It was supposed to be a celebration, but Leslie's mind was elsewhere. She was sitting with a table of friends in a tavern full of people, thinking of her past and her future, but not the present.
It was May the twenty - fourth, a lovely warm spring night in Strabath, and her birthday. She, her sister Odessa, and her platoon were at "The Stye In The Eye", a tavern frequented by soldiers, mercenaries, and adventurers, on the occasion of her twenty - first birthday, and her promotion to Corporal of Rangers. However, her mind kept going back to an orcish shaman, the vow she had made over his corpse, and the conversation she had with her sergeant this afternoon.
"I overheard the words you spoke when you found your father's head," Walt had said to her in his office. Leslie had tried to keep her face impassive at this, though she doubted her success. He had been in the cave with her when she slew the orc, blinded by a spell. At the time she had uttered her threat to the orc's god, she had forgotten of his presence. After, she had hoped that he had not heard it.
"Threats to gods are not to be made rashly, corporal."
"I was not rash, sergeant."
"So you intend to follow through with it?"
She nodded.
"Then..." he started, and hesitated. With a sigh, he continued, "I would advise you to leave the Rangers."
Leslie's eyes widened.
"You would be a danger to the other soldiers," he said, before she could speak, "A personal vendetta could put the lives of the troops you will be commanding at risk. Your judgement could be compromised. Furthermore, there is always the small chance that He Who Should Not Be Mentioned actually heard your words."
Leslie knew that it was a little more than a "small chance", but she did not say that. Her mind was reeling. She had been in the Rangers for five years, now. It was her life; and, now that her father was gone, virtually her family.
"Where should I go? What should I do?"
Walt's features softened.
"Leslie, if you intend to take Him on, you will never gain the strength or the powers to do that if you stay with us. Sure, you'll fight a lot of orcs, get promoted, and become more experienced, over the years. Perhaps you will even become knighted, and command your own force at some point. But you will never become strong enough to take on a god; and even if you did, by the time that happened, you would be too old anyway. Face it, most armies spend the bulk of their time sitting in their barracks. You won't get to be a ranger lord before you are an old woman."
Leslie watched him, and waited for him to continue.
"I've been your commanding NCO for nearly two years, corporal. I've followed your development, and watched your skills grow. You are the best soldier in this platoon, and you have barely started your training. You have a great future ahead of you, but you will never achieve your full potential here. The nature of the Rangers won't allow it. I think you should go freelance."
"Freelance?"
"Yes. You certainly have the talent. Find a group of adventurers or join a troop of mercenaries. That way you'll be in the field most of the time, and your skills will increase that much faster."
That had been the gist of it. She was being told politely that she was no longer welcome in the rangers, but his arguments were persuasive. After several hours of thought, she came to feel that he had read her right. It was time to strike out.
"Come on, Leslie! Wake up! You've hardly said a word all night!"
The girl blinked, and looked at her younger sister, sitting beside her. Odessa was three years her junior, a cadet in the rangers. She was well into her fourth ale, while Leslie was still on her first.
"What do you think I should do?" she asked her.
Odessa giggled.
"Find a man for the night, and worry about it in the morning!"
"I think I've made my decision."
"Then why did you ask me?"
Leslie did not answer. Her eyes were focussed on a table across the room. At it sat three people: a man, an elf, and a dwarf. Right now, the dwarf was winking at her.
She sighed, and looked back at Odessa. Leslie was a very attractive young woman, and this was not an uncommon occurrence.
"I just wanted to hear what you had to say about it, that's all," she replied.
"Go for it, sister. And in a few years I'll join you. Then, those orcs had better watch out!"
"Hey! You!" said a loud, crude voice in her other ear. Leslie twisted about, her hand already dropping to the dagger at her belt. Next to her stood the dwarf.
"My friends and I want to talk to you," he said in a deep, clipped voice.
"About what?" Leslie asked guardedly, while Odessa watched with wide eyes.
"Business."
"What type of business?"
"That is what we want to talk to you about!" he said impatiently.
Leslie was not too sure. While the place was crowded, and there were two dozen of her friends sitting nearby, a skilled thief or assassin could still make short work of her before help could arrive. She glanced over at the table where the dwarf had been sitting. The elf was a scrawny, rough looking character, totally unlike the more typical specimens of his race. The human had his back turned to her, but as she looked, he turned about and gazed at her. He was not handsome, but his face was open and honest. He looked a few years older than herself. Then, he realized that she was staring back at him, and he turned shyly away.
"I'll be back in a few minutes, sister," she said, rising.
She stood, and towered over the scruffy dwarf by a good foot or so. He was shorter and of fairer complexion than most of the dwarves she had ever encountered, and he spoke the common tongue with a slight, archaic lilt. An Easterner, she thought, as she followed him across the common room.
With what she considered an astounding lack of manners, he seated himself, leaving her standing. At this point, however, his human companion came to her rescue, rising, and offering her his seat. She took it with thanks, and sat down, as he slid another chair over from a nearby unoccupied table.
"Name's McTavish," the dwarf said, then took a swig of ale from a tankard almost as large as he was, before continuing, "From Kludar, though that won't mean much to you. And I don't take no shit!"
"I'm Vardui," the rather non descript, unwashed elf said, eying her up and down, "I'm from Strabath...occasionally."
"My name is Danarian," the human said at last, with a slight stammer, "I am a Ranger of Hork."
"I am Leslie of Strabath. I am a corporal in Lord Morg's Rangers."
She waited for them to broach the subject for which they had asked her to join them. McTavish, the apparent spokesman for the trio, was clearly a young dwarf, though well travelled. He had been mistaken when he had said that the name of his birthplace would mean nothing to her. She knew a little geography, and was aware of the fact that Kludar was a powerful kingdom of hill dwarves, located over a thousand miles east of Strabath.
Vardui was a high elf, in name if nothing else. He was dressed in plain leathers, but the short sword he concealed under his cloak was readily apparent to her eyes, as were the several pouches hanging from his belt. She was not sure as to what his trade was.
Danarian, on the other hand, had identified himself as a ranger. He was, in her humble opinion, the only normal appearing person in this group. She looked to him to tell her what was going on, but he glanced away, clearly uncomfortable under her gaze. It was McTavish who finally broke the silence.
"We just arrived two days ago from Su El," he said in his clipped, abrupt delivery, "That's a ruin north of here, near the Mississippi and Canabar Rivers. We're heading for Narford. There's a big ruin there, we hear, and we want to check it out."
"They...ah...suffered a few casualties at Su El," the elf continued in a quiet voice.
"More than a few," McTavish cut in, "It was a blasted bloodbath. We need a few replacements."
"Care to join us?" Danarian asked.
Leslie hesitated.
"Is this your entire party?" she asked. She did not know much about exploring ruined castles and dungeons, but this seemed like a pretty weak group...especially considering their admitted losses.
"No," Vardui said, "There is also McTavish's brother, Angus, a fighter, a magic user, a cleric of Thor, and a halfling fighter named Madelablsh...sh...sh..."
"Her name's unpronounceable, unless you're a halfling," Danarian said, coming to his companion's rescue.
"We call her Butch," McTavish added.
"I know where Narford is," Leslie said thoughtfully, "They've been having trouble with humanoid raiders since the new year. Lord Morg has dispatched several patrols into the mountains north of the town, but I hear the raiding has continued."
"Has he sent anyone into Marnuk's Hold?" McTavish asked, referring to the ruin by its rightful name. "That's probably where all the trouble is coming from."
"I don't know for sure, but I could find out..." she replied with a glance over to her companions. With the exception of Odessa, who watched her closely, no one had noticed her absence.
"Uh, don't do that!" said Danarian quickly, "We'd rather check it out ourselves."
"Why not? It might save you a lot of trouble, if I just went to my CO."
"On the other hand, we would rather take that chance if it means that fewer people know what our plans are," Vardui rasped in his low, intense voice. "If the good lord has already dispatched troops into the ruin, then we will find out soon enough. If not, then we would rather have the dungeon to ourselves, and not worry about others moving in on our turf."
"You see, our source hinted that there is a lot of gold stashed away in that dungeon," McTavish whispered, leaning closer and giving her a conspiratorial wink. Leslie had the distinct feeling that he was trying to look down the front of her blouse.
"And powerful magic," Vardui added.
"Perhaps special weaponry which would help us in our battle against evil," Danarian chimed in.
"You sound like a paladin," Leslie said to the latter with a smile, causing him to turn beet red, "But I can see your point. What terms do you offer should I decide to come along?"
The other three relaxed, and they started to talk business. Prior to her appearance, any loot found by the group was distributed evenly among those people who had taken part in acquiring it. The distribution of any items of special interest was decided by a random draw among those who were interested in owning it. Certain items remained as community property, should the party agree to this. Leslie thought that these arrangements were fair, and so a short time later the expedition to Narford had acquired a new member.
Two days later the party departed Strabath. They were a young, poor group, Leslie realized, so she fit right in. While they owned two small wagons pulled by a total of four geriatric mules, all but McTavish walked. The transport was reserved for carrying the common equipment of the party, food, and any treasure they might chance to find.
Odessa was there to see her sister off. Leslie had spent the last of her inheritance from her father's estate on a suit of splint mail, a great helmet, a new bastard sword, and a number of minor supplies. These for the most part were packed aboard one of the wagons, for it was a warm day and they would be travelling through civilized territory, so there was no need to wear the gear of war. Instead, she wore a pair of cotton breeches topped by a plain white blouse. At her belt was her ever present dagger, and she had another slid down the inside of her right boot.
It was at this time that she was introduced to the rest of the group. Angus, McTavish's brother, was totally unlike his sibling, being friendly and outgoing, though not too smart. He seemed to take delight in everything around him. Chicken, the fighter, was a quiet though crude specimen, who seemed to prefer to keep a low profile. The cleric of Thor, Watney, on the other hand, was an easygoing, affable type. Stiff, the magic user, looked her up and down appraisingly, but said little. Butch, the halfling fighter, was flighty and giggly, and seemed totally out of place in the group.
They set off. All walked but for McTavish, who sat atop the so called "community chest" on one of the wagons, smoking his pipe and muttering in his scruffy beard. Angus and Butch walked together, talking and laughing. Danarian was near Leslie, though he said nothing. Stiff, Chicken, and Watney walked together near the rear. Vardui walked alone.
It was a warm, sunny morning in late May. Coming down out of the mountains from Strabath, the air was scented with pine and spring flowers. After a few hours they came to the town of Valleymouth, where the Southern Road met the Old Dwarvish Road coming in from the West. Passing through, they left the last of the mountains behind. Before them opened up the large interior plain of Nlad, a fertile land of forest and fields, sloping gently southwards towards the warm Bay of Hork, hundreds of miles away. It was a rich land, blessed with ample rains and an otherwise mild climate. It was the home of one of the last civilized realms which yet flourished on this continent: the Kingdom of Nlad. Rising from the ruins of the collapsing Empire of Saltar, Nlad had been founded some 800 years previous. On the surface it looked stable and prosperous. However, a few people such as Leslie knew how close to the brink it teetered. For, less than an hour's ride from where they now sauntered in the sunshine, she knew there lurked creatures and evil bent on Nlad's destruction and the enslavement of its populace. It was only the ongoing policing of its frontiers by people like the Rangers that kept this evil at bay.
But she was no longer one of those guarding its frontiers, she thought. Now, she was a freelance, an adventurer...usually considered only slightly higher in status than an outright mercenary. Her career to the uninitiated would now consist exclusively of looting dungeons. She knew better, though. Yes, she would loot dungeons, but she would also battle and destroy any evil creatures which she encountered in doing so...creatures which used the ruins as daytime lairs...while at night they prowled the lands seeking prey.
And she would grow stronger, and more experienced at battle. Perhaps she would even acquire a few magic items...such as a sword or a potion. And eventually, she hoped, she would become a foe fit to vanquish the god of the orcs.
She shivered. A cold wind gusted out of the north, and the sun seemed to dim. She looked around uneasily, feeling as if she were being watched, but all appeared as it had been before. Butch was giggling at something that Angus had said.
She turned her thoughts to brighter subjects, and tried to enjoy the walk.
The day passed easily. The Southern Road was broad, well maintained, and well travelled. Many others were on the road as well as them. They passed several caravans heading north for Strabath with goods from the southern parts of Nlad, and overtook several others heading south. They met up with a large troop of Dwarves marching north from Hork, where they had spent the winter contracted to build several new bridges, heading home for Dwardarf. And everywhere there were farmers in their fields and pastures, working the land.
That night they camped in a meadow by a small river, under the stars. It was a mild night. They lit a fire, and cooked a simple meal. Afterwards, they prepared to sleep. More out of the need to get into the habit early than out of fear, they set watches, and drew lots for partners. As Leslie's luck would have it, she was paired up on the first watch with Stiff.
Great, she thought, as they moved off into the darkness together, away from the fire so that its dying embers would not affect their night vision, what do you talk about with a prestidigitator for two hours? She had never had anything to do with spell casters during her military career. They were a mystery to her. Were they were like normal people? Could you carry on a normal conversation with them like you would an ordinary person? Or was their intellect so towering that they would sneer at your ignorant babblings?
They settled in under a large willow by the river. It was already in leaf. Above them, the stars of the Lion were on the meridian. Leslie waited for Stiff to say something.
The silence was prolonged. Finally, the man who would one day become one of the greatest arch mages on the planet spoke.
"Want to make out?"
Leslie sighed. Perhaps these spell casters weren't so different after all.
She looked at him. Stiff was regarding her with an intense stare, awaiting her reply.
"Not right now," she answered slowly, in a careful voice, "I would rather learn a little bit about you, first."
"Oh," said Stiff in a neutral tone. Leslie did not realize it now, but this was the first and last time that he would ever make a pass at her. He was silent.
Finally, Leslie got tired of waiting.
"Well, are you going tell me about yourself?"
"Why do you want to know?" he asked in a guarded tone.
"Because we are going to be working together. At some point we may be depending on each other for our lives!"
It was a long time before Stiff replied.
"My name is Stiff," he said at last, "I trained in Hork under - his name would mean nothing to you. I joined this group two months ago, just before they finished at Su El. The life expectancy for magic users is very short in this group. I plan to be the exception to that rule. I intend to survive by cowering at the rear of the party, behind fighters like you. Now, I can tell by the look on your face that you are thinking I am some sort of coward, but before you decide for sure, let me tell you this: I am weaker, less tough, and probably less agile than you. I do not wear armour; nor do I carry a sword. I am so far able to learn only a single weak spell at a time. Right now, I am probably more hinderance than help to this party. But, I have two advantages: my intelligence and my training. Some day, with the help of fighters like you who must defend me, I will become a great and powerful mage. My spells will be many and mighty. I will become the most powerful person in this group, and I will lead you against foes unimaginable to treasures and power undreamed of. Then will the secret aims and ambitions of everyone in the group be realized. But for all this succeed, the likes of you, McTavish and Danarian must keep me alive."
Now it was Leslie's turn to be silent. Stiff spoke with prescience and certainty. He was not bragging about his future powers and abilities; he was stating them as fact. And, for some reason, she did not doubt for a minute that he was speaking the truth.
"I will protect you to the limit of my abilities," she said.
"Be careful," Stiff admonished, "Do not commit yourself to more than you are capable of; and remember, do not sacrifice yourself for any other. I won't. My own neck comes first." He paused, before continuing in a different tone, "So, what brings you to our little party?"
Now it was her turn to pause.
"A lack of opportunities in the Rangers," she replied somewhat evasively, "And you?"
"I thought I had told you in so many words," he said, "A chance to gain money, riches, power, knowledge...all of the things which are so hard to come by in the today's world; but which may be had by those bold enough to delve into the strongholds of the past."
He was losing her, and she told him so.
Stiff paused, and sighed impatiently.
"How much history do you know?" he asked.
"What I've been taught. I know the history of Nlad, the wars we've fought in the south - "
"Do you anything about what came before Nlad?"
"I know of the Great War Of Independence - "
"Before Nlad was founded, an even greater kingdom existed," Stiff cut in, "It was so great, so large, that the land we now call Nlad was but a small province of that kingdom. It was called the Empire Of Saltar."
"Saltar? But does not a country called Saltar exist today, to the east? I've heard that it is a decayed and decadent little place."
"So I have heard, too," agreed Stiff, "But it was not always such. Before it collapsed, it was the most powerful nation on Earth: noble and civilized, the centre of intellectual pursuits and magical research, and very rich. Most of those riches and knowledge were lost when it collapsed some eight centuries ago. They were lost, but most were not destroyed. They await the daring ones like us, who will venture into the many ruins of Saltar which dot the countryside."
"What else do you know about Saltar?" Leslie asked, her curiosity aroused.
"Not much more," Stiff admitted, "Bar room gossip and hearsay, I imagine. But, I intend to learn more about Saltar and its people, and about what came even before them. It is one of my ambitions."
"Along with surviving."
"Along with surviving, Leslie."
The next morning dawned sunny and warm. After a breakfast of bread, butter and honey, washed down with hot tea, the party broke camp and were on their way.
The morning's walk was as it had been the day before. The countryside was perhaps a little more lush, and the temperature climbed steadily. By noon they arrived at the thorp of Grell Inn, and were glad to stop at the establishment from which the community derived its name. The Inn had a reputation for brewing excellent ales, and before they left the group had ascertained that this reputation was well deserved.
Coming out of the Inn, they led their mules and wagons off of the Southern Road, and onto a secondary way. For their destination was Narford, to the east.
It was another quiet walk that afternoon. To the northeast were the snow clad Mountains of Nlad. The road they now followed wound along the southern edge of the foothills of that range. This route was less travelled, though they still met many people on the road. The farms started out plentiful, but thinned out as the miles passed. By the time they decided to stop and camp for the night, they were into a forest of oak and maple trees.
Moving off the road a short way, they discovered a clearing by a tiny brook. A ring of blackened stones in the centre showed where other travellers had used this place as a stop over, as well.
Danarian sighed.
"It is like this all over Nlad," he said to no one in particular, upon spying the old fire pit, "Wherever you go, someone else has been there first."
McTavish snorted.
"Enjoy it while you can, ranger," he replied, as he slid out of his pack, "There will come a time soon enough when you will leave Nlad for the wilderness beyond. You'll travel for weeks through the barrens with nobut your own thoughts for company. You'll never see any sign of habitation by civilized folk. And when that happens, you'll miss seeing things like a ring of scorched stones."
"Ah, but while you may travel through the wilderness and not note a single sign of civilization, they will be there nevertheless," Stiff said, eying them both, "For the world is old, and wherever you may go upon it, rest assured that someone else was there first."
Chicken nodded solemnly in agreement.
Leslie watched and listened to the entire exchange, but said nothing.
The night passed uneventfully. This time Leslie took the last watch with Angus. He was a simple but happy person, and she liked him. As morning twilight grew he took a childlike delight in watching the stars fade away, one by one. The troubles and concerns of the world had no effect on him.
They set off again eastward after breakfast. It was another sunny, warm day. The road was less busy, now, though they still encountered other travellers. To their left, the land rose up into a range of forested hills, and beyond them were the mountains. To their right the terrain was gently undulating.
After a lunch at the roadside, they continued their march. By evening the road was starting to climb over some of the lower slopes of the hills, while at the same time curving south.
Another uneventful night was spent camped a short distance off of the road. When Leslie had gone to bed at the end of her watch the sky had been clear, but when she awoke at dawn it was cloudy, with a light west wind. The air was cooler today, and actually a bit more comfortable for walking. Still, it was oppressive, and the spirits of all but Angus were dampened by the overcast. For some reason the clouds made them more aware of the fact that they were travelling along the northern border of the kingdom, and just a mile or so through the trees to their left was wilderness.
They stopped for lunch atop a high ridge which the road had spent the morning ascending. They had met no other travellers so far today. The woods were fairly open, here, and they would have had a commanding view of their surroundings, but for the haze which had accompanied the overcast. As it was, all that they could see was more of the forest. They ate quickly and pressed on.
Soon after, though, as they descended, they came upon signs of civilization. They forest ended, and fields and pastures took its place. Their spirits rose. By late afternoon they were passing through the open gates of the walled town of Narford.
Like most communities in Nlad, Narford was far older than the country itself. Founded over a millennia ago when this was still a province of Saltar, to this day Narford nevertheless retained the raw charm of a frontier town. Leslie liked the place. There was a small river flowing through the middle, beside which was a large mill. Adjacent to that was the town square, encircled by shops. Beyond those were narrow, cobblestoned streets lined with houses, small cottage industries, and more shops.
They found a comfortable looking inn on the square, the Sign of the Dwarf. McTavish liked the name, but to his chagrin he and his brother were the only dwarves in the place. The innkeeper was human. To save their rapidly depleting funds they slept in the dormitory, which was in the attic under the rafters. That night they ate in the common room. The food was simple but good, the ale likewise. McTavish tried to strike up a conversation with several of the locals, in hopes of gaining information, but they seemed reluctant to talk to him. Watney had slightly better luck with the innkeeper, after passing him several coppers.
"Aye, we've had several raids on the outlying farms over the past few months. Looks like orcs or kobolds, it does," he said in reply to the cleric's questions.
"Any idea where they might be coming from?" Watney asked.
"People seem to think from the old ruin, up the river a ways."
"Has anyone investigated it?" Stiff asked.
"Naw," the innkeeper replied, drawing an ale after Vardui signalled to him, "The locals are too scared. We've requested help from his Highness in Strabath, but you know much he cares about things in the outback..."
Leslie bristled at this last sarcastic remark, but held her tongue.
That was all of the information that their few coppers would buy. Shortly after, they adjourned to the dormitory to sleep.
The next day was May 30th, 1341. It was Leslie's fourth day with the party. She awoke shivering. The air was cold. Hurriedly getting dressed, she was heading out through the door as the others were just starting to awaken. Down in the common room, she was the first customer in there, and got a table close by the fireplace. The weather had changed during the night, for the worse. By the time the others straggled down, she was well into her breakfast. Finishing first, she gathered up her pack and went out to the stable.
Outside in the yard she shivered again. A cold, brisk wind blew steadily down out of the mountains from the northeast. The temperature was well below freezing. It was not a good day for travelling.
The rest of the party joined her in the stables. From here on they were walking, as there were no trails up to Marnuk's Hold fit for a wagon. They had paid the innkeeper the last of their money to board their mules and store their wagons.
"If we don't find some loot fast, we'll be sleeping on the street tonight," McTavish muttered. "Now, this ruin is only a two hour walk along the river. If we're quick about it, we can get in a good day's exploring."
They set off. All but Stiff were in armour, and carrying their weapons at their waists. Walking through the town, they attracted more than a few stares from the locals who were out and about at this early hour. They exited through the east gate, then circled back to the north along the wall. Reaching the point where the river flowed through a rusted portcullis and into the town itself, they turned north along the bank. Leslie noticed that they were following a faint trail. At one point, Danarian signalled the party to halt. While they waited, he moved a short distance ahead, motioning for Leslie to join him. Together, they dropped to their knees, and looked for tracks.
It did not take them long.
"What do you think?" he asked her.
"Orcs, for sure," she replied.
"And perhaps other creatures, too. These tracks look to be less than a day old."
"What are you two doing? Watching the grass grow?" McTavish shouted at them gruffly. Angus laughed. "Hurry up! Quit wasting time!"
They stood up.
"I advise you to be a little more careful, and to keep your voice down, McTavish," Danarian said, as the rest of the group joined them. "There are orcs about."
The hill dwarf snorted.
"Damned orcs," he said, "It'll take more than a damned orc to make me worry."
Nevertheless, he was more watchful after that, and kept his longsword loose in its scabbard.
At last they reached Marnuk's Hold. Once it had been a strong border outpost of the Empire of Saltar, sitting atop a bluff above the river, guarding the valley against intruders. Now, all that remained were a few broken, moss covered walls, encircling piles of rubble and ancient debris. To Leslie, it was a desolate scene. The air was cold; an icy wind blew across the clearing and over the ruin. Grey clouds scudded across the sky. But for the sound of the wind and the creaking branches of the trees, all was silent.
"I smell gold," said McTavish, and he moved forward. The rest of the group followed.
Up close, the castle revealed more of the same. Collapsed walls, piles of debris. Moss and grass grew over everything. And yet, here and there were tracks made by clawed or ironclad feet; the remains of a fire pit recently used; a pile of chewed bones. Marnuk's Hold was not as desolate as it would seem.
At last, within the rotting shell of the main keep, they found what they had been seeking. Many tracks converging on a dark corner, and in that corner, a flight of ancient, worn stairs leading down into darkness.
"Are you ready to head inside..?" McTavish asked the others excitedly. All but one answered in the affirmative.
"Let's eat," Chicken said, sitting down where he was and opening his pack.
McTavish and the other eight people glared at him, but there was nothing to be done. Finally, they joined him and ate some rations, too.
When they were done, they formed up, and carefully descended into darkness. They carried flickering lanterns to light their way. Leading were McTavish and Danarian. Then came Vardui and Watney, Angus and Butch; Stiff; with Leslie and Chicken bringing up the rear.
It was obvious to the young ranger that they were all excited at the prospect of entering this new (at least to them) dungeon, but Leslie felt even more thrilled than the others. Up until this point her career had been spent entirely above ground, tracking the foes of Nlad through the wilds bordering that country. This was something entirely new. At least the others had experience exploring the ruins of Su El.
The stairs were ancient and worn, twisting back and forth as they descended. The steps were caked with moss and partially dried mud. They trod carefully.
Finally, after a descent of perhaps 50 feet in total, the stairs ended, and they stood at the entrance to a long passage running as far as their lights would show. The floor, walls and ceiling were of ancient stone, worn and filthy.
"Good work," said McTavish, running his fingers lightly over the wall beside him. "I respect the masters who built this place."
"Be silent!" hissed Vardui, "I am listening!"
"Do you hear anything?" Angus asked.
"Only McTavish's breathing and the sound of your brain as it attempts to function," Vardui said sarcastically. Angus' eyes widened. It was obvious that he took Vardui's words seriously.
They set off down the hall.
Ahead of them, the passage opened out to the right. Upon reaching the opening, they saw that it was actually an intersection with another, wider, passage. Looking ahead, they could see that this passage went on for some way, before turning left and apparently doglegging back towards the southwest. Looking down the wide passage, they saw that it only went for 40 feet, before ending in a pair of stout, oaken doors.
"Oho!" said McTavish, bounding towards them, "I smell gold!"
"Be silent!" hissed Vardui, close behind, "And let me listen!"
The hill dwarf tried to contain himself, at least for a moment, as the others did their best to be still. Vardui knelt down before the doors, and pressed an ear up against one. He closed his eyes, and a look of intense concentration came over his features. At last he opened his eyes.
"Well? Well?" the impatient dwarf asked.
"I hear nothing," the elf replied, and walked away.
Danarian put his shoulder to one of the doors, and gave a heave. It gave easily, much to his evident surprise, and he went crashing to the floor as it swung open. Leslie giggled. Before them the passage continued to the east.
"So, where did you smell that gold, McTavish?" Stiff asked.
The dwarf glared, but said nothing.
They proceeded through the doorway and down the passage.
A short distance ahead was another intersection. A passage headed off to the northeast, while a second one went to the south. Both were 20 feet wide. This area was littered with debris: rotting sacks, bones, smashed boxes. While Leslie stood watch, the others rooted through it.
"Hey!" exclaimed Watney suddenly, "There's something in this bag!"
He was looking down at a large leather sack which had been lying under a pile of rotting burlap bags. It bulged conspicuously. The others gathered around. Watney lifted it with a groan, to reveal a second sack underneath. Untying it, he upended it, and out flowed a stream of coins. Several people gasped, including Leslie, as their lights illuminated silver, electrum, and several bejewelled collars. Vardui and McTavish together dropped to their knees, and ran their fingers through the pile of coins.
"Amazing - aaaaaaah!" the dwarf exclaimed, his pleasure suddenly turning to agony, as his fingers suddenly discoloured.
Contact poison.
Vardui let out an agonized gurgle, as first his fingers, then his hands and arms turned a mottled purple blue. He fell over, as the poison reached his vital organs, and he stopped breathing.
Danarian was at his side in a flash, loosening his armour, tearing away his pack, and trying to revive him.
"Is there nothing you can do, acolyte?" Stiff asked Watney. The grey faced cleric shook his head.
"Nothing but pray."
"Then do so!"
Watney closed his eyes, gripped the small wooden hammer which hung around his neck, and prayed.
"It is no good," Danarian said a few moments later, "He is dead."
McTavish was faring better. He lay flat out on the floor, shaking, his arms badly discoloured, but his dwarven constitution had saved him. After a few more minutes he was able to sit up and look about him. His eyes fell on the corpse of Vardui.
"Elves aren't as tough as dwarves, are they?" he said.
Butch burst into tears.
"We shall be a weaker party without him," Stiff said.
"He can be replaced," McTavish said, his eyes flitting back to the pile of coins and the still unopened second bag.
"There are few around with his talents," the magic user replied.
No one answered him. In silence the party gathered up the treasure, being careful not to touch it with bare hands. Danarian took up Vardui easily, and they headed out.
It was not a long trek to the surface. Outside, it was as cold and depressing as ever.
It would be a long walk back to Narford, encumbered as they were. After a half hour, Stiff signalled the party to stop.
"We caused enough of a stir among the townsfolk this morning, walking about in all of our armour with our weapons displayed," he said, "It would be even worse if we were to return with a corpse."
"You're right," said McTavish, glancing about.
"What should we do?" asked Danarian.
"Toss him in the river," Chicken replied, as he rooted through his bag for a snack. He was tall and very skinny, but with a voracious appetite.
Leslie glared at him.
"He deserves a decent burial," she retorted.
"Do you think he would have done that for you?" the fighter asked.
"Let's bury him under that oak tree," Watney said quickly, trying to head off an argument.
"Good idea," Danarian said, setting his load down, "I have heard that the Elves of the West are very partial to oaks. I'm sure he will be pleased."
"As if he cares by now," Chicken muttered.
Using their swords, hands, and a small shovel which Angus produced, they excavated a shallow grave underneath the spreading limbs of the large, ancient tree. Danarian took Vardui up one last time, and laid him down in the pit. He climbed out, and Chicken began hurriedly to dump the dirt back in. It was getting late.
"Wait!" said Butch, "Watney, shouldn't you say a few words?"
"Err, I suppose I might," the acolyte replied nervously. The others looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "Uh, who did Vardui serve?"
"He was never one to talk much about religion," Danarian said.
"Very well. This will be short, then."
"Good," said Chicken under his breath.
"Here we put to rest Vardui, High Elf of Strabath, Veteran of many battles, Prestidigitator of the magical arts, and Rogue. He was our companion for too short a time, but he has helped to - ah - " he glanced at the bulging sacks of coins which they carried, "Enrich our lives in that brief span. We know not where his soul - er - spirit is bound, but I ask Thor, my patron, to guard it and see it safe to its destination."
"Not much chance of that happening," Chicken commented, as he began to shovel the dirt again.
"You may be surprised, my friend," Watney said.
While the others were shovelling dirt back into the pit and over Vardui, MacTavish went over to the bank of the river with Angus and the treasure. Finding a shallow spot, they dumped it in the water, and allowed the current to wash the contact poison away. By the time the party was ready to continue, the money was clean.
"Here," said McTavish. "Let's divide the money up now. It'll be easier to carry."
They did so, and Leslie found herself with a nice, moderately heavy pile of coins in her pouch. Not bad for a days work, she thought, but at what a price...
"Watney," she asked, moving up beside the acolyte after they resumed their trek, "You've been with this party for awhile, right?"
Watney nodded awkwardly.
"Do people always get killed this often? I mean, like Vardui did?"
Watney thought for a bit.
"Yes and no," he finally answered. "You either learn to be careful fast, or you die. Vardui did a stupid thing and he paid. McTavish was stupid, too, but he's also the luckiest dwarf I've ever seen."
Watney paused for a minute, stumbled over a stone on the path, recovered, and continued, "This party has had a lot of hard knocks. We're all just beginners. No one had ever done this adventuring thing before, so there was no one to teach us what to avoid. So we've learned the hard way. When this party first came up from Strabath last November...well...there's not a single survivor from that original group."
Leslie let out a small gasp.
"Nope," Watney went on, "All of them are gone. Most are dead, a few quit the party, and one fellow ended up marrying a farmer's daughter that he...never mind."
Watney smiled.
"I officiated at the wedding," he said, looking pleased.
"It was a good big drunk afterwards," Chicken, walking just behind, added. "I don't remember anything of it."
"I guess you're the oldest survivor in this group, aren't you, Chicken?" Watney asked.
Chicken nodded.
"There's me, Danarian, Butch and then you," he answered. "McTavish and Angus, well, we hired them as cooks and hunters to keep us fed while we explored below, and they turned out to be good fighters as well. So, when Tiramen left on that wild goose-chase of his, we invited them to become full-fledged members. And finally, Stiff came aboard just a week or two before we finished off Su El."
"'Cooks and hunters'," muttered McTavish, grinning and prodding his brother with his elbow. The very idea he found quite amusing, though he would not say why.
"Who was Tiramen, and what was his wild goose-chase?" Leslie asked.
"Tiramen was an elf. A good mage and a darned good fighter, too," Watney replied. "He got it into his head after awhile that he had to go and visit the Elven King, off in Aldacan. He left about three months ago. We haven't seen him since."
"Elves. Scatterbrained as hell," put in McTavish.
"It would probably take him three months to get to Aldacan," said Leslie.
"You've been there?" Angus asked, eyes wide.
Leslie smiled.
"No, but I've heard about the place. I know where it is."
"I think we're doing a bit better, now, though," said Danarian, from the front of the group. "People aren't dying as quickly as they used to. We're learning a thing or two, and earning some money to buy better equipment. I even have a magic sword."
He paused.
"Too bad about Vardui, though."
"He was too new," said McTavish. He glanced over his shoulder at Leslie. "We'd picked him up just before we got you."
Leslie smiled faintly.
The rest of the walk back to Narford was done in silence. It was late afternoon when they walked back into the Sign of the Dwarf. The innkeeper almost looked surprised to see them, apparently having surmised their destination today. Tonight they all rented individual rooms, except for Angus and McTavish, and Leslie took a bath before dinner.
The dinner was a quiet affair. They split a large pork roast, and devoured it to the bone, as well as all of the trimmings. The beer flowed rapidly, but it was not a jovial evening. Despite the cavalier attitude of some of the party members, the death of Vardui had affected them all. No one really knew him, but he was known to have been both a fighter and a mage, and those talents would be missed. Plus, they all knew that the next one to fall may well be him or herself.
One by one, they retired for the night. Leslie did not know who was last to go.
The last day of May, 1341, dawned warm but drizzly. It would be another wet walk back to the ruin. After a large breakfast they got their equipment together and set out.
By the time they arrived at the ruin they were all drenched, to a greater or lesser extent. Leslie was relatively dry: being a ranger just released from service to Lord Morg, she was better equipped for inclement weather. Danarian, she also noticed, wore an oiled canvas poncho as well. Chicken, on the other hand, had nothing but his splint mail on, and it was beginning to rust already.
It was almost a pleasure to get out of the rain by entering the relatively dry confines of the dungeon. They headed back to the chamber where they had found the treasure and where Vardui had died. McTavish and Danarian were leading, Leslie and Chicken were bringing up the rear, and everyone else was arranged helter-skelter in between. After a discussion in low voices, McTavish led the party down the south passage. There was a door some 30 feet down on the left side, and after the dwarf pressed his ear to ear and pronounced that he could hear nothing, he and Danarian put their shoulders to it.
The door opened to reveal a passage running off to the southeast.
"Who the hell created this place?" McTavish muttered.
"Probably a dwarf," answered Chicken, from the rear, where he leaned casually against a wall.
"Let's keep exploring this south passage," said Danarian quickly, and started walking. McTavish, grumping all the way, hurried to catch up and the rest followed, Leslie grinning.
"WREEEEEEEE!!!!" came a loud shriek from ahead, before they had gone another 30 feet.
"Damn!" bellowed McTavish, drawing his longsword and rushing forward to attack what appeared to be a giant mushroom growing in the middle of the passage.
"Quickly!" added Danarian, as he darted forward, also pulling out his glowing sword, "Get it before it attracts every inhabitant in this place!"
Too late, it turned out.
As the ranger and the dwarf sliced the wailing mushroom to pieces as quickly as possible, silencing it in the process, three large, hairy monsters suddenly jumped out through the doorway behind them, catching them all momentarily off guard.
"Bugbears!" cried Leslie, fumbling for her sword, as she found herself confronting one.
A second one moved against Chicken, while the third went for Watney.
The bugbear swung his broadsword at Leslie, and the rusty blade opened a horrible gash down her arm. By this time she had her shield up and her bastard sword out, as the former turned another blow just in time. Bringing her own blade to bear, she fanned.
The bugbear laughed at her as they circled, each waiting for an opening. Leslie felt herself weakening as the blood poured from her wound, and she knew she would have to move fast. Behind her, she felt heard the thud of a body hitting the floor, and as she circled she glimpsed the crumpled form of Watney lying there. His assailant was already leaping for another target: Angus.
Leslie saw her foe's eyes dart over to the fallen cleric and she lunged forward, but he saw her just in time and deflected her blade. His blade lashed out and caught her again, sending the young ranger staggering.
Through a ruddy haze Leslie glimpsed another companion fall: Chicken, as McTavish and Danarian rushed back to help. The final bugbear reached Angus and buried his blade into the dwarf.
Gathering up the last of her strength Leslie swung again, and this time her sword found its mark, slashing through his chain shirt and cleaving open his belly. The bugbear stopped laughing, then growled as his blade was again stopped by her shield.
The dwarves were facing the other bugbears as Danarian came to Leslie's aid. Angus desperately jabbed with his longsword, opening a small wound as the bugbear's sword trimmed his beard and little more. Leslie, growing increasingly weak, swung her sword ineffectually. The bugbear, perhaps distracted by his entrails which were trying to pop out of the wound she had opened, fared little better. Nor did Danarian.
The adversaries circled each other.
Suddenly the bugbear on Leslie, throwing caution to the wind, closed on her. She again deflected his blow, this time with her blade, then swept it on, taking his arm off. Suddenly his entrails poured out, and with a horrible scream he dropped, writhing to the floor.
One quick stab from Danarian's glowing sword silenced him.
Angus looked over and grinned, and his bugbear, spotting an opening, swung his blade. The dwarf dropped, a surprised look his face.
"Fool!" muttered McTavish, not taking his eyes off of his own foe.
The two rangers went after Angus' bugbear while Butch darted in and struggled to pull the bleeding Watney clear of the melee. Danarian was faster than the bugbear, and cut the monster down with apparent ease. Nearby, McTavish finally connected, badly injuring the last bugbear. Mustering his strength, though, the monster brought his broadsword down hard, bloodying the dwarf. Leslie turned and swung at his exposed rear, but missed.
McTavish, Leslie and Danarian closed on the last bugbear, but he beat them back with a furious counterattack. They closed again, and were driven back again. The bugbear backed against a wall and the battle continued. At last Danarian found an opening in the bugbear's flank and buried his blade into the monster to the hilt.
The last bugbear gurgled and fell.
Leslie immediately sat down, as the others rushed to attend to the fallen. Struggling out of her pack, she took out her first aid kit and began to bind her wounds to stop the bleeding. After what seemed like an eternity, she had them covered, and the bleeding was abating.
She looked around.
The party was beat up, but no one was dead. Angus was critically injured, while Watney and Chicken had fared little better. McTavish was also wounded, though he ignored his hurts as he searched the bodies of the bugbears.
With a groan, Watney opened his eyes. A few moments later, Chicken regained consciousness as well.
"Good rear guard you are," snapped McTavish at Leslie and Chicken.
For once, Chicken did not have a smart reply ready.
"Let's get out of here before something else finds us," said Butch, tending to Angus.
"Agreed," said Danarian.
Leslie struggled to her feet as Danarian and McTavish helped Watney and Angus stand up, before turning to Chicken.
As best they could, they staggered out of the dungeon.
The walk back to Narford was a nightmare that later on Leslie could only barely remember. In a haze she saw herself and the others stagger into the Sign Of The Dwarf. The innkeeper's wife and the serving maids helped them up to their rooms. Struggling out of her armour, she fell into bed and went to sleep.
In the morning Leslie felt much better, but Angus, Chicken and Watney were in no condition to continue the exploration. It would be a week before they were fit to go to Marnuk's Dungeon again.
Leslie passed the time exploring Narford and trying to get to know its citizens. They were a pleasant lot, by and large, and as they got to know her they expressed their gratitude for the dangerous task which the party had undertaken. The settlement served as a base for traders and woodsmen, both trades which had suffered under the attacks of the inhabitants of the dungeon. Leslie was glad to realise that being an adventurer was more than just searching catacombs for loot: she was also helping to protect those people who were less able to protect themselves.
At last she found herself outside of the town stable. The low sounds of horses moving about in their stalls within attracted her to enter. The time would come, she realised, when they would be leaving this area, and a mount would make that journey that much easier.
"Can I 'elp you, miss?" said a voice from close behind her. She started, having been so engrossed in admiring a riding horse in a stall that she had not heard anyone approach. She turned around, to see a middle-aged man standing there. He was dressed in simple clothes, had several broken teeth, and walked with a slight limp when he moved.
"Could I take a closer look at this stallion, please?" Leslie asked, regaining her composure.
"Sure ye can," he said, and limped past her. He opened the door to the stall and led the horse out.
Leslie was no stranger to horses, though as a ranger most of her travels had been on foot. She stroked the neck of the animal and whispered in its ear, as she inspected it closely. She also noticed that the stable owner was following her every move as well.
"May I try him out?" she asked, turning to the man.
"Aye. I'll saddle him up," he answered.
"Not necessary," Leslie said, and, gathering up her skirts, lightly sprang up onto the horse's back. The horse snorted in surprise and moved about a bit. The man's eye's widened as well, for Leslie had exposed a fair bit of shapely thigh with her sudden move. He moved to put on the bit and bridle, and the ranger, taking the reins, turned the horse towards the door and galloped off down the street, her long hair flying out in the breeze behind her.
A half an hour later she came cantering back up to the stable, grinning broadly, the horse pawing the ground and prancing about a bit after she brought him to a stop.
"How much would you like for him?" she asked the stableman, hitching up her skirt preparatory to jumping down off of the horse, and again exposing her thigh.
"Eeeeyah..." he replied, unable to his eyes off of the creamy flesh, "Say 40 gold pieces."
Leslie hesitated, her index finger tracing a small circle on her thigh.
"That's a lot of money," she finally said.
"I - I'll throw in a saddle," he offered, his eyes following the movement of her finger.
She squeezed her thigh with her hand and sighed.
"And a blanket?"
"Oh, aye," he said, licking his dry lips.
"And a bit and bridle?" she added quickly, seeing that she had him under her spell. "Saddle bags, too?"
He nodded, barely aware of her words.
"It's a deal!" she exclaimed with a smile, swinging her other leg over the back of the horse and sliding off, her skirt creeping up even farther. The old stableman let out a bit of a moan, then looked away, the spell broken. She reached for her purse and paid him quickly before he had a chance to reconsider, and then led her new purchase back to the inn.
At last the day came when they returned to Marnuk's Hold. It was June 7th. The day was pleasantly warm under a sky filled with puffy clouds. The forest seemed to be a different place on a day like today, compared to their previous sojourns through it. It was easy to forget that orcs and bugbears also wandered through these woods, Leslie reminded herself, as her eyes kept moving.
After a preliminary scout around the ruin they again descended the stairs. Once again they passed through the dank passages, past the place where Vardui had died, and down the south passage to the place where they had battled the bugbears. All that remained of the bodies that they had left there were some bones and gristle.
Leslie shuddered, and kept up her anxious watch.
Past the remains of the shrieker they proceeded. After a short walk the passage widened out into a chamber. A door in the wall to their right provided the only exit.
"Watch out!" yelped Danarian, in something very close to surprise, as a small spear whizzed past his ear. Before him stood seven small humanoid creatures, bipedal, their faces vaguely dog-like.
"Kobolds!" exclaimed McTavish, rushing forward with his sword, "Get the beggars!"
The kobolds were small and fast...faster than the dwarf or the ranger. Two of them went after the lead party members, while the others surged by to attack the following ranks.
The kobold attacking Danarian bounced his small sword off of the ranger's shin. Danarian swept his glowing sword downwards and cleaved his attacker in half. McTavish was likewise missed, but then he fanned with his sword.
"ZZZZZ!" hissed Stiff, as a kobold came at him, casting a pinch of sand into the air.
Suddenly Leslie felt a tremendous weariness strike her. Stifling a yawn, she watched as the kobolds all dropped to the floor in a comatose slumber...along with Butch and Chicken.
"Thanks for protecting me," the young mage remarked, drawing his dagger. Neither Danarian or McTavish answered.
They quickly slew the sleeping kobolds, then prodded the halfling and the human warrior awake.
Butch grinned sheepishly as she stood up. Chicken glowered at Stiff.
"What would have happened if we'd all gone to sleep?" he asked. "It could have been the end of us all."
Stiff shrugged.
Angus, meanwhile, had found a few copper coins on the bodies.
"Open the door," suggested Leslie, keeping a watch back up the way they had come.
Danarian obliged, and suddenly the air was filled with a piercing wail.
"Another blasted shrieker!" bellowed McTavish. "Confound them!"
"If the shrieker doesn't attract monsters then McTavish will," observed Chicken, watching the rear with Leslie as the dwarf and Danarian rushed in to silence the fungus. The room where the shrieker resided was just a small one, with a door in the opposite wall.
Danarian's blade cleaved a large chunk off of the shrieker, as McTavish somehow managed to trip over his longsword, falling flat on his face. The ranger's next swing was wide...perhaps because he was laughing at the dwarf. McTavish swore, and tried to spear the shrieker from a prone position, missing.
"Here we go again!" hissed Leslie, as she heard the sounds of fluttering wings approaching. A bat flitted into view.
"Eeeee!" wailed Butch at the sight, backing into a corner. "They get in your hair!"
"Hope it's not a vampire," said Watney, as the bat circled the room erratically.
Danarian and McTavish, meanwhile, were having a terrible time trying to kill the shrieker, as it kept wailing away. Angus was flailing at the bat, trying to save Butch's hair from a terrible fate.
Suddenly the door in the shrieker's room opened, and six scruffy looking men stood there. They wore leathers and carried small shields, as well as broadswords.
"Oh-oh," said McTavish, finally remembering to scramble to his feet.
"Easy pickings," said one of the men, as they rushed forward, blades flashing.
Danarian jumped past the shrieker to intercept them, with McTavish a half a step behind.
"Angus!" he called to his brother, "Forget the damned bat and kill this shrieker!"
"Easy pickings, eh?" repeated Danarian, as he rammed his glowing longsword into the bandit who had spoken. When he withdrew the blade the man's entrails came out as well. With a horrible gurgle he dropped to the floor, writhing.
McTavish cursed yet again, as his blade was deflected by his foe's shield, then grinned as he did the same with his against the broadsword.
Angus, meanwhile, had arrived, and was trying to silence the shrieker.
The bat was still flying loops around the chamber.
Another bandit jumped over his fallen comrade and chopped his blade into Danarian's thigh. The ranger replied in kind and the man dropped atop the first one.
The bandit attacking the dwarf clanged his broadsword off of McTavish's breastplate as the dwarf missed again.
Back in the other room, Chicken took a swipe at the bat and knocked it to the floor.
"My hero!" exclaimed Butch.
"Now that you've been saved," Stiff remarked dryly, "Why don't you earn your keep and help out with the fight?"
The halfling warrior sniffed at the mage and threw him a look. Then, thinking better of it, she went to help Angus deal with the shrieker.
"About time!" muttered the dwarf, as eight more bandits came into view behind their friends.
Darian took down another man, as McTavish finally slashed his enemy, killing him. More were on them immediately. Butch carved off some more fungus flesh.
"What the..?" Leslie said, as over a dozen small reptilian creatures carrying short swords came into view up the passageway which led to the exit.
"I don't know, but I think we're going to find out in a moment!" said Chicken, coming to her side and standing ready.
"I don't like this," muttered Stiff, moving behind Watney and into a corner.
The ranger and the fighter raised their swords and swung as the reptiles jumped at them while still over a dozen feet away. Leslie's blade was wide but so was the monster's attack. Chicken fared no better, then suffered a slash down his arm.
In the other room, Angus and Butch finally finished off the shrieker, and rushed to help the others.
Battling the bandits, McTavish took down another. Many more pressed the attack.
"Now don't you wish you'd saved that spell, Stiff?" called Chicken over his shoulder.
The young mage glared.
"Heads up!" cried Chicken as a reptile jumped right over him, to land in front of Watney. The cleric was ready, though, and deflected the monster's attack. Leslie managed to avoid the sword of the reptile attacking her. Close by, Chicken speared his foe and it dropped. Another jumped past him, though, and attacked Butch, who was just coming up to help. The monster slashed his blade through her chain mail and she dropped.
Danarian was slashed again as he cut down his attacker.
After that the battle became a blur to Leslie. One monster after another fell to their swords and hammer. Danarian and Angus killed the last of the men and rushed over to help against the reptiles. Alone against the last man, McTavish was taken down by his glowing longsword and left to bleed to death. Watney - after having killed two of the reptiles and binding Butch's wound - rushed over to avenge the dwarf. With two swift swings of his hammer the man dropped, his skull smashed. The cleric dropped to his knees to attend to McTavish.
After sparring with a reptile for several minutes Angus took a sword in his belly and dropped. They were being worn down. Chicken, who had been methodically chopping down reptiles, was cut down himself. Only Leslie, Danarian, Watney and Stiff still stood against the seven remaining monsters.
"Fight, cleric!" said Stiff, "I'll patch up the wounded."
Watney rushed forward.
Leslie speared another reptile, then heard a groan from beside her as Danarian dropped. She jumped at the assailant with a scream and killed it. Close by, Watney ran into the tip of a short sword and dropped.
Stiff looked up from where he was binding Angus' wounds, and found himself looking at a reptile. He jumped back and swung his stave, but missed. The monster pursued. Stiff fought valiantly but was soon reduced to a bloody heap in a corner.
Leslie fought on alone, exhausted but never daring to falter. Somehow her shield was always there to deflect her attacker's blades. As an attacker she was barely their equal, but defensively she was better armoured and faster as well. One by one the reptiles fell, until the last two finally gave up and fled back up the passage whence they had originally come.
Leslie gasped, and looked around her, seeing her friends lying bloody all around her. She rushed over to Stiff and bound his wound, for he was near death, then attended to the others who needed it.
McTavish groaned.
"Ye did it, lass," he said, staggering to his feet. "We owe you our lives."
He moved painfully over to the corpse of the man who had felled him, and took up the man's sword. The blade glowed.
"I claim this sword," he announced. "I earned it with my blood. I name it Archmagl."
"Let's get out of here before anything else shows up," wheezed Watney.
It was awhile before they were able to move, though. Leslie searched the bodies and found a few coins. At last, they hobbled and limped out of the dungeon, and made their way slowly back to Narford.
Days passed before the injured were able to venture far from their beds. Stiff came down with a fever which almost killed him before it finally broke late one night. McTavish kept his new sword in his bed beside him.
At last, in the common room on the morning of June 15th, they sat down to eat and plan their next moves.
"I would like to train," said Leslie.
"I can help you with that," offered Danarian, "But I need training as well."
"I'm leaving," said Butch in a small voice. "I can't take this any longer. It's just too bloody."
"Back to Strabath to recruit, then," muttered McTavish.
"I'm sorry you're leaving, Butch," said Leslie, "But I understand your feelings. Let's all travel back to Strabath. Butch can continue on home from there, and Danarian and I can train at my old barracks."
They were back on the road by lunch time.