Chapter 22

The next day after a hearty breakfast the party of Latrellans left the barbarian camp along with Tress and two dozen of her tribe to bolster their numbers. The fall morning was sunny so warm and the ride there was pleasant. Pherein again walked with Tress as Storm Fury walked behind while the rest of the party stayed mounted. It took them the better part of the morning to arrive in the area of the bandit camp. Though they saw no one Pherein could tell they were being watched which Tress confirmed.

"We're not far," Tress announced. "Are you ready?"

"There's going to be no sneaking into this camp," Pherein announced which Tress confirmed with the nod of her head. "They're vigilant and prepared."

"So, what do we do?" Theme Winchell asked.

"The only thing we can. We ride in, make the offer, and trust the gods," the pragmatic fighter declared.

"I must have this item, no matter what," Horsewood interjected urgently.

Tress made to say something, but Pherein silenced the aggressive barbarian. He sighed and pursed his lips. "A word with you, professor, if you please."

The pair went a short distance away, out of ear shot of the others, and Pherein asked bluntly, "What is it with this artefact? You have an almost obsessive fixation on it that is likely to get someone killed."

Horsewood's face contorted angrily and his mouth open to speak but instead he said nothing and paused. He became reflective and instead of a retort said, "Do you remember, Pherein, how I told you that Latrellus and most of the north was part of the ancient dominion of the illithids called Xakantar? Well, their greatest ruler was known as Kezzirol. He expanded their territories and brought more power, knowledge, and wealth than any other in its history. The item I seek is an idol dedicated to him that is said to have the power to commune and even summon him."

"And you want to play around with such power?" Pherein responded incredulously.

"No, no, of course not," Horsewood answered sincerely. "I just want to study it and learn what I can. I truly believe this is a missing link to better understanding their culture and ultimately who we are today."

Pherein sighed and rubbed his face. "It's that important?"

"You know the Illithid ruin outside Grantsbend?" the academic asked.

"Yes, it's a foul place."

"It was the center of Kezzirol's dynasty," Horsewood explained. "This item could unlock the secrets of it that have been kept from us for generations. You must understand, this is my life's work. I had dedicated myself to unlocking and understanding this culture. This is not some mere trinket but the key to an understanding that has thus far eluded not just me but others who have tried. That is why this is so important."

Pherein could see the urgency and sincerity of the man and it touched him. It had been a long time since he had seen such dedication to a cause. Though he did not want to admit it, it reminded him of his father. The troubled man quickly dismissed the thought, not wanting to consider it or the implications. "Okay, I'll do what I can to get it."

"Thank you, Pherein. You do not know how much this means to me."

The pair returned to the party. Tress raised her eyebrow but said nothing.

"We proceed forward and see what happens," Pherein announced. "Keep your hands off your weapons and a keep civil tongue. We're here to do business and not start a fight."

Tress seemed to appreciate the comment though several of her kinsmen groaned that this was going to be more talk than fun. With a turn of her head, she signaled everyone forward.

The party moved on at a relaxed pace though all were tense. As they moved deeper into this densely forested area all could sense they were being watched though nothing could be seen. Yet strange animal calls rang out in all directions that sounded more like signals than random occurrences. Oh yes, they were being watched.

After less than an hour moving along the pine needle carpeted trail signs of the bandit camp became evident. As they moved in Pherein was happy about the decision they made. It was clear there were likely more than thirty who were heavily armed and ready in this camp and there were well concealed guards along the way. It was also obvious their arrival had been expected by the large party waiting for them at the edge of the camp set in a rectangular opening in the forest.

The bandit camp was set up like that of Tress' barbarians though with a look of less permanence. In the center of the camp, just past two roaring cooking fires, was a raised dais with a large throne of carved wood. Lounging sideways in it was a hard looking dark-haired halfling with a sharp chin and nose. He wore a green jerkin and breeches with black knee-high leather boots folded over. He was balancing a curved dagger on one finger to the amusement of those around him but what stood out most was that he wore a black eye patch and black felt hat turned up on the one side with a large ostrich feather tucked into it. Pherein would have laughed at the ridiculous sight if it were not for the two scarred ogres carrying double sided battle axes who stood behind the throne along with three heavily muscled shirtless orcs who framed them. It was obvious this was the leader of the band.

Tress led her kinsmen and the Latrellans past the welcoming committee and towards this spectacle. No one said anything to them or tried to impede their progress though all appeared ready for a fight and more came out to form a semi-circle around them by the time they came before the one who was obviously the leader of this band.

"Well met, Kasdon Stonehollow," Tress greeted the halfling with a slight nod.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" the rogue asked, nimbly flipping the dagger and catching it in his opposite hand, dark brown eyes sparkling with delight. "And Tress, you look ravishing as always. Come to take me up on my offer of experiencing the delights of the 'little folk who have big assets?" He garishly looked down at his breeches and then at the attractive barbarian with a smirk.

You wish," Tress snorted.

"Ah well, you cannot fault a man for trying," the halfling proclaimed happily. Then, with dagger still in hand, he stood up and paced back and forth on the dais looking at those who had come with her. "And what brings you, and a group of Latrellans, to our humble camp?"

"Business, Kasdon," Tress responded. Gesturing to Professor Horsewood she said, "this one has an interest in an item that might be in your inventory."

"Do say? And who might you be, sir?"

"I'm Professor Heinrich Horsewood of Grantsbend University. I understand you have in possession a rare illithid idol?"

"Illithid idol?" the halfling rogue replied a bit confused. What's an illithid? I have many items of value in my possession. You will need to be more specific."

"My apologies, they are mind flayers," Horsewood stated diplomatically, even giving a slight bow to show deference. "The idol would be a statue just under twelve inches long made of obsidian with a bit of a crystalline element. It would have carvings of a mind flayer wearing a crown on it."Top of Form

"You are in luck, master teacher. I did happen to come into possession of said idol. The going price is eight hundred gold for it." The canny bandit gauged the response and seeing the academic not flinch added, "would you like to see it?

"Oh yes please," Horsewood responded eagerly not catching the look.

Stonehollow snapped his chubby fingers and one of the orcs went to the large marquee tent behind the dais. A brief time later the bodyguard returned with a black linen bag and handed it to the master of the camp. The halfling opened it and deftly moved it around to get a closer look. The idol has a faint purple glow to it and the hardened rogue even gave an involuntary shudder as a subtle psionic aura emanated as well. After his own examination, the halfling held it up and said, "Is this what you're looking for?"

"Yes. Yes, it is," Horsewood answered, his head nodding in excitement.

"And you said its quite rare?"

"Very rare and of critical importance to my research," Horsewood honestly replied.

Pherein winced at the eager response of the innocent teacher, chiding himself for not briefing the naïve man on how to manage this situation. He had dealt with men like this in his days as a Raid Captain and he knew what was coming next.

Thank you, Professor Horsewood, for helping me see the true value of this item. You truly are a gentleman." Stonehollow then paused and declared, "The price is now eighteen hundred gold."

"What? You said it would be eight hundred," Horsewood choked. "No, I will gladly take it at that price."

"Well, you see, that is the problem, my honest friend," the bandit leader said, feigning sincerity. "See, I do have to thank you, I will say. When I acquired this piece, I really did not know what I had. But now that I know how valuable it is to you, I'm sure there are other buyers with deeper pockets.

"You can't do that!" Horsewood protested angrily.

"Can't I?" Stonehollow responded coyly as his two ogre bodyguards stepped in threateningly.

Pherein looked at Tress who shrugged her shoulders to signal there was nothing they could do. The seasoned fighter scanned the surroundings, assessing their odds and knew they did not stand a chance. Besides the rings of armed bandits around them with weapons drawn there were others on the periphery and a sizable number of archers with arrows on string. Only a fool would try to fight in these circumstances.

"I'll offer you one thousand, but that is all I have. Please, I implore you, do the honorable thing," Horsewood begged.

"Honorable? Are you saying I am not honorable?" Stonehollow asked with an edge to his voice. All around the bandits began to tense up.

"Come, professor, there is little point in continuing this conversation. There is no honor in this camp and little reasoning," Pherein declared unintimidated, spitting on the ground in disgust.

Several around the fighter snarled at the comment and a number brandished their weapons angrily, but the fighter stared them down defiantly, unafraid. The camp suddenly became noticeably quiet and all that could be heard were several crows squawking back and forth at each other in the trees. Pherein turned and began to lead the professor away.

"Wait, just a moment, if you please," Stonehollow called out. "I like you Delorgan, you have spunk." A mischievous smile filled his wide face. "I'll tell you what, I'll give your friend this item for the original price."

"If?" Pherein asked, knew there was more to the offer.

"If you agree to fight Grok here," the halfling rogue declared eyes twinkling in delight as he pointed to the bigger of his massive ogre bodyguards. "And if you win."

"And if I lose?"

The bandit leader feigned indecision as to what it should be. "It would need to be something worth my while…something that catches my interest." He then snapped his finger. "I know! You work for me willingly and without question for four months complete and you leave that fine sword behind at the end."

A chorus of laughter and catcalls rose from the rogue's band as they responded to the audacious offer to the Delorgan who stood defiantly staring down their leader.

"Pherein, please, let us go," Horsewood called out, realizing his singular focus had led to this confrontation. He looked around nervously as the excited band began to draw in closer to the Latrellans. Theme Winchell and Cony Farr stiffened in anticipation as did the others, but their discipline kept them from making a rash move.

"I'll do it," Pherein declared resolutely.

Professor Horsewood recoiled in shock. "Pherein, you can't." The academic looked at the thickly muscled beast who stood over ten feet tall and weighed well over six hundred pounds fearing for the honorable man he had gotten into this situation.

"This is important to you, professor," the fighter responded resolutely. "I need to do this. "He looked back at the academic with a look that showed he would brook no opposition.

"Delightful!" Stonehollow declared, clapping his hands happily. "It has been so long since someone challenged Grok. Everyone, clear the circle, let's get ready for the show!"

The bandits opened the circle ringing the visitors, channeling them towards a dirt rectangle framed with cut logs excitement starting to electrify the air.

"Are you sure about this?" Tress asked as the crowd began to move into position. Already there was jockeying around the rail as the bandits and the barbarians of the tribe of the Elk sought the best position to watch the coming spectacle. Professor Horsewood and the Latrellans followed Pherein woodenly, stunned at the turn of events and unsure what to do. By the time they travelled the short distance they were already back from the ring.

"There's no other way," Pherein responded, resigned to what was about to happen, wondering anew how he had gotten himself into this situation.

"Okay then, he's going to be slow and will tire easily, be patient, look for your openings," Tress instructed. "May Shimara and your god be with you."

Pherein nodded his head in appreciation of the encouragement.

"Rules are simple," Stonehollow called out for all to hear and standing on a small platform that had been brought over for him so he could command the best view. "First one to cry 'quarter' or become unconscious… or dead," he stage whispered to the delight of the group, "is the loser." Looking to the Delorgan and then to his champion he finished with, "You may begin when ready."

Pherein rotated his neck and then rolled out his shoulders as he began to unbuckle his armor as did the ogre. Grok pulled off the hide tunic he wore and flexed his thick muscles. The ogre grinned at the fighter, his sharp tusks framing his saucer-shaped mouth. The beast's skull was thick and not only was his jaw pronounced but so was his forehead. The rogue's bodyguard seemed to be built out of stone.

And Pherein was going to fight him.

The Delorgan took off his helmet with distinct nose piece and then carefully put his sword and armor down then turned to prepare for the contest when he was smashed in the side of the head with a meaty fist from the ogre. The fight was on!

Pherein went down hard, an explosion of stars filled his vision, and he was blinded by the unexpected punch. Grok followed up with a hard double handed chop to the base of the neck which sent the islander down to the dirt in a heap. The crowd of bandits cheered their approval and Grok roared in triumph. Pherein tried to regain his senses, but his head felt as if a hundred hammers were beating on it. Getting to his hands and knees he tried to throw a punch, but the waiting ogre placed a savage kick to Pherein's midsection with enough force it flipped the muscular Delorgan onto his back. Grok pressed his advantage stomping his booted foot hard on the prone fighter. The sound of ribs cracking was heard to the delight of the bandits who cheered their camp champion and groans of the Latrellans. The ogre then grabbed Pherein by the hair, pulled him up to a seated position and punched him hard to the face letting the force slam his head back into the ground. Blood shot out of the Delorgan's nose and mouth.

White pain lanced through all of Pherein's body, and he groaned in pain. The ogre paused to enjoy the adulation of the crowd knowing the smaller Delorgan was done.

"Stay down," Professor Horsewood cried, tears streaming down his face.

"No! Get up, Pherein," Tress roared, "Don't let this beast better you!"

Is this what you have become? A voice whispered in Pherein's mind. Failure…disappointment…fraud, it condemned him.

Another thunderous blow connected with the fighter's head as he doggedly tried to get to his feet. The punch laid him flat, face slamming into the dirt. He tried to roll over, but Grok was down now on one knee. Grabbing the smaller islander again by the hair he turned then punched him this time in the face nearly closing the man's left eye. The ogre roared in delight as did the bandits in the camp. Still holding him by the hair the beast contemptuously back hand slapped the Delorgan laying him flat again. Then standing up, the ogre put his foot on Pherein's chest and raised his hands in victory. It was clear now he was simply playing with the Delorgan and it would end when the crowd grew bored of the unbalanced spectacle.

Pherein's head rolled involuntarily to the side, his enflamed cheek cooled by the damp soil on the ground. He could see Tress, eyes on fire, but shaking her head in sad pity, clearly feeling the man's pain.

"Please, for the love of the gods, stay down Pherein," Professor Horsewood choked, tears streaming down his face.

He had lost, everyone had given up on him.

Yes, stay down failure…fraud…," the voice chided him. Close your eyes and go to sleep and this all ends. Stop fighting and surrender.

Then a new voice spoke in his mind, fresh like a spring breeze. You are the son of MacDhiarmid Halvardson, Jarl of Lothian and Askal Valisdotter. This is not who you are nor is it your destiny. You are a son of Delorgan, and your song has still not been written. Get up.

Pherein lay there confused and conflicted, in pain not just physically but emotionally and spiritually. Perhaps it took the physical pain to reach a place he could not have gone to otherwise but for the first time in years he had clarity.

I want to return home and make things right, but not like this. I have dishonored my family and clan, but I will make that right.

I want to love and be loved.

I will fight.

Grok was now playing to the crowd, waiting for the moment for the finishing blow. So distracted was he that he did not feel the Delorgan tense up under his boot.

"Latrell!" Pherein screamed to his god and with a sudden burst of energy sat up and in one motion grabbed the ogre's foot twisting it hard causing the beast to stumble off of him. With renewed energy, quick as a cat Pherein was up and in succession stomped hard down on the ogre's foot then savagely kicked it just under the kneecap shattering it. Grok howled in pain and dropped down. As the ogre fell the first hammer blow struck him in the face taking advantage of the nearly ten-foot-tall beast's momentum. Then Pherein hit with another and another and keep reigning blows on the face and head of the ogre until it was a bloody mess. Grok was unable to respond and so systematically the will to fight was beaten out of him. After a number of blows none could count, Pherein stepped back and then stepped in with a leaping punch to the temple of the ogre that landed with a terrific crack causing the crows in the trees to caw and fly away in fright. The force was so hard Pherein stumbled and landed on the ground. Spent, in pain, and exhausted, the Delorgan got on to his hands and knees sucking in air with a raking sound as each breath caused an explosion of pain in his cracked ribs.

Grok, now on both knees, teetered for only a moment. Eyes glassy they closed into unconsciousness. The six-hundred-plus-pound beast fell to the ground with a massive thud and lay there motionless.

Pherein had won.

A number of the bandits growled in anger and brandished their weapons at the embarrassment of their champion losing as Pherein unsteadily rose to his feet, swaying back and forth, hardly able to stand. The stunned Latrellans did not know what to do, so sure were they the islander was done. Several orcs shifted as if to rush the ring, weapons ready.

"Up Elk!" Tress roared double-headed axe in hand and instantly all of her tribe were brandishing their weapons ready to fight.

The tension was broken as Kadon Stonehollow stood up and started clapping. With a flourish he removed his hat and went into an elegant bow. "Well done Pherein MacDiarmidson! Never have I seen such good sport." He looked to his men and with a nod of his head they all relaxed and put their weapons down. "I am a man of my word and you have won. Professor, you may have your trinket. And let us go about our business." The halfling rogue turned but then stopped and pivoted nimbly back. "Oh, and Pherein, if you are ever looking for work, join me and I will make you rich."

With that the diminutive bandit leader walked off the dais and the rest of his camp went about their business as if nothing had happened.

Professor Horsewood and Tress rushed over to Pherein who was trying to get his bearings, helping him to his feet.

"By the gods, Pherein, you did it!" Horsewood exclaimed.

Pherein doubled over in pain and was hearing nothing, his ears were ringing like a hundred bells were playing. "In my pack," he grunted, "green bottle…bring it."

"Theme! Bring the pack," the Professor ordered the former Latrellan soldier who brought it over quickly. The academic then found what the fighter sought, which turned out to be a strong healing potion.

Pherein grabbed it, drinking the whole potion in one pull. His ragged breathing soon steadied and after a few moments he was able to gingerly stand up. "I'm going to need a healer."

"We'll find one as soon as we cross the border," Horsewood promised.

"And my shaman will be able to help as well," Tress added.

Pherein allowed himself to be held by the two people who obviously cared about him. Despite his pain it felt good, and he remembered the clarion call he had received right before the surge of energy that allowed him to do the impossible. His path was before him, but not yet. "Professor, go get your idol."

Horsewood paused and then seeing the genuineness of the statement his face lit up in delight and he ran over to the orc bodyguard who still held the bag with the treasured it.

"Well, that was amusing," Tress stated with a smirk on her face as Pherein started to dab blood from his bleeding nose.

"Glad you were entertained," the fighter tried to laugh but the pain from his cracked ribs caused him to wince in pain.

"Was it worth it?" the pragmatic barbarian asked.

Pherein tried to turn his neck and that hurt too. So, he pivoted and looked at Professor Horsewood who was already eagerly looking at the artifact like a child with a treasured birthday gift surrounded by the other Latrellans. The look of delight and pure pleasure made the cynical Delorgan smile despite how much his face hurt. The idol gave off a faint purple glow and even at this distance a psionic energy could be felt. Still, the professor was happy and so was he. "Yes, it was." The seasoned veteran then looked around him and realized again how much they owed to the enigmatic barbarian. The bandits were going about their business as Grok still lay where he had fallen. There were more here than he had realized as others had come out of hidden prepared positions. If they had tried to fight they would have died.

"Why did you help us, Tress?" Pherein asked, the appreciation evident in his voice.

"I like you Delorgan, isn't that enough?" she answered with a leering wink. But then the barbarian's face changed, and she became not only serious but almost reflective. "I've been thinking about that last time we were together…in that village. You were right in how you handled it. I was greedy and shortsighted. I've never been about coin, unlike that rabble," she gestured toward the bandits, "but somehow it became about winning. You angered me because you exposed that in me. I have been praying to Shimara and want to be better." Then the fiery look returned and she stated hotly, "and if you repeat any of this I will rip your heart out and eat it before you."

Pherein chuckled. "Thank you for telling me this, Tress Boarslayer, it means more to me than you can imagine."

And it did.

For Pherein, he realized that his noble act, which had been done instinctively and not consciously, had not only had an impact on not just the village but the barbarian fighter and by extension her clan. There was still good in him. It may have been buried for a season, but it was still there. He was not defined by his current circumstances and certainly not by his uncertainty with the two women. No, he had a deeper character within, that had been placed there as part of his upbringing and heritage, which had been developed over his formative years but had been suppressed. His life meant something, he was part of something bigger and he had a part to play. He knew which voice he would listen to. Yes, he has received a clarion call and he intended to follow it. Things were going to change.