The Hand of Fortune decided their best course of action would be to accept the Khundari Shadow Warriors’ offer, and accompany them home to the dwarven city-state of Dürkon. They hoped to catch the trail of their current quarry there, assuming the trader known to the Dükonians as Arlun Parek was, in fact, the elusive mage that had escaped them during the herb hunt in the hills above Lake Everbrite. Korwin’s intelligence from Magister Vetaris, and their own experience, led them to feel fairly confident that this was the case.
Departing early in the morning hours of the 10th of Turniki, the friends had a sad parting with Draik, Raven and Black Hawk, the first time in months (although it seemed like years) that they had set off on an adventure without them. Vulk, in particular, seemed depressed at leaving his Shield Brother behind, although he said little as they rode off into the cool morning fog. The trees were just beginning to turn from their summer green, here in the mountains, and it seemed to reflect the mood of the group.
They made good time, despite the Khundari being on foot… they seemed to never tire and could keep up a pace that easily matched the Hand’s horses. The morning mists soon burned off, and the day proved to be a beautiful late summer day, warm but not hot, perfect for traveling. They reached Dor Zebarin before noon, and were enthusiastically greeted by Ser Coreth, the Constable, who seemed fully recovered from the baneberry poisoning two months past. He insisted that the companions stay at the keep, and invited both them and their Khundari companions to join him for a feast that evening.
Questioning both before and during the banquet provided no clue as to the location of Arlun Parek. The Constable was unfamiliar with the name, and none of the local merchants or guildsfolk he had questioned knew of the man’s whereabouts, although some recalled him from trading visits in years past. After a long and ale-filled evening, the Khundari retired to their inn and the Hand to their chambers.
♦ ♦ ♦
The next morning they were on the road again at first light, making for Dor Areson, the new keep the Crown was building on the Grevas River, at the eastern edge of the mysterious Torvin Marsh. Gold had been found in recent years in the Grevas and its tributaries, and the influx of fortune-seekers had prompted the construction of this new fortress. Lekorm described the building to his Umantari companions as they traveled, critiquing it as only a Khundari could. Although not designed nor built by his people, apparently the architect had been a student of a Khundari master builder, and had learned his trade reasonably well, Lekorm conceded. When they had passed through on their way south, the masons had been nearing the end of their labors – they expected to have the keep completed by Höl Kopia, just six days away now.
Of course the big question in Nolkior, one that Vulk and Mariala in particular had heard many rumors about in the last two months, was to whom would the King grant the fief . Every noble house in the realm was vying for the plum, some with subtlety and grace, others with bluster and boasting. The Caelite Order of the Lord of Paladins was also pressing the King to grant them the keep, which they hoped to make their new headquarters, the better to pursue their growing crusade against the Firilani barbarians.
They rode down from the hills into the wide river valley of the Grevas in the early afternoon. As they wound down the last kilometers to Dor Areson they had a breathtaking view – the shining ribbon of the river running through a gently rolling land, wooded and dotted with ripening fields, the keep itself bright new stone gleaming in the sun, and to the west, miles of sparkling green wetlands with the blue waters of Lake Everbrite beyond. And rising over the lake, blue in the late-summer haze, the snow-capped peak of Mount Ratonkül, beneath which lay the Khundari city of Dürkon.
The small village around the walls of the new fortress was abuzz with activity, and the sounds of wood and stone being worked could be heard from almost every direction. While the dwarves debated whether they would go on, after a brief rest, and try to make their city before nightfall, Vulk, Mariala and Korwin rode up to speak to the knight in charge of the keep’s construction, one Ser Arol Korvek, a heavy-set, red-faced man with thinning white hair and a friendly manner.
As it happened, he was familiar with the name Arlun Parek, who he was sure had only recently been in town. He was able to point the friends in the direction of the local apothecary, who might know more about the trader’s schedule and habits. Ser Arol himself knew little more than the name, this being essentially a booming frontier town, and himself very busy with the final details of his charge.
The apothecary did indeed know more about Arlun Parek, and revealed that the man had been in town just the day before, and had gone into the marsh. He came several times a year, apparently, to trade with the old crazed hermit who lived in the marshlands west of them… Torkin Veldan was the old coot’s name, and he had lived in his cabin in the swamp for as long as anyone could remember… he claimed to be descended from ancient royalty, which was absurd of course, but he did know his plants and herbs and animals.
The apothecary traded with him himself, and the man’s goods were always top quality. Others came from as far as Kildora to deal with the crazy old guy, who had little use for money, but would take some very odd things in trade if the mood struck him. That Arlun fellow was from the Republic himself, in fact… no, he wan’t inclined to go into the marsh himself, it was a dangerous and unsettling place… he preferred to wait for Torkin to bring his goods out, although yes, he had been to the man’s cabin a time or two… he ‘d be happy to show them the path into the marsh, and give what directions he could, but they’d best be careful of the quaking bogs, the quicksands, and the poisonous snakes… not to mention the meredragons!
Rejoining their companions, and passing on the news that their quarry was potentially close at hand, there ensued a lengthy debate about what to do. Some were all for pursuing the elusive mage into the wetlands, others wondered if they shouldn’t wait for the man to re-emerge and take him then. Eventually it was agreed that there was no certainty that he’d return through the village, rather than exit the marsh elsewhere, but then came the argument about how to approach the man. Korwin wanted to rendition him to Dürkon, for questioning under the expertise of the Khundari, but the others were more concerned about surviving their meeting with him, and taking him alive to begin with.
The Shadow Warriors showed no interest in going into the misty, damp and fetid swamp, although they had decide to stay for the night in Areson, rather than push on for home. They would be leaving an hour after dawn the next day, and would prepare a welcome for the friends in Dürkon, whenever they might show up. Eventually the group got its act together and, leaving Cris and Jeb to guard the horses and baggage, followed their local guide out of the village and down to the margins of the wetlands.
♦ ♦ ♦
The old hermit’s cabin was said to be no more than four or five kilometers into the marsh, but as the path was ever-shifting and hard to follow, with dangerous bogs, quicksands and algae-filled pools at every turn, it took several hours to make their way there. It was shortly after Erol had sunk up to his knees in quicksand, and been pulled out by Vulk and his staff, that they found themselves on a patch of more solid ground amongst the reeds, bushes and water-rooted trees, on which sat Torkin’s cabin. Although clearly quite old, the wood dark with slime and algae, the roof thick with moss, it nonetheless appeared to be well-maintained. The area around was cleared, a large pile of wood was stacked agains one wall, and translucent scraped-hide windows covered the several windows. A solid-looking door was closed, but smoke was drifting up from the fieldstone chimney.
They approached cautiously, Erol trying not to squelch in his wet boots, alive to any sense of danger. Brann sniffed ahead of Devrik, while Erol’s ferret, Grover, ranged merrily along the fringes of the clearing, bright-eyed and curious. There was no sign of life, beyond the smoke from the cabin… eventually they approached the door and called out the old man’s name. After several minutes without a response, one of them tried the latch on the door. It was unlocked, and they slowly pushed it open…
The inside of the one-room cabin was dim, despite the light from four windows and a well-made fire in the fireplace, but not so dim that they didn’t immediately see the body laying on the floor, near the crude pallet that served as a bed. Vulk cautiously approached the figure, wary as he was these days of the undead, but soon determined that this one was well and truly, most sincerely dead. It was a leathery, wrinkled old man, with wispy gray hair, clad only in crude leather breeches, laying face down on the wooden floor. The cause of death seemed fairly obvious – vines, growing up through the cracks between the floorboards, appeared to have entangled the poor old fellow and to have strangled him. His eyes bulged and his bloated tongue protruded between purple lips. But there was little smell of decay, and what there was seemed to come from the vines themselves, which seemed limp and rotting.
“I’d say he’s only been dead a few hours,” Vulk said to Mariala as he rose to his feet.
“Torkin Veldan, you think?” she asked, gazing about the cabin.
“Probably…” Vulk began to look around the cabin himself now, and noted the crude crates piled up in one corner and the bales of dried plants stacked neatly in another, all looking like they were waiting to be moved out. The fire seemed well made, and couldn’t have been burning unattended for more than an hour or two. Whoever had killed this man wasn’t too far away, he felt sure.
While the others had busied themselves inside the cabin, examining the body and rifling through the dead man’s possessions, Erol and Devrik had both wandered outside to look around further. Devrik examined the area around the cabin more closely, occasionally listening to what was going on inside through the now-open windows. When Vulk pondered aloud whether or not he should make the tremendous effort to try and resurrect the dead man, Devrik snorted, and called in, “Are you really going to resurrect every dead body we come across?”
“I was pondering,” Vulk replied, giving his friend an annoyed finger. “And no, I’m not!”
Despite his first-hand experience with the dangers of the swamp, Erol headed off westward, Grover ranging beside and before him, following what looked like the marks of a largish number of shod feet. He had tried to quietly get his friends attention but, having failed, he shrugged and decide to investigate quietly himself. Not a hundred meters on he suddenly heard the sounds of conflict, and a deep roar of pain and rage. Creeping through the bushes and creeping vines hanging from trees, he peered out at the back of a curved section of ruined stone wall, jaggedly ranging from two to three meters high. The action, whatever it was, appeared to be happening on the other side of the wall, within the arc of what must have once been a tower, or maybe a temple… all Erol could see, off to the right edge was a single gülvini.
“Damn,” he thought. “More of those damn gül-gramlini. They sure get around…”
Moving around slowly and quietly, he made his way further to his right, to get a better look at what was going on. He soon saw at least some of the action – it was both several gül-gramlini and at least two gül-hovgavui attacking a huge reptilian creature that not only was backed up against the wall, but seemed to be ensnared by numerous vines that grew up from the ground and wound around its limbs, torso, neck and tail, all but immobilizing it. The gülvini ware using spears to dart in and stab at the creature’s head and exposed flanks.
Erol turned to make his way back to his friends and bring the warning, but he saw that they were already cautiously approaching, drawn by the roars now coming from the wounded meredragon. Aat least that’s what Erol assumed it was, from Korwin’s description on the hike in here. And probably one of the cowardly males, rather than the more aggressive females, given how it even now tried to avoid its tormentors, rather than attack them… and at that moment one of the spears must have pierced something vital, for with a plaintive cry the great creature suddenly shuddered and collapsed, one last bellows-like breath exuded as it died.
As the gülvini set aside their spears and took out axes to begin carefully hacking off the spinal ridge-plates of the dead dragon, Erol quickly brought the others up to speed. They then began to spread out, shielded from the view of the gülvini by the ruined wall, trying to see what lay beyond. And what lay beyond riveted their attention – some 15 meters beyond the massacre at the wall, two more urve, as Korwin insisted the meredragon’s be called, were struggling frantically in the grip of more vines holding them fast near the water’s edge, vines apparently being controlled by a human flanked by two gül-gramlini with spears.
The human had his back to them, and the hood was up on his blue cloak, but he was gesturing in clear control of the vines, and in his hand was a tall staff of carved wood and metal, with a large red crystal set in the head. Spread out along the wall, it was difficult for the friends to discuss options, but in any case it was quickly taken out of their hands as Devrik rushed to attack the mage.
The gülvini guarding the human sensed Devrik’s approach only at the last second, turning in time for one to take the charging warrior’s battlesword right across its right hand, causing it to collapse shrieking to the ground, blood gushing from a severed artery. Brann leaped at the throat of the second gülvini guard, but was knocked away with a backhanded blow.
Even as Devrik moved into the clearing, Erol loosed an arrow from his bow from a break in the ruined wall, aimed at what he was certain was Arlun Parek. But the shaft flew wide, missing not only his target but both the gülvini guards and the struggling urve. ‘Damn, I really need to get Jeb to give me lessons,’ he thought in disgust, notching another arrow…
As the battle was joined Vulk leapt out and cast down his Serpent Staff before the nearest of the large gül-hovgavui, then drove his sword at the nearer of the smaller gül-gramlini, sending the creature’s weapon flying from its hand. As the snarling creature scrabbled for the axe in the tangled vegetation at the foot of the wall, its larger companion found itself suddenly in the constricting coils of a massive 3 meter snake…
Mariala had been preparing to try and seize control of the vines ensnaring the two urve when Devrik charged into battle, and as he took down the first gülvini she focused her concentration on her Ring of Plant Control, and felt her mind expand outward. She touched the vegetable “mind” of the unnaturally moving vines, and felt the other mind that controlled their movements; she attempted to wrest that control away, but was rebuffed…
Erol shot his second arrow at a closer target this time; unfortunately, it was the same gülvini that was wrestling with Vulk’s huge snake. Not that it mattered much in the end, as the shaft sailed harmlessly into the trees and the water beyond. He cursed, dropped the bow, and reached for his trident…
From behind the wall Korwin unleashed the spell he had been preparing, and Damokiran’s Freezing Mist quickly began to spread over the area where most of their opponents were gathered. There was a shimmering in the air as the moisture was drawn from it, condensing into a slick frost that covered everything in a 10 meter circle. Even as the stones slackened under the spell, one of the gül-gramlini leapt to the top of the wall, preparing to attack Korwin from above – and it’s feet slid out from under it. With a shriek of dismay it tumbled to the ground at the water mage’s feet, as Korwin staggered back in surprise. But he kept preparing his next spell…
The battle began to take on a certain comedic tone at this point, Erol thought as time finally slowed down for him – the sun glistening on the frosted ground and wall, the gülvini slipping and sliding as they fought snakes or tried to move toward Devrik or leap onto the wall or die on Vulk’s broadsword – and he spitted the axe hand of one of the little white furry guys, right through the wrist, and the blood spurted out in that way it has…
To everyone else, it remained a confused, chaotic mess. Devrik repeatedly struck at Arlun Parek (there was no doubt now who his foe was, having seen his face), but no matter how mighty the blow, how certain the damage, the unarmored wizard seemed unfazed and undamaged. He never more than staggered back a bit, and he had delivered several nasty blows with his staff to Devrik’s chest, which felt like a rib might have snapped in there…
Another solid hit on Arlun, who just staggered a bit, gesturing with one hand even as he did so – and suddenly Devrik felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. He blocked a blow from the gülvini guard to his right with one hand as he reached back to pull a throwing star from his shoulder… the damn thing was made of bone, yet it had pierced his armor and sunk into his flesh. And as he watched the object disintegrated in his hand, trickling to the ground in a cloud of dust.
He had no time to consider it, as the second gül-hovgavu slid up to him, unsteady on its feet on the slick ground, and he was forced to plunge his sword into its thigh, severing the femoral artery. It went down with a roar of pain and fury, but was quickly no more than a twitching mound of black fur and tusk. And then a second bone star pinged off the bracer on his left forearm…
Mariala and Vulk had both seen the sudden flash of the throwing star that had hit Devrik, but neither was sure where it had come from or who had thrown it. She was too engaged in her continuing mental battle for control of the vines to do anything else, but Vulk, having dispatched the gülvini near him, moved towards the area he thought the enemy must be. Skirting the icy area, moving fast behind the wall, he saw the second throwing star as it flew toward Devrik, but no enemy – the weapon had flown up and out from a small knapsack that lay apparently abandoned near the west end of the wall, behind his friend. Something should be done about that pack…
As he contemplated his next move he was startled into a girlish shriek by Erol, suddenly appearing from nowhere, running full tilt past him, calling out “On your left!” as he did. As his heart stopped twitching in his chest, he saw Korwin cast another spell of some sort, and a rolling bank of heavy fog suddenly enveloped the area behind Arlun, shrouding the two urve from view, and partially obscuring the enemy mage as well.
At the moment that the mists rose, Mariala finally gained the upper hand in her mental struggle with Arlun for control of the plants, feeling his will snap away. She immediately commanded the vegetation to release the meredragons, and although she could no longer see them, she sensed them obeying, falling away to quickly begin rotting back into the earth. Now maybe the dragons would enter the fray and take out that seemingly impervious mage!
And to help them along, she now set about casting a Dispell on Arlun, to try and break whatever enchantment he possessed that was allowing him to take Devrik’s blows as if he were wearing plate. But even as she cast it, she sensed it slipping off and away from her enemy. Whatever it was, she wasn’t strong enough yet to remove it. And now he was moving back into the mists, fading from her view…
As Brann again attacked the last gülvini guard, both Erol and Devrik had moved forward to attack Arlun, watching a thick fog suddenly come up behind him. But though they both struck solid blows with battlesword and trident, the mage seemed unaffected. He stepped back into the enshrouding mists, gesturing as he moved and muttering something unintelligible. Devrik was momentary distracted as he was forced to kill the gül-hovgavu that had slipped and slid its way to him, severing the femoral artery in its thigh.
Erol had already disappeared ahead of him, as Devrik prepared to follow Arlun into the mists, when there suddenly came surging out of that fog a second wave of vapor. But this one was a transparent green mist, not terribly difficult to see through, though it gave everything a greenish cast. As soon as everyone within the expanding cloud had drawn another breath, however, they knew it was nothing good – the smell was simply unbelievable, and completely unbearable, like a dead skunk that had been rotting for a week in a vat of steaming shit. But it was the hint of cinnamon underlying it all that made it almost impossible not to vomit uncontrollably.
Devrik and Erol both managed to avoid actually vomiting, as did most of the remaining gülvini caught in the cloud. But Vulk was not so lucky and he was quickly on his knees, regretting everything he’d ever eaten or drunk. Fortunately Mariala remained outside the range of the stinking cloud, but equally unfortunately the gül-hovguva that had been struggling with Vulk’s snake had finally inflicted enough damage to cause it to revert to its staff form, and he was also outside the green cloud. He staggered toward Mariala with murder in his beady red eyes and an axe in his hand…
Grover the ferret leapt from his spot on the wall where he’d been avidly watching the carnage, and ran straight up the gülvini brute’s leg and under his leather breast plate. With a shriek, the monstrous creature tried to hack at the small animal that suddenly seemed to be trying to chew through its stomach. Mariala was never quite sure, afterward, if Grover actually managed to sever something vital, or if the cursed creature managed to fatally injury itself in trying to attack the ferret; in any case, it suddenly toppled over, clawing at the ground as it quickly bled out. Grover snaked out from under, his jaws and fur bloody, and scampered up a nearby tree.
Meanwhile, Erol had staggered about, retching in the fog, seeking Arlun, and had managed another futile hit before losing him again. Devrik remained on the edge of the fog, trying to cope with the sudden weakness and twisting stomach the green gas had indicted on him. Suddenly, there was a roar, loud enough to hurt the ear, and out of the fog a dark shape came hurtling toward him, to land crumpled at his feet – it was Arlun, stunned and shaken, but apparently not out just yet.
Following out of the fog bank was a mere dragon, larger and far more aggressive than anything they’d yet seen, its tail lashing ferociously back and forth, shredding the fog like a fan – a female, obviously! Moving faster than he would have thought such a huge creature could, she lashed out with one great claw at Devrik’s head. Instinctively, he swung his battelsword up and struck her knee, but the blade hardly penetrated at all, and was almost wrenched from his grasp.
Still in the grip of the damn cloud, he staggered back – he had no desire to fight the innocent meredragons, especially a female one. As he retreated from the conflict, Arlun staggered to his feet and swung at the urve with his staff. The dragon caught it in her massive jaws, and the thing snapped like a dry twig, with a flash of violet light that only Devrik, Korwin and Mariala saw. Arlun was again sent staggering back, turning it into a stumbling run back into the now quickly thinning mists.
About then, several things happened at once – a gust of wind dispersed the last of Korwin’s fog bank, as well as most of Arlun’s stinking cloud, Mariala cast a Fire Nerve spell at the suddenly visible form of their opponent, and Vulk completed his ritual of Herald’s Peace, all at the same time that Arlun’s clothes crumpled to the ground and a large hawk rose on flapping wings into the afternoon sky.
Erol was briefly tempted to hurl his trident at the feeing bird/mage, wishing his bow wasn’t laying 15 meters away, but then felt a sense of peace and harmony flood through him and it seemed wrong somehow. The meredragon suddenly stopped and shook her head from side to side; she stared around the clearing at them all for a moment, and then turned and waded back out into the waters of the marsh, quickly disappearing from sight.
Once again the damn Torazin mage had escaped them!
♦ ♦ ♦
For the half hour that the Herald’s Peace lasted, the companions searched Arlun’s abandoned clothes and knapsack, discovering a significant amount of coin and gemstones, clothes, four remaining bone stars, and a rolled up map tube. In the latter item they discovered a map of the local area, centered on the ancient site of Nah-henu, supposed worldy home of the Immortal Kalos, called by some the Mad God. There was also a code-like writing in various places on the map, but no one could immediately decipher it.
They also discussed what to do with the five surviving gülvini prisoners they now found themselves saddled with, while Erol tended their wounds and Vulk saw to the healing of Brann, who had been badly injured by the last gülvini he’d fought. In the end they questioned the one who seemed most persuadable to cooperation, and learned something of what had transpired here…
It seemed that “the Master,” as the creature called Arlun, had come into a nearby gül-gramlini colony, with the two hulking gül-hovgavui already under his control, and demanded a hand of warriors to accompany him into the marshes. They had been compelled to obey him by the force of his mastery, a strange compulsion they hated but could not control. He had sent them into the wetlands, with strict orders to meet him at the small cabin, while he went into the human town. Why, he didn’t know, now did he?
When the Master had showed up he had gone into the cabin, and the two humans had argued… the old, wrinkled one whined about the swamp lizards being his friends, he’d never betray them… then the Master had spoken, and vines shot up through the floor and tangled the old one to death. It was very amusing, and they hadn’t felt so bad about following such a powerful master then.
He had used the call the old man had once taught him, to summon the lizards, and three had come… then the fun began. The Master lured one into the trap, then bound it there with his vines, and while his great servants dispatched it with spears, he had bound the other two… they were to be next, the Master wanted the oil from their spine plates… no, he didn’t say why… why do masters of anything? If it doesn’t involving killing or fucking, what’s the point, really? Anyway, then the stupid Umantari had interfered, and it had all fallen apart… they had been supposed to carry the bundles and crates in the cabin out of the swamp for the Master… did the Umantari want them to do the same for them now…?
About then, the two urve who had fled as soon as Mariala had freed them came tentatively back, obviously nervous and wary. But the group convinced them they meant no harm, and agreed that they could take their friend’s body away (fortunately Korwin had packed up the three spine plates the gülvini had already cut off, and Erol had taken the teeth he wanted). They confirmed that Torkin had long been a friend to them, and they were saddened at his death. They had traded in the past with Arlun, and were very confused as to why he had suddenly turned on them… they soon departed into the waters with the dead urve between them.
Once they were gone the others continued to argue about the fate of their now useless prisoners, and with the Peace gone, ideas turned violent. Vulk and Mariala returned to Torkin’s cabin to see to Torkin’s remains. As Vulk prepared the body for a proper cremation, Mariala took the key he’d found in the old man’s trousers and tried it on the small casket she’d found under his bed. It turned out to contain only a few copper and silver coins, an old, tarnished ring, and various bits of detritus that had apparently been precious to their owner, but trash to anyone else. She thought it was very sad.
She attended with Vulk at the byre, setting it alight as the sun set in a conflagration of red and orange in the west, and he recited the words of the Ritual of Farewell. The others soon joined them, seeing the smoke of the burning, and they all stood silently until all was ash and embers. The sun had set by then, though the western sky was still bright with half-light, and they all realized they’d be spending the night in the cabin.
As they left Vulk to attend to the final rites alone, walking slowly to the cabin, Mariala caught up to Devrik.
“So what did you decide about the gülvini?” she asked quietly.
“We didn’t, really,” he shrugged. “When the ideas degenerated to the point of forcing them into the water to let the female dragons eat them, he simply got up and walked over behind them and slit their throats. We left the bodies there.”
“Oh,” was all she had to say in answer. They went into the cabin.