Chapter 14
The Sect of Thruum
Vallen and Daffonil were up before the first rays of light. The druid asked her elk to guard the horses. Vallen instructed Shield to keep watch, too. The pair then headed out to scout the village and try to locate a trail to follow. Peaches did not bother to join the elf. The skunk was not a particularly early riser. In fact, Bronwick had a surprise when he awoke. The skunk was curled up against his chest, sleeping soundly. The big man had to slowly and carefully slide away from the animal before getting up for fear of startling it. Somehow startling a sleeping skunk did not seem a particularly good idea. Farrah was busy preparing breakfast for the group while Reena and Stench snored away. Tamaran disappeared to find a spot for his morning stretches and meditation. Plus, he could tell Farrah needed some time to herself. The woman was obviously struggling with the disappearance of her village. Tamaran understood her feelings. News of his school left him in a similar state. He wanted to help her but had no idea how. He made it a point not to wander too far this time. He had no desire to stir up more trolls or wild cats.
“Good morning,” Farrah smiled wanly as she cooked an assortment of mushrooms and herbs alongside a few eggs over her small fire. It was clear to see that the woman was struggling with her emotions. Cooking seemed to be her current outlet and distraction.
Bronwick cracked his back, then cracked his neck, followed by a loud crack from his knuckles. He came to sit next to her. He sniffed at the food. It smelled amazing. “I’m sorry for your losses.” His statement was simple yet sincere. It was all he could think of saying. He remembered hearing his father say that to a family friend after their daughter was lost in a raid from another tribe.
Farrah burst into tears then threw her arms around his thick neck, squeezing him into a hug. She had a strong grip for such a thin girl. The big man was unprepared for the outburst. He froze stiff with eyes wide and then patted her on the back gently with one hand as she sobbed into his neck. This was as bad as waking up cuddled with a skunk. He did not know exactly what else to do. His other hand sat stiff at his side.
“Way to go, big boy. What the hell did you do to her?” Reena sat up rubbing her eyes to clear away the sleep. She scratched in various places and spit the taste of the morning out of her mouth. The girl seemed to have dropped all pretense of innocence around them. Now she was akin to a grumpy sailor. Stench stretched awake too, followed by a loud squeaking sound. Reena shoved the gremlin away with one foot waving a hand in front of her nose. “You nasty little turd!” Stench only giggled and grinned.
The gremlin hopped to his feet and moved to eye the cooking pot while smacking his lips. It smelled so good. He studied the golden-haired woman wondering when she might stop crying and start cooking again. He was very hungry. He always woke hungry. In truth he went to sleep hungry, too. Oh, and he was usually hungry in-between morning and night a lot! Stench realized his life revolved around food and when he might get more of it.
Conversation in the distance captured everyone’s attention. Reena jumped to her feet and drew her knife while looking for a place to hide. Stench squatted low behind a rock. The gremlin’s stealth skills were unparalleled. He all but vanished from sight in an instant. Farrah wiped away her tears and stood with her back straight, picking up her staff in both hands and clutching it to her chest. Bronwick joined her side with Maggie raised. Peaches stood with her butt pointed in that direction. Their tensions eased when they heard laughing. Through the trees came Vallen and Daffonil engaged in light-hearted conversation. The pair looked as if they were young lovers on a morning stroll through the forest without a care in the world.
“What was that prayer you used to blow away the gnats? It seemed so effortless, and your words were like a lilting song. The elven tongue really is mesmerizing. Your connection to The Green is incredible.” Vallen complemented her. “I can think of a thousand times where that prayer could have come in handy.” The ranger had been rambling on steadily. He enjoyed conversing with the elf druid very much. He felt like he hadn’t talked to anyone besides Zane this much in a very long time.
“That was but a minor blessing, a kiss of the wind to clear the air,” the elf giggled. “When you call the forest home, gnats, flies, and mosquitos are constant. It helps to have such blessings at hand. We have others for the minor pests like fleas and ticks.”
“Did you find anything of interest?” Farrah asked as she returned to cooking. The way she shook the pan over the flame seemed rough. She barely concealed her annoyance with the pair.
Vallen immediately shifted to a serious expression and stance. The man took a half step away from the elf to put space between them and began stroking his bearded chin as if in deep thought. He was a bit embarrassed by the display of carelessness at such a delicate time. Surely this could not be easy for the healer. Her entire village went missing.
“We found various tracks scattered about, but whatever these cultists did to move the villagers remains a mystery to me. I could find no trace of their passing and no signs of a struggle. We even scouted the booted prints we crossed on the road yesterday, but they have faded to the elements. A light rain passed through the night. It makes no sense. They had to go somewhere.” Vallen scratched his head.
Daffonil did not drop her smile or her cheerfulness. The small woman remained a constant ray of sunshine. She took no offense as the nobleman scooted away. The elf still did not quite understand the customs of humans.
“We scouted the entire perimeter of the village. There are no tracks to suggest they left by foot or wagon. It defied the laws of nature. So, I called upon the wisdom of the forest and the plants told me they did pass through to the north in a large group, animals and humans with wagons, but they suggested the people left willingly. There were no conflicts or fights among them. My other prayers suggest magic covered their passing.” She gazed up at Vallen’s surprised stare.
“When you spoke to the trees you learned all of that?” He looked shocked and confused as to why she hadn’t told him.
“Yes. I was prepared to share my findings, but I did not want to interrupt your musings. You had so much to say,” she giggled. Vallen suddenly felt stupid. He could not meet Farrah’s gaze. “I must confess, plants think differently than we do, so their thoughts don’t always translate well. This is my best understanding of what they said. The birch trees in particular drone on and on.” The elf shrugged and giggled. She stepped up to cuddle Peaches, lifting and tossing the tiny animal into the air and then catching her again. The skunk squeaked then licked her face.
“Where is Tamaran?” Reena asked as she surveyed the campsite just outside their cave.
“He left for his morning meditation. Evidently, he requires peace and solitude.” Farrah sighed. She envied the man. She wished she could find either of those right now.
“Is he going to come running back with more trolls?” the young girl grumbled as she yawned. “I’m beginning to think that man has a knack for finding trouble.”
Vallen moved to search for the desert lander. He did not like the idea of more trolls and he wanted to escape the tension around Farrah. Plus, they already knew these strange cultists were hunting the man. They could not be too careful. “I’ll check for him.”
Following his tracks proved easy. The man was intelligent but had little knowledge in the ways of the forest and it showed. As Vallen picked his way through the brush he heard a twig snap behind him. He spun with sword drawn and his face split into a grin of relief. “Not so stealthy this time, are you?”
“You happened to hear me this once, don’t pat yourself on the back, prince. I let you hear me,” Zane grinned back. The scruffy man stood just behind him. “Miss me?”
Vallen grabbed him and pulled him into a rough hug. “I’m glad to see you followed. I feared you might still be hiding out in the barn pouting. We could use your help. Turns out there is quite a bit of chaos surrounding us right now.” He grimaced.
The scruffy-faced man planted his hands on his hips and spat to the side. “Surprise, surprise! The Gods be damned, of course there is! I knew better than to let you try to handle things on your own. I kept watch through the night. I’ve been eavesdropping. I think I got the gist.” Zane grumbled. “And I wasn’t pouting, you twat! Your new friends sound like a shitstorm. Cultists, magic, dead Gods, slavers, what the hell did you step in this time? It won’t be so easy to shake it off your boots. You and your save-the-world ways are going to get your sorry ass killed. I’d suggest just shaking this steaming pile of dung off now and walking away while you still can, but that’s not how you do things, huh princess?” Vallen shrugged and shook his head in the negative. “But I also see that you got your tight little elf back.” Zane grinned and nudged the nobleman suggestively.
“Don’t start with your crudeness, Zane,” Vallen warned. “Daffonil is a sweet woman, and I don’t have time for that nonsense.”
“I bet she’s sweet, as sweet as a ripe cherry ready to be picked.” Zane licked his lips salaciously. Vallen glared at him. “I call it like I see it,” Zane chuckled. “You know that gorgeous golden girl is vulnerable right now. She’d be an easy conquest and she likes you. I saw the look.” He chuckled again and winked. “What if you could get them both at the same time? I’ve heard elves have open minds around sex.” Vallen shot him a warning glare and started to berate him. Zane raised his hands defensively. “Fine, fine, be that way, princess. But why are you so concerned about a bunch of villagers you don’t know and an old teamster couple you met once? It can’t be because of some desert lander with weird eyes you hardly know. Sure, he’s cute but who cares? He doesn’t have tits. This sounds like something you hand over to the city guard when you reach Sabline, and then call it a day. Let the lords or better yet, the King deal with this crazy shit. It’s their job.”
They heard a gasp up ahead and Zane darted to the side to take cover in the brush. He planted his back to a tree and drew his bow. Vallen began to do the same then thought of Tamaran and raced forward to investigate. He found the youth seated atop a large boulder with his legs crossed and his hands raised, palms up, at his sides. A string of spiky crystals poked up about the base of the rocky outcropping. Tamaran looked like he had seen a ghost. His normally light brown skin was drained of color.
“Are you well? Is everything alright?” Vallen jogged to his side to help him from the boulder. He scanned the trees for danger.
Tamaran seemed in a bit of a daze. He accepted the aid and crawled down. He cupped one hand to his temple. “It comes every time now. I can’t shake that terrible feeling. I was trying to help… to help Farrah, but I… I…”
“What comes? What are you talking about?”
“Those eyes in the darkness! They are large, huge, and bright red with slits like a serpent for pupils. Dark red veins surround the edges fading into black. They remind me of the eyes of the beast only… worse. They shift and move unnaturally. I cannot tell how many individual beasts they belong to. The creatures hide in the darkness. The eyes are unattached floating in the shadows. There are two, three or as many as five of them. I feel them watching me always. Every time I try to meditate, they are there. The presence is smothering.” Tamaran looked tired, worn. His accent grew thicker with his exasperation. “I was trying to see what happened to the villagers, to help Farrah, but my visions are being blocked somehow. I see this symbol over and over again.”
Tamaran raised the broken chain with the holy symbol of the cult and glared at it. The spiky triangle ringed in runes dangled between them. The man bit his lip in frustration. He appeared as if he meant to throw it but refrained. Vallen gently took it from him for safe keeping. They might need that later.
“I saw a flash of what I assume were the villagers gathered in the center of town, but they were all smiling as if in celebration. It did not make any sense. There were fires and blue smoke everywhere.”
He shook his head from side to side to dispel the mental fog. Tamaran grew annoyed by his gift. Mind magic held many uses, many forms. He wished he had another talent. This one seemed useless. It proved worse than useless. It allowed him to see glimpses with no understanding. Maybe if he trained more, it would be useful, more specific. He always shunned his reader gifts with hopes for another to surface. That thought angered him further. Time for training had passed. He needed this to work now.
“I also felt a strong sense of impending doom. Not necessarily around the villagers but more around me. It could have been both I suppose. I feel as if something horrible is coming for me, Vallen, and it grows closer by the minute. Maybe that is just my paranoia again…” His head hung low, and he sighed.
Vallen did not like the sound of that at all. “We should get back on the road then. Daffonil already warned us that they are seeking you out magically, Tamaran. This vision supports that idea. Our search of the area revealed little. We found no sign of tracks, but Daffonil’s prayers suggested the villagers left willingly, to the north. She suspects magic is involved. Maybe that is tied to the vision you had, the smiling people and smoke?” Vallen suddenly realized he had lost track of Zane. He spun in a full circle trying to locate the man, but he was vanished again – typical. Why did he have to be like this? They could really use the man’s help right now. Could he not see the danger? Or more likely it was because he could see the danger. Zane was always good at taking care of himself. Vallen sighed in annoyance. He didn’t have time to worry about Zane.
The pair made their way back to camp and ate quickly then packed for the ride to Sabline. Vallen expected if they pushed hard, they would reach the city by nightfall. Even Reena liked that plan despite her newfound disdain for riding. The young city girl was even less of a fan of the wilderness. Spending the night in the cave with all those night sounds sealed that decision. Vallen scouted their camp one last time in hopes of finding Zane and convincing him to join them, but the man was nowhere to be seen. So be it. If Zane did not want to be found, then he would remain hidden. The selfish jerk would just have to keep up on his own then. At least he knew Zane could handle himself. Tamaran’s words about feeling something closing in on him had the nobleman spooked. He did not want to waste any more time than was necessary.
* * * * * * * * * *
Hours passed riding. The day drifted by in a blur of inner turmoil. As they travelled the main road once again, their awareness remained heightened. Tamaran could not help but jump at every movement or sound he noticed. His nerves stayed on edge. That feeling of being watched never left him. He kept picturing the eyes of the beasts in the darkness. They had the man ride at the center of the group to afford him the most cover and protection. Whatever these cultists expected to gain from the youth could not be good for anyone, not after all they had learned. Experiments, dark magic and special blood sounded like a dangerous combination.
Farrah found a new outlook on life. Her despair and misery gave way to hatred. The normally gentle woman gained an edge. She now had at least a vague face to attach to the demons of her past. Finding a hint of clarity was almost worse than not knowing anything. The element of not knowing had always been the hardest part. She refused to let this torment her further. Her rage and feelings of helplessness over her family and friends could now be channeled into a goal of uncovering and destroying this cult of the dead God. By Aethine’s blessings she would find a way. The healer could not allow herself the luxury of hope that anyone she knew might still live. After three years she heard nothing from her parents or the people of Kleph. The sect made some dangerous enemies this day. Tamaran likewise found an image to attach to the fall of his school and the loss of his father and uncle. Bronwick marked them as a target as well, for the attack of the beast, loss of his caravan, the lives of some of his passengers and abduction of his friends, the Looms. He was a simple man raised in a simple culture, eye for an eye. Daffonil decided days ago that this cult was an unnatural abomination. The druid of the Order of the Vine and Guardian of The Grape Grove pledged her efforts to their undoing. She placed the death of Starmane firmly on their shoulders, too. Vallen, as a self-proclaimed champion of the people, made it his duty to thwart them in any way possible. His allies’ enemies were his enemies. These people had attacked the lands under the Manique protection. It was his mission to stop them now. The group trod along in relative silence as each person processed these thoughts and plotted their various forms of revenge. At least they were making good time on the road.
“Looky, looky,” Stench hissed to Reena as he scanned the roadside. The gremlin pointed at a tall patch of feather reed.
Reena followed his direction but only saw golden-topped reeds ahead, until something shifted. She screamed a warning to the others and nearly fell from her horse trying to point it out to them. The group pulled to a stop with Vallen and Bronwick striding to the forefront, weapons drawn.
“Show yourself!” Vallen called out as he trained his bow on the large patch of grass. He could see an orange rust color that did not blend so well with the greens and yellows of nature.
“Please, don’t fire, my lord. We mean no harm, please,” a man shouted from hiding. He raised his hands slowly and stood where they could see him. He wore simple rust-colored robes of a holy man and bore the holy symbol of a priest on a cord about his neck. Another voice hissed something sharply at him, but he replied loudly. “They aren’t in the gray robes, and they’ve spotted us. Stop scolding me. It’s no use. We’ve been seen and I’m tired of crouching in the ditch. There’s a puddle here. My shoes are soaked! And my back hurts! Maybe they can help us.”
In response to his griping another figure rose from the tall grass, a woman in plain white and tan clothes of a monk stood and glared at him. She reluctantly raised her hands, too. “We still had cover,” she grumbled irritably. “How have you made it this far in the world? Nature usually snuffs out the weak.” The pudgy man scoffed.
“They are religious figures, are they not?” Daffonil asked with a smile and a curious tilt from her head. Human customs were not her specialty.
“Name yourselves,” Vallen shouted. “As lord of the Manique Estate, I demand you explain your attempt at ambush.” The ranger kept his bow trained on the pair. He could see the man’s holy symbol clearly but did not recognize what it stood for. The woman showed no specific signs of dedication to anything. It was more due to her carriage and garb that he assumed her a monk.
“Lord Manique, I am aware of your estate. Perhaps you have heard of the Abbey of Repose?” The man lifted his holy symbol high for all to see. It displayed what appeared to be a swaddled figure surrounded by flame. “I am Brother Ullen and this is my companion and protector, Sister Brion. We meant no harm and had no intention of executing an ambush of any sort. I can promise you that much. Perish the thought. Why… I don’t even own a weapon, so the idea of ambushing anyone is absurd.” He chuckled nervously.
The stern woman merely crossed her arms and scowled at him over that comment. She did not look pleased with the plump man. Whether it was a look of disgust over the fact that he carried no weapon or that he shouted that fact to the heavens for all to hear with pride remained unclear.
The priest was a rounded man of average height that looked as if he ate well but exercised little. He carried a sparse beard and maintained his curly brown hair shortly cropped. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes warm. The woman was the polar opposite. She was tall with defined muscles, a slim build and sharp cheekbones. The woman’s sandy blond, mid-length hair was tied back into a tight ponytail. Her expression seemed a constant frown, severe, with her dark eyes squinting. She was easily his senior by a decade. Her hands were wrapped in strips of cloth often used by fighters during a boxing match.
“The Abbey of Repose is known to me,” Vallen replied evenly. He looked at his companions. They agreed he could lower the bow. “That falls under Kylia’s influence, I believe. Pray tell why do a priest and a monk hide on the roadside in the reeds? We are quite a way from your abbey are we not? It is located much further into the hills, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are correct, my lord.” The chubby man seemed to consider something. He glanced at the monk and spoke anyway. “It is a dreadful tale. We seek asylum from you, Lord Manique. The abbey has come under siege by unknown assailants. We were fortunate enough to escape with our lives. I fear many others were not so blessed. I’m certain the abbey has fallen by now. As a dedicated acolyte to Kylia, I am not skilled in combat. If not for Sister Brion, I wouldn’t have escaped at all. We are alone and ousted from our home. We seek your protection, my lord. Please. Show us mercy in our time of need.”
His words set the monk off. “The idiot coward was screaming and fleeing the abbey like a runaway toddler. He basically ran in circles with his arms flailing. I had to chase him down and tackle him to cover his mouth before we were located. When I did so, I lost the others in my group. Unfortunately, we are the only ones I know to have escaped. His words are true. The abbey was besieged.” Sister Brion cast the chubby man a scathing glare. Brother Ullen took on an apologetic grin and clasped his hands behind his back.
“I am not familiar with the Goddess Kylia beyond her name?” Vallen stated as that crease formed between his brows. He was unsure what to make of these two.
“Why the hell is her symbol a burning baby?” Reena chimed into the conversation. “Isn’t that bothering anyone else?”
“Yep, yep! Burning baby,” the gremlin giggled.
The acolyte looked at his amulet and grimaced. He had never seen it that way before. “It is an infant swaddled in warmth and light, protected by the love of the Goddess. Kylia is the esteemed and often overlooked wife of Mariksis, God of Community. She is the Goddess of Hearth, Home and Children. She is the Keeper of the Light, the Embrace of Warmth, and the Mother of All.” The young man smiled proudly as he clasped his palms together then dipped his head to them.
“Sounds like a weak Goddess,” Bronwick grunted. Both Reena and Sister Brion fought to suppress a grin. Stench giggled aloud.
“Please tell us who assaulted your abbey?” Farrah grew intensely focused. News of another attack so soon after Hinny Hill held her attention.
“We know not who they are, but they bear a holy symbol unfamiliar to us and wear hooded robes of gray. Some are definitely priests and possess the divine magic of prayer. Their origins seemed varied as well, like your own.” He glanced at Tamaran, Daffonil and Bronwick. His nose crinkled when he looked at Stench. “All seem fanatically dedicated, though their cause was difficult to discern beyond the goal of capturing all they found. Their unified chants and blue smoke were hypnotic. They discovered the minds of the abbey to be less pliable than they expected I would guess. Their enchantment did not hold sway over many of us.” The plump priest sounded proud, planting his hands on his thick hips and thrusting his ample belly forward.
“Smoke again. What enchantment do you speak of?” Tamaran asked.
The monk woman looked from the half-orc to the elk-riding elf holding a skunk, to finish with the blue gremlin. She seemed unsure of this group. “They enacted some sort of ritual magic. They attempted to enchant the entire abbey. The ritual included some sort of incense, prayer chanting and a hazy blueish smoke.” Sister Brion spoke with annoyance and an angry quiver in her voice. “They half succeeded. It was a bold move to try to control the wills of the faithful in their own house of worship and on a holy day no less. The clergy of Kylia might not be warriors, but their faith is strong.” She glanced at Brother Ullen with disdain. “Most of them anyway. These people are crazed or fearless, it was hard to tell which. The look in their eyes is unnatural. I felt the pull but shook it off myself, as did the idiot.” She jerked her thumb in Brother Ullen’s direction. “There were others to resist as well, but we were separated, by the idiot here.”
“Sister Brion, please. We have discussed the insults.” The acolyte dipped his head to her and gave a pleading look. “My religion is not a militant one. You know that. I feared for my life… What would you have me do?” She ignored him.
“When did this happen? How many were there?” Farrah was adamant. She wanted answers. The woman was ready to ride for the abbey immediately. Her anger at this sect was growing. Tamaran reached out to calm her, but she pulled away. “This may be our only chance to catch them. We must hurry! I need answers.” Her liquid golden eyes pleaded with the acolyte and monk.
“It has been an hour at least since we fled the abbey,” Brother Ullen winced and looked at his sore feet. The man had not run so much in years. He had growing blisters to prove it. It did not help that his feet were now wet, too, from crouching in a puddle. “We were seeking aid to return but you are the first souls we’ve come across.” The man looked panicked. Hearing himself out loud he feared they might ask him to head back to the abbey.
“There were at least two dozen of them, men and women. They moved as one, chanting most of the time in some unknown language. They carried swords and were not afraid to use them, though their goal seemed to be capture not killing. My order is tasked with protecting the holy women and men of the abbey or I would have abandoned this useless lump long ago to return to help.” Brion appeared torn. “There are only a handful of my brethren to defend the entire abbey. I cannot be sure how many of us resisted their enchantments, but I know I am not the only one. My brethren spend much time in meditation and practice building our mental fortitude. Mind and body must become one. My oath prevents me from leaving his side until he is safe, but I need to help the others. Have no doubt, the holy servants of Kylia are not warriors.” Her glance of disdain washed over Brother Ullen yet again. “The temple also serves as an orphanage and nursery for unwed mothers. We had several temporary residents. A couple of visiting priests of Mariksis are at the abbey as well. My brothers and sisters of the abbey are back there, and they are in grave danger. I beg you to go to them, please. Your aid would be invaluable, my lord.”
Daffonil, caught up in the tale, bounced towards the trail in the hills on her elk. “We should go and see what can be done. How dare they assault a place of worship? They are of the cloth. They should know better!”
Farrah and Bronwick both urged their mounts to follow the elf, eager to reach these cultists as quickly as possible. Reena and Stench appeared a little more reluctant. Tamaran was torn over what to do. Vallen sat evaluating his options. He wished Zane were here. The man may have been a pain in the ass, but he always made quick, deliberate decisions in times of trouble and he was handy in a fight.
Sister Brion sighed heavily. “We appreciate your enthusiasm, but your steeds will not follow the path easily to the abbey. It is a precarious foot trail. Perhaps the elk can manage, but definitely not the horses.”
Vallen pulled his thoughts together. They needed leadership. The Manique household pledged to protect these lands. He spoke in a commanding tone. “Reena, Stench and Tamaran will remain with Shield and the other horses to watch over them until we return. We don’t need to get Tamaran closer to their grasp. I’ll take Daffonil, Bronwick and Farrah with me. Brother Ullen, Sister Brion, use Reena’s horse and head for my manor house. Shimmer knows the way and is the fastest mount. Ask for Nimon and tell him Lord Vallen sent you for shelter. He will take care of you both. My estate is a day’s ride at a good pace to the south and slightly west along the main road. You can’t miss it.”
“Just look for the green fields, flowers and giant golden horses,” Reena added.
Daffonil bit her lip. She had completely forgotten about keeping Tamaran safe. She realized for the umpteenth time she was far too impulsive. Considering Vallen’s plan and the given circumstances, she agreed. The elf leaned over to drop her skunk to the ground. “Go and watch over Tamaran, Peaches. Don’t let any harm come to him or the others.” The skunk grunted and scurried back to join the horses.
Sister Brion balled her fists angrily but nodded. She shoved Brother Ullen towards the horse, urging him to mount quickly. He could sit on the back and hold onto her. “Thank you, my lord. And blessings upon you all for your aid. Use stealth and approach the abbey from the east, behind the central temple. There is a secret passage hidden there among the stones and vines where you can gain entrance. Look for the chimney that rises above the roof. You’ll find the secret passage there among its stones.” Brother Ullen gawked at her as if she were revealing forbidden secrets to them. The woman shoved the chubby priest towards the horse again. He moved far too slow for her liking. “I will fulfill my duty and save at least one of Kylia’s faithful this day… even if it is the least valuable one,” she grumbled. “May Umar offer you his strength and clear your path of delay.”
Daffonil was the first to take up the trail. Vallen followed with Farrah and Bronwick on his heels. Vallen could hear the priest behind him whining and complaining about his sore feet. The ranger darted off along the foot trail after the elf with Ullen’s voice echoing in the background.
“The insults, Sister. Please, we discussed the insults.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Daffonil bounced along the trail at a rapid pace the others could not hope to match. The elk’s footing was sure and the druid’s guidance impeccable. They watched her sprint ahead and vanish into the trees scattered across the hillside. Vallen moved swiftly but Farrah took the lead of the trio with Bronwick bringing up the rear. The three moved quickly. None could hope to match the elk’s pace. They darted along glad Vallen was there to keep them on the right trail. The elf and the woodsman might have seen things differently, but the wilderness looked like more wilderness to the others. Bronwick knew the wildlands. He grew to manhood among them, but that only helped with survival not geography of this foreign area. He had no idea where this abbey might be. Farrah rarely went much further than the tree line just beyond the village limits. This land so far from Hinny Hill was unknown to her. The details did not slow either of them any. Both wanted a chance to cause harm to these cultists for all the trouble they caused. The trio raced along at a hustled pace in hopes of rescuing the survivors at the abbey and possibly gaining a few more answers around this mysterious cult and its goals.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the roadside, Tamaran watched with mixed emotions as his companions climbed the hills out of sight. He wanted to stay at Farrah’s side, but Vallen’s plan made perfect sense. He assisted with mounting and directions, then saw the acolyte and monk galloping away towards Vallen’s manor in minutes. A large part of him wished they might stay for a while or that he might even join them. He still felt that gnawing feeling of danger as if he stood exposed to the world here, as if someone were watching him from above always. He was left with the horses plus Reena, her gremlin and a skunk. Realizing he might not be in the safest of spaces, the desert lander used his time to spot a good location to gather off the main road where they had some semblance of cover from brush and trees. Again, he was reminded by the Gods that he knew little of this foreign terrain. If he were in the desert lands of his home, it would be different. He simply could not shake the eerie feeling of being watched. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel something tugging at him, calling to him, seeking him out, and that left him incredibly anxious.
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Daffonil ascended the hills quickly. She was in such a hurry that she did not take notice of the others falling hopelessly behind. Her rash nature won out again and long minutes passed her by in a blur of determination. When she committed to something her sights were set and nothing else mattered. The elf bounced along until she reached a clearing in the trees. It opened to a large one-story cobblestone structure with several chimneys and at least two archways to enter through. The double door archways held some of the same ivy that crept its way across much of the exterior of the structure. She found the combination of greenery and stonework pretty. As a wood elf, she felt claustrophobic when surrounded by four walls and a ceiling. She preferred her worship sites open to the sky and the heavens, but this place was old and held a sense of peace the druid could appreciate.
“This must be the abbey,” she whispered and then realized she was alone. The elf giggled and shook her head from side to side. This would cause the elders to scold her for sure. Good thing they weren’t here to bear witness. She completely lost her companions and left the man she was sent to guard far behind.
She saw figures milling about outside the building, at least six of them. They appeared to be praying. Odd, she thought. Wasn’t that why they built this structure, to pray inside? These figures wore the gray hooded robes she had seen on the other cult members, and they bore that amulet she recognized. They also carried candles. That seemed strange in the day’s light. Realizing her elk might draw more attention than she wanted and fearing it might get unnecessarily injured if things turned nasty, Daffonil released the creature back into the wild with her gratitude. The regal animal bounded away after two flicks of its tail vanishing into the woods.
“I suppose I’m on my own then,” she grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. As a druid she was accustomed to working alone. She did miss having Peaches at her side, though. The little skunk was like her cautious shadow and sometimes conscience when she grew too reckless.
The elf crept around to the back of the abbey as the monk instructed. Daffonil briefly considered waiting for the others then thought better of it. What if something happened while she waited? No, she was here and so it was time to act. She made sure to give herself plenty of clearing as to not draw attention from the cultists outside. Luckily, they were engaged with their group chanting and took no notice of her. These people did seem very dedicated whatever their prayers were. They spoke in an odd tongue that sounded wrong in her ears. She spotted a few more of them milling about the other side of the structure. Were they searching for something? She remembered their earlier discussions and the sight of Hinny Hill burned to the ground. She hoped they did not plan to burn the abbey. Is that why they carried candles? Realizing others may be in imminent danger if they did, Daffonil pushed aside her curious nature. She needed to rescue anyone being held hostage inside. She studied the rear wall of the abbey and picked out the outline of a concealed doorway in the stonework. It sat in the shadow of the largest chimney on the building. The ivy framed it nicely, hiding the cracks. Her keen elven eyes spotted the outline easily enough. She crept forward and ran her delicate fingers around the edges of the seam outlining the door frame, searching for a trigger to open the portal. Something moved behind her and she spun to face a man in the gray robes and talisman of a cultists of Thruum. Suppressing the urge to scream, she drew forth the unicorn horn and waved it threateningly at the man. She did not want to create any more noise than necessary. Too many robed figures moved about the perimeter.
“Where are you keeping the others? What have you done with the people of Hinny Hill? Why are you attacking this abbey? What are the prayers for?” Realizing she was getting ahead of herself she tried again. “What brings you to this holy structure? Speak quickly and you will come to no harm.” Her voice sounded so happy that the threat did not translate well.
The man did not reply. Instead, he pulled forth a short-bladed sword. “I’ll be rewarded well for an elf. We have very few of your kind. I’m sure they’ll have plenty of uses for your blood. Let the blessings of Thruum come.” He raised the sword towards the small woman and smiled coolly. His eyes held the strangest stare, almost hungry yet distant. “Come with me girl. Don’t make me hurt you. The master prefers his specimens undamaged.”
Daffonil had her back to the abbey wall. There was nowhere to run. She lunged with the horn and jabbed the tip of it into the man’s side. He grunted and stumbled back a step. She took that opening and darted past him. He was not as slow as he looked. He jutted a foot out and tripped her. She tumbled headlong to the ground. He sprang atop her back, pinning her down with his entire weight. He was no small man.
“Not so fast you little minx. I like a girl with spunk and I’m sure the master will like you even more.” He sat atop her as she struggled. He paused to check the extent of the damage from her stab. It barely grazed him but did draw blood. “That hurt you little bitch elf. I think you owe me for that. He straddled her and ground his crotch into her backside. I can think of a few ways for you to pay. First fun, then maybe just one ear as a souvenir. You’ll still be useful with one ear.” He brought his sword to Daffonil’s long pointed ear, brushing her hair back as she struggled. He paused to sniff the flowers of the wreath she wore entwined through her hair. “You smell sweet,” he whispered before he licked her ear slowly and began to lift his robes.
Realizing she could not hope to overpower him, the small woman grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it into his eyes. He shouted, clutching his burning eyes, and she rolled from under him. Daffonil sprang to her feet and kicked the man in his injured side, toppling him over backwards. Without pausing she leapt atop him and drove the unicorn horn fully into his chest, killing him. He struggled for a second before he fell completely limp. Wide eyes stared up at her blankly. She looked from the bloody unicorn horn to her victim and sighed. It was not the favored outcome, but it was necessary. At times the laws of nature took hold of them all, kill or be killed, survival of the fittest.
“Let the cycle of life flow and EL reclaim what was born of her.” The druid whispered in her native tongue. Daffonil traced a symbol on the man’s face along with her prayer. In her beliefs life was sacred, all life, and should always be honored. She closed his eyes to end that accusing blank stare.
Pausing to catch her breath and take stock of her surroundings again, Daffonil grimaced as three more cultists appeared from around the building, drawn by the sounds of the struggle. These were the ones she spotted searching about the exterior. She stood and readied her horn for combat. She sucked in a deep breath, prepared for the coming fight. From nowhere came Farrah. The woman charged the men swinging her staff overhead in wide arcs like a mad woman. She raced directly at them and attacked, bashing the first man in the side of the head and spinning him away to crash into the ground. Her battle skills were lacking, untrained and sloppy. The other two turned to flank her. They jabbed with their swords, but she twisted sideways at the last second and they managed to stab each other somehow. It seemed almost impossible. Both men staggered backwards with a grunt of pain and confusion. Farrah appeared as surprised by the outcome as they were. The woman clearly expected to be skewered. The golden healer raced past them to attack the man on the ground with another whack of her staff followed by a kick. She unleashed her pent-up anger on him. Her blows hit hard. She was far stronger than she looked.
“That’s for Kleph! And that’s for Hinny Hill!” She growled in rage as she beat upon him. The man quit moving.
Bronwick charged into the clearing with a deep grunt and the robed men seemed to consider fleeing simply at the sight of him. He was a very big man with a very big sword. Close behind him came Vallen. The smaller man paused and fired an arrow into the leg of one the cultists. He fell to the ground and Daffonil pounced on him. The last man standing only saw a massive green-gray giant of a man barreling into him before he was neatly sliced in two by Maggie. Vallen stuck another arrow in the one Farrah was beating just to be sure he did not get up. With all the cultists down, they regrouped and Daffonil pointed out the secret passage hidden in the ivy. It appeared this would be a bloody venture.
“Next time you should wait for us to help instead of racing off alone. You could have gotten yourself killed,” Vallen chided the elf. He gripped her hand and squeezed as he spoke. He seemed genuinely concerned.
Daffonil grinned back and pulled away. The man’s hands were so warm. His concern was touching if unnecessary. “You sound just like the elders,” she giggled. “They were using group prayers out front so I’m not sure what we’re walking into here. I couldn’t understand their language.” The small elf shrugged. “Help me find the trigger for this passage.” She began checking the stone wall for a way inside.
Everyone searched for a trigger to the secret passage. Farrah found it with the first stone she touched. The door clicked and swung open revealing a portal that entered behind the central altar in the main hall of worship. The space was dimly lit. Only the light filtering in through the windows was present. All the torches were extinguished.
“Follow me,” Vallen whispered. He slipped inside as quietly as possible. He traded his bow for his sword.
Daffonil, Farrah and lastly Bronwick followed. The half-orc was not the best with measures of stealth. His actions usually revolved around charging his targets screaming and grunting as loudly as possible. Besides, this passage was built for smaller men.
This passage emptied into a grand worship hall. They slipped through the central worship hall undetected. This site of gathering was strangely empty and quiet. A few traces of blood on the floor led Vallen’s eyes to the left of the hall. The only sounds came from further down the connecting corridors in both directions. From their right it sounded as if people were chanting and preparing for something in the antechamber. From their left they heard shouts and pounding. They traded glances and headed left. At least no one had spotted them yet. Creeping down the halls they found several open chambers. All were empty, some looked as if they fled hastily grabbing what they could. Others showed signs that the doors had been kicked open from the hall. Where were the people? A strange scent hung thick in the air like incense of some sort. Farrah recognized it as containing myrrh. She used that resin in many of her healing mixtures. Whatever it was blended with seemed to lend itself to sleep or sedation of some sort. When they reached the end of the hallway which rounded a sharp corner, they could hear the banging sounds more clearly as well as the shouts. A man’s muffled voice was yelling at someone to go away. He sounded desperate. There were also muffled screams and the cries of babies. The man was praying loudly to Kylia for mercy. He might even have been crying. Several other voices both male and female were speaking in calm tones as they beat upon a partially destroyed door. The cultists were chopping it with hatchets in a steady rhythm.
“Release control, brother. Your Goddess has abandoned you. Only Thruum remains. Surrender to his call and be at peace. He welcomes you. He welcomes all. You will be one with us. We are welcoming. The others have all surrendered. Join them. Your resistance is meaningless. Release the pain of worry and fear. Be reborn and let the holy virtue of transformation take you.” The voices all spoke in unison as if they practiced this speech, quite an unsettling thing to hear.
Speaking in unison made it difficult to discern how many cultists waited around the corner but they estimated at least four, maybe more. Vallen turned to face his companions. He began to give hand signals to indicate a plan of action. He knew this could be a very delicate situation. Bronwick screwed up his face in confusion and then charged around the corner past him with a roar, Maggie raised high. Those signals made no sense. Talking was not his way. That was a waste of time. His massive blade descended into the crowd of five cultists, cleaving one into pieces before they knew what hit them. They were completely taken by surprise as were his companions. Vallen sighed and charged after the giant man. Daffonil and Farrah followed suit. The elf was giggling nervously as she scanned the other direction to make sure no one else was coming. She spotted no threats.
The cultists scattered as the barbarian’s blade cut his target into pieces with blood spraying them all. They turned to see the others rounding the corner and were shocked to find that somehow, they missed so many survivors in the abbey. They redirected their hatchets from the half-destroyed door to the companions. One woman swung her weapon and clipped Bronwick across the arm. In his combat frenzy he barely noticed, swiping her against the wall and crushing her there with his forearm before eviscerating her with his sword. A robed man charged Vallen and swiped wide, the ranger avoided his blade by deflecting it with his sword. He then kneed the man between his legs. The cultist crumbled. That was a move Zane taught him. Farrah found two of them coming for her. She backed away and spun her staff like a pinwheel awkwardly. She had no idea what she was doing but hoped it might buy her some time to figure out a tactic. Fighting was much harder than it looked. The staff accidentally struck the wall and bounced off. As the weapon ricocheted off the stonework it snapped back and took the weapon from one of the men’s hands, sending it sliding down the hall. The other man charged her but tripped as Daffonil swiped his leg from beneath him. The tripped man slid to rest at the golden-haired healer’s feet. She bashed him over the head with her magnon wood staff. Bronwick came back around and cleaved another cultist in two. The one without a weapon. Vallen slashed the last man standing and he raced away shouting for help, gripping his bleeding arm. His hatchet clattered to the cobblestones. Bronwick started to give chase, his eyes wild. Farrah jumped in front of him to stop him from racing away into the thick of the enemy. They could still hear their distant chants. It sounded as if they were preparing for some kind of ritual. There were many voices, too many.
“Bronwick, no! We must rescue and retreat. There are too many of them.” She placed a hand to his chest and spoke in calming tones. His crazed glare faded.
“Over here,” Vallen called to them.
They saw half a face peeking through the partially destroyed door. The one eye peering at them was bright blue and wide with terror. The sounds of crying both adult and infant continued on the other side. “I don’t know who you are, but we owe you our lives,” the young man called through the large hole in the door. “Please, get us out of the abbey before they come back.” They could hear him moving furniture he used to barricade the door. A latch sounded and the door practically fell off its hinges. A slender young man of average height with curly blond hair raced into the hallway. He was very attractive with a baby face and big blue eyes. He wore similar rust-colored robes to Brother Ullen only he looked as if he might have seen some battle. A cut in the shoulder was stained dark with blood. He tried to drag another taller man that appeared dead or unconscious. The second man was very bloody and was dressed the same as Sister Brion. “They will return shortly. They tried to take the babies! They appeared from nowhere. There was so much crying. I fought to protect all I could but there were too many of them. I’m no warrior. Some of my order fled I think, but most surrendered. I can’t explain it. They simply accepted their offer to join them. They questioned nothing, resisted nothing. Why did they surrender so easily? It makes no sense…” He stopped his ramblings and gestured to a young girl huddled on the floor in the corner of the room. She cradled two infants in her arms. All three of them were crying hysterically. “Why are they doing this? Who are they?” The cherubic man’s blue eyes pleaded with them for answers they did not have. His eyes were bloodshot from tears of his own.
Vallen grabbed the limp man from the priest’s arms and handed him to Bronwick. “Carry him, please.” Bronwick grunted and tossed the taller man over one shoulder effortlessly like a sack of vegetables. There was no time for long discussions. “Come with us and stop me if you know of a place we should search for other survivors.” Vallen then took the young holy man by the arm and rushed for the central worship hall. They spotted no one else in this wing of the Abbey. He let Daffonil lead the way while Farrah coaxed the young girl holding the infants to follow them. She had to basically walk the girl in front of her. She could not have been more than fourteen summers of age and looked as if she might have recently given birth. Vallen tried to speak calmly to help soothe the young acolyte. “We can discuss the details later, brother. Right now, we need to get you and these others out of here in one piece as quickly as possible. Sister Brion and Brother Ullen sent us to help.” Those names gained the young priest’s recognition.
The large group beat a hasty retreat back down the hall and through the secret door. They could hear sounds of chants coming from the other wing or possibly the antechamber rise then end. A foreboding energy washed through the air. The escaped cultist found reinforcements. Voices raised in alarm. He led others in their direction. The sounds of crying babies did not grant them any hope of stealth. Everyone slipped out the backside of the abbey and they sealed the door behind them. From there it was a mad dash for the tree cover with as much stealth as they could manage in a dead run with crying infants, a girl in shock and a limp body of a tall monk to carry. The group fell to rest behind a cluster of trees and bushes where Farrah took a moment to tend to the injured.
“How do they look?” Vallen hissed as he kept an eye on the abbey. He readied his bow.
“The girl is in shock, but the babies seem fine.” She gave each infant a small piece of root to suck on, quieting them. “This monk is not in good shape at all, alive but not for long without care,” Farrah whispered back. “He has already lost a lot of blood and is still bleeding heavily. There may be internal damage.”
At that, the young holy man began to sob. He placed both hands on the bloody monk and prayed with every ounce of conviction he had. “Mother of All see fit to save this kind soul who fell protecting your faithful.” He appeared to strain but nothing happened. “No…” He whispered through his tears. “My prayers are useless. I have failed again. This man jumped to our defense. I did not even know him well. He was a recent addition to the abbey. Please, you must help him. He is dying because of me…”
Daffonil crouched over the monk and pressed her palms to the man’s injured torso. His clothes were all but shredded from his body. She could tell he was handsome, very trim and well-muscled. “Allow life to flow once more and this young, brave soul to blossom.” A green glow emanated from her palms and some of his wounds sealed. He groaned but did not wake. Farrah continued to bandage the man’s other wounds while applying a thick paste. The elf looked to the blond acolyte next and reached for the cut on his arm. “I have a bit of power left. Let me help you.”
The young man refused her touch. He was both amazed and ashamed by her healing prayers. He could call no healing from his Goddess, yet this primal priestess did so easily from the wilds of nature. The young man felt instantly humbled in her presence. “Please, use your efforts on him. He saved us all, my lady. I will survive, plus I’m useless in a fight. He is a skilled battle monk.”
Daffonil smiled and nodded. She expended the last of her efforts and the monk’s eyes fluttered open. He was conscious if just barely. The man began to mutter softly but his words were unintelligible. Farrah brushed her fingers along the man’s forehead and whispered soothingly in an effort to calm him.
“He is delirious. He’ll need rest to recover.” The healer whispered more soothing words and blotted his head with a damp cloth.
“That’s enough for bandages and sweet talk,” Bronwick grunted. “They are headed our way again.” The big man stood and wrapped one massive arm around the slender monk allowing him to lean against his body for support. Another half dozen cultists were headed their direction, following their tracks towards the trees. They had not been spotted just yet, but it was only a matter of seconds.
Vallen considered making a shot but had another idea. He directed the young priest and Farrah to take care of the girl and the babies. He looked to Daffonil once more for help. “Do you suppose the plants might be able to assist us one more time?” He smiled at her hopefully.
* * * * * * * * * *
Reena built up the courage to pet Peaches. The skunk seemed friendly enough and so cute, but she did not want to get sprayed. Peaches was surprisingly soft and nuzzled against her hand with a squeak. The girl grinned and looked at Tamaran in shocked surprise as if to say can you believe this. The man acknowledged her but could not help but to keep scanning the area constantly for danger. Even hidden as they were he felt exposed. Stench watched excitedly. He wanted to pet the skunk, too. Or watch it spray someone. Either option sounded fun.
“By the nine hells you’re making me nervous. What do you sense?” The girl addressed the desert lander plainly.
Tamaran had trouble articulating. “I-I feel as if I am being watched. It is like someone is standing just behind me looking over my shoulder no matter the direction I face. And… I feel a force pulling at me. It is as if I have an unseen rope tied about my waist and someone is gently tugging at it. I do not understand it.”
“Screw that shit! Now I’m nervous.” The girl began to survey the area, too. “Stench, put those giant damn ears to use. Don’t let anything sneak up on us! Do you hear me you little turd? I want to know if you hear anything!” The gremlin nodded with his big eyes opened comically wide. “Aren’t you some sort of mage? Use your spells to hide us, damn it. Isn’t that how magic works?”
Reena didn’t know much about magic, but she thought it should be able to help somehow or else what was the big deal? Tamaran sighed heavily. How was he to explain that he had gifts, not spells and they were next to useless since he could barely control them?
“It comes! That way!” The blue gremlin darted behind a clump of flowers peeking out and pointing westward.
Reena gasped and hid behind Shield. The large white mare offered great cover. Peaches turned her butt towards that direction and Tamaran drew his scimitar. They all stood still and silent, waiting for something to show itself. Nothing happened.
“This is ridiculous. I cannot simply wait around for something bad to happen, for them to come for me. I am Tamaran Alsied Kophar. I am a lord of the desert lands and a Psi-Knight in training. I will not fear them.”
Tamaran steeled his nerves and cleared his mind. What would his father think if he saw him like this? His scimitar returned to its sheath. Reena was right about one thing. He had to learn to use his gifts better. He held the blood of the mighty Idosians in his veins. They told him he was particularly gifted. It was an incredible legacy. That should mean something. He placed one hand to his temple and raised the other palm to read the energy in the air. That familiar tingle started at the base of his skull and ran down his neck then down his extended arm to reach his fingertips.
Reena stayed quiet as long as she could. “Shit! Is it working? Because if it isn’t working you look stupid. As a friend I feel I should tell you that, Tamaran.” The girl made a face and shrugged. She looked to Stench.
“Yep, yep! Stupid,” the gremlin whispered from hiding behind the flowers.
“Wait! I do feel something.” The tingle in his fingertips grew stronger. Tamaran closed his eyes and tried to use his mind to see instead. It was the way readers were supposed to see things according to all his studies and classes. His never seemed to work quite right. Images began to take shape in his mind, only more clearly than ever before. They were not so foggy and jumbled. “I see a man, a cultist in a hooded gray robe with strange symbols on it. He is a desert lander, like me. He holds a pendulum out before him. It is swinging wildly back and forth. He seems to be searching for something. No, not something, someone…”
Shield whinnied and began to stomp the ground in agitation. The other horses began to do the same. Reena clutched her knife tightly in a sweaty palm and moved to stand behind a tree. She did not want to get trampled. Stench scampered quickly to join her. A tree did seem like better cover than flowers.
Tamaran continued with his eyes closed and his hand raised. “He is searching for me! This man has power, skill. He is very close!”
“Open your eyes you fool!” Reena hissed then ducked back behind the tree.
Down the road came six hooded and cloaked figures. The one in the lead of the procession held his arm out before him. A small charm on a chain swung vigorously back and forth. Tamaran crouched down behind the bushes, but the horses grew more and more agitated. The men would hear them for sure.
“We are dead meat,” Reena whispered as she hid carefully behind the tree. “What now?”
Tamaran scanned his surroundings. To one side of the road rose lightly wooded hills, to the other side was the edge of The Forest of Shade. The road stretched in both directions with the hooded figures advancing from the direction of Vallen’s estate. The other direction led on towards the city of Sabline. He briefly considered mounting the horses and making a run for it. These men were all on foot. Then he realized he would be leaving Reena and Stench behind not to mention the others that left for the abbey. He knew Reena would not be quick enough. The girl struggled with riding when she had plenty of preparation. There was no way they could all get mounted in time. The men drew nearer. The man in the lead mentioned something about being close to one but sensing another nearby. Tamaran had to think quickly. If these were the cultists, and he knew they were, then he could not possibly best all six of them. The monk mentioned swords. If they carried swords, then it stood to reason that they were trained in combat.
“Think Tamaran, think!” he hissed.
“Yes, think Tamaran, think!” Reena seconded under her breath with an urgent hiss. She clung to the shadow of the tree.
The man glanced at the hills and hoped his friends would return soon. They had been gone for over an hour. The priest said it took him an hour to reach the road, but the man was slow, his friends were fast. If they found trouble it could take them longer. He frantically played with calculations in his head but there were far too many variables. His thoughts ended with him realizing he could not rely on their return. Tamaran wished he had used his gift to check on them instead. He drew his scimitar again and readied for a fight.
“Reena, Stench, if this turns sour, I need you both to run. Run and find the others. Use the forest for cover. Do you understand me?” The girl and the gremlin nodded. They both looked terrified.
Tamaran moved from his cover to stand in the road facing the approaching men. He held his blade at the ready and clear for them to see. “Hold! Who goes there?” He called out in a commanding voice.
The leader of the band lowered his pendulum and smiled. It was not a welcoming expression. “I am Brother Muhal, of the Sect of Thruum. We mean you no harm traveler. We are but a group of monks on a pilgrimage of enlightenment. Who might you be, my boy?” The man’s dark eyes studied him carefully, taking in every detail, every nuance. He especially studied his face, though it was hard to be sure from this distance. Muhal’s eyes were the eyes of a hunter with a very specific prey. The man moved closer.
“I am Lord Vallen Manique. My estate is nearby. My companions have come to visit the abbey for a religious service. They should be returning shortly. You are welcome to join our camp as soon as they arrive.” Tamaran smiled warmly. He prayed these men were familiar enough with the area to believe his words but not familiar enough to see through his deceit.
This was a clever idea. She had to give him credit for thinking on his feet. He even sounded like Vallen all commanding and shit. She nodded to Stench approvingly. Reena looked as if she might step from hiding, but Tamaran shot her a warning glare to stay put.
“How many are in your party, my lord? We have some food we could share.” Muhal replied calmly as he continued to lead his group closer at a steady pace. His confident stride proved unsettling. “One of my men holds considerable skills with cooking.” The other five men in hoods fanned out as they approached.
Tamaran considered his options. He could try to mount quickly, to ride away and lead them from his hiding companions. Was he fast enough? They were cultists, religious figures. They may have prayer magic. The leader most definitely did. He reconsidered and prayed his allies returned soon. He needed to stall, to buy time. He moved to Shield and began fidgeting with her packs as if searching for something. Shield was better than the others, but the horses all stomped the ground restless. The animals could feel the negativity and discord radiating from these men.
“Hold while I secure the horses. Shield here can get rowdy at times, especially around strangers. She is a powerful animal. I would not want anyone to get hurt.” Tamaran glanced over his shoulder to keep an eye towards the cultists. They continued to approach at that same slow, steady pace. Their arms disappeared beneath their robes. “I asked you to hold, friends. Allow me the chance to secure my animals.” Tamaran met the gaze of Muhal and smiled. He made his best Vallen face.
Muhal continued closer. “Allow me, lord. I have a way with animals.” The man was but a dozen paces away now.
Tamaran spun to face him with his scimitar drawn. “I said hold! You grow too familiar, too quickly, monk. Do not test my patience. One must always be wary of strangers on the open road. Surely you understand?”
Muhal raised his hands from beneath his robes. He held a scimitar of his own. The wickedly sharp blade glistened in the light. “Now, now, Lord Manique. Must we resort to this?” Muhal grinned wickedly. “Or should I call you Lord Tamaran Alsied Kophar instead?”
Tamaran’s violet eyes flashed with surprise. He brought his scimitar up. “Stay back! If you know who I am then you know what I can do. I hold the sacred blood of the Idosians. You dare not anger me or risk my wrath!” he bluffed, raising his free hand to his temple. What was he going to do, read them to death?
Muhal clutched his amulet and laughed. “This protects me. My faith is my shield, boy. I have tracked your kind for decades. I have confronted the best of you. You do not scare me, child. By the virtues of perseverance and assertiveness, I have located you. Let us take you back the easy way. I prefer not to damage the merchandise, especially such valuable merchandise. And have absolutely no doubt in your mind, pretty boy, you are merchandise to me.” He waved a hand gesturing his brothers forward. “Men!”
The five other hooded figures began to advance slowly while chanting in unison. The language they spoke was foreign. Whatever they were chanting carried magic with it, some kind of hypnotic prayer. Muhal led the chant, but the others added their energy to the power behind it. They seemed to fuel the power of his spell prayer. Tamaran felt his mind growing fuzzy. His vision began to blur. He staggered to rest against Shield. Reena watched the reaction from her hiding place and swore under her breath. This was not going well at all. The mare reared up and whinnied, knocking Tamaran to the ground. The force of the jolt shook his mind clear, forcing the magical control away. He looked up with renewed fear and Muhal recognized what had just happened. That damned horse broke the spell. Reena cheered silently, as did Stench, “Yay Shield!”
“Take him by force then!” the cultist hunter shouted angrily. He cast a glare at the upset animal. “I tried to make this easy on you, boy. You forced my hand.”
Four of his men advanced and were wholly unprepared when a skunk scurried through the grass and took aim at them. Peaches sprayed them all, wiggling her little butt back and forth as she blasted them with her musk. All four men cried out gripping their eyes then staggered away retching and coughing. Only one man escaped the putrid blast.
Reena and Stench hid behind a nearby tree doing their best not to breathe. They were both terrified. When the chant began, they felt their minds growing foggy, their wills slipping away. Luckily it was directed at Tamaran or they would have both been laid out. Then after Shield reared up the chant stopped, and they broke the hold of the prayer over their minds. Things were happening so fast. Tamaran was in serious trouble. Evidently, he was something called an Idosian? Reena had never heard that word before. Whatever that was, these men wanted it. The men came at him. Peaches leapt to his defense. The elf asked the skunk to watch over them, but they never expected it to actually do that. They both gawked from hiding as the skunk sprayed the majority of the men. They screamed and shouted and then the horrific smell washed over the area. The horses immediately grew wild and broke free to flee. Chaos ensued and Tamaran jumped back to his feet. He presented his weapon boldly to Muhal.
“She farted on them!” Stench giggled hysterically in a hissing whisper. “A huge wet nasty shit-fart!” The gremlin took a big whiff of the air with his tiny nostrils flaring and giggled harder. It smelled nauseating. That was the best fart EVER! Reena heard his words and struggled not to laugh herself. This was serious. But that was also hilarious.
One of the cultists staggered their way and fell to the ground next to the tree retching. Without pause, Reena sank her knife into his back at just the right angle to puncture a lung. He fell forward on his face gasping and gurgling. She withdrew behind the tree again without anyone being any wiser to her presence.
Muhal watched the chaos erupt in shock. What just happened here? This is why he hated animals. They were so unpredictable. They only held four places in this world, as fodder for an experiment, as a head on his trophy wall, food on his plate or leather for his boots. He kicked at the skunk and sent her sailing into the brush with a painful squeak. He then charged after Tamaran. The youth was attempting to catch one of the horses. It was clear to the hunter that he planned to escape. Tamaran grabbed the reins to Bronwick’s giant horse. The trained warhorse was the only one left that was not racing away at full speed. Even Shield made a break for it. From behind him came one of the cultists. It was the only one to avoid Peaches’ spray. The man raised his scimitar and swung. Tamaran dodged at the last moment. The blade cut the reins from his hand and the horse trotted away. All the animals raced down the road together. He recalled Vallen mentioning they were trained to return to the estate.
“No!” he grumbled. He wanted to ride away, lead these cultists far from Reena and Stench. Then he’d find a way to circle back. “I suppose I will have to do this the hard way then.” Tamaran spun to bring his scimitar across the attacking man’s thigh, dropping him to the ground.
He then raced towards the trees of the forest across the road for better cover. He also hoped to guide them away from his hiding companions. He did not want them to spot Reena or Stench. The remaining cultists and Muhal gave chase. The men ran or staggered into the forest after Tamaran. Some of them paused to puke and gag.
Seeing the four men running away from them, Reena and Stench slipped from their hiding place behind the tree. The other three sprayed cultists were still retching and staggering after them as best they could manage blurry-eyed. Reena pointed towards the cultist on the road. The one with the slashed leg. The girl crept as quietly as a mouse towards him. She made a hand signal and Stench raced out to confront the man. The tiny gremlin was careful to stay far out of reach.
“Give me you food!” he growled at the cultist. Stench continued by jumping up and down and making faces at the man and growling like a tiny dog. He tried to appear as ferocious as possible. Reena thought he looked adorable.
The man appeared surprised and then annoyed. He crawled back to his feet and kicked rocks from the road at the blue nuisance. “Be gone you pest before I gut you and feed you to the buzzards!” He waved his scimitar halfheartedly at the gremlin. He was more concerned with following the others in pursuit of their quarry. He paused to find a way to bandage his leg wound.
Stench scampered close, drawing his attention again. “You food! Give me!” The man limped towards him and growled as he swung his scimitar but missed. Stench was very quick.
“You little…” He prepared to slash the gremlin. A burning pain shot through his body. His hand instinctively fell to grip his hamstring as he crumbled to the ground with a shout. The tendon was sliced neatly on his good leg. He lost his scimitar in the fall.
Reena stood behind him wiping the blood from her blade on her boot. She grinned and raised her eyebrows. “Oops! I guess you won’t be following anyone now.”
The man cursed her and then reached for his weapon. He had no idea where this little waif came from, but he planned to make short work of her. Stench landed atop his hand and began chewing on his fingers with very sharp teeth. The tiny gremlin’s claws also dug into his skin drawing fine lines of red. Screaming and flailing the man slung the gremlin away. He landed in the grass with a loud thump. The man sat up with one bleeding thigh, a sliced hamstring and shredded fingers. He turned to promise death to the girl. Reena pointed behind him and shook her head.
“You shouldn’t be worried about me right now,” she grinned mischievously. In a flash she held her innocent look again. “I’m just a little girl.” Her eyes directed his gaze behind him.
The man spun to face an unsettling sight. Stench rode on the back of Peaches. They headed straight for him. The sight of the gremlin bouncing along on the skunk did not look good. In fact, it was quite horrifying. Stench held tight and cheered as he went. Peaches looked as if she might bite the man but pulled up short with a huff and spun around. She raised her tail at the injured cultist. Another stream of musk squirted directly into the man’s face, completely blinding and gagging him.
“Shit-fart!” Stench cheered as he threw his tiny arms skyward in triumph and then toppled from the skunk’s back to the road with fingers plugging his nostrils. He giggled maniacally. “Smell sooo bad!”
Reena held her nose and darted in to slice the blind man’s throat. She then raced back to hide behind another tree. It took her a moment to collect herself. She had never actually killed someone before. Not that she regretted the action, but it still left her weak in the knees. Soon she was joined by the gremlin and the skunk. She had no idea where Tamaran had gone besides into the forest with three half-blinded cultists and their leader on his trail. She hoped he would be safe. When would the others return? She could really use their help right about now. She also needed to move upwind. This place stunk something awful!