(Previous Story) (Back to Chosen Index) (Next Story)
There are no heroes.
There are only …
The Chosen
William sipped slowly at his seventh drink, all the time staring silently at the smiling man across the table from him.
“Had enough of that stuff, yet?” the man said, still smiling.
William stared awhile longer before responding. “Have you always been such a facetious son of a bitch, Wizard?”
“I've been facetious since before you were born, friend,” he said, the smile on his face changing to an arrogant grin.
William drained the last of his drink and set the empty mug on the table. Slowly he stood, showing the tell-tale signs of intoxication. “Barkeep!” he shouted. “I told you I'd have your head if I had to wait for another drink!” Within seconds, the frightened bartender came jogging out from behind his bar carrying a hastily-poured mug of ale in his hands.
Carefully setting his delivery before the still-standing William, the bartender meekly asked, “Will this be the last, sir?”
William glared at the man. “When I'm done,” he said quietly through clenched teeth, “you'll be the last to know!” The bartender, not even waiting to be paid, ran back to the safety of his bar. William sat back down and carefully reached out for number eight.
“If you're trying to get plastered, why not do it with less expensive ale?” suggested the smiling man opposite William. “However, if you're still dead set on throwing away money, you can always give it to me.”
“You are an unusual man, Wizard,” said William with a faint slur. “You've been insulting me all evening, yet I haven't killed you. Tell me why this is.”
“Because you see in me a person more wretched than yourself,” the wizard responded casually. “Why kill someone as cursed as that?”
“Are you saying I am wretched?” William said loudly, trying to stand again, but immediately dropping back to his chair.
“Did I say that?” the man asked, gesturing wildly. “Those are your words, not mine.” His smile quickly returned. “You've had too much to drink,” he said calmly.
William started to argue the point, but instead shrugged it off. “I'll kill you later for that,” he said with little enthusiasm. Suddenly changing the subject, William looked up at the man and asked, “Why 'Wizard'? Don't you have a proper name?”
“Who's to say 'Wizard' isn't proper? It's certainly got more flair to it than 'Smith' or 'Gardener.' Both of which are names derived from professions.”
“But those are surnames. What of your given name?” William responded, with renewed energy.
“I've always felt proper names were a burden placed on you by people who have no control over your life. 'Wizard' suits me better than any other name that I have been given.”
William smiled. “That's a good philosophy. I've followed a similar principle with my own name.”
Wizard's curiosity rose. “'William' is not your real name?”
“It depends on what you mean by 'real.' I have always felt, as do you, that a man's name is his own, and not his parents. They don't control my life and never truly have. I don't see why their name should be the one I go by.”
“A wise philosophy, indeed,” agreed Wizard. “We think alike, it seems.”
“So tell me Wizard: What do you do for a living? Do you hire your spell-casting out? Or are you a wizard in name only?”
“I have learned some spells in my day. Yet, mine are not often a marketable item.” With that, he gestured carefully and spoke a few, brief words in a strange language. Instantly, a large mug of ale appeared before him, identical to Williams. Wizard raised the mug to his lips and took a long draught.
“I thought you didn't drink?” asked William, apparently more surprised at the drinking than the conjuring.
“I don't,” answered Wizard. With a thought, the mug of ale changed into a small green lizard, which silently plodded across the table and climbed into William's drink, disappearing completely once submerged.
William was shocked. “Get it out of my drink!” he demanded.
Wizard obliged. The drenched lizard climbed out of the drink, followed by another, slightly larger than the previous. The two then began a spontaneous game of chasing each others tails while William watched on with suspicion. The fighter reached out to grab one of the lizards, but it turned to mist when he touched it, reforming immediately into a large rabbit.
“They aren't real,” William accused Wizard.
“They are as real as you think them to be,” answered Wizard as the two creatures stood up and began a silent dance routine. “If I had made them appear and act as a lizard and a rabbit should, you may yet think them real.”
Just then a man walked across the inn and pulled up a chair next to William and Wizard. “This is a private table,” William said to the man almost before he had sat fully. The man looked shocked, but remained seated. “Is this a friend of yours, Wizard?” asked William patiently.
“Why, yes. This is one of my brothers,” Wizard answered. “And this is my eldest sister,” he said as the man changed form into a plump, middle-aged woman with an enormous smile across her face.
William was noticeably disturbed. “Remove your illusions at once, Wizard. You have demonstrated your abilities quite adequately.” The woman reacted with a horrified expression and silently pleaded with William to be spared as her body slowly and gruesomely melted away to nothing. “I am impressed,” William finally admitted. “You say your talents are not for sale?”
Wizard corrected the fighter. “I said they were not often marketable. Most people with money are more interested in conjurations of a more realistic nature. For the right price, though, I can be persuaded to do just about anything.” His smile returned.
William lifted his mug of ale. “I travel to Spindrift soon. Your spells and my sword could make us rich, if you catch my meaning.”
Wizard's expression remained static. “I believe I do, William. For an equal share, I accept your offer.”
“I shall tell my travelling companion,” William stated after he drained his eighth drink in one gulp. He stood up, showing not the slightest sign of intoxication and said with a grin, “You have your illusions, Wizard, and I have mine. In their own right, they are each as effective.”
The four orc hunters watched their leader as he paced around the prisoner. Tied to a pole, the human was certainly no threat. The four hunters, though, had been five before they subdued the human, and only the leader's right to revenge kept the man alive now.
The leader paced around the pole in silence, his hands crossed behind his back, his brow furled in concentration (a remarkable feat among orcs, since they generally act without thinking).
“Why are you doing this to me?” the man asked nervously. “I thought we were about to make a deal. Besides, your man made the first move.”
The leader stopped, looking at his slain comrade across the campsite. He turned to the prisoner and slapped his face hard. Then, after a short pause glaring at the helpless man through his only good eye, he resumed his pacing.
“All I said,” continued the prisoner, desperately trying any line of defense, “was that it was a shame your eye was so badly scarred. It must be very difficult to hunt.”
The leader stopped again and snarled at the helpless man. A wound from a fight years ago had taken out his left eye and left a deep scar the length of his face. In his tribe, this was quite an honor and he was considered blessed by the gods. Now, this human had blasphemed and deserved a most special punishment. The leader continued his pacing.
“If you kill me,” began the prisoner again, “you'll never see the treasure I have.” He paused momentarily to judge the reaction to his statement. Seeing none, he continued, “There's enough treasure to make you a king in your tribe,” he lied. Again no response. “Listen! Your eye is unimportant! I'm talking treasure here!” Unfortunately for him, this time he got a response.
The leader drew a huge, curved sword from his belt and let out a combat yell as he raised it high over his prisoner's head. The man screamed and pleaded as fast as he could, but to no avail. The huge orc began to swing his weapon down hard, but his yell suddenly turned to a gurgle as the bloodied point of an arrow emerged from his neck. The leader went limp and his sword fell harmlessly to the ground.
For a moment, the other four orcs stood confused. When a second arrow ricocheted off one of the four's armor, the threat was immediately understood. Ignoring their helpless captive, the four fanned out quickly and drew their weapons. A third arrow pierced an orc breastplate cutting their number to three before the hunters knew where the archer was.
With a battle cry, the three orcs charged a cluster of bushes across the campsite. A muffled curse in elvish came from the bushes as they approached and the archer was forced to switch weapons to confront the three. The prisoner, still reeling at his miraculous rescue, strained to catch a glimpse of his rescuer. When the archer revealed herself, he was understandably disappointed.
She stood barely over five feet tall, wore no more armor other than a hand-sewn leather jerkin, and her sword looked larger than life in comparison to the rest of her, yet she seemed to swing it with relative ease. The three orcs, on the other hand, towered over her, each nearly a foot taller and half again as heavy. The prisoner's hopes fell and he started to plan what to say when the hunters finished with her. Worse still, he observed, the woman was of elvish descent. With as much animosity between those two races as their is, the orcs won't even bother to rape her. She'll be dead in seconds, he thought.
Across the campsite, though, the story looked quite different. The swordswoman cut deep into one of the hunters with her sword while she threw a second back with her free hand. The third tried to circle behind, but felt a boot crack ribs as the woman switched her position. Slowly, the last standing orc moved back. His blade darted out cutting only air as his target dodged to the side. Her sword cut little more as he held her back with his longer reach. For a few swings, the two exchanged misses, then the woman faked a thrust, switched her motion in mid-swing, and knocked the hunter's weapon to one side.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to get close, she charged low at the orc and smashed her shoulder into his abdomen. Before he could react, she hefted the creature off the ground, twisted around, and threw him against a tree.
“Well, Karelia,” the woman mumbled to herself, “you did quite well considering the odds. And you've only got a few bruises to show for it.” Showing as much mercy as her victims would have shown her, Karelia then systematically ensured that they would remain down - this time forever.
After cleaning her weapon and retrieving her arrows, Karelia wandered toward the captive human. She slowly circled the post staring suspiciously at the man the whole time. Back in front, she stopped and faced him squarely.
He smiled in return and cautiously asked, “Are you going to release me now?” She raised an eyebrow and the phrase “out of the frying pan …” suddenly came to the man's mind. A look of dread prompted Karelia to speak.
“What were you doing fraternizing with orcs?” she interrogated the frightened man.
“Fraternizing!” he screamed in disbelief. “They were going to kill me!”
“That's irrelevant,” she said calmly. “They kill each other at the drop of a hat, let alone a human foolish enough to deal with them.”
“I'll reward you,” he said, changing the subject. “I know where a fabulous treasure lies.” His smile widened.
Karelia's expression remained neutral. “I'll bet you do,” she mumbled quietly. She paused and began pacing in front of the pole. “I'll let you go on one condition.”
“I agree!” the man blurted in desperation, “what's the condition?”
“You will immediately head straight for the nearest town and stay clear of these hills. I should really leave you to rot. You must be pretty stupid to wander this far into orc territory.”
“I would say something about you also, lady, but I am at your mercy. Do you mind?” he said nodding down toward his bonds.
Karelia pulled a knife from her belt and slit the ropes behind the man. For a moment she kept the knife handy until she was certain the man wasn't going to try anything. He immediately walked across the camp and began rummaging through a pile of supplies, pulling out odds and ends and stuffing them in a large back pack.
“What's your name?” he asked as she watched, and then, before she could answer, asked with renewed curiosity, “And how were you able to lift that orc off the ground so easily?”
“Karelia,” she said simply, still eyeing him cautiously. “You'd better hurry,” she said, ignoring his second question. “There are probably more orcs in the vicinity.”
He finished packing and began searching the orc bodies for valuables. “Could you check those three over there,” he said, ignoring her warning.
“Are you going to get out of here or not?” she asked, growing angrier.
“As soon as I make this trip worth the effort,” he said as he produced a pair of silver coins from the leader's pack and held them up as if in defense of his actions. “By the way, what are you doing in the area?” He continued with his search while waiting for her answer.
“I'm just passing through,” she answered. “As should you be. Am I going to have to drag you from here?” she demanded.
The man continued his searches without pause. “I'd be done sooner if I had help,” he answered.
Karelia was growing frustrated. She glanced around the camp, looking for signs of more orcs. “If I had arrived a minute later, I would have killed the orcs and found your dead body. Then, I could have left without any delays. Don't make me regret saving you,” she said, raising her voice.
“All right! I get the hint. I'll leave.” He started to walk away from the camp slowly. When he noticed Karelia wasn't following, he stopped. “Aren't you coming, too?”
“Not into the city,” she replied. “Cities and I don't get along.” Karelia could see the man's face sink. He seemed suddenly pathetic. “Do you know where the nearest town is?” she asked, still trying to get rid of him.
“Of course,” he said slowly. “Look, why don't you come with me? You won't be safe here. You know,” he said, casting a cautious look over his shoulder, “orcs and goblins and whatnot!”
Karelia smiled at the man's contradictory attitude. “Maybe you need an escort. From what I've seen, you would probably end up in a giant's cooking pot before the day's over.” She walked toward the man and together they headed north out of the camp. “By the way,” she asked as an afterthought, “what's your name?”
“Never did much like names,” he answered, “but my friends call me 'Jack'.”
On the other side of Lendore Island, Rana sat in her inn room arguing with Brother William. “I will do no such thing!” screamed the enraged half-elf. She jumped from her chair and stood defiantly over her shocked partner. “Do you think you own me?” she continued. “I have no requirement in my life to follow you. I am an independent woman and I resent your attitude.”
William stood from his chair, his shock mellowed to resignation. “Rana, dear,” he said calmly, “you have no idea what you are saying. I will give you one more chance: Will you travel to Spindrift with me?”
Rana was appalled. “So finally, you think to ask!” she said with contempt. “My answer still stands. I stay here with my cousin.” She turned to walk for the door, not in the least expecting what William did next.
He leapt from his position and struck the woman square in her back with his shoulder. A flash of pain numbed Rana's reaction speed and before she could recover, William had a knife drawn and at her throat. “I had hoped this would be unnecessary,” he said. “Now, my mission will be that much more difficult.”
Rana looked at the maniacal eyes inches from her face. As if in disbelief, she whispered, “You are evil!”
William laughed aloud. “I am no master of disguise, Rana. Only your stupidity has prevented you from seeing me as I truly am.” He stood, lifting Rana with him, his dagger blade still pressed firmly at her neck.
A knock came on the door. “Rana?” Eril's voice filtered in from the hall. “Are you all right? I heard a noise.”
William pulled Rana closer. “Tell her,” he whispered, “that everything is fine.”
Rana hesitated, but William pressed his blade harder, drawing blood. “Amarth, Eril! Fili aelar!” Rana spat out in the elvish language.
William pulled his knife away from Rana's neck. “You bitch!” he said through clenched teeth as he wrapped his muscular arm around her neck, squeezing tightly. Outside, Eril drew her own small blade from its sheath in her boot and kicked hard at the door. By the time she entered, though, consciousness had left Rana and William was free to draw his weapon. Knowing she was no match for William in blade combat, she screamed for help. William slashed violently with his sword, but Eril's quickness changed a killing blow to a long gash across her chest. She dropped to the floor more stunned than actually wounded, but as she tried to regain her footing, she collapsed again, unable to move from the pain.
Wizard wandered into the hall from the stairway and nonchalantly poked his head into the room where William had begun tying Rana's arms behind her back. “I take it she accepted?” he asked facetiously.
“Shut up and bind the elf,” William commanded as he tossed Wizard a length of rope. “And be quick about it, she's still conscious.”
Wizard shrugged his shoulders and carefully rolled the stunned Eril over onto her front, putting his weight on her back, before she could put up much of a struggle. “So what do we do with these?” he asked William as he began wrapping the rope around his captive's hands.
“You leave them alone!” came a determined voice from the hall. Wizard turned as Sorgol stepped to the doorway, a small mace gripped tightly in two hands.
“Gods, William, there are elves popping out of the woodwork,” exclaimed Wizard as he finished his binding.
William had finished securing Rana by now so he stood to face Sorgol, dropping his sword to the ground. “I'm unarmed, Sorgol,” he smiled, walking steadily toward the half-elf. His eyes never broke contact and Sorgol's fear was obvious. He came within an arm's reach and Sorgol took a step back.
“Stay back, William,” Sorgol said, clutching his mace tighter. “I heard everything. I know all about you!”
William mocked surprise. “Everything?” he said, clasping his hands over his mouth. “Then I guess its all over for me.” Suddenly, his hand shot forward, grabbing Sorgol around the neck. In one swift move, he pulled the mace from Sorgol's hands and lifted the surprised half-elf off the ground, pinning him against the hallway wall with an impressive display of strength. “You don't know shit about me,” he said, moving his face to within inches of Sorgol's own. “Give me one reason to let you live.”
Sorgol could not answer even if he wanted. He clawed desperately at William's grip, but gained nothing. William held him there effortlessly for a moment longer before dropping him suddenly to the floor. Sorgol gasped for air and took a crawling step toward his mace which William had dropped.
William's boot came down hard on Sorgol's hand and a powerful fist slapped Sorgol back against the wall. The stunned half-elf could barely keep his thoughts coherent and so resigned himself to his fate. William pulled a small knife from his belt and waved it in front of Sorgol's face, prompting renewed energy from the beaten spellcaster. A quick jab into Sorgol's shoulder, though, deflated the beaten man's defenses with a flash of pain.
Across the hall, Wizard's attention shifted from his helpless captive to William. “If you're going to kill the man, be quick about it,” he insisted. “There are bound to be people calling for the guards at this moment.” He cast a glance toward the stairs leading down to the inn's common room.
William grinned. “Do you hear that, elf?” he whispered close to Sorgol. “My new comrade says I should kill you quickly. But have no fear, I would never let a man such as you die … easily.” He reached down and tugged off Sorgol's left boot. “I've often wondered why men have five toes,” he stated, pretending to change the subject. “Have you ever thought of that, Sorgol?”
Sorgol tried to move, but a flash of pain from his shoulder left him where he was. With an effort, he spoke. “You will burn for your crimes, Brother William. If the kingdom or the gods do not do it, then I will. Either here or in the afterlife!”
“Do not waste your breath.” William placed the blade of his knife between Sorgol's two largest toes and, in a swift motion, pinned the smaller of the two to the floor and put his weight on the blade. Bone snapped and Sorgol screamed. William stood and gestured to Wizard. “You get the elf,” he said as he stepped across the hall toward Rana.
“Are we just going to leave that one?” Wizard pointed at Sorgol who was trying to stop his bleeding but was rapidly losing strength.
“He is no threat to us,” William answered as he began walking the gagged and tied Rana to the stairs. He stopped and looked back at Sorgol, letting Wizard go ahead. “If you want to find me in the afterlife,” he mocked Sorgol, “you must remember that nothing in my life is as it is perceived.” He paused, making sure Sorgol was still conscious. “Remember 'Borgos', Sorgol.” He turned and walked down the stairs. Sorgol's arms went limp and he slumped to the floor unconscious.
Jack had been cursing his timing ever since he first heard the drums. He and Karelia were still over a mile from the city when the sound drifted into their camp. Jack woke Karelia immediately and the two hurriedly packed up and left. Now, they finally approached the gates to the walled town called Frontier, but Jack's face sank when the drumming abruptly ceased.
“Damn! We're too late!” He stopped just before the open gates and waited for the lagging Karelia to catch up.
“What did we miss?” she asked when she caught up.
Jack turned and stared at her in disbelief. “Where were you born, anyway? You don't know about the drumming?”
She shook her head. “Should I?”
“Ever since this kingdom was founded on these islands, it has been tradition to announce all public executions by the beating of drums. Usually, they are performed shortly after dawn and the drumming is done constantly up until the prisoner is killed. Everybody goes to watch. It's great!”
Now it was Karelia's turn to stare in disbelief. “We ran a mile just to watch a hanging?”
“It might not have been a hanging. Sometimes they set up the guillotine; occasionally, they even draw and quarter the prisoner.” His enthusiasm faded when he saw Karelia's disgust. “Well, since you're not interested, I guess it's no shame we missed it. Let's go get something to eat. I know this fabulous little pub that serves a delicious breakfast.”
In the mountains, Karelia had rescued Jack from the orcs only because even a rogue like him deserved a better death than at the hands of orcs. In the woods, she agreed to accompany him to the city only because she couldn't bear to see the likes of him wandering alone in the wilderness. Who knows what damage he could have done. When they passed up the smaller town because Jack wanted to go directly to Frontier, she agreed only because he had acted so pathetic. Now, she followed him into the city only because she couldn't bear to think what excuse he would dream up if she turned back.
“You're going to love this,” he said, smiling.
For the rest of the day, Jack showed Karelia the sights of Frontier and, for the most part, she was unimpressed. What interested Jack either bored or disgusted the half-elf and by day's end, Karelia was looking for any excuse to politely bid the enthusiastic Jack farewell. When the opportunity finally came, the sun was just setting and Karelia found herself agreeing to a farewell drink at a nearby pub.
“After all,” reminded Jack as he tugged on Karelia's arm, “I owe you my life. It's the least I can do to buy you a drink.”
The pub turned out to be crowded with sailors, mercenaries, and assorted other seedy-looking types. Karelia took a quick tally and noticed that besides a single, overworked barmaid, she was the only female in the room. It didn't take long for several men in the place to make the same observation.
The first to make a move toward Karelia and Jack turned out to be a half-orc. He reeked of ale and took no notice of Jack as he pulled a chair up and sat close to Karelia. Before she could register a complaint, he made his intentions clear. “How much is he paying you, lass? I'll double it.”
Karelia's fist answered for her, sending the half-orc sprawling to the floor with a trickle of blood coming from his nose. A nearby sailor looked back at Karelia and laughed. “Careful where you send that runt flying, miss. I don't want him spilling my drink.” Others nearby guffawed in answer for awhile, spurring the half-orc to get up and try again with Karelia.
“All right, then. If you don't have much time available, I'll settle for a quick toss upstairs for two crowns.”
This time, the half-orc's nose quite probably broke and the man at the bar did spill his drink. The stunned half-orc found himself being lifted off the floor. “Now, now, runt! Look at this mess you've made of my mug. I'll expect you to lick it up for me and buy me a new drink.”
“How about we skip that drink, Jack?” asked Karelia as she stood. “This place is a bit wild for my tastes.”
“I can understand that,” replied Jack as he saw the half-orc squirm his way out of his captor's grip, pushing the man back into one of the other sailors nearby. This prompted the sailor to shove back, more out of instinct than anything else, and by the time Karelia and Jack reached the exit, the pushing had escalated into a full bar fight, prompting the barkeep to shout out for the guards.
They were safely around the corner of the building and into a secondary street by the time the first guard arrived at the pub. Jack stopped just out of sight and watched with glee as the action spilled out onto the street.
“Did you see that?” he whispered. “That half-orc's holding his own against three… no, four guardsmen!” He hooted excitedly and slapped his knee, but kept a careful eye on the proceedings. After a few minutes, the guards had subdued the fighting and the half-orc sat on the dirt, nursing several broken ribs, trying to remember why he had been fighting at all.
Jack turned back to Karelia as the excitement died away, but the alley was deserted. He made a quick scan in all directions, but the half-elf had slipped away. “Karelia?” he called out quietly, still unwilling to draw the guards' attention. No answer.
“Karelia?” he asked a little louder as he wandered back into the main street. Still, no answer.
When she reached the city gates, Karelia stopped running. She looked behind briefly, just enough to note that Jack hadn't followed her, then continued on through the gates. A pair of heavily armored guards acknowledged her as she left.
“We'll be closing the gates now, miss. You won't be able to get back in until dawn,” one of the guards offered apologetically.
Karelia smiled. “That's okay. I won't be coming back tonight.” She continued on her way and the guards slowly closed the gates behind her. “I won't be coming back ever!” she said to herself as she heard the huge iron-clad gates latch together.
Sorgol stumbled off the last step into the common room, nearly tipping over an empty table as he clutched it desperately for support. His foot throbbed in pain and his vision began to fade out. Whatever conversation had held the inn's patrons attention before his arrival, all eyes were now on him and nobody spoke. After a moment in which Sorgol slowly regained his composure as well as his vision, he looked up at the crowd and asked feebly, “Can anybody help me?”
In a flash, the patrons' shock passed and a dozen hands were on him, helping him into a chair. One even had the idea to prop his wounded foot onto the table and another sought to help with a half-empty mug of ale. One man seemed to know more than the others in the arts of medical aid and so soon had the others step back so that he could work better. The man was lightly armored and wore a long, heavy cloak which he took off and set nearby. After a quick examination, he said with surprise, “This wound on your foot is nearly closed over! When did you get it?”
Sorgol answered weakly, “Just a few minutes ago, upstairs. Did you not see the two men who did this leave?”
The man looked skeptical. “A wound like this does not close over in 'just a few minutes', friend. When did you really get it and why are you feigning such pain?”
Sorgol had rested enough to answer with indignation. “I received the wound just a few minutes ago! The man who did this to me left here with another man and two women prisoners. Surely, you could not have missed them!”
“My eyes are sharp, sir, but the only two men I saw leave were escorting ladies who seemed more than pleased with their company. I think you are delirious.”
Sorgol tried to stand, but the man held him down with a muscular grip. “Do not try to stand. Though your foot wound is not severe, your shoulder does have a nasty cut in it.”
Sorgol, beset with another wave of weakness at his effort, remained seated and looked away from the man. “Have any of you others seen a pair of men leave here with two women hostages?”
Most stood in confusion, and those that answered agreed with the first man's contention. Sorgol was growing frustrated. He tried to stand again, and this time did not let the man stop him. “I have heard enough!” he said sternly. “Two women are in danger and none of you seem willing to help. I should have learned my lesson from trusting William in the first place.” His legs were a bit shaky, but he stood straight, closed his eyes and reached for a silver medallion around his neck. Once it was out, he placed it carefully on his shoulder, above the knife wound that William had given him, and concentrated for a few seconds before beginning a healing enchantment. Strange words and equally strange gestures combined to form the magic that Sorgol needed and his wound slowly closed over.
Most in the crowd were surprised. Magic was common enough, but few had seen it practiced with such ease, if at all. Sorgol walked out the main door, leaving the others behind. All except one.
“My name is Seagoon,” the man who had attended to Sorgol originally said as he stepped out with Sorgol into the evening air. “I ask that you accept my apologies. I had no idea you knew magics.”
Sorgol looked back without answer.
“If I had known,” continued the man, “I would have realized that your foot had been treated. Now, I wish to help.”
Sorgol hesitated, but soon accepted the man's help because he could feel the pain returning to his foot and shoulder. “Do you have a horse?”
“I suppose you could call her that,” Seagoon said with a smile as he headed toward the stables.
Seagoon's horse was one of the king's war breed. Known throughout the islands as the strongest and most agile of the large horses, this breed was carefully maintained in huge ranches near Spindrift, the capital city. Only the king's guard and army were allowed to own them and so Sorgol registered more than a little surprise.
In answer to the unasked question, Seagoon said, “I am a ranger under the baron of Restenford. I saved his daughter once and he granted me 'Macha' here as payment.”
Sorgol suddenly seemed disappointed. “She's most impressive, but I have no horse and I was hoping you had one that I could ride.”
“Go ahead and climb up! I'll walk alongside. I have spent my life tracking criminals through the forests. I work best on foot anyway.”
After a momentary hesitation, Sorgol climbed up onto the giant horse and sat awkwardly in the saddle. Seagoon then led the beast out of the stables and the two moved hurriedly out of town.
Wizard struggled to control his over-worked horse as in front of him, Eril struggled with her bindings. Ahead of them, William held the back of Rana's neck firmly in one hand as he guided his steed with the other. Though Eril was a smaller woman that her cousin, Wizard was having much more difficulty controlling her.
“William,” he pleaded, “I think we'd better get rid of this one. I'm not very good at hostage-taking, it would seem.”
William glared back at the old man. The illusionist's frail body had so perfectly fit the stereotype, that William had almost assumed it was part of the illusion. Now, though, he could see it was no act. Sweat poured down Wizard's brow and his knuckles had faded to a ghostly white as he tried to keep his captive in check. In front of him, Eril squirmed with renewed vigour.
“Damn!” said William through clenched teeth. “It's Rana I need, not her cousin. Though I had hoped to use both.”
Just then, Rana stirred to life and siezed on William's distraction. The back of her head crashed against the side of William's turned face, sending him slipping momentarily off his saddle. As he struggled to keep from crashing head first to the ground, he was forced to release his grip on her and in that instant, she dove blindly off the animal. Though her hands were bound behind her back, her legs had been left free so that she could be held easier on the horse. Instinct took over, and her body twisted around to bring her feet down first. The fall was short enough to prevent a full rotation, though, and she stumbled back a few steps before regaining her balance.
William's horse jerked to the side as Rana freed herself, and William's grip was jarred loose. He fell to the ground with much less grace than had Rana, but got up and was scrambling for his sword, still sheathed on his horse, before Rana could get to him. Without the use of her arms, she was no match for William's blade, but if she could keep him from his sword, she felt she might have a chance. She leapt into the air and jabbed out with a foot, catching William in the right shoulder. Though her aim had been for his chest, the effect was the same. William stumbled back into his horse and the beast finally decided enough was enough. It bolted, taking the swordsman's weapon with it.
Wizard surveyed the situation quickly. He was helpless as long as he held Eril and could not hold her for much longer anyway. With a grunt, he shoved the woman off his horse and grabbed the reins with both hands. Eril's fall was far less graceful than even William's had been and counciousness finally slipped from her as her head found the ground first.
William turned from his fleeing horse in time to react to Rana's second flying kick. This one caught him square in the chest, but his stance anchored him to the spot and though he took the full force of the blow, he was able to grab her ankle in the process. With a strong jerk upward, he tried to bring her crashing to the ground, but she kicked loose of his grip and turned the energy of his strength into a full backflip, landing on her feet, but barely maintaining her balance.
For the third kick, William was ready again. He dodged the blow and stepped in hard with his mail glove clenched in a fist. For all of Rana's speed and agility, she could not avoid this attack and as William's strength connected with her abdomen, her breath fled her and her world went dark.
Wizard lowered himself from his horse to inspect Eril. “This one's going to up and about soon. What about yours?”
William pulled the limp Rana from the ground by one hand. “She's seen better days,” he said simply. “Let's move off the road and sit for a moment. We may have to abandon Eril.”
“You mean 'kill', don't you?” Wizard questioned.
William ignored the remark and carried Rana off the road into the woods. After a few trips, the two had carried both women to a small clearing, not visible from the road, and secured them on opposite sides of a large oak tree. Wizard had retrieved the horses and waited next to them as William contemplated their predicament.
“What are your intentions toward these ladies, William?” Wizard finally asked. His curiosity had been burning ever since William suggested the abduction and the trip across the island to Spindrift, but the moment had never presented itself to ask.
William neither answered nor acknowledged the question, but stood motionless in front of the bound women, staring at Rana's face.
Just then, a noise captured both of the men's attentions. From the vicinity of the road, a horse was approaching. Wizard looked desperately at William. “We've been followed!”
William stared back at Rana just as the signs of consciousness began to appear. “You would have made a perfect prize, my dear, but the old ones will have to settle for another woman this time.” He bent down and kissed the half-elf hard on the lips. The pressure and the pain brought Rana to full consciousness, but an ancient magic drained the strength from her limbs and her flesh turned pale. Within seconds, she was unconscious again and William was gone.
As there was only one road into or out of Midland, Sorgul and Seagoon assumed that their targets had left on it. The ranger kept his eyes on the sides of the road, looking for any sign that horses had left the trail, while Sorgul scanned the ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fleeing pair.
“What did you say your name was?” asked Sorgol after the two had been on the trail for a few minutes.
“The only name I've used for years is 'Seagoon'. It was a nickname I picked up when very young. I don't even remember its origin anymore, but it suits me better than my real name.”
“And that is …?” asked Sorgol.
“Embarrassing,” answered Seagoon. “What is your name?”
“Oh! Forgive me, my name is Sorgol. Pleased to meet you, 'Embarrassing'.”
The two travelled for another fifteen minutes and the sun was getting lower, when Seagoon stopped and pointed to a patch of grass at the left side of the road. “It looks as if somebody left the road here.” He stooped lower and examined the area carefully. “Yes, there were two horses here not more than an hour ago. It looks as if they were heavily laden, as if each had another passenger. This must be them.”
Sorgol looked toward the west. “The sun is quite low. We can probably expect no more than another hour of light. Let's speed this up, if possible.”
Soon, the two were off the road and proceeding along a natural trail through the forest. Occasionally, Seagoon would call Macha to a stop and examine the trail some more. After another half-hour of stop-and-go searching, Seagoon stopped and looked ahead, gesturing Sorgol to silence.
Ahead, a woman's voice could be heard faintly. Seagoon reached behind Sorgol into the saddle bags and withdrew a sword from a concealed scabbard. “You stay back,” he told Sorgol, “Macha's not very good at being stealthy and surprise could be very important now.”
Seagoon headed on, and Sorgol slowly dismounted. “If the horse can't be quiet,” he mumbled to himself, “then I'll leave the horse.” A flash of pain from his left foot made him momentarily reconsider his options, but he continued never- the-less.
When he caught up with Seagoon, the ranger was busy untying the barely-conscious and badly wounded Eril from a tree trunk. Behind him, on another tree, Rana's limp body was tied. Sorgol gasped and ran to her as best he could.
“She's alive,” reassured Seagoon before Sorgol reached her. “This one's conscious.” He removed the last bonds from Eril and lowered her gently to the ground. Her clothing had been torn and she suffered from more than a few bruises and scratches.
Rana suffered from fewer minor wounds, but her skin was pale and her breathing irregular. Sorgol lowered her from the tree and began a healing enchantment. It seemed to help on the many minor wounds she had, but she regained neither consciousness nor her color. A similar spell on Eril produced much better results and the young elf soon regained consciousness.
Sorgol sat on the ground, his own wounds had taken their toll and the exertion necessary for his spellcasting had left him with almost no energy left. He looked to the heavens and made a silent vow. “By the goddess, I swear this. I will search this world until I find Borgos again, and when I do, I will make him pay for the crimes he has committed.”
Seagoon looked at Sorgol. “I will help,” he said simply. “Now, however, we must get these two back to town. Can you walk?”
Sorgol nodded feebly. Soon, he was back on his feet and was helping Eril back to where Macha stood waiting. Seagoon picked up Rana and followed.
It was after dark when they finally returned to Midland and dark storm clouds were gathering overhead. While Sorgol, Rana, and Eril rested, a heavy downpour began outside. Seagoon looked out at the night's rain and turned back to Sorgol. “After this is done, there will be no way I can follow any tracks from yesterday. I'm afraid we've lost them.”
Sorgol looked stern. “For now.”
Dawn found William and Wizard on the road between Midland and Restenford. The two had travelled all night without break since they left Rana and Eril tied to the trees. William showed little fatigue, but Wizard was hunched over in his saddle with a grimace of pain on his face.
The sunlight revived Wizard enough so that he sat up in his saddle to look around. The silence of their trip had bothered Wizard only slightly. His companion seemed able to use a sword effectively and was thus very useful. If he ever lost his usefulness, though, William was expendable. Wizard smiled at that thought and broke the silence. “'Borgos', eh?”
William looked at Wizard, taking a second for the name to register. “Oh, that!” he said with a laugh. “I just made that one up at the spur of the moment. You like it?”
Wizard raised an eyebrow. He had learned what he wanted to know. Silence was better, he thought, as he turned his attention back to the road and his body's fatigue.
A slap of the woman's hand sent the goblin back a few steps. It whimpered like a hurt dog and cautiously stepped back to the woman's side. “I meant no hurt, Elárion,” it said with a heavy accent. “Please forgive me. I am so small and wretched.” It bowed its head and hunched its back so as to promote what it said by its appearance.
“Do not cower, you pathetic creature,” the woman snapped at the goblin. “and never address me by my rightful name. Only humans have that honor!”
“Yes, mistress,” it hissed quietly.
The woman returned her attention to the stone slab before her. It was nearly half the size of the cramped cavern and atop it rested a simple, black coffin. Her quest had finally brought some results. She was ecstatic.
Just then, the coffin lid creaked open and a partially decomposed corpse sat upright from within. A flap of skin from its cheek slipped loose and dropped to the edge of the coffin with a sickening sound. It began climbing out of its resting place and a flash of terror gripped the woman's heart. The goblin next to her froze in fright and began screaming uncontrollably.
The woman concentrated, focusing her attention off of the fear she felt. Her eyes began to glow with a soft, white light and the corpse within the coffin stopped moving. She concentrated a moment longer and regained her confidence. The goblin next to her stopped screaming and, with his limbs once again under his own control, he ran behind his mistress and peered around at the creature in the coffin.
“I am Elárion!” the woman said loudly. Her voice carried with it the feeling of power unchecked. “I have searched long for a clue to the ten artifacts. You will tell me what I want to know now!” Her eyes continued to glow with their unnatural light.
The corpse opened its mouth, loosing another flab of skin. The goblin behind Elárion ducked back behind the woman's robes and closed his eyes tightly. The corpse hissed at the woman and spoke. “By what right do you claim the ten?” It's voice seemed weak in comparison to Elárion's, but the goblin began screaming never-the-less.
Elárion ignored her servant's reaction. “I am Elárion! Daughter of Althren, son of Melchar! By right of inheritance, I claim the ten and no mere guardian will stand in my way!”
The corpse hissed again. “I see within you a light not unlike that of your grandfather. You may then see what was left here for one such as you. But first, I must have a sacrifice of flesh.”
Elárion grinned an evil grin. “Goblin!” she shouted. “Climb into the coffin!”
The goblin whimpered and cast a pathetic look at his mistress. “I have served you well,” it whined. “Please …” Suddenly, Elárion's gaze met the goblins and it stood upright. It immediately walked to the stone slab and climbed toward the corpse.
The goblin's flesh instantly turned a grey color as the corpse sank its teeth deep into the creatures shoulder. It let out a laugh as its victim turned limp and fell to the ground. Around the edge of the slab, a glow appeared. Elárion took a step back in astonishment.
“I give to you the gods' first clue, Elárion. Heed its warning well, lest you lose your life as your grandfather lost his!”
The glow around the slab began to shift and change. Soon, vague runes could be seen and in a flash of light and sparks, they grafted themselves to the stone, leaving a clear message marked therein.
Elárion's reaction changed suddenly from ecstasy to shock. “I am betrayed! This message is in another language.”
The corpse laughed again. “Then you had best seek the elves, for they can translate its meaning quite simply.” It slipped back into its coffin and closed the lid with a thud.
Elárion stormed away from the slab in anger. “Elves!” She spat the word out as if merely saying the word filled her with disgust. “Grandfather, you were killed by the elves.” She spoke aloud, though nobody was around to listen. “Now, must I associate with them to find the truth to your treasures?” She walked on up the crudely carved stone steps back to the castle above. “No!” she said after some thought. “There is another way!”