Codex I-Chapter 1
The Party Comes Together
Rynn Fowler blinked his eyes against the harsh light. The sun was directly overhead, beating down mercilessly on the Niktean Wastes. Shimmers of heat distorted the distant rocks and dunes. The half-elf picked his pack up from where he had been resting in the shade of a large outcrop of rock. He could hear the distant sounds of the caravan behind him. They were well within travel time to the outpost, and he was no longer concerned that they would not make it before nightfall. Barring something unforeseen, like an attack by some of the goblins that sometimes ventured into these areas of the wastes, the caravan would be fine. It was mid-day, though, so he wasn’t too worried about that. It was time to press on to the outpost himself. He took a swig from his waterskin before putting it away and moving out into the harsh daylight.
The ranger made good time, his footing sure among the rocks and crevices, his legs able to stand walking over the occasional dune. He took a more direct route than the caravan would be able to, but after an hour his eyes fell on the desert outpost. Operated by the Faatin merchant house, it was one of the few places in the wastes travelers could find respite in the harsh desert. It was also one of the last places in the wastes if one was headed north to Hammerdine. Another hard day’s journey would put him at the edges of the desert zone.
The walls of the small settlement, if it could be called that, stood about ten feet tall. It was a testament to the strategic importance of this site that there were any walls at all. The wood had been transported by caravan to erect a small way station around one of the few wells in this part of the wastes. There were few guards out in the bright sunlight this time of day, but there would be others hidden from the harsh glare of the sun. He raised his hand in greeting, and was let in.
“Where might I refill my waterskin,” he asked one of the guards. The man grunted, pointing to a building in the center of the outpost.
“You’ll have to wait your turn, though. Gereon is the only one with a key.”
“Key?”
The guard smirked, rubbing his sweat-covered face with a dirty handkerchief. “You can stay one day here, maybe two. We don’t like people overstaying their welcome. Too many folk coming through here. We’ll fill your water for you, but if you overstay your welcome . . .” The guard’s tone brokered no argument. But just then another man emerged from the largest of the tents.
“Welcome, traveler.” Gereon was a tall fellow, well over six feet tall. His clothing was rough and well-used, covered with the fine sand that blew through the air here in the wastes. “I’ll fill your skin up, then you’d best get out of the sun. You can stay in any of the tents, but just for one day.”
“That’s a harsh policy,” said Rynn, who downed the rest of the water while the other spoke.
Gereon shrugged. “Keeps our little outpost here from growing too much.” He opened the building, pulled up the bucket, and filled Rynn’s empty waterskin. The half-elf took it gratefully.
“Any particular tent?”
“Got some other travelers in that one. They were going to head out tonight after it cooled down a bit.”
“You’ll probably be all filled up tonight. There’s a caravan on its way, should be here in an hour or two.”
Gereon smiled. “Good, the shipment is right on schedule, then.”
“They’re your people?”
The merchant leader gave a nod, then returned to his tent.
Rynn glanced from one tent to the other, then headed towards the one that Gereon had indicated. No reason not to try and find some company in this forsaken place. He opened the flap and stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the interior. There were, indeed, several people inside. His eyes swept over them, taking their measure.
There were two young women, but they could not look more different. One was wearing a simple outfit, tied together with various ropes. This woman was sitting nearly completely erect, as if watching something. Her eyes were closed, but Rynn caught one of them barely opening before snapping back shut. A pair of sandals sat off to her side, and there was little else to be seen.
The other woman was dressed in a flowing robe made of decent material. Off to her side sat a quarterstaff, and the woman was still wearing her boots. She was staring at Rynn with a mild look of curiosity.
A third figure stirred from a bedroll, looking up at him, shielding his eyes from the sudden light. He looked to be an elf.
Rynn broke into a smile. “Greeting travelers,” he said as he moved to sit down.
The elf sat up, obviously having just awoken, but he didn’t seem grumpy about it. “Welcome, stranger. You traveled here in the middle of the day?”
Rynn shrugged. “Not as many predators out in the daylight, if you know how to avoid them. Plus there’s a caravan on its way, and I wanted to make sure they got here safely.”
“There’s a caravan coming?” asked the woman with the robes. It was then that Rynn noticed a white raven pecking at her pack behind her. A magic-user of some sort, likely.
He nodded. “They should be along in about an hour. And how are you two faring in the hot Niktean Wastes?” He looked from one woman to the other.
The woman with the robes shrugged, and “Fine, thanks. And you?”
“Just fine. Made good time today. Was planning on heading out just before sunrise. Push hard to leave the wastes before it gets too hot tomorrow.”
“Hammerdine, then?” asked the elf.
“Hammerdine, maybe the lands north of there. We’ll see,” said Rynn, who was removing his boots and flexing his toes.
“I’m headed north too,” said the woman with the raven.
“Me too,” said the other woman.
Rynn put his pack behind his head and lay down. “Well, I’m planning on heading out that way tomorrow morning. I’d be happy to travel with any of you that wanted to. Better safety in numbers.”
“They’ll kick us out of here about then anyway,” said the elf.
“Not to friendly, that Gereon,” said Rynn. “Well, I’ll provide more friendly company tomorrow morning for those that want to. However, I’m going to take a nap now.”
The half-elf was asleep quickly, feeling safe and secure in the outpost.
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He awoke to the sound of crackling fire. He looked around the tent, noticing that it was substantially darker. He must’ve been asleep for several hours. None of the other travelers were there anymore. He threw aside the tent flap and stepped into the cooling air.
The caravan had arrived. Gereon was talking to a short, fatter man, and various camels and beasts of burden were in the stables. Several guards were running back and forth from the well with large buckets to the stables, obviously caring for the animals. Others were finishing unloading the merchandise into one of the warehouses.
A fire had been started in the middle of the compound. This surprised Rynn—wood was scarce in the wastes. Still, the desert nights could be surprisingly cold, so this addition to the camp was welcome. He approached it, the light casting more and more intense shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon.
All the fellow-travelers were sitting around, as well as some new folks. One, a garishly dressed elven man, was plucking away at a mandolin absent-mindedly. This newcomer stood. “Welcome, friend, come enjoy the hospitality of our friend Waltheof!”
“Waltheof?”
“Leader of this here caravan.” He indicated the man Gereon was talking to. “He brought the fire wood, as well as a stiff brandy, though, I’m afraid there’s not much left. What’s your name, friend?”
“I’m Rynn.”
“Rynn, pleased to meet you. I’m Elial.” The elf stuck his hand out and Rynn took it, noticing how vigorously the newcomer shook it. “Nobody else seemed to know what your name was, and I looked forward to meeting a man who travels the Niktean Wastes by day, alone. Even our Maha’i friend thought it unusual. Khaska, come meet my friend Rynn!”
It was obvious to Rynn that the reason there was not much brandy left was that Elial had had perhaps more than his fair share. But his focus quickly turned to the tall figure that approached. Rynn had heard of the Maha’i, even seen some in his recent travels, but had never had the chance to talk with one in person. Khaska had stood apart; Rynn hadn’t even noticed him. The Maha’i had a sort of regal bearing, but Rynn had no idea whether or not that was personal or just how all his people held themselves. The antelope-looking humanoid extended his hand.
“Pleased to meet you Rynn. I am Khaska Nzaidullek Mawkhavi Tereshkven.”
As they shook, the white raven alighted on one of the Maha’i’s horns. The robed woman came over. “Kirza!” Khaska merely looked up calmly at the bird atop his head, then extended a hand. Kirza hopped on, and he lowered the bird to the woman. “I’m so sorry, Kirza knows she’s not supposed to do things like that.”
“In my travels, I’ve come to know that a familiar takes on some of the traits of its master,” said Elial, who was grinning. “Perhaps you are mischievous yourself, Miss . . . ?”
“Amara.”
“Amara!” Elial made it sound like he was meeting a long-lost family member. Rynn noticed that Khaska had stepped back just a little, more of a shuffle, and was studiously avoiding looking at the woman.
Amara turned to the raven now atop her shoulder, and spoke in Elvish. “You shouldn’t be landing on people without their permission.” To Rynn’s surprise, the raven responded in elvish.
“He didn’t mind.”
“But he might have,” Rynn said, also in elvish. The two turned to him. “Feel free to land on me, friend, I won’t mind at all.” Then he turned to Amara. “I hope that wasn’t too forward of me,” this time in common. Amara smiled. “I don’t think so.”
Khaska had stepped back again, trying to slip away, but Elial would have none of that. “Come, Khaska, tell us of yourself!”
They sat down together on stones around the makeshift fire pit. Elial was jubilant and excited, and the conversation actually began to flow quite easily. Soon the others were all together. Khaska was traveling as a guide with Waltheof’s caravan. Amara, Rynn, and Jenika, the other woman, as well as Orensland, the elf, were all headed to Hammerdine. They all agreed to leave in the morning together, except for Khaska, who had obligations to the caravan.
“So, Khaska,” Rynn said, turning to the Maha’i. Amara was talking to Kirza, and Orensland and Jenika were listening to Elial play a quiet song, but it was not a performance. The ranger didn’t feel bad about turning to the cleric to discuss things. “What brings you to be guiding this caravan? I don’t know much about Maha’i culture, but I thought it rare for your people to associate with non-Maha’i outside of trading.”
“Ah, that’s more than most people from your side of our fair moon know about us. And it is true. However, it is common for my fellows to serve as guides through the Wastes. Even this far north the territory belongs to the Maha’i. It’s not only a matter of trade, but also of security.”
“I see. I’m not very familiar with these lands, much less the territories. Please pardon my ignorance, but I don’t think I’d really heard about Maha’i until I met my mentor, Arandur. The Maha’i territory includes more than just the Wastes, does it not? Have your people always lived in the harsh deserts? Or is it a consequence of other nations?”
“This Arandur must have been well-travelled.”
“Yes. He’s visited most of the world over the years.”
“Perhaps he came through our lands once. And as for the Wastes, they have been the home of the Maha’i, it is said, since the dawn of time, and Jevereshk was where our race began, when it was still a mountain and there was no city. There are others who live to the east of the Wastes, in the Savannah; but there is a deep division between us.”
“Others? You mean other Maha’i?”
“Yes. Long ago some of the tribes moved east, founding the nation around the city of Gtarrei. But they have fought bitter wars against us, and many blaspheme. When I say ‘we’ I speak of the Maha’i of the Wastes, those with allegiance to Jevereshk and its High Queen.”
“So you are tribal then? Are you of the queen’s tribe? I understand goblin and orc tribes somewhat, but I’m guessing yours is much more formal.”
“Ha! The orcs and the goblins. Goblins may have tribes, but they do not have cities or even villages. They survive by evading us in the desert.”
“I can’t say that I’ve always been in the company of pleasurable people.”
“No, nor have I. I am not of the Nem Tawru, the queen’s tribe. Not even near unto it. I am of the Mawkhavi by birth. We are from the easternmost parts of the Wastes. I am now seeking a new tribe. You are the first human that asks such questions of me.”
“Well, I hope my questions don’t offend you. I don’t mean to pry.”
“Oh, no. Do not worry yourself.”
Rynn looked like he wanted to ask a more probing question. He opened his mouth, but then didn’t ask anything.
“It is simply a curiosity. I do not mind questions. I enjoy asking them. It is just that not many questions are asked often of me. Are… are you an outcast? Or an orphan? Why do you need a new tribe?”
“You speak as if these words are bad.”
“Sorry. In some cultures being an outcast is looked down upon. I don’t know your culture. I myself am an outcast of sorts.”
“Oh, so it is not good to be cast out? For many of us it is normal, even expected. Those who are not are few. What do you mean when you say you are one?”
“Well, an outcast in most cultures is someone expelled from their home. Usually because they did something wrong. So in that sense I’m not an outcast. More like a wanderer. I had a home once, but no longer.”
“Oh, I understand. For us, being expelled is natural. After that, we wander as necessary as we search for a new home. But the humans are not that way then? Why did you leave your home? I know that some humans stay.”
Rynn sighed and got a distant look on his face. “I had a home. But it was destroyed by bugbears and my family kidnapped or killed.”
Khaska looked at him, a serious but unreadable look that gradually leaned toward concern. “That is very sad. Did you seek after them?”
“Yes. That’s how I became a wanderer actually. I searched for them for a long time. Lived in the dead lands for years, lost until Arandur found me.”
“Who is this Arandur, to wander the dead lands? They are full of evil.”
“Evil? Yes, I suppose there is some of that. Arandur, he’s an elf who has traveled all around the world. He understands the wilds very well. He rescued me and taught me how to thrive in the wild. Now I don’t have a home, but I’m comfortable living anywhere in nature. Well… most anywhere I guess. The desert is slightly less comfortable than other places.” Rynn chuckled.
“Now that is what most of the human-talk in our lands is about. You say it is hot!” Khaska smirked slightly.
Rynn smiled in return. “Yes indeed.”
“But it is not summer. It is not hot now.”
“Remind me not to stay around here too long then… it’s hot enough for me already! Although good company makes such things bearable.” Rynn nodded toward Khaska,
“We like to think we are good hosts.” Khaska smiles. “So long as others are peaceful, they can come through our lands and have our protection. You do not seem to be a lover of war.”
“No, I’m not. I can see why people fight… but war seems to take small problems and make them larger.”
“That is good. War may be righteous at times, but it is never harmless.”
“Yes.” Rynn looked up toward Arkenos in the sky. The other moon’s arc hung just over the horizon at this place on Jenoa, a sliver of a world hovering from one side of the sky to the other. “They say that war will come. If not amongst ourselves, then from the Dark Times.”
“Even the most inept astronomer know the portents Arkenos brings.”
“I heard the stories when I was young. But it never felt real to me. Who would have thought such peril would come in our lifetimes?”
“I knew from very young. We sing the songs of Markus in our festivals. It was at Jevereshk that he defeated one of the greatest of the evil armies. For in Dark Times the brightest lights shine brighter. Whose light will that be this time? Whom will the loremasters remember?”
“I’d never thought to ask such a thing. You have a very interesting perspective.”
“We all hope there will be loremasters after the battles. There would be nothing more tragic that for the songs to fall silent.”
“I guess although I want us to win and survive, I’ve not wanted to think about the details. I’ve never thought about who could be like the next Markus.”
“It is said that he himself will return and unite the peoples.”
“I hope he does.”
“Do they say that among humans as well?”
“Not where I’m from. Where I’m from the people place their hope in the Knights of the Silver Dragons and then go about their day, hoping that someone else will deal with the problem.”
“Ah, so the Knights are to save the world? That is what the Hammerdines say.”
“So they say.”
“Do you believe it?” asked the Maha’i?
“I’m sure they’ll do what they can. Everyone will have to face the problem once it arrives. I hope that all people will do their part. Someone has to write the songs after all, right?”
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“Most certainly. It is also said that some of the strongest magic is done by song. Perhaps the bards could coax Arkenos away? Or would they be better repelled by a choir of orcs?”
Khaska gave a glimmer of a grin.
Rynn laughed. “I’ve heard orcish songs… you might be right.
“Their loremasters do not remember beyond the last meal, and their voices sound less like music than the clanging in a blacksmith’s forge.”
“To each his own, I suppose. The bird may not appreciate the cat’s song, but both have their own beauty.”
“Ha!” Khaska scoffed. “Cats’ songs are worse than orcs’.”
Rynn smiled.
“Where are you going when you leave this place?” the Maha’i asked.
“Oh, who knows. Maybe help these folks head up to Hammerdine. Maybe go visit the elven lands. What about you? Help more caravans?”
“That seems most likely, though I do not wish to keep doing this.”
“What would you rather be doing? Finding a new tribe?”
“Yes, that is my purpose.”
“How do you choose a new tribe?”
“I cannot choose my tribe. They must choose me.”
“Oh, so you have to earn your place.”
“Yes, and there are some who are never chosen. Every year, there is a festival in Jevereshk where those males without tribes go and present themselves. Many come, but few are chosen in the end. I was not at the last festival. Not chosen, that is.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“It is why I am here. I am seeking something that I might do to deserve adoption by one of the clans of Jevereshk. I do not yet know what that will be.”
“How have others proven themselves worthy?”
“There are many things one can do. Some might be master swordsmen. Some may be learned scholars. Some may be master artisans. In the older days, when dragons still roamed the lands, some would go out to slay them.”
“Acceptance sounds like a difficult thing. No offense, but it makes me glad to be non-Maha’i.”
“How do human women make sure that their adopted sons are honorable?”
“Uh, well… Most humans and dwarves and elves that I know aren’t adopted. They live with the family they were born into. Sometimes children are adopted, but usually when young—too young to prove themselves worthy.”
“But when they come of age and leave their homes? That is when Maha’i men are adopted.”
“When human men come of age, they try to find a woman that they like — that they love, and who will love them back. Then they make a new family together.” Rynn got another distant look in his eye and went silent for a bit.
“How is this ‘love’ decided?”
Rynn didn’t respond immediately, but then turned and realized the question. “Mutual approbation, I guess you could say. Sometimes the parents help decide.”
“That is curious.”
Rynn grinned. “Yes it is. And it’s hard to understand, even for us.”
“It seems like it would go wrong. And there are many options.”
“Yes. Sometimes it does go wrong. And sometimes it seems like there are many options. But for me… I discovered there was only one option—one woman for me.”
“Then why do you wander?”
“I… I lost her.” Rynn didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did speak, he changed the subject. “Are there many Maha’i villages spread over the wastes? Or do you keep close to places of water?”
Khaska looked concerned, but did not pursue the topic of Rynn’s past. “The villages are near the oases and rivers, but there are many tribes that wander. Mine of birth does, though I would often journey with my father to Artabbek for trade.”
“Glad to see you’re all getting along!” Waltheof’s voice cut into their conversation. “We Faatin merchants aren’t all as stodgy as Gereon over there, but rules are rules, and you’ll all have to leave tomorrow. My caravan will be leaving the day after. Oh, you can stay Khaska, of course, of course.” The Maha’i nodded to Waltheof.
“If you could let us stay an extra day, I’d be happy to accompany the caravan through the rest of the wastes,” said Rynn.
“Safety in numbers,” said Jenkia. “Khaska was saying how sometimes goblins venture down into the wastes this far.”
“Yes, well. We do have our guards already, and Elial has paid up to travel with us. So thank you, good sir, but rules are rules. You’ll all have to leave tomorrow.” He smiled. “Hate to be that way, but those are the rules. Even I can’t overrule them. Nope. But now, gentlemen, ladies, I’m going to turn in. Oh, and Khaska, all of our tents are full again; you’ll have to sleep with some of these folks, or under the stars again. Well, goodnight!” The man gave a jaunty wave, then turned and entered his tent. Several of the caravan guards were also turning in, and torches were being lit around the outpost walls. The sun had set and there was barely any remaining light. None of the other moons of Pressen were visible in the night sky at the moment except for Arkenos, which perpetually hung just barely above the horizon to the west.
The sudden departure of Waltheof left the others in a bit of silence. The jovial man’s booming voice had left the desert outpost strangely silent, now that it was abruptly gone. Elial shrugged and pulled out his mandolin, strumming the instrument and sending music into the silence of the oncoming night. Rynn was the first to move after the merchant’s sudden departure. “Well, I think we could find room for you in our tent, if you wanted, Khaska.”
The Maha’i nodded. “I would like that. Thank you very much.”
Amara stood, her familiar taking off in a blur of feathers, slightly startled. “I’m going to fill my water bottle before turning in, if we’re getting an early start.”
“Yes, I’m sure Gereon would rather us do that now than early in the morning.” The outpost leader was happy to oblige, opening the well house and filling their water skins each in turn as they wanted. Rynn filled his, drank it, and then refilled it again. No sense in not being ready for the morning. While standing in line again, he felt a small tug on his shirt. It was Khaska, who had not needed his waterskin refilled.
“I am to sleep with the women?” he indicated the tent, where Jenika was entering.
Rynn blinked. “Well, in the same tent as them, yes. But you won’t you know, sleep with them. Just . . . sleep by them.”
“Oh. I see.”
“You don’t typically sleep in the same tent as women?” asked Amara. She had turned to the two of them, waiting behind the two elves.
Khaska bowed his head, looking intently at his feet. “I have not been adopted by a clan, yet. Being with females is . . .” he paused for a moment, “not yet appropriate.”
Amara smirked a little, and then left to enter the tent. Rynn clapped a hand on the tall Maha’i’s back. “Well, for the next few days, I’ve adopted you into my tribe, and you can sleep in the tent with the women tonight at least, if you want.”
Khaska didn’t even smile, and responded completely deadpan. “But you are not female. You cannot have a tribe.”
“Oh, go sleep in the tent, silly!” called out Elial. “You’ve had to sleep under the stars enough this trip.” The elf was rolling out his bedroll by one of the warehouses, out of the way of the patrolling guards. Orensland was disappearing into the tent.
Rynn looked at Khaska, and Khaska looked at Rynn. The ranger stood with a small smile curling the edges of his mouth, until the Maha’i nodded.
It took some re-arranging to get situated, difficult in the darkening tent, as Jenika had moved away from Orensland, and Khaska did not want to sleep next to one of the women. With a bit of added light from one of the guard’s torches eventually they re-arranged themselves to suit everybody’s new seemingly random preferences. Khaska put up his cloak as a makeshift wall, borrowing a length of rope from Rynn, who bemusedly gave it to him, and stringing it across the tent between two of the poles. Amara did note that the cloak actually didn’t do that much to separate the Maha’i from the others, but that didn’t seem to matter. Khaska fell asleep in moments.
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Jenika awoke, and quickly looked to the side to assess her belongings.
All was as it had been. Nobody had taken anything. She glanced over at her companions. They didn’t seem particularly untrustworthy, but one never knew. She had learned the hard way that people weren’t always what they seemed. Nonetheless, there didn’t seem to be anything amiss. She had slept lightly in this company of strangers, but that was apparently (or at least so far) unwarranted.
The air in the tent was a bit cooler, and she could tell that night was well upon them. She silently got up and opened the tent flap, stepping over Amara to do so, but the other woman didn’t even stir. The monk left the tent, stretching her arms to the night sky. One distant moon had come into view, but this time of night it barely reflected any sunlight. The dying fire gave off a few embers, and the torches of the guards did not illuminate much.
She felt the sand beneath her toes, took a deep breath as she closed her eyes, drinking in the night sensations, centering herself for just a brief moment before returning to the tent. It was then she noticed a single guard not at his post. She was pretty certain he was supposed to be guarding the gates, but for some reason he was on the ground instead of up overlooking the outpost from the walls. Oh, not a problem. He was just switching posts. He clambered up the ladder, then went to go sit atop the wall, but his movements were slightly erratic. Jenika took a few steps closer, wondering what was going on. He turned to put his torch in the sconce above the gate, when he lost his balance and actually tumbled over the wall. She heard his armored body hit the ground with a thud.
“Jensen!” a voice cried out. One of the other guards, a dwarf, rushed over. “Jensen, man!” The man ran over to the gate, threw up the bar, and opened one half of the gate. “Jensen!” He disappeared around the large wooden door.
“Goblins!” came his scream. Jenika tensed as a humanoid figured darted through the open door and the sounds of combat could be heard from just beyond the gate.
“We’re under attack!” came a yell from across the compound.
“From over here, too!” came another.
Jenika could hear the stirrings of those in the tents. Gereon was the first one to appear, followed by Rynn. Another goblin appeared in the gateway, and the other half of the door began to swing open. Guttural voices sounded from all sides.
Elial strode purposefully towards the gate, hitting a chord on his instrument. Jenika felt a wash of inspiration flow into her as the music sounded through the outpost. She brought her hands up, body tensing for a fight, her years of training bring her senses to combat readiness.
The gate finished opening, and now it was obvious that there were many goblins outside. A bigger one towards the back shuffled into view, and then pointed forward, yelling something at the others. Screaming, the goblins charged into the compound.
Amara, Rynn, and Khaska all readied arrows and loosed them, but only Amara’s found its target. One goblin dropped in a heap, the arrow jutting from his throat. The caravan guards rushed into the fray as well, meeting the goblin charge. Jenika arrived with the first of them, but goblins and defenders alike were unable to do any damage. The big goblin ran at Jenika, but the monk deftly dodged the longsword blow aimed at her head.
The guards waded into the goblins, and one of the creatures went down, his entire head severed by sword strike. Another guard attacked the leader, but completely missed. Thevarou and Orensland also attacked the leader, but they also were unable to connect. The goblin began to laugh, mocking the three attackers, but stopped when Rynn managed to stab him in the arm. The goblin cursed and swung at the ranger, but the blow was too clumsy and the big goblin missed.
More goblins rushed in, and the area around the gate became a milling storm of weapons and dust as the small figures began to pour through the door. Both Orensland and Rynn were hit, but another arrow flew into the fray. It flew right past Thevarou’s horns and landed right in the big goblin’s face. Without a sound, he toppled over, dead.
Rynn flicked the blood off of his sword and whirled around. One of the goblins toppled over for no apparent reason, but in the darkness past the doors, he could see many others. This was no raiding party. It was a full out attack.
“There are a lot more coming!” he yelled, as he swung at the goblin in front of him. Gereon appeared beside him and stabbed at the dazed goblin, but missed. By now the rest of the caravan guards had entered the fray, and together they all began trying to drive the goblins back. One of the guards clambered up the ladder to the overlook by the door, but quickly ducked as several arrows flew by him. “We’re not going to be able to hold them!” he yelled, jumping down.
“They’re attacking from different sides,” yelled Amara. “Kirza says there’s at least forty of them.”
Khaska let loose an arrow, trapped behind the line of defenders. He was satisfied to hear a cry in the darkness, and saw a goblin fall. “Gereon?”
The outpost leader paused to look out the doors as Orensland stabbed the comatose goblin at his feet. “Into the warehouses! The doors are too narrow, we can hold them one at a time!” He ran to open one of them, grabbing a ring of keys off of his belt as he did so. Elial stepped forward, moving his hands and chanting. A fireball bloomed just beyond the outpost entrance. “Get the warehouses open,” the bard said.
The goblin in front of Rynn had been outside the blast radius, and the ranger stabbed at the creature, which snarled at him as it tried to claw feebly at the sword embedded in its chest.
More goblins rushed to fill the void, clambering over the bodies of their charred companions. Elial’s spell had bought a few seconds, but only a few. One swung at Orensland, another managed to club Rynn with a Morningstar. Jenika managed to squeeze in, her fists raining down on the one attacking Orensland, smashing him and leaving him a bloody pulp.
“By the well!” yelled Amara. She let loose another arrow at two who had appeared from that direction. It hit the closest one in the gut, and the creature took a few steps forward, whimpering in pain, before it crumpled to the ground.
Rynn was impressed with her archery. But things were not going well. Another moment and they could easily be in serious trouble, he thought. Just then, an arrow flew at the Maha’i and it staggered the cleric. Khaska was clearly in bad shape just from the one hit. Rynn, Orensland, and Khaska had been injured, and still more goblins were attempting to overrun the fort. Gereon had finally opened the warehouse closest to them.
“Hurry!” he shouted.
Khaska didn’t need to be told twice. The Maha’i ran for the open door, his long legs helping him be the first into the storage building. A quick prayer to Teresh brough a healing spell to his lips, and his subtle magics closed the wound around his shoulder, staunching the bleeding. The others began to pour in through the opening, travelers and caravan guards alike. One of the guards wheeled to smack a goblin, but the creature managed to shrug off the blow. However, Jenika smashed it with the palm of her hand, and the creature dropped. Gereon jumped in with a panicky look on his face. Apparently he didn’t even get to the other storage building before turning around.
Amara was the last one in, firing her crossbow and dropping yet another goblin as she entered. One more goblin tried to jump in, but again the concerted efforts of Jenika and that same guard brought it down. Arrows from those in the back of the warehouse whizzed by, but none found their mark. Amara dropped her crossbow and whirled, chanting in the arcane language of magic. Stepping forward she raised her hands and a blast of multi-colored light sprayed from her hands, her Color Spray spell washing over the closest attackers. Khaska could see the goblins rushing towards them all collapse to the ground. But what startled the cleric was the image he saw in the colors. A dragon coalesced briefly in the swirl of bright lights, and the Maha’i thought he heard a voice. The colors blasted apart as Kirza returned, alighting on the cleric’s horns, squawking all the time.
Elial looked genuinely surprised at Amara’s spell. “Seemed I was right. I thought you were a fellow of the craft,” he said, still strumming his mandolin. His bardic magic still strengthened all who could hear it.
The caravan guard closest to the door stuck his head out briefly, looked right, then left, then hurriedly ducked in and slammed it shut.
“We seem to have driven off the ones coming through the door, but . . .” The sound of splintering wood could be heard. Gereon, a few steps away from the Northern wall, raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if to hear better.
“It sounds like they’re breaking into the wellhouse.”
“That’s what I saw. Wait? Where’s Waltheof?” the guard spun to look at one of his compatriots. “Gargael?”
The dwarf shrugged. “I thought he was right behind us. He had just come out of his tent!”
“I’ll bet the coward ducked back inside it. Now he’s trapped in there while the goblins run rampant in the camp.”
Gereon looked at the guard leader, the one standing by the door, bracing it with his shoulder. “Could we get to him?”
The man snorted. “Not likely. Not if we went through the middle.”
There was more shouting from outside, harsh voices, and more wood splintering.
A loud voice yelled in Goblin.
“Get in there,” Rynn said, matter of faculty.
Jenika turned to the others. “Did you just hear a splash?”
“Shhh!” snapped Gereon. Everybody strained to hear.
There was yelling. Rynn continued to quietly translate.
“My guy already got in. We’ll be the ones to do his bidding.”
“No. He charged us with retrieving the sacred stick!” That was as far as the conversation got. Then there was just yelling and screaming. It sounded like there were many goblins.
“This is no trivial raid. They’re after something. A ‘sacred stick.’” said Rynn. “Any idea what it is?”
Gereon shook his head. “No idea. The well has been here as long as anybody can remember. It’s why we set up our outpost here a few years ago.”
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think leaving is a good idea,” said Orensland.
“Indeed,” said Elial, “discretion is the better part of valor. Today at least.” He stopped strumming, and glanced to the south, as if to look through the wall. He was clearly in thought about something.
“Well,” Jenika poked her head out the door for just a moment. “One’s come over to check on the ones Amara stunned.”
“And the path to the front gate will be in plain sight,” said Gereon.
Orensland already had out his grappling hook. “How strong are these roofs?”
The outpost leader sighed. “If we stack these crates, one of us could easily punch a hole through the roof. It’s more to keep out sand than anything.”
“That at least gives us the high ground,” said Rynn. He was already moving to one of the crates.
“We’re just gonna let Waltheof die?” one of the guards said.
A goblin shrieked just outside the door, and then someone was pounding frantically. “Let me in! Hurry!”
Gereon hurriedly threw the door open before anybody else could react and a guard rushed in. It was one of the other guards. She was breathing heavily, but appeared to be uninjured.
“What’s going on out there?” Gereon demanded of the woman.
“Bunch of them. By the wellhouse. Didn’t get. A good look.” The guard was clearly out of breath. “Didn’t see. Anybody else. Out there.”
Then the door began to smash inward again. Jenika and several of the caravan guards flattened against it to hold it shut.
“Time to go?” asked Rynn.
“Time to go,” said Orensland. The two pushed a few crates together, and then Orensland clambered up and punched through the thatch roof in the corner. He disappeared up as the sounds of the goblins at the door became more menacing.
Jenika and the caravan guards looked at each other. “I’ll be the last one. Go,” she said.
One by one, Khaska and Orensland helped everybody out the hole in the thatch, the tall Maha’i easily able to help get them out from his perch atop the crates. The pounding on the door became rhythmic, the goblins clearly trying to break in more systematically. Jenika waited while the rest of her companions all vanished, and then flung the door open at the right moment, sprinting away. Several goblins dropped into the front door as the monk deftly ran up the crates, grabbed one of the wood struts keeping the roof up, and disappeared into the hole before the goblins could even recover.
Atop the roof, Jenika dropped down to the walkway around the fence. The rest of the group had already begun moving towards the north side, where the top of a ladder was poking up to aid guards from in the fort. There were no goblins in sight, but she could still hear yelling from the middle of the outpost. Rynn indicated to move quietly, and they moved along the walkway. To their left, over the fence, the desert. To their right, the tops of the storehouses.
Rynn paused to look between the two storehouses. There was a mass of goblins around the well house. They seemed to be in two different groups, but aside from that didn’t get a good look. He wanted to move forward, but Elial had paused to look behind them.
Amara had already pulled up the ladder and put it down on the other side of the fence when Gereon ran past and poked his head around the edge of the north storehouse. He turned back. “There aren’t any goblins this way. We could get to the main tent from here! Get Waltheof!”
Amara hesitated a moment, turning her head to the sky and pausing. “Kirza says all the goblins are in the center, they don’t appear to have gone into that tent, or . . .” she jerked her head to the side, looking back the way they came. “They’re coming up through the roof where we did!”
Rynn, Khaska, and Orensland all turned and fired at the goblin who had just begun to clamber out of the hole. Rynn and Khaska’s arrows missed, disappearing into the thatch roof, but Orensland’s bolt hit, and the goblin dropped out of sight.
“I still think discretion is the better part of valor. Time to be going!” said Elial. The bard was clearly flustered, and kept glancing back towards the storehouse.
“No,” said Khaska. The Maha’i drew himself to his full height. “We will rescue Waltheof. Then we will leave.”
“Agreed,” said Rynn.
“I’ll get him,” said Jenika. She pushed ahead. Orensland turned to go with her. “I’ll help,” he said as he readied his grappling hook.
Elial looked at the two of them, then nodded. “Heroes. Your kind will be needed in the years ahead.” He glanced up into the sky, where Arkenos sat in plain view of all.
Rynn whirled and fired another shot at a goblin coming out of the hole in the thatched roof. The arrow bounced off of the goblin’s armor. The creature hesitated for a moment, but then kept coming. “Better make it quick!” he said, firing again. This time the shot hit and the goblin ducked down, injured, and obviously unwilling to continue.
Orensland and Jenika rushed past the guards. The dwarf guard stepped forward. “What can we do?”
“Just stay here. The fewer of us the better,” Jenika said.
“And we still have to get back up here,” said Orensland.
The two of them ducked around the corner. Khaska came with them, but didn’t follow when they jumped down.
Ducking past the gap between the warehouse and the tent was easy. The goblins were all shouting and yelling. Khaska glanced around the edge of the warehouse. He could hear the goblins still screaming. It was apparent that there were at least two groups, and that they were fighting over this “sacred stick,” whatever it was, and he had no idea what it could be.
Down below him, Jenika began to sneak around the side of the tent, but Orensland grabbed her. “You’re going in the front door?” Without a word, he went back and cleanly cut through the tent fibers with his daggers. She came back. “You need to think more sneaky.”
“I don’t like sneaks.”
He glared at her. “If you’d rather launch a full assault on the mass of goblins just on the other side of the tent, go ahead.” She pushed past him.
“Waltheof!” she hissed into the darkness of the tent.
A pile of blankets to her right moved, and the fat merchant crawled out. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
“We have to go! Come on!” snapped Orensland.
The man got laboriously to his feet but managed to get out of the tent. He collapsed on Orensland. “Thank you. Oh, thank you. Thanks Markus you came back!”
“Come on,” said Jenika. She looked up at Khaska, still hidden a few feet away behind the top of the north storehouse. The Maha’i looked at her, confused, then smiled. He stood up and yelled in Goblin.
“Kree’ska jur, dnorun. Raitheresto!” Then he whirled around and fired a single arrow towards the goblins. It flew wide, not hitting any of them, but the insult and the effect of the arrow was immediate.
The goblins exploded. The two groups went at it. Everybody watched as the mass of little humanoids converged on each other, a full thirty or so attacking each other. With the combat, it was easy for Jenika, Waltheof, and Orensland to sneak past and get hoisted up onto the walkway.
“Well done,” said Rynn, peeking his head around the corner of the storehouse.
“We’ve done the hero thing!” said Elial. “Well, you have, anyway. I vote that we now leave. I don’t want to stick around to see the winner come after us.” The bard bolted to where the ladder was and began to clamber down.
Rynn and Khaska looked at each other. Amara was by the ladder, with the rest of the crowd. Kirza was circling above. “Let’s get ready to move, if we need to,” the ranger said. “I’d like to stay as long as we can,” the Maha’i responded. “I don’t know what this ‘sacred stick,’ is.”
“Gereon,” Waltheof was saying, “can we survive in the desert? Oh dear.”
Gereon nodded. “We’re the last outpost in the wastes. If we really needed to, we could push on to the edge of the desert.”
The mass of goblins was still fighting, but it was clear that one of the groups was quickly gaining the upper hand. After a few moments, also, another goblin poked his head up from the storehouse they had hid in. He fired an arrow in their direction, then ducked down. The arrow flew very wide—he hadn’t really even lined up a shot. But they were getting braver. Some other goblins from the storehouse, apparently not wanting to clamber out one at a time, came around and began shooting arrows at the group. The attacks were ineffective against them, however. But the goblins stupidly stood out in the open, not using the storehouses for cover. Return fire from Orensland and Khaska killed a few, but quickly it became apparent that the goblins were done fighting amongst themselves, and that those in the middle had become aware of the remaining survivors. The tide was quickly turning. The two Faatin merchants and the remaining caravan guards had already dropped down.
“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” said Rynn, loosing an arrow of his own. “Time to go.”
“I think that would be wise,” said the cleric, firing a last arrow.
Orensland didn’t need to be told twice. He fired his last crossbow bolt, and quickly ran and slid down the ladder. Rynn was the last one down, and he grabbed the ladder and tipped it away from the wall. It clattered to the ground. Goblins could still jump down, but none seemed to be running after them. By now two were on the walkway, firing at the survivors. Amara managed to kill one, and that sent the other packing, but more would be right behind.
The group disappeared into the wastes, Rynn taking the lead and leading them away from the outpost and the goblins. Elial had already vanished, and was nowhere to be seen. The bard had apparently panicked and fled on his own.