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Dearest Readers, may you always find true freedom… before it finds you! ;D

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﴾ THE HIDDEN SWORD ﴿

Book Three: Meeting of Fires | Chapter 66: Fire at the End of the Tunnel (Part Two)

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"Where's the new stock of supplies? They were supposed to leave them here! Surely they left when they saw none of my minions waiting for them."

Like an overgrown sullen child throwing a fit over an empty bowl of milk, Mulahey flailed over a bare cache partly unearthed beneath an oak marked by lightning burns. Xan awkwardly rubbed his arms and glanced around this clearing where the kobolds led their pitiful group. To here, the designated drop off point for the potions and supplies when Tranzig and his escorts opted not to visit the mines in person.

"This is all your fault, Blacksheaf," Mulahey shrieked, wagging a fist in his direction.

No longer unacquainted with the blame game, Xan merely paid him a raised brow, unabashedly interested in learning how it was his fault this time.

"Oh, is it because you kept me from leaving, hence my failure to report to Tazok on time and thusly send for someone to replenish your resources?"

"No, because your useless alchemical skills brought me nothing but disappointment and thus made me so eager to succeed in the experiments that I forgot to send out the kobolds on the appointed day."

What faultless logic. Xan rolled his eyes, wrung his hands and called to a few of the kobolds.

They approached and the elf gave them instructions to search the area if perhaps the supplies had been tossed in haste elsewhere by mistake, or if there were tracks indicating the passage of the appointed messengers. The kobolds immediately commenced with their task, spreading out to comb the dell and its perimeter. Not far and they whistled over a discovery, several of them proceeding to dig up a mound of recently disturbed earth.

And what a grim discovery it was. Two corpses, the state of decomposition not advanced enough to disguise the gruesome manner of death – one with his bowels sliced open, the other missing a forearm and peppered with stabs through the torso.

Xan covered his mouth and fought the urge to retch at the grisly display. Mulahey paled, mumbling something about recognizing the men as Tranzig's lackeys.

"The mad elf in the notices," the half-orc said, surprisingly sobered. "This can only be his work."

"But for what purpose is he pursuing with such viciousness?" Xan asked, mouth still cupped.

"I don't know the reason why," Mulahey said. "Tazok certainly wants him dead for killing so many of our number, while it's Tranzig's job to spread the word and seek mercenaries willing to brave the hunt."

And willing to go to their certain doom. Xan wagged his head, disturbed.

What manner of elf would commit to such relentless slaughter? For always a Tel'Quessir esteemed life itself, thereby attaining an unassailable peace in spirit and harmony with their world. But for one to cross the line into madness? Then woe be to their quarry, for to an elf - the years have no meaning and thus the wrongs will never fade from memory, their feet will ever remain swift in pursuit, their blade ever keen and primed.

And if this unbalanced one finds the Greycloak in the company of an obviously unhinged half-orc Cyricist, and mistakenly counted as the latter's ally?

Xan shivered and looked to the other with genuine apprehension. "What do you propose as our next step?"

Mulahey stared down at the bodies, eyes glazed at the obvious warnings. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. "We make camp here and wait for Tranzig."

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The rest of the day went on, quiet but tense. Too nervous even for his usual brand of incivility, Mulahey restlessly paced and constantly ordered the kobolds to patrol the perimeter.

Xan kept to himself, staring at the fire as he pondered, not only his now dire situation, but also the discouraging lack of progress in his investigation.

No, not an investigation but a simple side trip of his study furlough, he reminded himself of the irony.

Even with the confirmation that the iron plague was no natural phenomena, he still had no definitive clue of the identity or motive of the saboteurs. But without the use of his other spells and components, an attempt to subdue Mulahey would surely prove challenging.

Perhaps, he might even enlist the kobolds' assistance. Convince them that the half-orc has become more unstable, hence, a liability to their cause.

What and whose cause? Xan might have laughed if he had the disposition to appreciate the incongruity of his present state.

He shook his head. Yet another futile plan likely doomed to failure. He let his gaze take in their surroundings, these foreign woods so harshly contrasting with the familiar beauty of his beloved home.

From what he recalled of the clues gathered from the kobolds, this site lay a little over a day's march south of Nashkel. Then from the town itself would be another two days' travel to Beregost. Indeed, how far had he crawled through the bowels of the earth, considering that the mines were east of the settlement?

And how further and much longer from the safety and surety of his home and People?

He exhaled and fidgeted at a latchet on his boot. Best to distract oneself by hypothesizing where the half-orc might have hidden his spell book.

But a glimpse of the soiled linens peeking out of Mulahey's pack effectively dampened any appetite for the hazardous endeavor of sifting through a Cyricist's belongings. Another time perhaps, if he hasn't met his doom by then.

Night came and with it a palpable sense of unrest. Not even the fresh forest breeze and the clear evening sky could dampen the disquiet in his spirit. Xan cast a wary glance at the half-orc bundled in a blanket, snoring in deep sleep as if no fell soul wandered out there seeking their blood.

Yet the elf felt no envy at the other's slumber – for a life lent to wickedness offered no rest not even in dreams.

He squinted in the darkness beyond the trees. Hopefully, the kobolds would find nothing that would trouble them further.

But as always, Xan spoke too soon.

For suddenly the kobolds scrambled into the clearing, their alarmed whines rousing Mulahey from his sleep.

"We spotted someone – a human, we think. Saw us before we could attack in surprise. We ran like Master Blacksheaf said we always should, but I think this one followed after us," reported the kobold chief.

"And you'll bring the enemy straight to me? Useless fools," Mulahey cried. "I should've wasted your entire pack from the beginning, then raised your worthless bones instead."

"Commiserable as our circumstances are, this is no time for your threats," Xan snapped, the urgency replacing what earlier apprehensions he had with angering the other. "Rather, we ought to prepare ourselves to face an unknown foe, though hopeless our chances may be."

While having regained the moonblade provided some middling measure of assurance, it was still in spellcraft where he ascribed his primary advantage.

Quickly he ran down a mental inventory – components if he has any on his person and which of the spells could be cast from the ones already scribed in his mind prior to Mulahey's confiscation of his spell book.

But Color Spray was out of the question for there were no dyed sand or powder in the lair to replenish his personal stock. So was any acid conjuration for it required adder poison, of which the few vials that they had were all used up in the experiments while the kobolds had been unable to find any rhubarb from their outside forays.

Monster summoning? Xan felt at his pockets. Out of unlit candles and his tiny bag for the spell's required focus had been among his things lost in the kobold's cave-in trap. Oh, to think that pouch had been a token from an uncle and artfully woven with agate beads and gold thread.

Sleep? But he would need a pinch of fine sand, or some rose petals, or a cricket. Xan inwardly berated himself for not having taken more silt from the quarry – though how was he supposed to know he'd be overusing the spell with those amateur adventurers? The kobolds once brought in a small basket of crickets but those were their supper for the day. And one mustn't even start with the impossibility of a single rose somehow sprouting among the crags and crevices in the mines.

If only he had studied to become an encikkar to be able to access evocation magic despite his focus on enchantment. All that guano in the other grottos of the lower levels or the sulphur samples in the makeshift laboratory would've afforded him a fireball or two.

Though of course, casting a fireball in the middle of the woods and in a clearing full of flammable underbrush would've been extremely reckless. Better to face an end that isn't as fiery and painful and without your ancestors in Arvandor reproaching you for burning down an entire forest.

Speaking of fire - Control Flames? This one required no component. He nodded at the campfire – small and weak, manageable enough to prevent the flames from spreading, but easily manipulated to flare up and scorch the intruder. Yes, he could certainly utilize this spell for the coming battle.

Then Mulahey poured a bucket of water on the fire. Xan gawped at the smoke curling from the pit. Truly, now?

"There, it should be harder for the enemy to see and fight," the half-orc said, preening over his contribution.

Unless the attacker is a demi-human with darkvision like them. Xan sighed with familiar disappointment. As much as he deemed the probability of success to be nil again, at least Charm Person required only verbal and somatic requirements.

Everyone readied themselves, facing the direction from which the kobolds came. Xan stole a glance at Mulahey who kept wiping his brow, morningstar gripped in the other hand.

Oh, the irony of a Wielder making a last stand alongside a Cyricist descended from the orcs, greatest enemy of the elves.

And as they stood side by side, Mulahey displayed a surprising steadfastness. For despite his obvious terror, the half-orc was chanting something under his breath. Clearly, a prayer for blessings in battle. Xan shifted uneasily. Well, a blessing, even from a mad and wicked deity, is still a blessing, nonetheless.

"The enemy-," cried a kobold "- is here!"

From among the trees leaped in the intruder, an unknown Assailant, masked up to the eyes obscured by a cowl pulled over the head. Obviously taller and sturdier in frame than him, Xan observed grudgingly.

But the intruder paused to seemingly stare in surprise at them. Xan frowned. Hadn't this one seen such a motley group of opponents in their entire life?

If one of his elder brothers were here, no not the one in Deepingdale, rather the one in Waterdeep – he would certainly crack a joke even in the midst of this dire occurrence.

An elf, a half-orc, and a pack of kobolds walked into a tavern-

Xan violently shook his head to dispel the ill-timed memory. For a greater predicament now held them, one more distressing than an unfinished joke.

Yet against this threat, the kobolds bravely clumped together, weapons raised, yapping their challenge. And yet silently, the Assailant merely crouched into a defensive position, hand on the sword hilt.

But why would this one wait to attack? Perhaps discouraged by the greater number of defenders on their side? Yes, that must be the reason.

Now if only they could somehow work together and coordinate their offense and-

"You take care of this, Blacksheaf."

Startled, he glanced to his side only to see Mulahey hastily retreating into the darkness. Xan gawked at the other's cowardice. Truly, now?

Yet the elf willed himself to forgo a tempting thought of protest. For though lesser now were the favorable odds, he still had one more spell up his sleeve, and one requiring no component to cast.

Swiftly, Xan chanted and performed the somatic component for the charm. Better to draw the Assailant over to their side first, learn of the other's motives, and perhaps utilize this one's abilities to provide aid in some way for as long as the enchantment held sway.

Nothing happened.

Indeed, the magic reached the target, this he sensed. But unlike with the Cyricist where the spell felt as if it were taking hold until the protective enchantment dispelled it – in this instance with the Assailant, the energy simply scattered then faded abruptly.

Outright resisted! Perhaps in possession of the same if not stronger protective magic as Mulahey had been? Then evidently a competent foe for having come prepared.

Thus, with a sinking heart and stiff hands, Xan unsheathed the moonblade.

Not a spell, but a prayer then.

Aillesel Seldarie.

Low and agonized moans floated in the forest air, the deathly cries of a pair of ghastly forms as they lumberingly marched into the dell. Animated corpses of Tranzig's slain men, the evident purpose of the Cyricist's earlier prayer.

Unholy allies in battle. Xan wryly huffed. Regardless of the unpleasantness of its materialized form, this was still an answer to his own petition, after all.

"Kill them all, my loyal undead minions," rang the half-orc's voice from the darkness. "Leave no witnesses alive!"

Having mastered the art of rolling one's eyes even in the face of impending death and dismemberment, Xan did so as he assumed correctly - without a doubt, Mulahey meant to leave no witnesses to his failure.

Of the pair of undead, the one-armed zombie turned on the elf and the kobolds while the other, the gutted one, made for the Assailant.

The archers among the kobolds fired arrows at the Assailant who swiftly fell back and hid behind the trees some ways beyond the dell, and at the gutted zombie which ignored the projectiles and continued to march towards its target. Meanwhile, the rest of the kobolds encircled the one-armed zombie, poking at it with their spears while ducking away from the reach of its remaining limb.

But it would only be a matter of time before the kobolds run out of arrows or the Assailant decides to risk a venture out of the cover of the trees. If only both undead could work to their benefit instead of continuing to attack them. An idea came to him. A tactic shamefully inspired by Mulahey's earlier showing, but undeniably practical, nonetheless.

"Osvith!" Xan commanded the kobolds to flee. "We're all doomed unless we run while we're still able!"

Immediately the kobolds obeyed, some flanking the elf while the others held their spears aloft to protect the retreat. A few more rounds did the archers fire off for good measure before falling back as well.

Suddenly bereft of a target, their undead opponent clawed at the empty air but eventually turned and joined its fellow to seek out the Assailant as if driven by vengeance for the gruesome deeds done upon them.

While honor dictated that the Greycloak stay and put down these undead abominations, pragmatism demanded that he ensure his own survival. Hopefully, Mulahey's undead summons could chase away or hold off the Assailant long enough for them to reach surer safety.

Xan turned on his heels and fled with the kobolds.

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They ran for some time until it seemed they have covered a good distance, and the small group paused and gathered to catch their breaths. A quick patrol of their immediate surroundings confirmed that the Assailant no longer pursued them, evidently overcome by the undead.

The kobold chief counted each member of their tribe, and each kobold yipped in response. Soon they were done with the roll call, followed by the dragonkin's happy whistles at confirming their number still intact. Xan could only nod pensively along with their small celebration.

Perhaps one final command should be given to them, a command long overdue.

"I have yet one more instruction for you," Xan said.

All the kobolds looked up at him, scaly tails swinging with devoted anticipation.

"Since Mulahey has abandoned you," he pronounced. "I hereby grant you the liberty to leave his servitude."

Each kobold tilted their head, still uncomprehending.

"It means - you are no longer Mulahey's slaves," Xan said, waving to the horizon. "And that my command to you is – Go and be free."

"Free?" the kobolds murmured, still unsure of this sudden boon. "We are truly free?"

"Yes, you are," he said gently. "Perhaps one day you may return to your old home beneath the Firewine Bridge. But for now, you must find one where you may start anew and live in peace."

Excited yips filled the air as the happy realization finally dawned upon them. But the kobold chief asked, "Master Blacksheaf, don't you wish us to accompany you back to Tazok?"

Tempting as it was to continue their vassalage to him for practical reasons, to do so ran counter to a primary tenet of the Tel'Quessir – to uphold the freedom and self-determination of an individual sentient being.

"I can take care of myself. It is best that you move now while there is yet space to do so," Xan replied, shaking his head with a wistful smile. "I shall find my own way as you will yours."

The kobold chief bowed. "So be it then, Master Blacksheaf. Should you find yourself in the dark and narrow again, may Kurtulmak bless you."

"And keep you safe from blades in shadowy corners," yipped another kobold.

"And from traps cleverly hid," yapped another kobold.

"And from monsters hiding in holes deep and wide."

"And from rocks falling above your head and beneath your feet."

The elf squirmed at each potential disaster. Hopefully, he won't have to end up in another pit or tunnel to even need such benediction.

"Sukriya," Xan said his thanks with an equally solemn bow.

And thus, with a few final pats and scritches dispensed, the elf and the kobolds bid each other farewell and parted ways beneath the towering trees of the Fire Leaf.

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Xan exhaled and restlessly dusted at his sleeves.

All right, perhaps he had been too hasty in dismissing his former wardens, he acknowledged with rueful honesty. It wouldn't have hurt to ask the kobolds to at least accompany him to the outskirts of the town.

Ah well, no good deed is done without a severely discounted tradeoff, Mother often warned.

On the other hand, the constellations still visible in the dark sky afforded him a general sense of direction. For as long as he followed the star Ieriyn, the path would take him straight back to Nashkel.

But the thought of endeavoring the trek alone in a forest brimming with dangers gave no shadow of comfort. At least, perishing by eventual starvation and dehydration, or wild animal attacks would be far preferable to the innumerable ghastly options in Mulahey's company.

And then the Assailant stepped out of the shadows.

At the sight of his pursuer, Xan's heart sunk deeper than an anchor cut from its rope in the middle of the ocean.

For somehow, past the undead summons, in the darkness and among the trees and suffocating undergrowth of this vast forest, the Assailant found him.

This enigmatic hunter, standing firm with purpose and calm, sword still sheathed but with hand at the hilt, ready and waiting to draw and end this hapless Greycloak's pitifully unaccomplished existence.

No other choice then but to face the playing of the funeral dirge.

Xan took breath, deep and harsh, and raised the moonblade in what he recalled should be a close-left guard. Or was it the middle guard?

Unfortunately, his former fencing tutor wasn't here to tell him he got it wrong again.

Seemingly undeterred by the flickering blade of the teu'kerym, the Assailant merely tilted a cowled head. Then with unhurried confidence, the enemy drew a sword, its make obscured by the darkness.

And then the Assailant charged.

Surprised at the speed wherewith his opponent came at him, Xan could only lift the moonblade in a feeble attempt to parry. But the Assailant merely sidestepped out of his reach. Inelegantly, Xan recoverd and tried another swing which the other easily blocked.

Blocked. The teu'kerym stopped by an ordinary sword!

Effortlessly, the Assailant redirected the moonblade and forced Xan out of his already shaky stance. Then the Assailant drove in and speared him bluntly but solidly in the gut.

All breath and sense knocked out of him, Xan felt himself go limp, the moonblade slipping from his hands as he pitched forward unresisting.

But no words, no prayer came to his lips as the dark and nothingness quietly shrouded his world before he even found the earth.

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Assailing Scribblings:

Who oh who might this Mysterious Assailant be? WRONG ANSWERS ONLY XD

Hint! Hint! All right, perhaps two gnomes pretending to be a human with the o'l trench coat trick, one standing on the other's shoulder. Tiax and Quayle? But who's the Top Gnome and who's the Bottom Gnome then? ;D

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