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Chapter 8:
Conflict
The road out of
Westway was said to be one of the longest, busiest roads in Kayledon; the only
trade route to Faarthusia and the only road that could be taken safely to reach
the school of Solreth. It had great
significance to the welfare of the western lands, for whenever the road west
was impassable, the orcs and gnomes were worse off for it. It was sometimes referred to as the Path of
Pelyphis, the goddess of air, who was said to be able to bring luck with a
single breeze.
Varcor hoped that
some of that luck would rub off on him, as he seemed to be out of his own. He sat despondently in the saddle of his
horse, playing with the reins and tugging at his glove. A passing gnomish merchant waved, and he
returned the gesture tentatively, all the while shifting uneasily in his
seat. He felt like a trespasser or an
invader, and given the nature of his mission, he wasn’t sure that feeling was
entirely unjustified.
He had been given
four days to do all he had meant to finish before leaving, but it seemed that
he would need much more time. He had
wanted to find out more about Reylyn’s connection with the Demon Horde, but his
father was using the royal library so much that he could barely begin his
search, much less find the books he needed.
Furthermore, he had strict orders to stay inside the castle, so even
using the public library wasn’t an option.
The tome that Ganash had given him to investigate was either written in
code or a language never seen before by mortal eyes. Deciphering that would take much more than
the few language codices that he owned.
Kronta rode beside
him, grumbling every now and then about the mission. Like Varcor, he had been unhappy with the
mission and what it could possibly mean for relations with the elves. Unlike the soft-spoken prince, he was not
afraid to voice his concerns, much more loudly and with twice as much cursing
as usual. He had agreed to follow Varcor
only because he wanted to make sure the prince was looked after properly.
He looked behind
him, to the six other orcs traveling with them, all from the Silver
Guards. He wondered if they had
volunteered, or if they were made to go by his father. If they had been volunteers, didn’t they know
what this mission was about? After all,
they were entitled to know as long as they said nothing to anyone else. He considered telling them, but figured that
if they did know his words were wasted, and if they didn’t know, then perhaps
they were better off.
It was the fifth
day out when he talked to Kronta concerning the knowledge the soldiers had of
the mission. “Why would they want to be
a part of this?” Varcor asked, after they had distanced themselves from the
rest of the group. “I didn’t ask for a
hand in doing this, you should be all the help I need.”
“Then ye forget,
we’re supposed ta be goin’ against no less than four adventurers, one a Solreth
sorcerer,” Kronta scolded, folding his arms.
“The six what came with me are me closest mates, worth their weight in
gold when it comes ta battle. If that
half-elf don’t wanna work with us, we gotta do things the hard way. There ain’t no way they’d tangle with a group
like this, an’ if they do, they be in for a nasty surprise!”
Varcor shook his
head. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. But I cannot understand why they would want
to do this. Do they know what this whole
thing is about?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t have kept ‘em in the dark,” Kronta
claimed. “I let ‘em know what it was all
about ‘fore I even asked ‘em ta come along.”
Varcor looked
confused. “Then why would they come?”
Kronta put a hand
on the prince’s shoulder. “Boy, the only
reason they’re here is ‘cause I told ‘em it was you who was in charge of the
mission,” Kronta said. “All they want is
to serve their prince.”
Varcor had not
considered that. He turned to the
campsite, looking to the six soldiers who were joking and talking around the
fire. “For me?”
“It wouldn’t ‘ave
been so three years ago, some of ‘em were glad ta see ye go,” Kronta
admitted. “But they’ve seen how ye’ve grown. I knew ye was a good kid ‘fore they did, but
now they can all see it too; they kin see Flamesoul. Ye’re our future, and chosen by
Faarthus. Ye’re pretty special.”
Varcor took a
moment to digest all the information he just received. He was not sure what to think at first. He had been told that he was special for as
long as he could remember. He thought he
understood after he found out how he came to be in the world, when he learned
he was favored by Faarthus.
But was this
different? The sincerity in Kronta’s
voice and eyes were telling of an admiration not born of wonderment and
prophecy, but of real respect. Reylyn
had given him that kind of respect, but she made him earn it first. Things were much more different now than when
he was getting respect without earning it.
He knew now what he owed those who gave him such admiration. A nation inspired by a respectable leader was
a strong nation.
He felt the need
to do more for those who looked up to him, to continue giving them a reason to
respect him, even if that meant doing something potentially disastrous.
After some time,
Varcor nodded. “I believe I understand,
Uncle. I shall not distress, for the
sake of my people.”
Kronta nodded, and
rubbed his bald head. “Well, then ye got
a better attitude about th’ mission then meself.” He yawned loudly. “Th’ Cave o’ Crystal ain’t far off. We’ll be there afore tomorrow ends. Ye should get some sleep.”
Varcor
nodded. For the first time since he came
home, he had a feeling that sleep would come easier than it had the entire
trip. He had justification for this
mission now. More than that, he had the
strength to do what he must for the sake of the orcan people.
******
Evandel had not
thought twice about what to do for Zaken’s remains. Despite questioning looks from Deida and
Bargo, he insisted that Zaken’s body was cast into the gorge, with whatever he
had been carrying. He believed that
Zaken desired in some way to die and remain in the one dungeon he could not
conquer.
“His path was set
before him, we cannot deny him his glory,” Evandel simply stated when they
asked him his reasoning.
“Even Zaken knew
that there is no glory in death,” Deida argued.
Bargo shook his
head. “That isn’t true, Deida. What are we gonna do if we take him out? We’ll end up bringing him home to lay his
remains to rest there. There will be
some kind of service, and it’ll make everyone sad. More than that, we will be holding up our
mission. That’s the last thing he would
have wanted.
“If we take Zaken
out of here, it will be in our memories.
If we take him out bodily, we will bury him and grieve, and remember
that he is dead. Or, we can tell his
tale, of the good he did here today, and remember why he died. He is a hero, and deserves to be remembered as
such.”
“Bargo…” Deida
said softly, looking at him in wonder.
The big man gave a
half smile. “You’ve spent a lot of time
around elves. Humans understand that
glory after death isn’t just in the hereafter.”
Deida accepted his
response with a nod. With one final
prayer to Taelri and Alaron, Evandel and Bargo lifted their old friend from the
crystal floor and cast his body into the dark gorge, knowing his rest would be
complete in the shadows away from the glowing crystal.
The trek out was a
solemn one, made worse to Evandel when he realized that there were five more
artifacts left and only two more friends.
He prayed that his unlikely destiny would not get everyone he cared for
killed.
No,
he told himself. I can never let that happen. If
it is truly through my power that the world shall be saved, then it will also
be through my doing that my friends are kept alive. If I cannot keep them out of danger, I can at
least give them that. He firmed his
resolve by grasping onto the pendant that hung around his neck, the artifact of
light that the soul of darkness gave his life for. Zaken
will not have died in vain. I promise.
Evandel knew
something was wrong when he started ascending the tunnel to the hills
outside. He could hear voices outside,
could feel the presence of others. He
feared momentarily that it was the gnolls, coming to investigate.
Cautiously, he
stepped out of the tunnel, and surveyed the surroundings. At first he didn’t notice anything, but then
something emerged from the trail, coming toward the abandoned gnoll
campsite.
A young half-orc,
with stark white hair and brilliant red eyes, dressed in blood red apprentice’s
robes strode down the hillside, one green skinned hand resting on the ruby
capped pommel of a longsword, and the other hidden behind his back. His stride spoke of confidence, and his eyes
and expression spoke of wisdom beyond his age.
Behind him came a
veritable entourage of orcs, clad in gleaming armor and well-armed at
that. The biggest one among them, a bald
headed, brutish looking fellow, toted two heavy looking battle axes, one on
each hip, and walked closely behind the red robed figure.
Bargo and Deida
came up behind him, and stopped when they saw that company had arrived. They both instinctually went for their weapons,
but Evandel raised his hand, barring them from showing aggression.
The red eyed orc
fixed his eyes on Evandel, studying the half-elf intently. “You are from Tyhal, are you not?”
Evandel spoke not,
but nodded cautiously.
The half-orc
bowed. “I am pleased to meet you. My name is Varcor Voldur, emissary from
Cagar-Tugan. May I ask your names?”
Evandel hesitated,
not used to this level of politeness from orcs.
As changed as the race had become, they could still be terrible at first
impressions. “I am Evandel, born of
Tyhal,” he said, indicating that he was an orphan. “These are my friends, Deida Laiken, and
Bargo Tramas.” Deida nodded her head,
and Bargo gave a short bow.
Varcor smiled,
apparently pleased. “I come bearing
tidings from the royal family,” he said.
“Your presence has been requested by the king, Evandel. You are to come with me immediately to
Faarthusia, to hear the request of Toras Voldur.”
“Voldur? Are you his son?” Bargo asked. Varcor nodded, and Bargo smiled. “I heard that the orcan royalty were really
hands on in their work, but I didn’t think it went this far.”
“Why does the king
request my presence, highness?” Evandel asked.
Varcor seemed
visibly affected by the term used for royalty, and smiled again. “For an elf to use such a term for an orc is
a great honor. I thank you.” He bowed
gracefully, revealing his right, gloved hand.
“But I digress. You must all come
now, our road is long.”
Evandel nearly
lost his breath upon seeing the glove. He
instantly recognized it as the Fire Hand, as shown to him by Warrane. The prince of Faarthusia had the artifact of
fire in his possession!
“You did not
answer me,” Evandel said firmly, not moving an inch.
Varcor looked up
at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Why does Toras
Voldur wish to meet with us, mere adventurers?”
“Ye really want ta
question th’ words o’ th’ king?” the bald orc growled, but Varcor silenced his
burly friend with a wave of his hand.
“My father is
interested in your potential, Evandel,” Varcor explained. “He summons you in regards to the Prophecy of
Unity.”
Evandel narrowed
is eyes, and Deida stepped forward. “If
you can permit, your highness, we need to speak of this in private.” Varcor nodded, and she brought Evandel over
to Bargo.
“What do you
think?” she asked them. “I for one see
no reason not to trust them. Some help
from the royal family of the kingdom of orcs would be much appreciated right
now.”
“I agree,” Bargo
said. “It’s not every day you get asked
to meet with someone that important. And
about the very prophecy you’re supposed to fulfill!”
“No,” Evandel said
simply. “I don’t think it’s that
simple.”
“But Ev…” Bargo
started.
“Do you remember
what Zaken’s last words were? He found
something out about Faarthusia that they don’t want the rest of the world to
know. They might even know that we have
the treasure he stole from them. They
are up to something, and it might be best if we avoided the orcs for now.”
Deida and Bargo
looked at each other tentatively, but gazed back at their friend and nodded in
agreement. Evandel nodded back, and
turned back to the orcs. “I am sorry,
highness. We are on a very important
task right now. Even for you, we cannot
disrupt it.”
Varcor closed his
eyes. “I am sorry too, Master Evandel,”
he said, “but my orders were to bring you back to Faarthusia one way or
another.” As he finished speaking, the
orcs behind him drew their swords, and the big orc beside him took out both
axes from their holsters. He leveled his
gaze on Evandel, his face angry and pleading all at once. “I don’t want to have to hurt you,
sorcerer. This is eight against
three. Don’t do something you’ll
regret.”
Evandel’s fists
clenched on his staff, and anger drove his next words. “You underestimate me, highness. My friend died telling me your people are
into something they cannot handle, and you are not going to involve me or my
friends in your plans. I will only go to
Faarthusia impaled on an orcan blade!”
Varcor drew his
sword slowly, his eyes narrowed. “As you
wish.”
Both sides exploded
into action. The six orcs behind Varcor
positioned themselves and charged forward, three on each side. Bargo also leapt forward, standing
defensively in front of Evandel.
Deida, on the
other hand, slipped off to the side, trying to get the best angle for her bow
shots. Two orcs dropped, clutching their
knees as arrows from her bow passed right through the joints. Evandel noted the angles, and made a point of
it to ask her if that was a Kathilasi trademark or one of her own tricks.
The four remaining
orcs adjusted their formation, and closed in on the only opponent that seemed
defenseless. All four of them seemed to
move at once, coordinated and trained as the finest warriors in Faarthusia. Bargo shook his head, and raised his fists
defensively.
Evandel raised his
staff to blast away the orcs attacking his friend, but a sudden rise in
temperature told him he had a different opponent. Varcor’s raised right hand seemed to be
aflame, and it was all the sorcerer could do to raise a shield of water before
one of the largest fireballs he’d ever seen roared toward Bargo. The shield exploded into steam when the fire
struck it, but Bargo remained unaffected.
“That’s right,
sorcerer,” Varcor called, “best to keep your eyes on me.”
******
Deida was lucky
enough to see the big orc start moving before she fired any more arrows at the
six after Bargo. He was deceptively
sneaky for a big guy; he had used the magical distraction to move away from the
main fray, and now one axe was raised high over his head, ready to throw.
She adjusted her
aim and loosed an arrow, more to draw his attention than do any real harm. He was too well armored for her arrows to find
purchase; she would need to take him down up close. The arrow bounced off his arm guard, and he
twisted around to face her. The arm came
down and the axe flew forward. She
grinned confidently as she guided the weapon away from her, gently pushing with
the air currents and deftly twisting away as it rushed by. In mid stride she dropped her bow and took
out her daggers, and burst forward in a breathtaking display of speed.
She knew she had
the advantage, since it was one heavy weapon against two lighter ones, made
even lighter when she adjusted the air around them. To her surprise, the axe the big orc had
thrown reappeared in his grasp, and he crossed them defensively as she charged.
Mentally shrugging
at the inconvenience, she lunged at him with the unflagging relentlessness of a
hurricane. She could tell right away
that he was an earth principle, as few others weather her attacks as well as he
did. Again and again she struck out, but
he patiently positioned his armor and his weapons to absorb her strikes.
One thrust
slipped, and he pushed her arm out wide.
His axe came in with all force of a boulder rolling down a mountain,
straight for her arm.
It crashed right
into the ground.
“Wha?” he
sputtered before he could recover. The
pommel of her dagger screamed into his chin and he staggered backwards. “Thrice damned wind witch!”
“Get over it, you
missed by a mile,” she taunted.
“Ye made me miss!”
he growled. “How in darkness’ name could
ye do that?”
“I take it you’re
a part of the silver guard?” she said, and waved a dagger teasingly. “You still have a long way to go before you
can match up to a Kathilasi.”
“Black winds take
yer heart,” he roared, and he rushed forward, an avalanche of orc and axe.
Deida managed to
dodge the better part of his swings, but suffered a single scratch on her leg
before she made it away. She scowled at
him and he grinned. “Wha’ was that, lil’
lady?”
“Lucky swing,” she
muttered, but they both knew the truth.
His swings were much too strong for her to dodge all of them, but her
air defense at least minimized damage.
At the same time, her attacks were far too agile for him to even hope to
dodge, but his armor prevented her from doing any real harm.
She braced herself
for an extended fight as he started forward once again. This was going to take a while.
******
“Draw your sword,
human, or you will die,” one of the orcs snarled at Bargo.
He shook his head,
keeping his defensive position. “I don’t
need a sword to fight you off.”
A series of cuts
and stabs came his way, nicking an arm and striking his side, but he managed to
swat away or block most of the strikes.
“You have a lot of
nerve, defying our prince,” the same orc growled in between swings. “You don’t understand how much you stand to
lose.”
“At least I’m not
bullying innocent travelers,” Bargo taunted batting away another blade. “I don’t know what you guys are after, but
it’ll be a bright day on the Darkplane before I let you take Ev.”
At a nod from the
orc that was speaking, the other three rushed forward, tackling the big man to
the ground. The leader strode forward,
and stepped on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t strike
if I were you,” Bargo warned. The orc
laughed and brought the sword up high, point facing down, then thrust with all
his might.
Crunch!
The orc stood for
a moment baffled. Bargo couldn’t see
what he was looking at but he had a good idea.
Taking the moment of surprise for all it was worth, the knight pushed up
with tremendous strength, knocking all three orcs holding him away. The orc that struck him backed off, dropping
the sword he had tried to put through Bargo’s skull.
The blade was
crumpled up to the hilt.
“By the shining
flames,” the orc said, awed. “No wonder
you wear no armor.”
Bargo half smiled,
and rushed forward, sending a fist into the orc’s chest. The force of his strike sent the poor orc
flying through the air.
The knight errant
cracked his knuckles as the other orcs stood up. “And that’s why I don’t need a sword for the
likes of you.”
******
Evandel had kept
away from Bargo’s battle, and could see Deida’s struggle from across the
campsite. He would have gone to their
aid, or even aided from afar, if his concentration was not focused firmly on
the half-orc standing twenty feet away.
“For the last
time, Master Evandel: give up,” Varcor warned.
“I bear you no ill will, but I must do as my station demands.”
“And I warn you,
Varcor Voldur: I am in a terribly foul mood,” Evandel said through clenched
teeth. “You could not have caught me on
a worse day.”
“Do not let that
anger drive you,” Varcor yelled with frustration on his features. “We can be allies! This whole conflict is pointless. It will destroy you, me, and our
friends. I don’t know what your mission
is, but it cannot be more important than the lives of others!”
“My mission
already cost me one friend,” Evandel said in a low tone. “I’ll be damned if I so easily give up on the
mission he gave his life for!”
“You leave me no
choice!” Varcor shouted, rage in his eyes.
Flame spouted from the blade of his drawn sword, and leaped off as the
half-orc sliced through the air.
Evandel had only a
split second to raise his water shield, but when he did, he realized his
error. In order to catch the wave in
time, he needed to manifest the defensive magic far too close to his
person. He scrambled away as the fiery
wave lashed into the wall of water, creating scalding hot vapor and boiling
spray on both sides. He remained
unharmed, but barely got to his feet before another slash of flame screamed
towards him.
Instead of
creating another shield, he dropped to one knee and set his staff in the
ground, as a soldier would set a spear against a charging foe. He concentrated as hard as he could on the
crystal, which began to glow a pale blue.
Once the flames were in reach, the crystal drew them in, sucking them
right out of the air.
Varcor’s eyes
widened as the sorcerer thrust the staff forward, converting and channeling his
own spell into a speeding pike of ice, leveled right at his throat. He raised his right hand defensively, and the
glove acted on its own, the garnet gleaming brightly. Orange-red light came from his palm, and
engulfed the ominous icicle, vaporizing it on the spot. Nothing but a cloud was left of the spell,
and Varcor silently thanked Reylyn and Faarthus for his gift.
“You aren’t a
sorcerer,” Evandel said, more of a statement than anything else. “I’ve never seen a caster like you.”
“I channel divine
power, friend,” Varcor admitted. “I am
favored by Faarthus.”
Evandel had heard
of these “favored souls.” They wielded magic much like a sorcerer, but their
magic came from a divine source. Evandel
could not counter his spells in the same way he could other sorcerers’, but he
could overpower them or convert the raw energies. But one thing bothered him . . .
“Divine magic is
meant for defense and healing,” Evandel said.
“How is it that even as a fire principle you can attack with it?”
Varcor smiled
smugly. “Have you ever met a divine fire
principle before? I would bet my last
copper piece that you haven’t. We are a
rare breed, able to attack or defend with our magic.”
“Guess you can’t
learn everything in school,” Evandel told himself.
“You’re
inquisitive, sorcerer,” Varcor said. “I
like you. This is not about us, so bear
me no ill will for what I am about to do.”
He sheathed his blade and brought his hands close together, and a flame
sprung up in the air between them. Evandel
watched that small fire grow as the prince spread his hands. Evandel had seen a similar technique, called
a focus point, used by his teachers. It
was an advanced method of casting that involved storing energy around a single
point over time, then releasing it all at once.
It took incredible amounts of stamina and concentration to make it work
properly, but Evandel had seen a single focus point lightning bolt shatter an
entire boulder, reducing it to sand and rubble.
Unfortunately for
Evandel, Varcor seemed to be very good at using a focus point spells. The half-orc’s arms stretched out almost as
far as they would reach. The flame,
nearly two yards in diameter, blazed with focused power.
Evandel’s mind
raced. He would not have enough time to
get out of the way of such a large projectile, and even if he did, he risked it
hitting one of his friends. With no
other option, he started to gather the water out of the air as quickly as he
could muster. He did the only thing he
could think of, bringing it to bear as a shield of ice. In moments, he had a curved wall nearly a
foot thick, but he knew it would not last long against such a blaze.
In the last
moments before his ice wall was formed, he could see Varcor’s eyes through the
flames. No anger, no malice, they
appeared calm and almost sad.
The flames raged
forward, carried on the will of the Firelord.
Evandel thought for the briefest moment he could see Zaken’s face, then
glaring bright light overpowered his senses as his magical ice and the holy
flames collided.
******
Bargo had rendered
all but the last orc unconscious, when the bright flare caught his
attention. He glanced over to see a
brilliant beam of fire roaring into what appeared to be a continually shifting
silvery wall. Looking more closely, he
could see Evandel, his hands pressed up against the ice wall, feeding it with
constant cold and keeping it from melting.
“One sec, Ev!” he
shouted. He turned to the last orc, and
shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, but I’m
needed elsewhere.”
“You can’t just
walk away, human!” the orc cried, swinging for his neck. Bargo stopped the blade with his arm, and
quickly grabbed a hold of it. The orc
tugged at it, futilely trying to break the man’s vice like grasp.
“I said the fight
was over,” he replied, reaching for the sword on his back. The orc’s face blanched, and he let go of his
sword, turning to run.
He got about two
steps before the flat of Bargo’s sword clipped him in the head.
******
Deida flinched
reflexively when the beam from Varcor’s spell blasted into Evandel’s ice
wall. The cringe was poorly timed, and
the big orc’s axe clipped her in the shoulder, sending her to her knees.
“Yer slippin’
lass,” the orc said, then he saw what had distracted her. “By the shinin’ flames! Tha’s no good!”
“What is he
thinking?” Deida shouted. “He’s going to
rip right through the hill with a spell like…” she paused when she noticed the
figure on the other side of the wall.
“Evandel!” she cried, and started running for him.
“Don’t even think
about it, lass!” the orc warned, catching her wounded shoulder. “It’ll burn ye afore ye even get close!”
“What do you
care,” she hissed through the pain in her shoulder. “You were about to kill me yourself, orc.”
The big orc shook
his head. “M’lord gave me an’ me lads
strict orders not to kill ye if it could be helped. We only wanted yer sorcerer.”
“Why? If you needed this so badly, why not kill us
all?”
“Methinks it was
his way o’ not doin’ any more harm than necessary,” he replied, scratching his
bald head. “He didn’t even wanna do this
in th’ first place.”
“Then why do it at
all?” she screamed, close to tears.
The big orc closed
his eyes. “He’s doin’ it for ‘is
people. He’s our future.”
******
All around him,
fire raged and ice sputtered. Evandel
could no longer feel his hands, which were channeling all the ice magic he
could manage. He knew that he would not
be able to hold out much longer against the flames, and he prayed that his
opponent’s willpower would not last much longer.
His concentration
was beginning to wane, his thoughts distracted by images of this fire burning
through the forest, ripping through trees until finally it came to Tyhal. Consumed by flames he could almost hear the
pained screams and dying voices over the flame’s crackle. He could see then the burnt or burning bodies
of his mother and grandfather, of Talhaias, and of Bargo and Deida. Zaken’s specter loomed over it all, and it
was all Evandel could do to keep from crying in outrage.
No matter what
happened here, there would be no justice.
White light filled
his eyes, and he could feel the Sun Symbol throbbing against his chest. Feeling returned to his hands; and with it a
strong energy the he could not describe.
He redoubled his magical efforts, putting all his energy and then some
into a single focused spell.
******
Varcor saw the ice
wall crack, and began a prayer to Faarthus for the poor soul he was about to
free.
When the wall
shattered, Golden white light burst from behind it, and Varcor could only watch
in horror as a wave of golden justice tore through his spell and right into
him.
******
Bargo was not sure
how long he had been unconscious, or even why.
The last thing he remembered was a shining golden light…
“Ev…” he
whispered, forcing himself to his feet.
He looked around, seeing no movement from the orcs he had rendered
unconscious, and noticed Deida’s fallen form.
He started making his way over to her, when he saw the big orc she was
fighting.
“Don’t worry, the
lass is fine,” he said. “She hit ‘er
head when th’ spell knocked us back. Yer
sorcerer is out as well, but still breathin’.”
Bargo took a quick
appraisal of the soldier. He grasped his
right arm as though nursing a wound, and the orc shrugged. “I guess I took a little tumble meself.”
“Sorry about your
allies,” Bargo said, looking at the orcs sprawled out on the ground.
“They’ll be the
ones what are sorry,” the orc assured him, “once I’ve gotten on ‘em about
losin’ to one man! Ye must be a knight
errant or summat.”
“Guilty as
charged,” Bargo admitted. “You have
impressive skills yourself, if you’re able to stand up to a Kathilasi. Silver guards?”
“Aye.”
“Thought so.”
Moments passed,
and nothing was said between them. Bargo
interrupted the silence, saying, “I wouldn’t want to fight you as you are,
there’s no honor in a fight like that. I
only want to get my friends somewhere safe.”
“Likewise,” the
orc grunted.
“What about your
mission?” Bargo asked. “You’ll catch
darkfire from your king if you return without him.”
The orc grumbled,
and pushed on his arm, making a resounding crack. He flexed it gingerly, then moved to the spot
on the ground where his axes laid. Bargo
watched him carefully, inching closer to his fallen sword, just in case.
The orc picked the
weapons up, considered them, and then replaced them in their holsters. “Yer a nice kid. What’d you say yer name was?”
“Bargo. You?”
“Kronta,” the orc
replied, and grinned a broad friendly grin.
“If anyone asks ye, I was unconscious when ye woke up, and ye left with
yer friends as fast as ye could.”
Bargo grinned as
well. “Thank you. You don’t realize how important this mission
is.”
“I reckon I do,”
Kronta said. “Varcor explained about th’
prophecy as best he could, and it seems to me yer elf buddy has some role in
it.”
“That’s for sure,”
Bargo said. “He’s the chosen of Taelri.”
Kronta raised his
eyebrow. “Ye… ye don’t say?” He cleared his throat and motioned toward the
hillside. “Ye better take yer friends
and go. Me men’ll be up any second.”
Bargo nodded, and
collected his unconscious companions.
With one last nod of appreciation to Kronta, he carried his friends up
over the hill and made for the forest.
Kronta shook his
head. He had some interesting questions
for Iksol and the king for when he returned.
He was especially interested in why his majesty would command the chosen
of Faarthus to attack the chosen of Taelri.
******
Bargo had been
traveling over the hills for some time, and it was starting to get dark. Uninjured as he was, the going was still
difficult carrying two unconscious bodies.
He had far to go to get to the forest, much further still to be out of
the gnolls territory. If they came upon
him like this, he could not fight off a group of gnolls and protect his friends
at the same time. He honestly had no
idea how he was going to get out of this.
At least until he
felt the strange gust of wind, and a figure that looked like a horse galloping
across the sky descending from above.
