Chapter 6
The Hunt for Harpies
The party took the road out of Hillsdale and journeyed north for two days before branching off towards the small village of Drymeadow. Khaska had never traveled this far before, and was surprised to see the Niktean Wastes’ reach extend this far north. Hillsdale and the surrounding areas were greener and more forested, but as they traveled to the east the vegetation began to be more sparse, and the road began to weave around the ends of dry gullys, with the occasional bridge to cross a deeper ravine.
When they saw smoke in the distance signaling that Drymeadow was close, Amara was overjoyed. She didn’t much care for the open road and sleeping on the ground. But when they turned a bend in the road, her happy thoughts vanished into fear and wariness.
A caravan lay before them, bodies of horses and men strewn about. It wasn’t a sizeable group, with one wagon and only two carts, all of their contents now strewn about the road in a haphazard manner. Rynn pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it, scanning the trees, as Orensland darted into some nearby bushes for cover. The group scanned the area warily, but at a nod from the ranger, they all advanced closer to the scene. Amara hung back a bit, but Jenika subconsciously stayed by her side as the Maha’i cleric and the ranger advanced. Orensland had all but vanished into the undergrowth. Khaska noted how they worked together in silence, their recent experiences giving them a rapport with each other they slipped into easily when needed.
Rynn moved to inspect the area. He searched for survivors—there were none—and then assessed what kinds of creatures might have attacked. It took him a few minutes to find some blood mixed with feathers. He held one up, and it was long and thin, far larger than any hawk or eagle’s feathers he had seen.
“Well,” he said, “looks like Lord Yellman was right. The harpies are growing more aggressive.”
“Poor souls,” said Khaska. “Shall we collect the bodies and take them into town with us for proper burial?”
“We seem to be doing that a lot,” said Amara, who was keeping her distance a little, a rag over her face to at least attempt to block out the smell.
“It is a dangerous world,” said Jenika, moving to assess whether any of the carts were still usable.
Orensland finally materialized from some of the nearby underbrush. “I don’t see anything nearby we need to be worried about,” he said. “I think whatever did this has moved on.”
“Sort of,” said Rynn. The ranger’s keen eye noticed tracks leaving the road, a small group of humans recently having left the dirt road between the main thoroughfare and Drymeadow. A trail of blood indicated that they had been wounded. The tracks were impossibly far apart after a little while, with some drag marks.
“You want to get a sense of the town first?” Amara asked. “Before we go gallivanting off into the canyons here?”
“This attack is very recent,” Rynn said. “No more than a day ago, and it looks to me like the harpies carried off some of the folks from this caravan.” He looked up at the sun. “I don’t think we’ll get to Drymeadow tonight, certainly not if we want to take the bodies with us.”
“There aren’t any horses left alive,” said Jenika. “We can’t take any of the carts, unless you want to pull them yourself.”
“Then definitely not,” Rynn said.
Orensland put his hand on his sword’s hilt. “We following?”
“That’s my vote,” Rynn said.
Khaska reached up to pat Kirza, who had alighted on his horns once again as the party discussed. “Could we send Kirza ahead?”
Amara glared at him. “Kirza isn’t the group’s pet, you know?”
“I meant no offense,” the Maha’i said, “but it is safer for her to scout ahead and find what we might be heading towards.”
“Fine,” Amara said, and Kirza squawked and flew off. “Lead the way.”
Rynn strode off the road and into the sagebrush.
Following the trail of flying harpies was very difficult, but between the four of them and Kirza they were able to find splotches of blood here and there to help them stay on track. As Rynn suspected was the case, the harpy nest seemed to be directly south, back towards the Wastes proper. The sun was nearing the horizon when Kirza returned with a report of the harpy nest nearby, down in one of the ravines.
From the white raven’s report, there were a few wicker cages with humans and some animals. The sorceress’s familiar had been unable to get close enough to determine if any of them were alive.
The camp was set up such that it was at the end of a deep gully running north and south. The party could drop down a different ravine and approach from the south, or rappel down from the north. Despite all the advantages that Khaska’s new armor gave him, stealth was not one of them, so it was decided that he and Amara would slowly sneak up to the top of the camp, where they would have the advantage of the high ground, and Rynn, Orensland, and Jenika would make their way into the camp from the south, trying to stealth in and retrieve any survivors they could with the other two as backup if combat became necessary. One of Pressen’s other moons was rising and would give Jenika enough light to see by despite her lack of darkvision.
Pulling a facemask up over his mouth to cloak himself further, Orensland led the way, the elf’s feet sure and precise even among the rocks and bushes. Rynn was right behind him, and Jenika moved more slowly than her partners, but they all moved with enough care that she could keep up.
There were a few torches in the camp, some higher, showing nooks or small caves that the harpies used, but a few along the ground. Orensland silently signaled for the others to stay, and then picked a path between the nodes of light that helped him finally reach the wicker cages that Kirza had spoken of. It appeared that most of the harpies were asleep, though occasionally the sound of wings could be heard and a winged humanoid figure would fly from one higher cave to another, silhouetted against the night sky for a few moments.
There were two cages with humans in them. One was slumped and unmoving, her legs twisted and broken, clearly dead. Orensland wondered if Khaska wanted him to say a prayer for her, but decided such things were best left to the cleric. The second cage held a human with shredded leather armor, one arm practically mangled sitting limply by his side. The man was awake, muttering fervently to himself and clutching at the metal piece at the end of his necklace with his good hand. Orensland decided he didn’t want to startle him too much, so gave a soft whistle, and threw a pebble at him.
The man jerked a bit at the small noises, looking around until the rogue signaled to him with a jaunty wave, then putting his finger to his lips. Relief flooded over the man’s face, but then he grew serious and nodded, putting his own finger to his lips.
Orensland ghosted over to see what could be done. There was no lock to pick, but the wicker cage was tightly woven across the top of the sides and had been tied shut up there, far enough up that it would be impossible to reach from inside. But a single slice of the rogue’s dagger took care of that. Now it was just a matter of getting the man out of the camp unheard and unseen.
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Rynn saw that Orensland had the situation well in hand, but in watching for harpies and following the rogue’s progress, Rynn had noticed an animal cage nearby with whimpering coming from it. It was far enough from the torches that he felt comfortable moving closer.
Jenika grabbed his arm, shaking her head, a puzzled look on her face. Rynn leaned in, whispering very quietly, hoping the desert wind moving through the small canyon would mask his words. “I’ll not leave animals to be killed for sport either.”
He snuck forward, assessing the situation. A large wolf sat in the wicker cage, obviously malnourished and cramped, its hair thin and its skin exposed, large gashes running down its side, barely healed. As he approached it sat up, staring at him, but didn’t growl.
He heard faint cries from another nearby wicker cage, whimpers that tugged at his heart. This wolf had pups. He looked inside to see six small wolf pups, but only one still alive. The others had died from malnutrition and neglect. He looked to the wolf mother, reading the body language of the animal, and recognizing that it was in no mood for a fight with him. He reached to cut the wicker basket with the pups, slicing quickly through the woven bars to get the pup out. It licked his face as he moved to put it down near the mom, who similarly pushed her nose through a gap to lick at her pup. Rynn’s work to get her free was more difficult, as he needed to carve a larger hole, but after a few minutes he did so. The wolf emerged slowly, its limbs stretching for the first time in weeks, and it also licked Rynn. The pup’s tail was wagging furiously, but Rynn was able to keep the young wolf from making much noise.
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Just then, Orensland appeared nearby, the human prisoner leaning on him. The elf jerked his head to leave and Rynn nodded, snapping his fingers to lead the wolves away, heartbroken at seeing the mother sniffing at the other wicker cage where the rest of her litter remained, unmoving.
But as they reached the edge of camp, the man Orensland was helping got his foot caught on a rock, tripping. He fell down hard on his good arm and screamed in pain. Everybody froze for a moment, and then Rynn nocked an arrow and turned, waiting to see if they had been discovered.
A moment later a head appeared from one of the caves up the sides of the cleft, and an inhuman shriek split the night air. Rynn let an arrow fly and heart it connect, the harpy shrieking again, but this time in pain.
“Time to go!” Orensland said.
Several more harpies emerged from their caves and hideouts, taking to the skies. Bolts of magic, arrows, rocks, and shouts came from above them as Khaska and Amara joined the battle from their perch. Even from this distance the gleam of Khaska’s armor and the white hair from the sorceress where visible as they made their presence known. The sudden attack from above confused and disoriented several of them, but one came closer and landed in the branches of a nearby tree, calling out with a haunting song that assaulted their ears and magically affected their minds.
Both Rynn and Orensland went slack, entranced by the melody. It beckoned, and the two of them began to walk closer to it.
But Jenika and the wolf mother, together, were having none of it. Jenika ran towards the harpy with a burst of speed, leaping up into the tree and kicking the creature in its face. The harpy was too close to the ground to use her wings effectively and landed in the dirt with a thud, just in time for the wolf mother to grab onto her wing and began to savagely worry it. The harpy’s song stopped, both Orensland and Rynn snapped out of it, and Rynn landed an arrow in its arm as Orensland closed the distance and began hacking away at it with his longsword. Just then another harpy landed in the fray, trying to save its sister by slashing at the wolf that was so doggedly latched onto the first harpy’s wing.
Jenika leapt from the tree, landing on this new harpy from the tree and smashing its aside even as it clawed into the wolf one last time. The harpy engaged with Orensland managed to tear free from the wolf, blood running down its wings in rivulets. Now free to move about, it slashed at Orensland, catching the rogue across the face, and then also at the wolf, causing the animal to cry out in pain.
A blast of light from above lit the canyon up for a moment, and a harpy high up near Khaska and Amara plummeted to the ground, the sorceress having used Color Spray to good effect.
Orensland stabbed into the harpy’s neck, unerringly finding a vein and opening it. The half-woman half-bird collapsed. Rynn put another arrow in the remaining harpy on the ground, which decided that there were too many enemies about and began to take off. But quick blow from Jenika stunned it and an arrow from Khaska above brought it down. Orensland finished it off, and at this moment, with three harpies dead, the others decided to retreat, flying off into the night air or retreating back into their caves, safe from those on the ground or even from those above.
Jenika grabbed the arm of their new friend—his good arm—and hauled him up. “Like the sneak said, time to be going! We don’t want to be here when they get their courage back!”
Orensland flicked the blood off of his sword and sheathed it quickly. “Sneak?” But he was grinning as he ran to help the man on the other side.
But Rynn had eyes only for the wolf mother. She lay in a pool of her own blood, panting rapidly. Her wounds, coupled with her neglect the past few weeks, were too much. She was dying. The ranger knelt down, pulling out one of his daggers. He leaned close to her, whispering. “Go to the Goddess of the Woodlands,” and then put the dagger into her side, piercing her heart. She expired immediately.
“You needed to take that time?” Jenika asked.
“I’ll not leave an animal to suffer,” Rynn said, sheathing his dagger. The wolf pup waddled towards its mother, sniffing at the body. “Time to go.”
They heard the wolf pup’s plaintive howl as they disappeared into the brush.
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They traveled hard that night and reached Drymeadow just at daybreak, exhausted from the combat and from dragging their newfound friend, Khamir, to the town. Between the local wise woman and Khaska’s healing power, though, they were able to help Khamir heal up and get rest.
“And do you think these harpies will continue to attack?” asked the local constable, a half-elf by the name of Solin Leoniter.
“I doubt it,” said Rynn. “Now that they know we know where their hideout is, they’ll be wanting to move somewhere else. And we killed three of them pretty handily, so they know not to meddle further.”
“Yes,” Khaska said. “I suspect they will relocate back deeper into the Wastes. Perhaps we should alert the Faatin Merchant house to expect more attacks.”
“They seemed to run a pretty tight ship,” Amara chimed in from where she was sitting and eating breakfast, Kirza hopping around her plate as the sorceress occasionally fed the raven a bite of bread. “Their caravans are well-protected. I wouldn’t be that worried.”
“Nonetheless,” Khaska said, “it would be prudent to tell them.”
The white-haired sorceress shrugged.
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They remained for a day, resting up. Rynn showed some of the locals where the harpy nest was, and as he suspected, it had already been vacated. They were also able to retrieve the remaining bodies from the caravan and the woman from the harpy nest. The townsfolk buried these people, and Khamir who was himself a priest of the Platinum Dragon, said some words over the graves of his companions. He was particularly distraught over the death of Samur, a hedge-wizard that had been traveling to visit some relatives in Drymeadow. Among her items was her spellbook, a hodgepodge collection of notes and scrolls all jammed together in a very old leather-bound satchel. Khamir spent extra time prayer over her grave, and Khaska was quite moved by his fellow cleric’s devotion to his fallen companion.
“Your dedication to your friend is commendable,” the cleric said as Khamir was silent, his prayers finally completed. “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”
Khamir sniffed, getting up from where he had been kneeling. Many of the townsfolk had left, even including Samur’s relatives, but Khamir had continued in prayer. Khaska had felt it inappropriate to leave the other cleric alone in his grief, even if the formal rites had been completed.
“Thank you, my Maha’i friend. We all have you and your companions to thank for saving me and allowing us to inter the bodies of my friends. May the Platinum Dragon smile upon you.”
“Yes,” Khaska said, pointing to the amulet bearing the symbol of Khamir’s god. “I did notice that you served Him.”
“I do,” Khamir said. “My family have been his clerics for several generations, but none have ever visited the cathedral in Sethrayin, where Bishop Volterra heads our priesthood, and so I thought I would make the pilgrimage.”
“An honorable quest,” Khaska said. “Among my people, there used to be many that served the Platinum Dragon, but their numbers have dwindled of late. It has been some time since I have heard formal prayers to him.”
“It pains me to hear that. Do you know why?”
Khaska paused, wary of sharing such stories of his people with an outsider. He decided a half-truth would be acceptable in this case. “A hero of our people, Tawru Khimmak Tova Nem Rujdha, was a member of the Knights of the Silver Dragons many centuries ago. It was not a positive experience for him, and the association with metallic dragons has caused worship of Vohumnu to diminish over time.” At Khamir’s blank stare, Khaska realized his error. “Vohumnu is the name we call the Platinum Dragon. I serve Teresh, known as the Dawnfather.”
“Well met, Khaska, cleric of the Dawn . . .” he caught himself, “cleric of Teresh. Thank you for your assistance. I feel we could leave tomorrow, and I promise to be good company on our journey together, hard feelings aside from slights long past.”
“I am sure that you serve your god honorably,” Khaska said. “No slight is intended from me towards you on this day.”
“And where are you and your companions headed next?”
“We journey to Hammerdine.”
“Ah. If that’s the case, would you mind company on the road? Since I am headed that way in any event.”
“I am sure my companions would be amenable to you as a traveling partner, though I know not how long we will stay in the city, nor where our journey lies after.”
As they left, Samur’s family bequeathed her spellbook to the group for their help in returning their niece’s body to them. They were particularly keen on giving it to Amara, hoping that she could take it to Hammerdine and that it may be of use. Amara was keenly aware of the differences between her sorcerous powers and those of a wizard, but promised that she would take care of it. “I will make sure that your niece’s spells find their way into the hands of one who will use it, and let her skill in the art continue to bless others in the future,” she said to the gnarled old woman who handed over the satchel.
Khaska was impressed by Amara’s diplomatic words and tone of voice. It was certainly a difference from her usual mannerisms, and it was obvious that she could switch between them easily.
It was as they passed the site of the caravan ambush that they received a final surprise of the trip. The wolf pup was waiting patiently by the roadside, and slunk up to Rynn, tail wagging, tongue lolling out. Rynn knelt down and shared a small bit of trail jerky with the animal before petting its head and moving on.
But the wolf followed. It followed them all that day, and at night came into the camp to sit next to Rynn. The ranger looked at the wolf quizzically, before reaching up to scratch her head again. The wolf moved a little closer and put her head in his lap.
“A gift,” Khaska said. “We have rangers among our own people. To have found an animal companion is the mark of approval from the gods of nature. The Goddess of the Woodlands smiles upon you.”
Rynn looked at the wolf pup, which again licked at his face. “I’m not one for the gods that much, though I might leave offerings at shrines of the Dweller on the Horizon. Though my mentor worshipped the Goddess of the Woodlands and I pay homage to her sometimes. But divine gift or not, I’ll take care of this little one.”
“I have seen such devotion many times before. It will be reciprocated by the animal.” The Maha’i reached out a hand to let the young wolf sniff at it. “Your skill as a ranger grows, indeed.”
As he slept that night curled up on the ground, Rynn’s last thoughts were of Khaska’s words, that the gods had smiled upon him and sent him an animal companion. Yet his heart still ached for Juliet. He was grateful for this new turn, but saddened that it signaled, to him, another step in his new life-without his wife.
But the next day found them turning back onto the main road to Hammerdine, where more adventure awaited them.