“Let them come!” Magnar said. His face became hard, a smattering of blood painted his cheek.
Kel’dhos kept a determined gaze on the silhouetted tower beyond the cavern’s maw. The silvery light of the moon made it seem so peaceful out in the quarry. But he knew better. It would soon become chaos.
“We need to take this fight to them,” Telerek said, eyes still glued to the tower. “Hit them before they can regroup.”
“Aye,” Magnus agreed. “Fire and steel. We’ll catch them off guard.”
The quarry was open. Too open. Kel’dhos didn’t much like the thought of sprinting toward an occupied tower. “How do we get there before being riddled with arrows?”
“Good question.” Magnus sighed and folded his arms, rubbing his rough beard. The recent fighting and travelling had left his once neat hair unkempt and untrimmed.
Come to think of it, Kel'dhos’ realized his hair was getting long too. He ran a hand through the dark locks of hair, snagging on tangles, then he felt his jaw and chin. Thick hair rustled between his fingers. I’ve never let it grow this long before. It feels strange.
“Kel’dhos.”
He looked up, hand still on his face. Beltayne stood in front of him. Staring with a look that was no less than confused.
“Is that hair? On your... face?” the snow elf slowly tried to touch Kel’dhos’ face before being swatted away.
“Yes, Beltayne,” Kel’dhos began. “We’ve been over this before. I am half-elven. Human being the other... Therefore, I can grow facial hair as well. Were you not paying attention the entire ride with the Traveller?”
Beltayne looked appalled, his eyes casting disappointment over Kel’dhos. “Stunted ears and now facial hair. Abomination. Just frightful.”
Kel’dhos closed his eyes and took a deep, long breath. He turned, opened his eyes and found Magnus, Telerek and Magnar watching him.
“I believe that one is incapable of being serious,” Magnus said, gesturing at Beltayne, who continued to be dismayed by Kel’dhos’ appearance.
“No, he’s serious... and that’s the terrifying thing,” Kel’dhos said. “Now. What are we going to do about our tower problem?”
“Fog.” Magnus raised a hand, and wispy, swirling fog formed above his palm.
“We’ll use the wizard’s fog as cover to move close,” Telerek explained, then pointed at his cousin leaning against the cavern wall, arms folded. Kel’dhos had never seen her scowl before. “Val is going to assume the form of a rat and sneak inside.”
Val grumbled under her breath, staring contemptibly at the rest of them. Kel’dhos thought back to the first time she’d morphed into the frightening obsidian panther. Powerful, majestic and graceful all at once. She seemed so inept and aloof, but the pure grace and lethality of her cat form was magnificent to behold.
Telerek detailed the rest of the plan. It wasn’t a great plan. But it was going to have to work. Magnus stood near the cavern opening, pressed tightly against the jagged rock wall, peering out into the spacious quarry beyond. Sounds of clanking and voices hollering echoed from the dark tower. Candlelight flickered from the many windows overlooking the open space.
Magnar grunted from the back of the group. “I still think chargin’ the damned thing would’ve been better. They’d have shit themselves.”
“Not everyone is as stout as you, brother,” whispered Magnus. The wizard began weaving his hands in a motion as fluid as water. A grey mist formed gradually, filling the space between his thick fingers.
Soon, the entire cave was filled with the swirling, cold fog. Kel’dhos felt a wetness in the air, caressing his face. It felt lovely. Refreshing. Then the mist was moving. Magnus wafted his hands toward the quarry, willing his creation into the wild. The grey cloud slowly filtered out of the cave, potentially looking that of an eerie natural phenomenon to anyone watching from the tower. It was a perfect way to obfuscate Val and the rest of the group.
“Now, Val.” Telerek nudged his cousin, prodding her to get going.
“Fine. But just so you know, I hate this.” Val sneered at her cousin and wreathed her hands together. She began to change. Her body twisting and churning. She shrank and shrank and shrank, until nothing but a common grey rat remained. The creature sat on its haunches, looking up at the rest of them—she was smaller than Telerek’s boot.
I get why she would hate it. Those creatures aren’t exactly enviable, Kel’dhos thought to himself with an eyebrow raised at the tiny thing.
The rat looked up at the rest of them, hissed and ran out into the misty quarry.
“She’ll be fine,” Telerek said, grinning. “Let’s go.”
Kel’dhos, Magnar and Beltayne followed Telerek as he crept through Magnus’ fog cloud. The wizard himself was on their heels, still weaving his hands, spewing mist. Kel’dhos held his shield up above his head, protecting himself and the others behind. He expected a barrage of arrows, but they were met with nothing but calm and quiet.
When they reached the stone foundation of the guard tower, they followed the wall until they reached a large, looming door. It was already open and Kel’dhos followed Telerek into the dark opening. Kel’dhos burst into the building, mace raised high above his head. But only more silence and a dimly lit room greeted him.
Val stood a few feet away beside the door. “No one is here. Once I snuck in, I did a quick once-over of this floor and found no one.”
She was right. The room was left in disarray. Weapons and armor lay strewn about and several small tables were flipped on their sides.
“What happened here?” asked Magnus, finally stepping through the entryway. He relaxed his hands and the mist began dissipating.
Magnar grunted and walked around the place, kicking a piece of armor here and a weapon there.
“Looks as if they fled. But why?” asked Telerek. His blades still drawn and at the ready, he wasn’t going to be caught unaware. He moved quietly around the room, inspecting each chair, table, plate, and anything else he could.
Kel’dhos carefully stepped to the middle of the room, turning about. Black banners hauntingly hung down the windowless walls of the stony keep, and makeshift cots lined the backwall, each topped with dark colored blankets that Kel’dhos presumed to have been white at one point.
Magnar moved to the base of a stone staircase, maul hefted over his shoulder. He grunted and sniffed the air, then knelt and placed his hand firmly on the damp stone.
A loud clamoring split the air, echoing down the spiraling staircase. Voices. Shouting.
Magnar roared and bounded up the stairs and out of sight.
“Brother! Wait!”
Magnus shoved his hand into his satchel as he ran after his brother. The rest of the group followed close behind, Kel’dhos’ heart slammed against his chest, over and over.
Kel’dhos was last up the stairs, coming to another large room with stone pillars as thick as centuries old trees spaced evenly about. Moonlight shimmered in through an open double door at the front of the room, blanketing a huddle of figures, which casted monstrous shadows across the stone-worked floor.
“Leave none alive!” A female voice tore through the stone halls of the tower. One of the figures mounted a beast and tore off into the night.
Three of the silhouettes stepped into the room, the door slamming shut behind them. Weapons in hand, the three humanoids neared, snarling and growling. A dark-iron chandelier hanging from above cast a faint glow, illuminating the creatures. Thick, wiry black hair carpeted their arms, legs, and faces. Gangly limbs, rippled with lean muscle, bulging necks squeezed tightly by leather armor, and nasty, mottled hair poked out from the unfasted jerkin piece with their boulders for legs showing through ripped trousers.
Kel’dhos knew the creatures all too well. “Bugbears.”
The creatures’ weapons were jagged, curved pieces of metal resembling the shape of a sword—goblin weapons by Kel’dhos’ eye. One bore a morningstar that looked in better condition, and he hefted it back and forth in front of him like some kind of mocking dance.
“The Mistress wants you dead,” the one with the morningstar barked.
The two other bugbears each wielded damage-notched swords and had taken stances, ready for the impending melee.
“That had to be Rythela,” Telerek growled, ripping an arrow from his quiver. “We need to end this quickly.”
“Stand back, Tel” Magnar stepped forward, humongous maul in hand, laughing at the danger before them. “Three bugbears ain’t gonna stop me.”
Beltayne appeared beside Kel’dhos, Winter’s Bite in his hand. Face rigid with determinant resolve. “I shall duel one of these foes. It will prepare me for my great, climactic duel with Highwarden Blacktide!” He held his blade outstretched, pointing it at the rightmost bugbear. “You there! Prepare yourself!” The hairy creature flung itself at the snow elf, growling as he swung wildly.
The second sword-wielding bugbear charged at Magnar, matching the energy of his comrade, flailing his rusted sword in every direction as Magnar brushed off each attack with ease, laughing all the while.
Beltayne flew into a flashy display, parrying each stroke with ease, making fine cuts, gashing the hairy flesh of the bugbear. An agonizing scream split the air with each cut, but the creature pressed on as if possessed.
Magnar ended his fight quickly, catching an overhead attack with his maul. He twisted his weapon violently, wrenching the sword free of the bugbear’s grasp. The barbarian roared and heel kicked him in the gut, doubling over the bugbear, gasping for air. Magnar heaved his weapon in an upward arc, catching the creature on its chin. Bone crunched and blood sprayed as the bugbear’s head snapped backward, the pommel of the barbarian’s weapon slammed into its foe’s chest, launching him backward out of the melee.
Beltayne took to the offensive, spinning and cutting at the bugbear. The poor thing hadn’t the slightest clue how to fight, yet somehow managed to block the first three hacks from Winter’s Bite, but the fourth proved true. The frozen blade skewered through a thigh, then hacked at the bugbear’s sword hand, nearly severing it at the wrist. Beltayne finished the beast off with a well-placed torso strike. As if concluding a tragic play, Beltayne let the bugbear down easily, then whispered to it as he knelt beside it.
“Well-fought, strange creature, well-fought.”
The third bugbear roared and attacked. He swung furiously—albeit with more control than his counterparts—nearly connecting with the barbarian a few times.
Two arrows plunged into the chest of the bugbear, staggering him. He looked down at the fletching, grabbing at them desperately as a third arrow punched through his skull. He fell to his knees, crumpling in a heap, the morningstar clanged to the ground.
“We don’t have time for this,” Telerek said, stowing his bow. “Let’s go.”
Kel’dhos walked over to the bugbear Beltayne felled and noticed something strange. The creature began to slowly shrink. Its hair started to fade, revealing pale skin beneath. The face contorted into that of a human man, his lifeless eyes staring up at the heavens.
“By the peace of Sioch...” Kel’dhos breathed. He knelt beside the man and rested a hand on their chest. “What twisted magic begot this man?”
“There’s only one thing that could do this,” Magnus said, standing over Kel’dhos. “Necromancy.”
“Necromancy?” Kel’dhos gasped. He jerked his hand back from the dead man and stood quickly.
“One thing’s for sure...” Magnus began, scanning the room. “This place feels... corrupted. The magic in the air is volatile.”
Telerek had opened the main doors. He and Val stood in the moonlight, peering out into the darkness. “No sign of her. Hells!” He stalked back into the room, stowing his bow. “Let’s at least search the place. Maybe we’ll find some damning evidence.” He and Val scurried into the shadowed areas of the keep, tossing things left and right.
“There’s somebody here!” Magnar called out from a corner of the room.
Kel’dhos and the others ran over to find a mound of corpses garbed in the ratty, torn linens of slaves. One, a woman with yellow hair that would have once been as vibrant as the sun, was clinging to life, clutching at her bleeding stomach.
“Please... help,” she croaked, spitting up blood.
Kel’dhos knelt beside her and took her hand. Cold. She was so cold.
“The Mhis.. Mhistana... Detri...” she sputtered and went limp. Her hand slipped out of Kel’dhos’.
“Sioch. Take this woman into your charge and see her into the afterlife,” Kel’dhos said, closing the woman’s eyes as he rested her flat on the ground. “May she be at peace.” He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. “Wisdom is strength, and strength is wisdom.”
“By the Arcane...” Magnus tugged at his beard.
“What is Mhistana?” asked Beltayne. “Is that a god? It sounds godly.”
Magnar snorted and began to walk away. He spoke over his shoulder. “No. ‘Tis a damned place. Things that go there typically don’t come back.”
“Good! Then it looks like we do not need to venture there,” Beltayne said, finally sheathing Winter’s Bite and followed after Magnar.
Mhistana Detritus, thought Kel’dhos. Why in the gods would this woman have mentioned that dark, ruined place?
His eyes lingered on the woman for a while longer. Her face had relaxed. No more pain. She would move on and find serenity, just as Sioch promised. Seeing the light fade from someone's eyes was never easy, no matter the circumstances. But it comforted Kel’dhos to know that she was in a much better place than this terrible place.
“The corruption is fading.” Magnus stood nearby with eyes closed and arms raised. He took a deep breath. “It must have been what twisted these men into bugbears.” The wizard relaxed then moved to the doorway. “Come, Kel’dhos. The wood elves have finished their search.”
Kel’dhos stood and followed the rest of the company out into the silver moonlight so they could begin their journey back to Praldosta.
***
Relief washed over Kel’dhos as they walked through Praldosta’s town gate. The two guards posted were barely awake, nodding sleepily at the six travelers. Clouds had moved in, cutting out the moonlight—as if a fire snuffed out. Torch light provided enough light for them to navigate through the streets.
After a few minutes, the group came to the same tavern they’d visited yesterday, the Jabbering Kitten, and procured a couple rooms and retired for the evening. The day had been long and weary, their bodies had taken a beating from several battles, and a nice comfy bed would do the trick. Hopefully.
Kel’dhos reached his room, that he—unfortunately—had to share with Beltayne. The snow elf had stripped to his under linens and sat on the edge of his bed, whispering to Winter’s Bite.
“How much longer are you going to be up speaking to that thing?” Kel’dhos had laid down on his bed after quickly shedding his armor, exhaustion truly setting in.
Beltayne leaned the sword against the wall near the windowsill in arms reach of his bed and laid down. “I am fine now. Do not worry your bearded face.”
Kel’dhos closed his eyes and grinned. “Goodnight, Sir Beltayne.”
“Goodnight, Priest Small Ears.”
The next morning, the group roused sluggishly, taking their time to freshen up and get ready for another day’s worth of travel. Kel’dhos was eager to return to Highwarden Blacktide in hopes he had learned something of his father and the paladins. First, they needed to meet with the Burgomaster of the quarry before departing for Ridgeton.
Kel’dhos and Beltayne met the others just outside the Jabbering Kitten. It was about midday now—the gang had slept for a few hours, just enough to make you feel more tired than you were before you fell asleep. But they didn’t have the luxury of sleeping the day away.
“Let’s inform the Burgomaster what happened at his mine and leave this place behind,” Telerek hissed, pulling his hood over his face. He sure did love to keep his face shadowed. “I do wish we had some evidence in hand to expose Rythela, but we’ll just have to go off of the word of the slaves themselves.”
The town was bustling. Chatter carried in the breeze as people weaved through the dusty, rock-filled streets. All manner of beings walked the roads: from humans to elves and dwarves, even halflings darted around the crowd at waist level of a normal-height person.
“Where d’we find ‘em?” asked Magnar. Annoyance spilled from his lips with ease.
“Probably the same damned place we spoke with him the other night” replied Telerek.
It didn’t take much time for them to find Burgomaster Noster, however, as the tall, slender man—though his gut protruded much farther than it had any right to—walked briskly toward them from the official’s building.
“Excuse me, gentlemen... and lady,” he called out to them as he approached. “What on Eridan did you do at the mine? I have been getting complaints all morning about some sort of slaughter!”
Kel’dhos watched as Telerek and Magnus explained the entire situation to the mayor, who for some reason insisted on being called Burgomaster. It was strange, but Highwarden Blacktide vouched for the man, so Kel’dhos didn’t question his methods.
Magnus made sure they left out the strange encounter with the cultists and the eerie obelisk. Their main concern was sharing the information that they’d put a stop to a deplorable slaving operation happening right under his nose.
“Well, I thank you all for that,” Noster said, scratching his belly. “I must say, I had no idea something like that would ever transpire under my leadership. Bah... I should’ve expected it though. This place was a cesspool when I got here. Do you know how hard it is to turn a place like this into a respectable establishment?”
“I imagine it’s pretty difficult,” Kel’dhos added, trying to make the man feel better.
“This place is still a cesspool,” Magnar said. He glanced around at the people walking past them. “Though the people seem to be a lot better than most places in the Tameless Shore.”
The Burgomaster feigned a smile at that. “I will make this place great, dwarf. I do not intend on being the mayor of this backwater shithole forever. Now, give my regards to the Highwarden if you see him there in Ridgeton. He and I go way back. Good man, that one. He helped me get to where I am today.” He thanked them once more and disappeared into the stream of people flowing through the street.
Kel’dhos and the others made their way back to the stables near the front gates of Praldosta. A large wooden structure stood just inside the gates, manned by a few stablehands. When they finally reached the stables, they noticed a cluster people inside, talking amongst themselves.
“How much you want for that one?” a voice asked.
“I’ll take no less than fifty gold pieces,” a second voice replied.
“Rubbish! Forty gold!” a third shouted.
“Hmm... forty-five.” the second called out.
“Forty-two!"
“Forty. Five.”
“Forty-three!”
Kel’dhos edged closer and saw a chunk of a man holding the reins of a horse in a stall. His tunic was a dark brown and stained with something even darker, and he bore a patchy mustache. Four younger men stood facing him, shouting amongst themselves.
“What’s going on here?” asked Magnus, his voice carrying across the stable.
It suddenly hit Kel’dhos that the man was holding the reins to one of their horses. Specifically, the horse Magnar had ridden.
“If you want to join in on the auction then come closer,” said the fat man. “I’m taking offers on this fine mare. One of my best, I must say.”
Kel’dhos winced at the words. Oh, hells. This isn’t going to end well.
“One of yer best?” Magnar said. The dwarf stepped forward, fists clenched, forearms like a taught rope.
“Well, I, uhh,” stammered the big man. “Yes! It is.”
“’Tis funny, because that’s my horse.”
The man gawped at the barbarian, eyes wide. His eyes darted from Magnar to Kel’dhos and the others. He tugged at his collar before speaking. “Not possible. I’ve had this beast for years!”
“Years?” asked one of the prospective buyers. “Geoff, you said you found these horses not but a couple days ago!”
Telerek had enough and was already fidgeting with the reins of his horse in the stall nearest the exit.
“You there! Don’t touch my horse!” shouted the heavy Geoff.
“Piss off, fat man. We’re taking back our horses and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Telerek ushered his steed from the stable. “Let’s go, you lot. We don’t have time for this,” he hissed back over his shoulder.
Kel’dhos wasted no time, hurrying to his mount and getting her saddle in order. Thankfully Telerek made a quick decision, who knows what would have happ—.
“Topper, Dietrich! Stop them!”
Hells...
Two men as big as mountains lumbered from around the side of the stables as Kel’dhos and the others reached the doors. Each had a sole dagger at their hip, but that was all Kel’dhos could see as far as weapons. He gathered these men didn’t need much more than that to handle their problems. They looked to be twins, both wearing leather vests that left their bulging arms free to intimidate. Scars pockmarked their arms, and their crooked grins full of gaps where teeth should have been.
“Get out of our way, lads,” Magnus said, his hand safe inside his satchel. “We don’t want to go spilling any blood over a few horses.”
“Huh! I’s yous tha’ gon’ get hurt!” the brutish man’s voice carried into the stables, rattling the very rafters. He had an accent, but Kel’dhos could tell it wasn’t from any particular region, but more of an intelligence affliction.
Magnar marched his horse out of the stables, leaving Geoff behind on his arse, pointing at the barbarian. “Stop them!”
Magnar moved so fast he seemed a blur. One second, he was beside Kel’dhos, the next he was grappling with one of the giant men, squeezing tightly around his neck. They toppled to the ground, but Magnar held firm, putting the man unconscious in mere seconds.
The other man moved to intervene, but Kel’dhos acted, reaching an arm toward the brute, penetrating his mind. “Halt!” The word reverberated from Kel’dhos like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He didn’t know why he did it, only that he knew he could.
The massive mountain of a man stopped dead in his tracks. He went rigid as a wooden plank, but his eyes darted around, terrified. He grunted and groaned, trying his hardest to move.
“By the Blessed Icy Queen herself,” Beltayne said, clapping Kel’dhos on the shoulder. “That was magnificent, Small Ears!”
“When did you learn that?” asked Magnus. He looked proudly at Kel’dhos. The wizard loved magic and was clearly excited he witnessed a new sort of power.
“I... am not sure,” Kel’dhos said, looking down at his hands. “Sioch has granted me new powers, but it would seem I do not yet know their limits, or their potential.”
“Not to worry, Kel!” Magnus threw an arm around Kel’dhos’ shoulder. “I can help you learn what sort of magic your God of Peace has given to ya!”
Kel’dhos looked at Magnus and gave a faint smile. “I thank you.”
“Well, then.” Telerek said. He was sitting atop his horse, Val beside him on hers. “Now that we’ve handled this waste of time, can we get moving on?”
Kel’dhos and the others mounted up and made their saddles as comfortable as they were going to get. Riding a horse was never cozy, but the more padding the better. Or, at least, Kel’dhos assumed.
The company set out, leaving the mining town of Praldosta, and the carnage at the mines, behind them. Kel’dhos was eager. Eager to return to Ridgeton and speak with the Highwarden. He was hopeful that the leader of the Trident Guard had learned something of his father. Kel'dhos needed him to have learned something. With every passing day, Kel’dhos became less and less hopeful that his father yet lived.
No. You cannot think like that. Father is alive... and you will find him.
“Now, tell me of this new magic, Kel’dhos. We have a long journey ahead, and my brain is like a dry crop desperately needing to soak up the water that is knowledge,” said Magnus, pulling up beside him.
And so, as they galloped on, the two of them discussed this new ‘mind magic’ the peaceful Sioch bestowed upon Kel’dhos. It was pleasant. He needed to do anything to keep his mind from wandering. From racing back to the potential fate of his father and the Heralds of Sioch.
End of Chapter