< Return to D&D Rocks Part 3

The caravan master turned to the shadows. As Jeremiah followed with the torch, a side passage previously overlooked was revealed as the thick shadows peeled back from the flame. The master squeezed through, turning sideways to fit into the narrow way. The company pressed after the disguised man. Andri struggled to get himself through and grumbled noisily the entire time as he was half pulled through the confining slit.

The tunnel wound and bent, splitting off in numerous snaking detours that their guide seemed to know by heart. It was hard to not feel lost and directionless in the unfamiliar gloom. Keirn kept feeling more and more on edge as they progressed, worried that he had made a big mistake.

At last, a soft crackle of flame and a widening hole deposited the group into a large cavern. Braziers burned along the walls, illuminating various larger openings that hinted at an underground network stretching only the Gods knew where. At the sound of their arrival, the sound of metal scratching metal pierced the air. Two men appeared, wrapped in bright colourful rags. In the shimmering light, the party could see the reflection of the fire dancing along the sharp blades.

But the caravan master merely raised his hands. Reluctantly, the weapons lowered. As the groups eyes adjusted to the bright lighting, they found a great mob of tribals gathered upon the slick rocks, clutching their children and attempting to keep a low murmur amongst them.

The armed men came forward, grasping Andri forcibly by the arms and pulling him away. Keirn raised his sword, but they merely cut his bindings and reclaimed his axe.

“I really don’t like this,” Keirn muttered.

At the sound of his voice echoing off the walls, there was a loud rustle and the group turned to see the enormous roc stirring in the shadows. The beast was even more terrifying up close. Easily over twenty feet tall with rich brown feathers the size of Keirn’s arm. Its yellow eyes seemed to narrow at the sight of him, but a muzzle had been fitted over its beak keeping it from making a simple chirp. A makeshift pen had been erected and thick straw was strewn beneath the creature as if to make a bed for it to rest on. The bird ignored it, towering over all gathered beneath its gaze.

Keirn felt a nervous knot in his throat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jeremiah asked. “Where are the people we were sworn to protect?”

“They are here,” the caravan master said.

“Where? Bring them to us!”

“They are right in front of you.”

The master waved his arm at the group of tribals watching the party carefully. A small babe began to cry, quickly silenced with the finger of his mother which it began to suckle gleefully.

The party stepped forward, looking at the nomads carefully beneath their layers of cloths. Keirn approached one slight looking tribal who regarded him curiously. As he drew but a foot away, the man reached up, peeling back the bandages to reveal Corran’s ridiculous grin.

“Great disguises eh!” he beamed. “They look like the real deal!”

“I… don’t understand,” Jeremiah said.

“I understand,” Derrek said, “but I don’t comprehend.”

“I lost my packs for this?” Kait pouted.

“Well, that’s that. Shall we kill them then, Erthis?” Andri asked.

“What?! You promised us!” Keirn accused.

Erthis, the caravan master, raised his hands for peace once more.

“I’m sorry for the… confusion. I could not know who you worked for. But it seems clear to me that you are unfortunate bystanders, caught in a bit of duplicity that was not meant for you.

“And no, we will not be killing them.”

Andri looked disappointed.

“Perhaps an explanation?” Jeremiah asked.

“These people you see before you, they are slaves in all but name. They are the serfs working for the vile Lord Daermoor, a man whose cruelty knows no bounds.”

“That’s the lord of the town we set out from,” Kait said.

“One and the same. If you had noticed, the people are a worn lot. Lord Daermoor levies harsh taxes upon those who rent his land. Inevitably, they are unable to make the payments so Lord Daermoor extorts their services. He presses their children into his militia, claims much of the crops and products and passes the debt from father to child even as he carries the parents away to serve time in his prison for missing payments.”

“Why rent land if he is so terrible?” Jeremiah asked.

“Sounds rather standard,” Derrek muttered.

“Many of them grew up there, and those that arrived from abroad to work for the lord were already dragged in by loans for land or tools. He uses his militia not for protection but to enforce his tyrannical rule. Many of the people here have lost loved ones to his insatiable prison or watched as his men made examples of them.”

“That’s terrible,” Kait said.

“There was little left to these people,” Erthis explained. “Lord Daermoor would hardly allow his people to just up and leave. So, I ran this caravan, promising to deliver supplies to his furthest holds. I ran my route along his border, through these plains, in the hopes that I would be able to ‘lose’ my passengers to unfortunate bandit raids.”

“And that’s where the Rakstas came in,” Keirn said. “You worked a deal with them to perpetrate the crimes to hide your own involvement.”

“Yes, precisely,” Erthis confirmed. “Except Lord Daermoor began to grow suspicious. So he hired thugs and assigned members of his own militia to escort and keep us ‘safe.’”

“And so the fake attack became a real one.”

“I have worked a deal with a neighbouring realm,” Erthis continued. “They promised to shelter these people and allow them to seek asylum. However, they couldn’t directly interfere. I’m afraid I had to rely on those that I had already rescued to stage the dramatic attack. The Rakstas provided the rocs as legitimacy but the nomads refused to put too many of their number in danger. The archers were the few wronged that were brave and skilled enough to risk the attack in order to save others.”

“So once you separated them from the caravan, they disguise themselves as nomads and just make the rest of the trip across the plains unmolested?” Keirn asked.

“More or less. These series of caves will get them quite far from here that they shouldn’t raise any suspicion.”

“And for the rocs,” Derrek said, “you gave them access to the supplies that were originally heading to Daermoor’s holdings. The pots and the pans?”

“Yes. It cuts into my profits, but freeing Daermoor’s people is far more valuable than a few more coins in my pocket.”

“Called it!” Derrek smiled.

“So…” Keirn said slowly, weighing the entire situation, “what you are saying… is that we won’t be getting paid.”

“I’m afraid Lord Daermoor was the one that hired the mercenaries. I have little need for the armed protection. I am sorry for putting you in danger but I couldn’t know where your loyalties lay.”

“Do you think Daermoor would still pay us?” Keirn asked.

Jeremiah elbowed him harshly in the ribs.

“We would be more than happy to assist you with the last leg of the journey.”

“Oh, I am so glad!” Erthis clapped.

“We would?”

“Of course,” Jeremiah glared. “First, we gave our word we would see these people to safety. It just happens to be in a different direction than we had anticipated. Second, even if it weren’t stipulated in our contract, it is the correct thing to do and we aren’t the type of company to turn on backs on those in need.”

“We aren’t?”

“We’re doing this.”

“And yet another job done without being paid,” Keirn grumbled.

“I suppose there is just one last, pressing question,” Derrek interrupted.

“I would be happy to answer anything else you may wish to know,” Erthis smiled.

“When do I get to ride that?”

Derrek pointed towards the roc. The massive bird ruffled its feathers.

“More pressing, I have a real question,” Keirn said.

“What’s that?”

“Why hire Andri?”

“That man?” Erthis asked, turning to the monstrous, glaring brute as some of the disguised travelers began addressing his abrasions. “Though we have the Rakstas assistance, that doesn’t mean all the dangers of the wilds are dealt with. He seemed like a capable, honourable man who was willing to assist with the final voyage over the plains.”

“Capable?”

“Sir,” a masked Rakstas said, approaching the caravan master, “we are all ready. We should probably be heading out now.”

“I’m hope you won’t be offended, but I don’t think we have enough materials to disguise you four,” Erthis said.

“Will we not have enough time to go back?” Kait whispered. “My things are still with the remains of the caravan and… well, I would like to recover what we could. I could probably fashion some suitable clothes too.”

Erthis turned to the waiting man, but the tribal merely shook his head.

“Young lady, I give you my word that when we are on the other side, I will go through my stores and restore what I can. I’m afraid I can’t offer much else.”

“That is more than generous,” Jeremiah said. “We are prepared when you are.”

“Then let’s get these packs and get going!” Erthis called.

A sudden commotion caused them to stop in their tracks before they even began. They turned towards the narrow entrance where two armoured men emerged, grappling with the tribal guards standing nearby. The struggle was brief, the untrained disguised travelers falling before the mercenaries.

“I don’t think anyone will be going anywhere.”

More men spilled from the crag, followed by the breastplated vixen Siara. Her fingers held gently her marvelous sword as she looked about the stunned faces arrayed before her.

“You!” Erthis cried.

“Very clever, this ruse of yours. But I’m afraid I must return all of you in the name of my Lord. And you, my friends, are to be commemorated for assisting me in uncovering this treasonous plot.”

“I knew we should have killed them!” Andri called as Siara smiled at Keirn and his friends.

“It is not what she says!” Jeremiah cried, drawing his greatsword into his hands.

“But maybe we should hear her out,” Keirn said quickly.

“Your attack was well laid,” Siara continued. “The chaos certainly threw the ranks of my men into disarray. Had it been able to proceed, I am certain that your birds and archers would have kept us besieged long after you had fled. That is, of course, had they not been chased off by these heroic gentlemen. Then, of course, they had the good graces to lead me straight to you.”

“That isn’t how it is!” Jeremiah argued. “You must believe us! She’s twisting our actions to mislead you!”

“What are you doing?!” Keirn hissed, waving for Jeremiah to lower his weapon.

Siara smiled.

“Come now, Erthis, surely you don’t mean to draw this out further. My men are all capable fighters while it is clear now that your allies are little more than poor peasants and farmers. Don’t make me kill what abled bodies still remain.”

“Capable?” Derrek asked.

“I shall not allow you to continue this tyranny against these innocent people!” Erthis cried. “It is a pity you were not slain in the ambush.”

“Perhaps if your archers were trained, they could have taken more than they wounded through sheer volume alone. But I suppose the only remaining card is you four. What say you? Will you turn against your rightful employer to stand by this man and his unlawful smugglers?”

“We would rather die than help you!” Jeremiah cried.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Keirn said.

“You have to be kidding!” Kait said, drawing an arrow to her bow.

Keirn stepped between the two groups, holding his hands up for some civility.

“Let’s think about this. We were contracted to deliver these people to their proper destination, were we not? Furthermore, it has been made quite clear that said contract was made to Lord Daermoor and not kindly Erthis. Do you really want to present ourselves as people who would turn on our word?”

“We didn’t know what we agreed to,” Jeremiah said. “Don’t play some fool adjudicator in this. You know what is right!”

Keirn took a step back from Jeremiah’s wide swing, but quickly composed himself.

“Let’s think about this logically. These mercenaries are well… well here. And there are a lot of them. Do you really think you could take them all? The three of you? Any combat will surely turn for the worst against these people that you are so inclined to protect.”

“Then death shall be the ultimate price for freedom,” Jeremiah said, dropping solidly in his stance. “I will not support what is so clearly wrong.”

Keirn retreated a little further from the large blade brandished before him, shaking his head.

“Well that’s a little black and white,” Keirn said. “What about you Derrek? Kait? Who will you side with?”

“She won’t let me ride the bird,” Derrek said simply, clasping his lute in his hands. His fingers poised over the strings.

Each betrayal seemed to drive the young man further and further from them.

“Sister?”

Kait looked between the earnest men between her and the woman standing smugly at the entrance surrounded by her gruesome guard. She seemed to watch the anarchy splitting the group with a great deal of amusement. No doubt this final betrayal was far more rewarding to that raven haired woman than had they actually agreed to assist her. It was clear she had no plans to pay them or reward them for their part in this.

Kait held her bow notched before her. She looked sternly at her brother.

“I would think carefully about how you decide to play this.”

Keirn dropped his head in defeat. However, he was sure to catch her eye as he did, directing his kin’s eyes with his own to the shuffling mass that was now behind him. He hadn’t been retreating to Siara’s side but towards the great pen.

“I suppose there’s nothing else left,” Keirn said resolutely, drawing his sword from its sheath. “I’ll just have to do what I know best.”

He turned to Siara.

“Milady, you wished to know whether we stood with you or not?”

“It is clear where your company stands. What say you? Will you join them in their misguided righteousness?”

“I’m afraid I was never particularly good with morally questionable dilemmas,” Keirn confessed, taking a slow breath and tilting his head awkwardly towards the exit. “You see, I inevitably take the cowardly route. Why face a challenge head on when you can simply cut…”

He spun, slicing with his sword against the muzzle restraining the roc’s great beak.

“And RUN!”

He struck the creature hard with the flat of his blade. The slap startled the animal which gave a piercing cry before lashing madly out with talon and beak against the perceived assault. Its wings ruffled, filling the great cavern as it instinctively attempted to become airborne. Great feathers fell about their heads as the animal fluttered in its confusion.

Keirn ducked beneath its flailing appendages, attempting to run towards the caravan master and the exit from the caves. With the enraged bird in tow, the rest of the caravaners needed no further encouragement. They stumbled to their feet, fleeing before the massive beast.

Siara cried out for them to be stopped and the mercenaries ran forward. But their charge towards the bird caused it to lash out at the threat. Its massive beak broke through shield and cracked metal. A single peck tore flesh from bone, dropping one mercenary and causing the others to re-evaluate their devotion to the cause.

Keirn hurried to one of the burning torches, snatching it from its holder and lobbing it with all his might at the great creature. A few Rakstas ran to intervene against further antagonizing the animal but the torch had already been loosed.

It rolled brightly through the air like a great wheel of fire before striking the feathered breast of the beast. This startled the animal even further, driving it almost mad with rage and fear.

“What are you doing?!” Jeremiah cried as Keirn reached for a second torch.

“Enlisting someone to cover our retreat. Unless you really want to fight toe to toe with the expertly trained swordswoman!”

He motioned towards Siara who held her blade before her in a stance that even the four adventurers could tell meant business. She hesitated for but a moment, judging her skill against the monstrous beak and the rewards she would gain if she succeeded.

Keirn didn’t wait any longer before someone could raise valid complaints against his method. He tossed more torches at the bird until its screech cracked the cavern air and caused him to cover his ears.

The bird turned towards Keirn with murderous intent.

“Can we get out now?!” Kait cried. “I don’t think I have the heart to hit it with an arrow.”

“I know!” Keirn cried. The bird stomped towards him with more speed than a creature borne for flight should possess. He turned, letting his actions finish the debate.

He ran faster than he ever had in his entire life.

The ground shook beneath the crashing fall of the bird’s talons. Wings flared and each beat stirred up a back draft that nearly lifted Keirn off his feet. But size was not as great an advantage in the caves, and Keirn wove his way around massive stalagmites, keeping to narrow corridors in his retreat that left much stone between him and the animal.

The terrified men and women before him scattered much like they had when the staged attack first occurred. Their coloured scarves were like flapping banners in the passages leading him along like a summer fair parade. Suddenly, the cavern floor began to slope upwards as a distant orb of bright light promised freedom and escape.

His legs burned and the air seemed to scratch at his throat as he willed his muscles to push him further and faster towards the expanding light. Shouts and screams echoed around him as the very cavern felt like it would collapse beneath the rampage of the monstrous animal. The orb quickly expanded into a massive slit in the very earth and with a final burst of strength, Keirn propelled himself from the cavern opening.

He landed on a gentle slope, immediately falling to his back and rolling painfully across the rocky terrain from the crag he’d emerged from. There was one last, terrifying cry amplified into a frightening shriek as the roc burst from the cave in a shower of broken stone and slate. With a few mighty beats of its wings, it was borne aloft into the long sought sky.

It didn’t even cast one last look back as it tore into the clouds, turning into nothing more than a small line disappearing towards the distant spires of the mountains.

Keirn came to a stop against a small pile of stones, looking up at the exhausted faces of the disguised caravaners.

“I told you he was a danger!” Andri shouted. “He’s a madman who nearly killed us all! He can not be trusted!”

A great axe almost materialize over Keirn, dangling like the blade of the headsman readying for the word to come crashing down. But Keirn’s body refused to register the threat, leaving him to stare up at the blade dumbly.

“Hold!” Erthis called, sucking in as much air as he could as he slowly made his way to the young man’s side. He stood over him and his face flushed a deep scarlet.

“You are possibly the most reckless, inscrutable and unpredictable man I have ever met!”

“Thank… you…” Keirn gasped.

“And you may have just saved all our lives with your impulsiveness.”

Erthis held out his hand, helping Keirn to his feet. Andri, once more, lowered his weapon with disappointment.

“But, from here on out, how about I handle the important decisions until we get across the border?”

“Agreed,” Keirn nodded.

Jeremiah made his way to Keirn’s side, resting his hand on the man’s sweaty shoulder.

“You had me going for a minute.”

“What, you think I would turn on my best friends?” Keirn cried.

Jeremiah stared at him for a second.

“Yes. In a heartbeat.”

A sharp slap struck his other shoulder as Kait rounded on him.

“Don’t you ever think of doing something so insane!” she cried. “And next time warn your sister when you’re going to pretend at some terrible betrayer!”

She added a few more slaps to emphasis her point. Keirn turned to Derrek for some support, but even he looked disappointedly back at him.

“Now I’ll never get to ride it,” he said.

The three of them started towards the group of nomads as they hurried down the hill from the cave. Keirn stood, gathering his breath and watching them go.

The great Andri stomped to his side, a greyish finger running gently along its curve.

“You think you’re so clever, but I’ll be watching you. If I see so much as a hint of duplicity…”

He let the threat hang in the air for a moment, his eyes glaring down at the young sorcerer. Then he hefted his axe over his shoulder and followed after his pay.

“A little thank you would be nice!” he called after them. “It’s not like I’ve ever left anyone behind before!”

And elsewhere, connected by a twisting series of caverns and tunnels and still crouched behind an overturn cart, Shanna poked her head out from beneath her cloak at the darkening sky as twilight began to set over the now abandoned ruins of the caravan.

“Keirn? Derrek? Guys? Gods curse them, they did it again, didn’t they! I should know better than to trust those louts!”

Return to the Short Story hub

< Return to D&D Rocks Part 2

This is late and I blame Derek.

 

Keirn kept a tight grip on his sword. It was a good tool, as far as tools went. Sure, it wasn’t particularly helpful with matters of eating or sleeping but it served a much more important role in his life.

It was scary.

While the idea of an adventurer wasn’t completely laughable to most people, the fact of the matter was that your common man was more versed with hoe or purse than the business end of a blade. True masters of the craft were hired by kings and nobles, filling out the ranks of prestigious armies or filling a tutoring role behind think castle walls. For the average man, there were few opportunities to receive proper instruction in its use.

As it were, most wielders were self taught. The fundamentals were straight forward: pointy bits go into fleshy bits. But the grace and skill of true swordsmanship were far more difficult to master. Instead, Keirn found it more advantageous to fabricate an air of mastery than to develop the talent itself. So long as most people assumed you were trained, you rarely had need to draw the blade at all.

The light the steel ever saw was in use against beasts who had no mind to recognize the danger of the blade itself. But then, loud noises were just as effective in those situations.

But today was different. Keirn hadn’t faced a man astride an enormous bird of prey with a thirst for blood. If their positions were reversed, Keirn seriously doubted four scantily armed dimwits would really strike fear of death in their adversary’s heart.

He took to the rocks slowly, almost hoping that if he never reached their apex he wouldn’t have to face the danger beyond.

It was Kait that crested the top first. He waited for her cry of fear, for her to reach for her bow and come staggering back from an assault. He tightened his fingers around his weapon’s grip in anticipation.

But she did neither. She just stood there, peering off into the distance with one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

Impossible.

The men made quickly to her side, surveying the land before them.

The plains were an expanding sea of scrub brush and broken ridges. Grey rock burst from the ground like the blunted skeletal teeth of some enormous monster. Life clung to the soil deficient earth, wrestling tiny, hooked branches through the cracks in the earth. From this vantage point, the four of them could see for leagues in all direction.

And there was, quite literally, nothing.

There were no corpses, no feasting bird and no bloody savage hacking at the dying. It was as if all the people they had been travelling with were little more than illusions that had scattered into the dry wind and swept over those crumbling mounds.

“Are you sure this is where they went?” Kait asked.

“You’re the nature expert. Why not peruse the ground and sniff out their footprints.”

“Oh brother, one does not smell footprints,” she sighed, bending down to poke at the sticks and twigs scattered about.

Keirn turned to Derrek.

“This was the way they went right?” he whispered.

“‘Fear not when the people turn to nought but ghosts of memories, speeding upon the threads of ever changing winds.’”

“Probably not the most applicable,” Keirn sniffed at the quote. “Quentinon?”

“Burloque, but close,” Derrek grinned. “The People of the Sky and Sand.”

“Perhaps they sought shelter in those ravines?” Jeremiah said, pointing down into the rocky crags.

Like wicked scars, deep trenches ran through the earth as if it had been stretched and torn asunder. Their dark shadows cracked the rolling plains, the ground seeming to crumble into their depths.

“And the roc?”

“Followed maybe?” Jeremiah shrugged. “At the very least, the creature can’t be as fearsome if it’s bound to the earth by a ceiling.

“That’s only a marginal comfort,” Keirn sighed.

But his grip did relax.

“At the very least, we’re likely to run into the enemy before we find the survivors,” Jeremiah warned. “So we best be as prepared as possible.”

Kait stood, nodding as she pulled her bow from about her back. Keirn wondered what she thought she would do with her weapon since he could hardly remember her hitting a tree behind the chapel’s small teaching hall let alone an active combatant hoping to spill her innards. She wasn’t even practised against wild game, fearing she would do harm to the cute rabbits or peaceful deer that would serve better as dinner than wild decoration. But she held it with the practice of at least a few moons and would hopefully serve to startle any potential attackers when she inevitably missed with her arrow that had yet to be notched.

Descending into the crag proved trickier than their initial examination suggested. The ground was much looser than they thought, and any wrong step would send a cavalcade of stones tumbling down into the growing expanse below them. Jeremiah clanked ahead, his big arms flailing beneath the bent metal sheets encompassing them. The closer they got, the steeper the descent became. But their intrepid leader at least plotted out a route for them to follow, whether it was by tumbling a few feet and scrambling for handholds and indicating where the ground was too dry to travel or not.

But they eventually arrived at the yawning cavern entrance. It seemed quite large, a bit of a surprise given how insignificant the scar looked from the hilltop. It also appeared quite dark, a revelation that the group hadn’t really considered before clamouring down to it.

“We should be able to make some headway,” Jeremiah gauged, “before we run out of natural light. Assuming we go slow enough for our eyes to adjust.”

“Where do you think it leads?” Kait whispered.

“Underground,” Keirn muttered.

“It does appear to start levelling off more ahead,” Jeremiah encouraged. “Just watch your step!”

His suit clanked as he took one unsure step after the other into the darkness. When last sight failed them, they could still hear him rattling about. After a few moments he finally caught that they were still standing outside and not following close behind his fearless advance.

“What are you waiting for!” echoed his voice from the depths.

“Just waiting to see if you get ambushed,” Derrek called back. “But given your lack of screaming it appears safe enough.”

The bard trudged slowly after. Kait gave Keirn an expecting look before heading after her companions. Breathing one last reluctant sigh, Keirn entered the cavern. As they passed beneath the yawning opening, the air drew noticeably cooler. The brush around the entrance was hardier looking too. With the cold came the damp as the walls appeared slick with a moist sheen.

“Look at that!” Kait cried. “Footprints.”

Imbedded in the ground were numerous imprints of the feet that passed through earlier. Large, four talon prints had stamped out many of the tracks, leaving thick indents in the soft soil.

“That roc must have been quite eager to come down here,” Derrek said. “A bird does not willing give up its sky.”

“It looks like our escorts were quite hasty in their retreat too,” Jeremiah said, motioning further into the cavern. Scattered about the ground were various assortments of equipment. With well honed instincts, the group made their way over to scavenge through the discarded belongings.

“Seems mostly rudimentary tools,” Kait observed, holding up some iron shovels and dull utensils.

“Maybe the Rakstas came here for the extra pottery?” Derrek offered, indicating a few battered pots.

“These can’t belong to the caravaners,” Keirn said. “Many of these have begun to rust from the moisture.”

And none of them looked particularly valuable; old, yes, but nothing that would be worth carting back to civilization. Nevertheless, Keirn caught a glance of his sister pocketing some of the smaller needles and rope into her pockets.

“Success!” cried Jeremiah. The others turned to see his discovery. He held up a simple torch pointing to a few more abandoned upon the ground. “Looks like fortune still smiles upon us.”

“Great,” Keirn muttered. “More reason to keep pressing on.”

The others ignored him as they set about setting the torches alight. It was more difficult than they anticipated. The rags were damp, making them reluctant to catch a blaze. Furthermore, none of them had their equipment and instead they had to rely on some flint and tinder also abandoned in the cave.

“You know, I’m surprised we haven’t heard anything or seen a body,” Kait muttered as she brushed back her hair and passed the igniter to Jeremiah.

“You sound almost disappointed,” her brother teased.

“I know how much you were looking forward to looting them,” Kait shot back. “But even still, I can not imagine the entire caravan group managing to keep ahead of their pursuers given how difficult it would be to organize them. Surely someone would have sprained an ankle or gotten scared or tired.”

“Or they would hear the roc chasing them and be shouting orders or preparing to defend themselves,” Jeremiah added, giving up on the task and passing the tools to Derrek. The minstrel took one slow look at the torch, at the tools, blew gently on both then ignited a spark with his first clap.

“I’m still waiting for the mid act plot twist,” Derrek said, handing the fiercely burning torch back to Jeremiah. The large man stood, holding the flame before him to better gauge his direction into the deep while Keirn busied himself with collecting the others.

“While I’m inclined to think life imitates art,” Keirn said. “I really don’t know what twist you’re expecting. I think the only surprise that would get me would be if they managed to kill that roc.”

“Naw, that isn’t big enough,” Derrek said. “It has to be something more unexpected. Something the audience wouldn’t have any preparation for.”

“Quiet!” Jeremiah hissed. “Someone is coming.”

The others looked passed him and deeper into the cave. Sure enough, a bright orange glow was quickly growing in the darkness. They could hear heavy steps of iron clad feet. There was a sharp scraping sound of metal rubbing threateningly over the exposed rock.

“Put out the torch!” Kait cried.

“That will be unnecessary!” boom a voice that reverberated about them.

“Wait… doesn’t that sound like-“

A great beast of a man materialized from the dark. Though only his head and shoulders were properly illuminated by the fire in his hand, the others could easily fill in the shadow details. He was a towering man, with unruly light hair unkempt over harsh boney features. Small eyes glittered beneath a pair of smudge spectacles stretched over a broad face. His skin was light and greyish but bulk clung to his great frame, filling the cavern. And held in one massive hand was a monstrous twin edged axe.

“Andrie?!” Kait, Jeremiah and Keirn cried.

“That would work,” Derrek nodded to himself.

The broad man grinned: a toothy and slightly unsettling gesture that revealed a pair of canines slightly larger than most.

“Keirn Fadden. Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

“What’s your play in this?” Keirn muttered.

“I am here to stop you, my adversary,” Andrie replied, tossing his torch aside and hefting his mighty weapon into his hands.

“I’ve already told you,” Keirn sighed, “I’m not your nemesis. Second, what have you done with the refugees?”

“Oh, they have been taken care of,” Andrie replied. “Much like you will be shortly.”

“Please, we don’t need to fight about this!” Kait cried.

“There can be nothing but a fight between me and my sworn enemy,” Andrie said. “The fates forever drive us together so that our blades may clash until the destined day when my axe will feast on his flesh.”

“Look, I’m not going to take back those comments,” Keirn said. “And I am not your forsworn or whatever the hell your barbaric culture calls people you have a grudge against.”

“Do not think your attempts to demean my great people will unbalance me this time!” Andrie cried. “I shall not fall for your devilish tricks again.”

“What tricks?!” Keirn said. “You only lost because you’re a terrible swordsman!”

“I really don’t think that’s the best approach if you’re trying to be diplomatic,” Derrek observed.

“There shall be no diplomacy today! Ready your weapon fiend, don’t make me cut down these bystanders just so I can get to you!”

“Who, us?” Jeremiah asked. He quickly stepped to the side, freeing space between his friend and the threatening man. “Don’t hold back on our account.”

Derrek and Kait quickly made way for the conflict as well.

“Traitors,” Keirn muttered. “Weren’t you three the ones gung-ho to kill the bird?”

“I will not allow you to harm my allies,” Andrie said, swinging his axe into a battle stance. “Prepare your soul, foul one, for tonight you sup at the honoured table of combat. And your heart is the main course!”

“Really? That’s your battle cry?” Keirn asked.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

The great man charged towards Keirn, his axe lifted menacingly over his head. In the half shadows and wavering light of the cave, he even struck a rather formidable appearance as he came stomping over the rocks. The ground shook noticeably beneath the young man’s boots, sending reverberations echoing along his bones.

Fortunately, however, Keirn had faced the man before and knew that, despite his lack of proper training, he was still far better prepared than his so-called ‘rival.’

Not that the axe nor the strength behind it wasn’t dangerous. However, his enemy lacked two important skills. Firstly, he held his weapon all wrong. It was quite heavy, with a large amount of weight focused in the head to give more momentum in its swings. By leaving it retracted for the full length of his charge, he left himself slightly off balance as he struggled to keep it at such an awkward angle.

Second, Andrie was a man who had proven that his martial skills weren’t his only deficiencies. While he professed a refined upbringing, he showed a startling lack of insight. Keirn didn’t even hold his sword as he was still clutching the small pile of torches in his hands. He simply shrugged, tossing the blunt pile quickly in front as the big man came lumbering forward. The torches clattered upon the slick floor, rolling underfoot.

Andrie cried as his boot fell upon one of the torches. His heel dug in, spinning the stick in the opposite direction. Suddenly, his momentum shifted, adding to the weight of the great axe dangling behind him. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, his feet kicking wildly beneath him to find some purchase.

Instead, they slipped over the moist, smooth stone. With a great crash, the man fell ass over head backwards, his axe slipping from his grip and clattering against the stones and into the shadows.

Keirn walked boldly forward, jamming his heel into the man’s rib and producing another groan of pain. He then slid his sword from its sheath and pressed it lovingly against his neck.

“Now that that’s done, how about we see about meeting with that ally of yours?”

Andrie bared his prodigious teeth, but Keirn just pushed his blade tighter against his throat.

“Do you really want to argue with sword?”

“Shall we take this with us?” Derrek asked, attempting to pick the axe up. However, the weapon was heavier than he anticipated, and he only managed to clank the blade uselessly against the stone floor as he struggled to lift the handle. The bard groaned and grabbed for his back.

“You dare touch my honoured weapon?!” Andrie growled.

Keirn dug his heel further into the man’s chest to silence him.

“Might as well, since he’ll probably just add that to our long list of travesties if we leave it behind.”

“Your list,” his sister quickly corrected.

“Right, of course. Thanks for the back up, team.”

“We wouldn’t dare break the sacred principles of a forsworn duel,” Kait teased, assisting Derrek with the ridiculous axe. Between the two of them, they managed to get it airborne.

“Shall we?” Keirn said, smiling down at Andrie.

“They dirty it with their hands,” he grumbled.

“I promise they’ll wash afterwards,” Keirn said. “Up you get!”

The oaf grunted as he was kicked to his feet. Jeremiah was quick to take the rope Kait had procured earlier and lashed it around the man’s thick wrists. Andrie struggled, but only enough to communicate his displeasure. His eyes remained narrowed on Keirn’s slender sword still pointing his way.

Their procession continued as it had, only this time Andrie was kept carefully within Keirn’s sword reach.

“You’re mistaken if you think I’m going to help you,” Andrie grumbled.

“Please, can we cut with the tough routine,” Keirn sighed. “You don’t perform it well.”

“But you do have a really good outfit for it,” Derrek said encouragingly.

“Oh? You think so?”

“I’m a big fan of the rabble look. Quite the disconnected set like you scavenged the remains of a terrific battlefield.”

“You never said that about mine,” Jeremiah grumbled.

“Yours is like ordered chaos. Too much effort was made to create something that would be fairly pleasing to the eye given what was at hand. Kind of like someone rummaging through another’s trash and saving the best pieces.

“But this, this here is almost a masterpiece. Look at how he utilizes the butt of a buckler as a kneecap. Rubbish bits of leather, torn and frayed hold the discordant pieces together as if the very ravages of time were clawing at the chinks of his very persona. It delivers a better cohesive package that helps solidify his image of a hired thug.”

“Why thank yo- Hey!” Andrie objected. “I am no thug!”

“I wouldn’t get too worked up,” Keirn said. “All his compliments are pretty backhands. All things considered, that was overall a positive portrayal. Certainly not how I would describe it.”

“And how would he describe you, bane of my ancestors?”

“Flunked student.”

“Peace,” Jeremiah called. “We have a dilemma.”

The passage broke into two equally dark and foreboding tunnels continuing into the gloom. However, both looked equally used and the brief moment of silence revealed no telling signs down either.

“Well, which is it,” Keirn probed with the tip of his blade.

“I warned you before, I would not lend assistance,” Andrie replied.

“Are your murderous allies truly worth dying over?” Keirn asked.

“I will not be swayed from my honour by your slanderous tongue.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Keirn said. “Speaking of which, what are you doing way out here? Don’t you have some port you should be plundering?”

“I am not some common raider.”

“But your people are, aren’t they? Isn’t their whole claim to fame centred on their endless razing and pillaging of coastal settlements?”

“I would not expect you, of simple mind and simple understanding, to comprehend even the smallest fraction of our traditions.”

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but it certainly looks to me like you’re just some common mercenary.”

“I am sure you would know what a mercenary is.”

“Actually, we have worked with quite a few,” Kait agreed.

“And for someone who professes a higher moral standard, you seem to be quite willing to sell it for the slightest hint of gold,” Keirn said. “But I may not be the moral expert of our group. What say you, Jeremiah?”

“Don’t bring me into your ridiculous taunts,” the dark man replied. “But… it does seem pretty questionable what you are doing; selling your sworn blade to the service of murderers.”

“That’s precious coming from you lot!” Andrie shouted. “What price is high enough for you to sell your swords? I suspect it is not very much. Perhaps a warm meal and a bed but judging by your meagre size maybe it was just the bed.”

“Look, we just want to help,” Kait pleaded. “There could be some people still alive…”

“Oh, they’re alive alright,” Andrie warned. “But I suspect the same won’t be said for you four much longer.”

“Can I just start stabbing him?” Keirn sighed.

“My soul is ready,” Andrie cried, drawing erect.

He was mighty tall.

“It’s left,” Derrek announced.

“What?!”

All four of them turned to the minstrel who was leaning nonchalantly against the heavy axe now that Kait had dropped it for a brief respite.

“How can you be so sure?” Keirn asked.

“He’s been eyeing that passage ever since we stopped here,” Derrek explained. “Clearly, he is expecting some sort of assistance to arrive.”

“That seems like quite a leap,” Jeremiah said.

“Well, he also looked extremely worried when I made that announcement, as if my suspicions were correct,” Derrek shrugged. “Furthermore, while the ground has become too hard to hold decent imprints, you can still see some scratches from the talons of the roc which clearly doesn’t frequent this area.”

“How did you not notice that?” Keirn accused his sister.

“That’s just conjecture!” Andrie cried. “This man is clearly mad!”

“Yeah, but he’s our mad man,” Keirn said. “Let’s get going.”

“Fine! It’s too the right!”

“Do you think this is his attempt at subterfuge?” Kait wondered.

“The passage to the left is heavily trapped,” Andrie warned. “Walking down it would assure your deaths!”

“He does seem like he’s trying too hard,” Keirn agreed.

“Weren’t you prepared to lay down your life for these people?” Jeremiah asked.

“They’re not my people. They’re just a job,” Andrie retorted.

“Well, let’s just be safe and have Andrie take the lead,” Keirn said, prodding with his sword towards the left tunnel.

“Please, you’re making a mistake!”

“What is the meaning of this?”

The party turned to the shadows, where a large man emerged wrapped in the distinct garb of the Rakstas tribals. The others drew their weapons, but there was something peculiar about his voice that stayed their weapons.

“Careful, come any closer and we’ll be forced to hurt him,” Keirn warned.

“Please,” the man said, raising his hands peacefully. “There has been enough blood today.”

“That’s quaint coming from you!” Jeremiah cried. “How many of the caravaners did you mercilessly slaughter before you felt the quota had been filled?”

“It’s not like that at all.”

The man reached up towards his face, causing the party to raise their weapons in warning. But the man ignored the bow, swords and lute pointed dangerously at his chest and simply pulled at the scarves until he had fully undressed his head.

“The caravan master?!” Kait cried.

“I think that would make a better surprise,” Keirn whispered to Derrek. The minstrel nodded his head in agreement.

“Please, we can not tarry here. Follow me and try and keep quiet.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Keirn demanded.

“You don’t,” the caravan master said. He then reconsidered his reply. “But I will give you my word that no harm will be dealt to you. But please, do hurry!”

The four weighed their options, turning to each other for a decision. Finally, Keirn lowered his blade.

“Fine, but we’re keeping this one tied up.”

“Very well, but make haste!”

Continue to D&D Rocks Part 4 >

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< Return to D&D Rocks Part 1

 

I suppose I should put my own little advisory on my posts much like my colleague. While his Ika campaign is a world created for the Dungeons and Dragons tabletop game, my D&D stories are not actually set in any particular setting. They’re more a tag for the tales told in Fantasyland where my little band of misguided adventurers explore life and have silly stories under the pretense of numerous genre tropes. In fact, I’ve gone to great lengths to not reveal what D&D even stands for in this situation. I’ve always imagined it to be Dazed and Distraught or something to that effect.

Granted, sometimes I pull inspiration from Dungeons and Dragons adventures. This particular story lacks the deep personal turmoil found in others because it was based on one such game that, in respect to all those involved, shall remain anonymous. It did have giant birds in it though.

***

The caravan was a mess. Wagons lay cracked and broken like empty husks after a feast. Most were reduced to splinters scattered across the weed covered road. Their contents were scattered about the hills, leaving a hazardous pile of goods for the survivors to stumble through. Amongst the junk came the slow groans of the guards still clutching to the last moments of life. Those that had survived relatively unscathed picked amongst the carnage, shifting broken planks and sorting through iron pots for those haunted voices.

The three men surveyed the damage from their rocky outcrop. The archers had already disappeared into the steppe, seeming to vanish in the thin shadows of the stony landscape even though it appeared little more than a scraggly sea of thin grass and low-lying shrubs. Carefully, they made their way back to the survivors, exhaustion beginning to set as their adrenaline passed.

“I want a full count of those left standing. And bring the wounded to the fourth wagon. There’s enough cloth to set up a makeshift tent. We’ll see yet who can be pulled from the Tarnished Halls and Helja’s dues.”

Siara stood amongst the guards, a beacon of order and authority in the devastation of the skirmish. Her breastplate gleamed in the hanging sun, her sword resting elegantly upon her hip. Before her stern gaze, the men bent to her commands. Orders were swiftly filled and a sense of proper calm had been restored. While they hurried to fulfill her commands, the woman herself bent over the wreckage of a cart, sifting through the scattered remains. Upon hearing their approach, she stood with an imposing expression.

“You three, report!”

Derrek, Keirn and Jeremiah looked to each other unsure exactly what happened in all the chaos despite being in the thick of it.

“They’ve fled?” Keirn offered uselessly. He kind of wished he sounded more confident when he said it.

“Did you get confirmation of their direction, numbers, leaders?”

The men looked blankly at each other.

“They went that way.” Jeremiah pointed off into the distance.

Siara’s piercing black eyes rolled over each man slowly. Keirn felt like they were three misbehaving children brought before a disappointed mother.  The silence was long and uncomfortable and they shifted nervously beneath that commanding glare.

At last she sighed, looking towards the sky as if she couldn’t even trust their report that the birds were gone.

“So we have nothing. No idea of who they were or what they were after. There have been heavy casualties amongst the guards and all of the non-combatants have disappeared.”

“Well, I am pretty certain that they were the tribe of-“

“Disappeared?” Keirn interrupted. “Surely someone returned now that the fighting is over.”

Siara raised a curious brow to Derrek but addressed Keirn.

“I would have that so. The call to withdraw from our enemy seemed clear enough to me that the attack was over. I doubt anyone couldn’t hear it but so far no one has returned.”

“We saw them head that way,” Derrek said, pointing over the ridge. Siara scanned the hills as if she expected to see all the men and women huddled amongst the grass choked rocks.

“We also saw one of those large birds chase after them,” Keirn said, shaking his head. “The fools should have stayed near us so we could protect them. I can’t see most of those people surviving against that monster. Not without some knowledge of combat.”

“But why assault the caravan?” Jeremiah asked.

Siara’s eyes narrowed in thought. She looked as if she was about to share some revelation but the call of a nearby guard took her attention. She turned from them, clearly finished with her interrogation.

However, Keirn was reluctant to leave. He shifted nervously upon his feet, his mind trying to come up with some excuse for him to linger in Siara’s presence.

“Oh Siara, I was just wondering if… well…”

“Yes?”

Her reply was short and quick. Keirn turned to his friends for some support but, as typical, they had nothing to help.

“Well… errr… have you seen my sister?”

It really wasn’t what he was looking for but the words were gone and he couldn’t reclaim them.

“I’m not some mewling wet-nurse,” Siara replied. “Why don’t you search for survivors and see they get some aid. Perhaps you’ll find your sister amongst their number.”

And that was that. Keirn watched her pick through the wreck, her long black hair tumbling gently over her immaculate armour encasing her slender figure. Derrek snapped his fingers before Keirn’s face to get his attention.

“You have the heart and wit of a courtesan. I’m in such awe of your skills I would delight in apprenticing beneath you.”

“Shut up,” the young man grumbled knowing too well that his friend caught his longing looks. “Let’s just see if we can’t find something.”

“You know what I don’t understand?” Jeremiah asked. “Why would the tribals attack the caravan in the first place? What were they after?”

“Probably the valuables,” Keirn said. “It’s not like bandits have complex moral objectives.”

“There’s only so many uses for cast iron pans and chamber pots. Unless… do you think they want to build a great tribunal mudtower in order to unite all the scatter tribes beneath a single, ambitious warlord?”

“What?”

Derrek blinked at his companions’ confusion. “Well, the principal culture structure of the Rakstas tribes are the mud fortresses they scatter over their territory. They occupy these during the mating season when the great herds gather. There’s little building material over the steppes but they discovered a unique architectural form that uses the local mudclay to fashion semi-permeable homes. When these dry beneath the sun, they become tough as wood. Once the great herds move on, they leave these buildings behind for the next tribe much like the tenant crab passing off its shell for another.”

Keirn eyed Derrek suspiciously.

“Sometimes I think you fabricate this nonsense to fool us.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“But why this caravan,” Jeremiah asserted. “I thought these routes were relatively safe.”

“Obviously not, else why would they hire us?” Keirn said.

“Do you think there’s something valuable in these wagons?” Jeremiah hypothesized. “Maybe that’s what she’s looking for.”

“Well, she spent quite a bit of time with the Caravan Master,” Derrek said. “She probably already knew about the pots.”

“What pots?”

Derrek stepped to an overturned wagon, lifting up the collapsed canvas to reveal a great pile of cast iron skillets, pans, vessels and other cooking ware.

“We must be transporting far more than that.”

“Not really, most of the cargo is earthenware.”

“What about that orb?”

“Found it in a bag hidden in a cauldron,” Derrek shrugged.  “But there wasn’t much else in it. Just some rusted tools and spooled thread. And an old boot.”

“Well that doesn’t make any sense,” Jeremiah said. “Why would they need so much security for something so valueless?”

“Because the kingdoms don’t want a towering mudpillar!” Derrek exclaimed.

“Why do we bring you along?”

Suddenly, a great horn blast ran down the beleaguered line. It was a warning call. Men scrambled for their weapons, abandoning their search and duties as they hurried for cover. Keirn pressed against the shattered remains of the wagon, his hand reaching for his weapon as he tried to think what could possibly be descending up them now.

“Someone approaches!”

Curious but wary, the three young men emerged from their cover and made towards the front of the caravan. A lone figure moved towards them from down the road. Arrows were notched but something in the stranger’s gait gave pause to Keirn. Then, a familiar voice rose on the winds.

“My baaaaaaaaags!!!”

With unmatched speed, the figure hurried towards the caravan. Bows were raised but Keirn called for them to lower their weapons.

Cresting the hill came a red-faced Kait. Sweat beaded her brow as she looked horrified at the scene of carnage before her.

“What happened?!”

Keirn blinked at his sister, his mind momentarily blank. When last he spoke, his voice burst forward in a trembling denouncement.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! WHY DID YOU WANDER OFF?!”

Kait started at her brother’s outburst.

“I thought I would take a quick jog ahead to see what was before us. What did I miss?”

“How did you- Didn’t you know- See you- Birds!”

It was an incoherent stammering but managed to communicate the young man’s fluster.

Jeremiah quickly stepped to Kait’s side, brushing Keirn aside.

“We were assaulted while you were… away. You were fortunate to miss the battle. It was very… devastating.”

“Has anyone checked on my packs? Are my things okay?”

“Your things?!” Keirn cried. “I’ve been worried sick that you’re lying dead in some ditch and your first thought is your collection of yarn?!”

“It’s a very nice collection,” Kait muttered.

“Did you happen to see some men, women or children wrapped in cloth while you were scouting?” Jeremiah asked.

“I saw some people in the hills but assumed they were nomads,” Kait shrugged. “I didn’t really pay much attention to them and they seemed content with their own business. You don’t think they were behind it, do you?”

“I don’t think-“

“Aha!”

“-we know for certain,” Keirn said. “They chased off most of the caravan and tried to kill all of us.”

“Many of the travellers fled when the fight broke out,” Jeremiah said.

“We saw a roc fly after them… I don’t think there will be much to find.”

“What do you mean?” Kait asked.

“Well…” Keirn said, “when a hungry beast sees some unarmed, defenceless humans…”

“Are you saying there were rocs in the skirmish?”

“Yes, rocs. They’re really large birds like…” Keirn tried to hold his arms out to indicate their length but quickly realized the futility of that display. “They’re really big.”

Kait frowned.

“I’m know what a roc, or ruhk as it’s properly called, looks like. They’re a rare species of Stephanoaetus Gigantorus that can live upwards of sixty years if given enough food to support their diet. Famously gentle creatures with a caring temperament. But there isn’t any known species that would be out this far in the plains. They favour cliff environs or coastal regions. The closest would be the distant Ashencleft Mountains. But we’re well out of their hunting territory.”

“Well, they were here,” Keirn said. “And they aren’t friendly.”

“A pity that I missed them.”

“The bigger pity is that we won’t be getting paid,” Keirn moaned.

“Why do you say that?” Jeremiah asked.

“Look at our escort, Jeremiah!” Keirn cried, waving his hand at the wrecked wagons.

“But surely if we find the survivors the caravan master would honour the agreement.”

“Why don’t you discuss it with him,” Keirn said. “I’m pretty sure I saw him running off with the group about to be turned into bird feed.”

“Why would the caravan master run off?” Kait wondered.

“Probably because he has no spine.”

“But wouldn’t he want to protect his investment?” she continued. “I mean, none of the guards fled and you managed to repel the attack as well. Why spend so much money putting together the caravan and hiring so many guards if you’re just going to abandon it at the first sign of trouble?”

“It’s not like the Rakstas tribe is particularly bloodthirsty,” Derrek added. “At the very least, a reasonable response would be to bargain with the attackers if he felt he would lose any fight for his possessions.”

“Well, clearly he didn’t think we would win the fight or that the savages were worth negotiating with!” Keirn exclaimed. “Or is anyone else not remembering that they attacked us without warning and had three HUGE FREAKISH BIRDS?!”

“Three to attack, two to the back,” Derrek hummed.

Keirn took a slow breath.

“I don’t even care to figure out what that’s supposed to mean.”

But Jeremiah’s eyes lit up.

“That’s right! There were three of the birds, but only two retreated. The one that went over the hill never returned!”

“Well… maybe it flew off in another direction!” Keirn protested.

“Really. A bird that large and you think it just sneaked away?”

“Maybe it’s… maybe it’s still chowing down on all the fools that ran off,” Keirn grumbled.

“Then the caravan master could still be alive!” Kait exclaimed.

“So what? You want to go rescue him?”

“Isn’t that what we were hired to do?”

“No,” Keirn said slowly, “we were hired to protect the caravan. And that is sitting right here and is already demolished.”

“But you were just arguing that we wouldn’t get paid because the people ran off,” Jeremiah countered. “Which is the caravan? The people it was transporting or the pots and bedpans?”

Keirn frowned. He had no aspirations to run headlong into a large monster. When facing the archers he had little choice and a hunch they were cowards. But animals were different. And this one was almost ten times their size.

“Fine! You want to go find the violent man-eating bird and kill it, then so be it. But don’t expect me to be the one to run my sword through its heart when none of you have the guts to put down the miserable creature!”

“Oh! I do love a good hike!” Kait exclaimed, hurrying up the rocks.

“Hopefully she’ll forget about her bags,” Keirn grumbled to Derrek as he unwrapped his sword from his side and stepped over the ruined wagon. “Otherwise, we’ll never hear the end of how she’ll never be able to finish her socks or some such.”

Continue to D&D Rocks Part 3 >

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As promised, this is the start of another rip roaring adventure with our misguided band of heroes. This one is a little older but I make no apologies.

Of all the dangers inherent in travelling, there was only one that was truly insidious. It wasn’t the concern of dwindling rations or starvation. While deadly, dehydration wasn’t the worst either. Worn, calloused feet ranked mighty low and while wearing upon the nerves, the constant threat of an ambush or attack wasn’t nearly as bad.

No, the greatest horror of a long journey was the dreaful cheery companion. For what could contend with an immeasurable journey beside a person stupidly optimistic for everything that they passed. There was no cure for the companion that delighted in the first tree seen in fifty leagues, who made predictable jokes of dieting with the dwindling rations each night or that considered the sore callouses as ‘love bumps from the road.’ No torture could amount to the pain inflicted by this one individual. It was the surest way to murder.

His name was Corran and for the last three days he had the wicked delusions of a skilled singer.

“Oh that barren road! That long and dusty road! It leads us far and wide together. Born of the wandering of our soul. Oh that barren road. That barren road! Take me down and along forever!”

It was the gravely low tones and the piercing high notes with nary moderation between that drove like thin picks into the ear. That sort of howling left a man awake for hours at night. It dulled him to civility and pleasantness. It was the sort of noise that bore down to the core, drowning all rational thought until nothing but a white, pounding rage clouded the mind.

And with the long, fatiguing monotony of a never changing background, it was the sort of sound that became impossible to ignore.

The weariness of the journey worn down the inhibitions and lulled the parts of the mind that kept darker impulses in check.

“Give me your hand, we’ll cross this land. Where we headed only the road knows. You’ll walk for awhile, I’ll cross it for life. There’s only one way this road goes. Oh that barren road!”

There was a familiar stirring in the dark recesses. A slumbering force slowly awoke to the growing dire call. It was like a feral impulse, building in momentum with each passing moment.

“Oh, I left my home. For that barren road, oh that barren road! Don’t know if I’ll return. For I have my way and I won’t stray along that lonesome road.”

“Pretty catchy don’t you think?”

Gods. It was spreading.

“Insanity?” Keirn asked. “I hear it is quite contagious. I think it would be a good show of mercy to contain it before it gets out of hand.”

“Well good morning to you, Sir Sunshine! Did we wake on the wrong side of the bedroll this morn?”

The urge to brutally maim rose within.

“We’ve listened to this crow wail his damnable song for more days than naught. I don’t think it unreasonable to ask for a short reprieve at least for one hour.”

“Oh, do you think he takes requests? Excuse me, Corran! Corran, sir! Do you happen to know the one about the bard at the bulwark!”

“I hate everyone.”

Mercifully, the insufferable howling ended as the singer paused to consider the request. But the silence was short lived as he heard the pound of feet by his side and an age old voice at his elbow.

“Enjoying yourself this morning?”

“I don’t know which would be better: slitting his throat or mine.”

Kait laughed, tossing her drab, muddy hair over her shoulder.

“I knew this was going to be an issue when we ran out of milk two days back. Don’t worry, we’ll get you some breakfast oats the moment we pass through another town. Seems to be all these hamlets have between the borders.”

“I’m not grumpy because I haven’t had breakfast!”

“The boy doth protest!” Kait cried. “You know you’re never pleasant if you don’t get your morning meal.”

“You make me sound like a petulant child.”

“If the cloth fits!” Kait smiled. She gave the lead horse a soft slap and hurried alongside the hastened wagon.

Keirn sighed. She was having far too much fun.

He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Normally, he would be satisfied with their arrangement as well. It was a menial contract but gave decent amount pay while covering rations. It worked for them as they were looking to make the trip anyway and getting paid at their destination for it was a bonus. All that was asked of them was to trudge alongside the caravan as another faceless guard in the batch. They were a show of force to scare off bandits or marauders or whatever patrolled these steppes. A rather obvious ploy given the rag tag collection of the guard. They were all clearly mercenaries of fortune with very little unity or discipline. Not that Keirn and his band were much different. Far too often young men and women with little prospects took to worn swords and bows to patrol the realms for some income unavailable back at home. But Keirn thought his band was decent enough.

First, he had Jeremiah the stoic who trudged in his makeshift armour patched together through the collection of scraps from their fallen foes and sewn together by whatever Kait could get her hands on. He clanked like a forlorn peddler, forever his wares banging upon his back.

Then there was Derrek. The self-stylized minstrel was known for his bizarre breadth of knowledge and questionable musical proficiencies. He had talent, for sure, that would shame Corran should the man decide to flex his entertainment muscle. But he had given to the study of a most concerning type of sound. His outward soft appearance and stylish dress hide a paradoxical pursuit of the chaotic and unpleasant sound of noise.

Finally, Kait – Keirn’s own sister – kept them all together. While she may seem like much, she brought a peace of mind to him that neither of the others could. A slew of seemingly mundane skills held much value on the road and these required constant materials to perform. Darned socks and decent meals didn’t materialize from thin air and she seemed to collect every little odd and end she crossed with the belief it would come in use at some later date.

But today she was not burdened with her pile of packs. They had been stowed in one of the wagons and for probably the first time ever she seemed brighter than the day. Being unsaddled had given her life to her feet and she chased up and down the lengths of the caravan, only her bow and quiver slung over her back. She was like a faithful hound suddenly loosed from its leash and there wasn’t a hill she wouldn’t speed over.

Course, this sudden revitalization didn’t help Keirn’s mood as he trudged solemnly in line with the other guards. These lonesome souls weren’t apt for much conversation. Most of them were quiet and suspicious men who kept one hand on their weapon and one eye on everyone around them. They seemed on edge as if they expected an axe to fall any moment.

Though there were a few contrary souls amongst the bunch.

Damnable Corran perched upon the driver’s seat of a large wagon filled to the brim with cargo. At his side was a young woman named Shanna who Keirn and company had crossed paths with before. She was a petite thing, somewhat round in comely places with a face that spoke of a quiet hamlet upbringing not unlike their own. However, despite their previous exchanges she didn’t seem to bitter over past actions and was pleasantly engaged with Corran in negotiating a melody they both knew.

Most intriguing, however, was raven haired Siara. She kept mainly to herself and the caravan master, riding in his head wagon beneath the privacy of the cloth canvas. Keirn couldn’t help but be curious about her, nor unable to ignore the interested looks from the other guards. She was a remarkable figure – tall and strong in the soft dress of a foreigner. But she held herself in a manner that bespoke of great skill and training in the martial skills that kept most interactions to curious looks. There was no question of her capabilities or whether she belonged at the head of the group.

The ornate long sword at her side with the faint tarnish of combat also helped. When most the mercenaries considered the wrong side of a dungeon cell experience in the field, there was not a habit of provoking those that had actually seen real combat.

But she spent all her time at the caravan master’s side. Keirn couldn’t shake the feeling that the journey wouldn’t be quite so onerous if this strange woman had elected to travel with him instead.

Them! All of them. That’s what he meant.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

“Nothing,” Keirn said, shaking his head.

“Pity,” Derrek sighed, fiddling with a glass bauble. “I was hoping to give this a try.”

“What is it?”

“An orb of Mallenaeus.”

“A what?”

“An orb of Mallenaeus,” the man repeated, staring at his golden haired reflection in its polished surface. “Supposedly these were crafted by the famed wizard which bears its namesake. Which would make more sense then naming it after a rival, after all. They say the man was paranoid, but that’s drawing fish with a net for those that dabble too deeply in the arcane. I hear he gave to wearing steeple hats believing their conical form trapped his inner thoughts and prevented them from drifting off to be captured by others in the aetheric winds.”

“He wore a pointed hat?”

“Yes. To save his thoughts. And he made balls.”

“Because he was a wizard?”

“Precisely.”

“Where did you get that anyway? And why would it read thoughts?”

“To answer your second question – Mallenaeus had to be certain that his fashion sense was not in vain. He crafted these orbs so that, when rubbed over the heads of others, they would collect their thoughts and allow him to read them within. Thus, he could confirm if anyone was in actuality stealing his own perturbations. Course, such a device had obvious value beyond fueling a madman’s paranoia and his workshop was apparently ransacked and torched with him inside for his trinkets instead of his ideas. As to your first, I found it in the back of one of the wagons.”

“You what?! You can’t just take the merchandise that we’ve been hired to protec-“

Derrek quickly rolled to the tips of his toes, stretching his arm to rub the orb madly over Keirn’s scalp. The young man shouted in protest, swiping at his friend’s groping hands but Derrek retreated the orb quickly to safety.

He hunched over, peering intently into its glassy interior.

“Hm, empty. Is your mind always this devoid of thought?”

“Give me that,” Keirn snapped, lunging for the item.

“I mean, I always have a thousand thoughts snapping for attention in mine but thus is the curse of an artistic soul.”

“You can’t take this,” Keirn said.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s our duty to protect it! I’m not going to have this docked from our pay so you can pretend it’s a lost artifact. Especially when its value is obviously questionable.”

Keirn walked to the back of the wagon and threw the orb carelessly amongst the rest of the cargo.

“Kait was right, you really are grumpy when you don’t get your cereal. Like an ornery mule.”

“Is that what you all have been doing with your time? Talking about me?”

“Drab topic, I know! But had there been something more interesting of note-”

Derrek was cut short by the too familiar whiz of an airborne arrow. The minstrel paused in sudden contemplation at the unannounced appearance of the foreign object, watching with impassivity as it struck the neck of a guard ten paces in front of him between the ridges of his armour.

There was a distinct deathly gurgle as the mercenary toppled over in a heap of useless metal and dull flesh.

Derrek turned curiously to the sky, Keirn following his gaze to see a disjointed dark line piercing the heavenly veil. The line broke as it curved towards the caravan, falling in small dark streaks like the long fingers of a dark storm.

There was too little time for Keirn’s mind to consciously register his actions. Only reflex propelled him forward, snatching the silken collar of Derrek’s undershirt, pulling the distracted man with him into the dust and dirt beneath the wagon. The gentle patter of the arrows’ descent riddled the wood above them and was soon joined by the howls of pain from the wounded.

“KAIT!” Keirn called, his mind suddenly recognizing the danger as voices rose about. “Kait! Where are you?!”

“I think we are under attack,” Derrek stated plainly.

“Oh, did that thought catch your attention now?!”

Keirn scuttled on his stomach to the front of the cart. The vehicle had been brought to a stop by the driver as the guards mobilized to deal with the aggressors. Between started legs, Keirn searched for signs of his sister.

A piercing whistle broken through the pandemonium and Keirn caught the swift slithering of a swarm of shadows along the ground. Another volley had been loosed.

“Stay here!” Keirn shouted over the crash of the arrows upon the beleaguered defenders. Keirn rolled out from beneath the cart just as a terrible cry echoed from the harnessed beasts. Leather cracked in the air and the cart lurched, tipping dangerously upon its wheels as the frightful beasts broke their shaky discipline. With arrows protruding from their flanks, the horses attempted to seek refuge from the onslaught, crashing violently into the wagon stopped in front of them before careening to the side of the road.

Derrek looked up from the ground, his cover now turning head over ass down the sloped plain.

“Shall I still remain?”

“Come on!” Keirn shouted.

Panic rippled down the length of the caravan. The carts still fastened to living steeds broke from the line, scattering in all directions. The hired mercenaries stumbled direction-less amongst what cover they could. Little effort seemed to be made to organize the defenders. The non-combative members of the line were already fleeing from the direction of the arrows, heading towards the sloped, craggy plains. They said little in their retreat, those nameless travelers that kept to themselves and shied away from the men hired to protect them.

Keirn scanned the fleeing, screaming backs, looking desperately for the wave of brown hair belonging to his sister.

“Get down!”

He felt a pair of hands pulling him to the earth as a third volley of arrows slapped into the meaty body of the large mercenary he now cowered behind.

“What’s going?!”

Keirn turned, looking into the panicked face of Shanna.

“Well, I would say we are under attack,” Derek said.

“But by who?!” the young woman shouted. There was a wildness in her eyes that Keirn had never seen before. She always looked so young to him – so naïve. The fear etched on her round face drove the severity of the situation straight through Keirn’s beating heart.

Derrek peeked over the massive frame of their makeshift cover. He reached about the fallen man’s girth, fingers wrapping about the shaft of an embedded arrow and yanking the projectile free with a great squelch of spattered eviscera.

“Dusk oak.”

“What?” Keirn shouted.

Derrek held the item aloft.

“It’s an ashen wood. It has the appearance of bleached and dried driftwood but with rather rich veins running just below the skin. Hard to find and located in only sparse copses in the distant mountains.”

“I’m not looking for a lecture on fauna!”

“This is a rare wood,” Derrek said, using his simple people words. “Not many use this wood. The feathers are also unique. And it’s flora.”

“Are you saying you can tell who’s attacking us from the arrow?” Shanna asked.

“The Rakstas Tribe,” Derrek said. “Plains dwellers and nomads that tract the Endless Steppes. Known for their husbandry and nettled stew.”

“And raiding?”

“No, the stew is definitely more famous.”

Another piercing whistle broke through the air. The three curled up as close as they could to the corpse, waiting for the inevitable arrows. Keirn cast one last glance at the retreating backs of the convoy members as they broke over the distant ridge.

“You know, there is something oddly familiar about that sound,” Derrek muttered.

“Where do they think they’re running?”

“Should we follow them?” Shanna asked urgently.

A thunderous beating echoed overhead as a screech broke the air. Startled, Keirn looked skyward to see an enormous bird with wings that blotted out the sun swoop overhead. It was then they realized that the whistle was not another volley but a cry from the mighty creature.

“Of course,” Derrek chided. “Rocs!”

The bird swooped so close that the wind from its wings was a mighty tempest knocking them prone. The animal screeched, its talons extending as it dove downward past the ridge.

“I’m going to suggest we don’t follow them,” Keirn muttered pressingly closer to the dead body as he became unnervingly aware of how exposed he was to searching eyes above.

“Concentrate fire on the birds!”

The commanding shout shook Keirn from his shock and he braved a look from behind the mountain of a mercenary to see Jeremiah standing behind an overturned cart. He waved a mighty longbow in his hands, pointing heavenward. Two more great shadows passed over the caravan.

Now given guidance, the mercenaries still breathing drew what ranged weapons they could and focused upon the threat hovering over them like circling vultures awaiting their feast.

“Come on,” Keirn grumbled, motioning for the others to follow. Arrows, spears, axes, knives and anything that could be hurled were sent past them as they jumped and ducked their way through the scattered remains of the defenders. Keirn kept an eye for a return volley of arrows, but with the mighty birds overhead he felt it unlikely another would come.

The three arrived at the cart just as Jeremiah fumbled with his arrow, dropping it from the bowstring as the cord slipped from his hand.

“Inspiring leadership there.”

“You’re alive!” Jeremiah cried. “Thank the go-… I’m so relieved.”

“Don’t get excited yet,” Keirn said. “What’s your take?”

“I can’t help but feel we’re in the kettle,” Jeremiah said. “I still haven’t seen sight of the archers. I can only assume they’ve hidden themselves in the brush. Though mighty sneaky of them to still not show their face.”

“I’m telling you it’s Rakstas,” Derrek said.

“The others made a break after the first volley,” Jeremiah continued. “I tried to warn them from running, but once one broke the rest followed. They’re just scared townsfolk so discipline isn’t exactly expected. But I can’t help they’re running into worse. Who knows what’s waiting for them over the ridge.”

“And Kait?” Keirn asked.

Jeremiah looked at Keirn solemnly. Slowly he shook his head.

Keirn leaned back against the wood of the cart. He had no idea where she could be. While they hadn’t confirmed the worst, there was no guarantee that she wasn’t in anything but grave danger.

The rocs overhead shrieked, interrupting the reunion. With a thunderous beat, one descended, snatching a horse still pulling against its reigns within talons the length of a man’s arm. The animal gave a tremendous cry as the wings beat a ferocious storm of dust. Then, cart and all, was lifted off the ground and carried into the clouds.

In its retreat, Keirn spotted the scarf wrapped form of the rider directing the animal. He appeared as little more than a pile of worn and dirty rags with just a narrow slit upon the head for the eyes to peer out. Dark tattoos ran down the exposed arm, twisting in strange symbols that could have been tribal or possibly arcane. But there was something about his posture that gave the young man pause.

Then, just as quickly as they arrived, they were gone. A trail of weapons arced in its wake. But few found purchase in the enormous feathers in the trail of its ascending call.

“What’re your thoughts?”

“He doesn’t have any,” Derrek answered.

“I don’t think flight is really an option. We don’t know the lay of the land and the plains offer little protection.”

“So we fight?”

Keirn peeked over the lip of the cart. He scanned the ruin strewed road as mercenaries continued to scramble amongst the remains of the caravan. He then turned to the brush bordering the road. There was still no sign of their attackers save for the circling creatures overhead.

“They’re not assaulting,” Keirn stated.

“Do you not see the birds!” Shanna cried.

“You think there’s a reason they’re holding back?” Jeremiah asked.

“What else? We’re broken and scattered, now would be the perfect time to finish us off,” Keirn said. “Unless…”

“Unless… unless what?!” Shanna shouted.

“Are you ready?” Keirn asked, turning to Derrek and Jeremiah.

“Ready? Where are you going?” Shanna asked on the verge of tears.

“You’re good at staying out of sight. Wait here,” Keirn instructed. “We’ll be back for you.”

“That’s what you said last time!”

Keirn burst from cover, breaking into a full run towards the brush. Jeremiah and Derrek followed, their weapons drawn in hand. Keirn wasn’t entirely sure what he had planned or even if his ideas had been fully considered. But the time for strategy was quickly ending. He unsheathed his sword, then broke up the hill with a mighty roar. A raucous burst followed immediately behind.

There was movement before they even hit the line of squat bushes.

No resistance was given. The archers broke immediately, the hunched forms jumping and pouncing over the rocks in a swarm of dirty cloth and ragged cloaks. They were not warriors, these people. Their thin forms eking out a meager existence on the dried plains did not build robust constitutions or military discipline. Many of them were young, scarcely more than children and more than a few women could be seen in the retreating line.

And there were no more than two dozen of them in total. Had even a handful of the mercenaries made it to them, the attack would have been over before it even began.

“Cowards,” Jeremiah muttered.

“Well, they are just tribals,” Derrek said, strumming his lute. “I wouldn’t be surprised if even the simplest of cantrips sent them scattering.”

“Now we just have to deal with the birds,” Jeremiah said.

But as they turned, a great blast of a horn rolled over the hills. The rocs circled one last time over the wreckage before wheeling and vanishing into the horizon.

An unearthly silence fell in their wake. Keirn paused, closing his eyes and letting the soft whisper of the wind roll over him.

It was a silence well deserved.

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