do not go in for that sort of thing. Even though that is exactly what the hobs would do to us if the situations were reversed. No, they are dead now, dead but not tortured."
The fighter smiled. "I knew you weren't like that, Ganth."
"You are a bad liar, Bladehaft. But you are absolutely right. I am no hobgoblin. I was bluffing when I told them I would chop off their fingers and such. But they saw through the bluff. They knew full well they were going to die, but they refused to give up any information. So we are back where we started."
"Except now we know there is a tribe of hobs living here," Bloom said. "The Broken Skull."
"There is that," said Deft. "I found a trail near where the hobs attacked us, but I don't think we should go that way. It will most likely be guarded. I scouted the stream a little. I think that might be a better way to go."
Ganth mulled this over. "You are right, Bladehaft. Good thinking. We shall follow the stream. It will keep our presence here secret for a little while longer. Although when that hob patrol does not return, someone is going to be wondering what happened to them. Let us try to conceal the bodies as best we can."
With Bloom and Runt standing guard, Ganth and Deft carried the four hobgoblin corpses into the woods, and hid them as best they could among the undergrowth.
The party made its way back to the waterfall, and Ganth stared dubiously up at it. "Do you expect me to climb this? I am not a billy goat, Bladehaft!"
"But you're a dwarf, so…close enough, right?"
The cleric scowled and said nothing.
"I climbed it once already. It was easy. So you should have no problem."
Bloom snapped her fingers. "Piece of cake. Watch."
She lithely clambered her way up the rocky face, but slipped halfway up and was forced to jump back to the ground. Ganth laughed grimly.
"Piece of cake, eh?"
The thief fixed him with a sour glance, and tried again. Runt went up beside her. Deft waited with the dwarf. He didn't want them all to be hanging from the cliff face if more hobgoblins, or something even more sinister, decided to show up.
Bloom made it to the top on her second try, but Runt got stuck halfway up and could make no further progress. He tried to advance, but ended up falling. Deft caught him.
"Here, take it easy for a minute," the fighter said. "Catch your breath. I'll try my luck again."
Deft climbed to the top, using the same hand and footholds he had used on his first ascent. Ganth stood scowling up at him, and he sent the goblin up next so the dwarf could guard their rear.
Runt fell again, and sat on the ground, staring dumbly up into the sky.
"Now what?" the dwarf called up to the fighter and the thief.
Deft glanced at Bloom. "We don't have a rope. Is there any other way to get him up here?"
The thief shrugged. "He could try another way. Maybe find another place where the cliff isn't so steep."
"There is that. But sending him alone is too dangerous. What do you say, give him one more try?"
"Sure. But he's not a good climber. He spent his entire life hunched over those stupid books he reads."
The fighter grinned at her. "Well, he is a magic-user, after all."
"Yes, he is. But he wasted his youth. When we were kids, he was always inside, learning magic and studying his spells. But I was out in the city, hanging out with my pals, breaking into people's houses and getting into all sorts of trouble."
On Runt's next attempt, he ended up falling again, so Bloom called out her plan for them to find another way to make it to the top of the waterfall. Ganth grumbled and muttered to himself about the dangers of dividing their forces, but he led the goblin north along the tree line, to find a spot where the grade of the land wasn't so severe. Bloom and Deft sat down on the edge of the rocks, staring lazily out at the fishing boats milling about on the river.
"How long have you known Runt?" Deft asked.
"Since I was young. About six years old, I'd say."
"I must say that it's strange for a goblin and a human to grow up together. There aren't many goblin tribes on the right side of the river, and those that are usually stick close to their own kind. What's the story with Runt?"
"Well, my father was a collector, of objects as well as strays. He was a magic-user, and one of his adventuring buddies had gone on a raid against some goblins in the Merecage. They had killed all the adults and most of the children. One of these kids was Runt. My dad's buddy felt bad for the little snot. Must have been getting old and sentimental. So he brought him home to my dad, who decided to keep him, and raise him as his own. I think he wanted to see if a goblin could be civilized, you see. It seems to have worked. Runt was different from most goblins. He had a keen mind. It wasn't long before my father started teaching him his craft. He tried to teach me that twaddle too, but I wasn't interested. My sword here is all I need to get me out of trouble, my sword and my wits. I don't need magic."
Deft smiled. He told Bloom about his own upbringing, as a son of a militiaman in the army of Verdun. How he had also served in the militia from his eighteenth birthday until his twenty-second. Having learned the ways of warfare and of the blade, he had decided to become a professional adventurer, since many people in Verdun had made their fortunes traveling the wastelands around the Seven States. Deft's father had called him a "no good nothing drifter", but those comments quickly stopped when Deft started sharing his booty with his family.
The fighter stopped suddenly, hearing the sound of something or someone approaching from the north. Whoever or whatever it was, they were making a terrific racket. Deft heard the cleric's voice cursing in vehemence, and he flashed a grin at Bloom.
"Someone's not very happy!"
The thief scowled. "Someone better learn to keep his trap shut, if someone doesn't want to bring every hobgoblin in the area down on us!"
Before long, the two could see the dwarf and the goblin picking their way through the tangled undergrowth. Bloom warned the dwarf to keep his voice down, and Ganth did so, after a few more choice curses thrown in for good measure.
Now that the entire party was at the top of the falls, they waded into the shallow depths of the stream and began walking westwards and upwards.
They followed the stream for half a mile, then rounded a corner. Before them, the stream issued forth from a long and narrow lake. They saw a small and pleasant meadow at the eastern shoreline of the lake.
They all saw the person at the same time, and crouched down in the middle of the stream so they wouldn't be seen.
Even though the person was some three furlongs away, they could make it out as a young, blonde-headed male. Presently he was kneeling near the tree line, but they couldn't see what he was doing. At least he wasn't facing towards them, so they were relatively certain he hadn't spotted them.
After a few minutes, he stood up and began walking west along the meadow, soon disappearing into the trees.
"What do you make of that?" Ganth rubbed his forehead. "That was no goblinoid."
"No," said Bloom. "It was a child, or perhaps a halfling. Hard to tell from this far away."
"Halfling or child," Deft said, "what is he doing out here all alone? Ganth, that wasn't your nephew's friend, was it?"
The cleric shook his head and frowned. "No. Cullen is a human and has dark hair. And that person was small, smaller than me."
"What now?" Bloom asked. "Do we follow our mysterious visitor?"
The dwarf thought for a minute. "We can at least go to the clearing and see what he was doing. But be wary. Whoever he is, he may have dark motives. He might even be part of this Crushed Skull tribe, as unlikely as that may seem."
"It's odd to see a halfling wandering alone," said Deft. "They're clannish, aren't they?"
"Yes," Ganth said. "Not as clannish as us dwarfs, but clannish in their own way. They certainly are family-oriented. They are also notoriously curious, and prone to wandering off on their own. So if he is a halfling, he is probably just exploring the Hill, thinking nothing of the danger he is putting himself into. We might end up rescuing him as well."
"If we can find him," said Bloom.
They continued following the stream, and soon came upon a trail that bisected it. After a quick conversation, they decided to avoid the trails for now, and try to follow the halfling.
"If he's friendly," Deft said, "and we can meet up with him, we might be able to join forces. One more person in this party can't hurt."
"Depends on the person," Ganth muttered.
They reached the pond, and skirted through the underbrush on its northern side, heading for the clearing. They soon reached it. From here, they had a good view of the waters of the pond. The bottom was made of many-colored pebbles, and hundreds of harmless gold and silver fish swam lazily through the waters.
"This seems man-made," Deft said, "doesn't it?"
"It does look stocked," Bloom agreed. "Somebody's fishing pond?"
"Hobgoblins would not build something like this," Ganth said. "They only busy themselves with destruction."
"Maybe our mysterious halfling built it," Bloom offered.
From the tree line, Runt whistled, and the others walked over to join him. The goblin stood before three raspberry bushes. Deft noticed immediately that the berries on the shrubs were much larger than ordinary raspberries.
"This is where our halfling knelt," said the magic-user. "He must have been examining, or perhaps eating these strange berries."
Deft touched one of the berries. A warning voice in his mind told him not to eat them. "Runt, is this a normal species of raspberry? I've never seen any this big."
"Neither have I," said the goblin. "Perhaps they are some sort of mutation. I do not believe they are poisonous, because there is evidence that some have been picked. Allow me to conduct an experiment."
Reaching into his tunic, the goblin pulled out a foot long birch twig, and pointed it at the bushes. He spoke in the language of magic, and the berries on the bush began to glow with a pale green light. Deft's sword, Bloom's slippers, Runt's ring, and Ganth's mace and armor also glowed.
"This is a Wand of Magic Detection," said Runt, closing his eyes and standing very still as if concentrating. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. The glow faded from the berries and their gear.
"These berries are under an enchantment of the necromantic school."
"What does that mean?" Ganth muttered.
"Well, all magical and holy spells are grouped into several categories, or 'schools', as we magic-users call them. There are eight schools of magic: conjuration, enchantment, alteration, necromantic, divination, abjuration, evocation, and illusion. Necromantic magic deals with manipulating, creating, or destroying life and the life force of living things. Now, healing spells, such as those employed by clerics and bards, are from the necromantic school, even though clerics tend to not group their magic into categories."
The dwarf sighed. "Thank you for the lesson, Runt. What are you trying to say?"
The goblin blinked. "What I am saying is that these berries could be healing berries, or they could be deadly. I would advise against touching or eating them."
"Then we shall do neither," said Ganth. "Let us keep moving. Mayhap we can overtake the halfling."
"Not so fast, Ganth," Bloom grinned. "I noticed that your mace and mail were glowing like the rest of our magical items. Spill."
The cleric scowled. "Yes, they are magical. I know, dwarfs are not known for dabbling in the arcane arts. This was my father's weapon and my father's armor. He was also a Knight of the Order of the Golden Dragon. When he retired from the Order, he brought me back to Blackburrow, where our family comes from, and enrolled me in the Order. After my training was complete, on the day I was knighted, my father passed along this mace and armor."
"They do anything special?"
"No. They only have a slight enchantment. The mace strikes truer than a normal weapon, and this Ganth mail is enchanted with runes of protection. But I digress. Let us move out."
Deft had heard of Blackburrow, a large settlement of dwarfs that lived to the southeast of Fort Gaston. He had also heard of the Order of the Green Dragon. It was a society of clerical warriors that served Ametrine. They were knights-errant, charged with roaming the lands of the Five Cities and beyond, lending aid to whoever needed it. It had been founded more than two hundred years ago by the great dwarf cleric Axenite Warhammer, who had single-handedly slain a great green dragon that had been harrying the town of Dinard.
The party moved west along the meadow, and soon came to the spot where the halfling had disappeared into the forest. Here lay another trail, leading westwards at a level grade.
They decided to take this trail, even though there was still the danger of being spotted by a hobgoblin patrol. They walked single file, with Ganth in the lead. Deft came next. In this position, he would be able to shoot arrows over the dwarf's head, if the need arose. Runt went third, and Bloom acted as rear guard.
They walked for some two furlongs along the trail, with no incident. It had begun to gradually swing to the north, but still ran a level course. They came across another trail, leading westwards. They could see down its length for nearly half a mile, and saw nothing moving along its length. This trail also neither ascended nor descended, but ran on a level course.
They stopped at the intersection, and had a hurried conference. Deciding to stay on the trail they presently walked, they continued along its length for half a mile before emerging into a large, circular clearing. By now, they were a little more than halfway up the slope of the Hill.
The clearing was choked with thick bushes and brambles. To their right, another trail led off to the east through the trees. To the west, the ground sloped sharply up. At the top of the steep, rocky hillside sat a hideous idol, carved from granite. The statue depicted a fat, squatting, vaguely humanoid figure, whose face was twisted into a hideous leer.
They made no comment as they stared at the statue. Deft had a bad feeling about this place, and about the idol in particular.
"What demon is that supposed to be?" he asked the cleric.
After a minute of thinking, Ganth answered. "It does not look familiar to me. I do not believe it is any modern goblinoid deity, but it could be one from the ancient days. I know stonework, and this statue looks to be several hundred years old.
"There is a cave yonder," said Runt softly, pointing to a spot at the bottom of the hillside. Thick bushes choked the entrance of a round cave mouth.
"It doesn't look passable by humanoids," said Bloom. "Unless those bushes are just a decoy. Let's check it out."
"I want to get a better look at that statue," Ganth said. "Bladehaft, come with me."
The fighter and the cleric clambered up the rocky hillside, while Bloom and Runt investigated the cave mouth. The bushes were actual bushes rooted to the ground. Peering into the cave, the thief could see that past the entrance, it expanded rapidly. Many boulders littered the floor. The cave ran back into the darkness, and a musky odor issued from it, like that from an animal.
Bloom decided against entering the cave. But she thought about Gareth and Cullen, so she cupped her hands over her mouth and called out, "Hallo! Anyone there?"
No one answered, but the faint sound of many creatures squeaking came back to her. She looked at Runt and frowned.
"Bats! Nasty! I'm not going in there!"
"I don't blame you," said the magic-user.
They left the cave, and joined the others in examining the ancient statue. Two round niches were carved into the figure's eye holes. What they had once held, no one could guess.
Exploring the length of this end of the clearing, they discovered two more trails. One led northwest, the other southwest. Since they had come from the south to reach this place, they decided to take the trail that led in the northerly direction.
They went single file as before, trying to keep as quiet as they possibly could. This trail ran fairly straight and level, and to their left, the land rose up in a lumpy hillock.
After walking for two furlongs, they came across another path that bisected this one from the southwest. Ignoring it for now, they kept on their present course. The trail veered to the north, and after a furlong, it entered yet another clearing.
At the far edge of this clearing, the ground suddenly fell away for a distance of eighty feet. Because of this, they had a good view of the surrounding countryside to the north, east, and south.
A mile to the east, they saw a flower-filled glade. To the west lay a long lake, running north to south. From its northern side, a waterfall plummeted over a rocky outcropping, and the stream bent eastwards before them, and continued running in that direction until it emptied its waters into the Shrill. Deft remarked that they could use that stream to find their way quickly back to the river, if they needed to.
To the southwest, between two notches of land, they could barely catch a glimpse of yet another clearing. Nearly due south, they saw nothing but trees, and the crest of the hill rising up in one final, triumphant summit.
Ganth turned to the others. "What say you? Where should we explore next?"
"I'd say we should follow that lake to its end," said Bloom. "See if another stream flows into it, and if it does, follow that. I'd think these hobs would be living somewhere with water nearby, right?"
Runt nodded emphatically. "It would make sense that they would settle near a ready source of water."
The dwarf looked to Deft, and the fighter agreed with the others.
"So, what was that statue back at the clearing, then?" he wondered aloud. He had been thinking about it ever sense they had left it behind. "Some old god worshipped by the hobgoblins?"
Ganth raised his hands. "It is possible. But it seems abandoned. That glade was filled with rocks and bushes, like nobody ever goes there."
"Maybe it's cursed," Bloom said. "And they avoid the area."
The cleric sighed "Anything is possible. But that statue does not help us find what happened to my nephew, so there is no point in thinking or talking about it further."