Death Or Fortune (29 page)

     For as
long as I can remember, I have always carried rope with me.  I never
understood why. There were times when it was the last thing I needed but yet I
always had it with me.  Perhaps it was something Windfall had told me.
Perhaps it was someone else.  After spending a week in a mountain range, I
understood.  A week of going up one side and down another of the
unforgiving mountains, I did not question it at all.  While some of the
more difficult spots were made easy with the use of Lomarks magic, he could not
fix it all.  Even if he wanted us to believe he could and reminded us that
we were doomed up there without him.  More than once I was tempted to toss
him off the side of whatever ledge we were on.  Not that I would have ever
done that but the thought did cross my mind a time or two.  All the
frustration we felt during that week was washed away by relief the first time
we saw the White Spire.
     It was like a gleaming work of art perched at the top
of a mountain peak.  Sun light reflecting off the cool white stone of the
tower, we could see the fort at the base of the tower. The tower it's self
stood more than a hundred feet high, at the base it was surrounded by a fort
where Ramanthus held his men and where he had created his foul undead
creatures. Lomark spent close to an hour with a spy glass held up to his eye,
in study of the spire.
'He shaped the whole thing out of the mountain top,
very interesting.'
I wondered at times if he admired the work too much or
perhaps it was admiration of the one we were bound to face. We watched the
comings and goings around the spire for close to two days.  Had we been
able to fly, we could have touched down next to the spire in an hour or so.
 From the fort there were three trails down the mountain. One lead to the
west, the other two towards the east.  We lost sight of the trail that
lead to the south east but the other was close to where we would be once we
managed to climb down from where we had made camp. 

      The
four of us took turns watching the tower and the trails.  Waiting for a
sign that it was time to approach the tower.  When it would be the best
time and most of all, where we could enter the fort without drawing attention
to ourselves.  Each time I took my turn to watch the tower I wondered if
there was someone at the top of that tower, watching down on us.  The
other thing on my mind were the dragons that had stolen the Rod of the Arcane
in the first place. There was no sign of them at all. It had occurred to me
that they may have been hidden but where do you hide full grown dragons? The
more I thought about it, the more sense it made. There were no dragons at the
spire. Ramanthus couldn't keep them in check while keeping a small army of men
with him.  Yet I was sure they would be close by and we could not overlook
any impact that may have had on our plans.  There was still the question
of how many men were inside the fort.  The fort was a constant hive of
activity.  We were all sure that there were other bases where Ramanthus
had additional men.  

     Lomark
said at the most there couldn't be more than a hundred men in and around the
spire. While it was an impressive site on the mountain peak, it just wasn't'
large enough to hold a large force. Food and drinking water had to be brought
in to the human mercenaries.
'Poison, we could poison a shipment of food and
just wait for them to die off in mass.'
Lomark suggested.  I don’t
know if it was Zender’s horrified look or the thought of giving a wizard who
was practiced in necromancy hundreds of bodies to use that made him change his
mind.  Later that night as my watch was ending the mage came and sat by my
side.  He asked me what I thought after a day and a half of observation.
 I told him that I had a dwarven friend back in Arcadia and it was him
that I was thinking of when something occurred to me. Half that mountain could
have been hallowed out and there could be two or three cities worth of men
under the ground. That being said, they were not moving enough food in and out
to support that.  I came back to my questions about the dragons and
wondering where they could be.  Then I came to my final thought.
 Even if Ramanthus had two or three other camps like this one. There was
no way he had enough men to move on Xcavere. Any men he was planning on feeding
to the legions of undead were just a distraction.  Ramanthus planned on a
one on one confrontation with Xcavere.  A direct assault to dispose of him
quickly.  

     '
Interesting
'
he said to me from the depths of his hood. When I asked him what was so
interesting he could only laugh.
'Perhaps you are not as stupid as I thought
.'
I wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a complement or not.  I just
shook my head at him as I handed off the spy glass and joined the other two in
rest. In the middle of the night we started to make our way down the mountain
again. Towards the smooth trails that would lead us to the White Spire. We
decided that we would hide as close to the trail as possible and ambush one of
the food shipments. We would then have Zackary drive the wagon into the spire
while the rest of us hid. We observed shipments come in, three or four times
every day for the last two days.  We had no reason to think anything would
change the longer we watched.  Just before dawn we found ourselves a spot
near the trail where we could hide among the rocks with bit of clever magic
from our wizard.  Then it just turned into a waiting game.  

     We saw
what we hoped would be our wagon coming from quite a ways out.  The driver
was frantically urging the horses on demanding more and more speed out of the
great lumbering beast.  Something did not seem right, something seemed
strange.  It was not until I saw the man standing up to look behind him that
I noticed.  This driver was alone, I took the spy glass from Zender and
looked at the driver. His tunic was tattered and covered in blood.  I
assumed since the driver looked fine, that it wasn't his blood.  Each food
shipment came with at least two men. Sometimes more but never less than two.
 Before I could decide if this was our lucky day I felt an urgent tap on
my shoulder.  Zender was trying to pull me down all the while pointing up
the trail. Ten men, all mercenaries under the employ of Ramanthus were quickly
coming down the trail. They would meet the wagon before we had a chance to
attack it. All we could do was sit there and hope Lomarks magic would hold,
that we would not be seen.  

     I held my
breath as the troops ran past our hiding spot.  Not a single one looked
our way yet for some reason I could not let go of my sword. We could hear the
screaming off in the distance but none of us could make it out right away.
 The wagon driver was waving at the troops headed his way, waving his arm
and shouting at the top of his lungs.  All the while continuing to push
the horses as fast as they would go under their heavy load.  '
Run
!'
he said.
'It is coming, run away
!' I looked at my friends and asked the
question we were all thinking.  What was coming and why would they need to
run? The men stopped as the wagon rolled to them. The driver was leaning over
in the seat talking to the leader, I tried to make out what they were saying to
each other but the pounding in the distance was distracting me.
'Do you hear
that? What is that? Give me the spy glass Darmot
.' Zender demanded.
 The cleric stood up as much as he dared to see past the rocks that were
helping to hide us. When all he said was
'Interesting
' I wanted to
throttle him.

      Soon
we could all see it, running across the barren ground, each step making a heavy
thud on the ground.  From the rough shape and crazy mass of hair on its
head I assumed it was just a hill giant.  As it got closer to the panic
stricken wagon driver I saw just how wrong I was. While it was at one time a
hill giant, its rotten face and green skin told me that it had not been a hill
giant in a very long time. The wagon driver not completely out of his mind
jumped from the wagon and started to run on foot up the trail. Leaving all of
his goods behind.  Ten men stood between the wagon and the undead giant.
 I will give them credit for being brave enough to stand their ground.
 Yet they were not smart enough to avoid the giant's club as it charged
after the wagon. In one massive sweep of its arm it crushed three men.  A
fourth man was bowled over by giant bare feet, crushed into a bloody red pulp
on the ground.
'Oy, dat bloody well had ta hurt
.' Zackary took the words
out of my mouth.  While the driver had jumped from the wagon, the horses
were still trying to get away. When the giant ran up beside the horses and
clubbed the first one in the head I knew we had to do something.  I turned
to the cleric and wizard and told them to stay put and to stay hidden.  

     I slapped
Zackary on the back and motioned for him to follow me. We quickly moved out of
our hiding spot and into view of everyone.  I could tell the six remaining
men did not know who we were and to make matters worse we all stopped and
watched in horror as the giant dropped to its knees. It started to chew on the
mangled and bloody head of the horse it killed. The second horse fought in vain
to free it's self from the wagon at the sight of its partners demise.
 Zackary and I stood in the center of the road, north of the wagon.
 The other six men stood on the south side of it.  They were watching
us and the giant.  All I knew was that we could not afford to let the
giant kill the second horse.  I told Zackary to watch my back as I moved
towards the giant. It turned its head towards me, still holding the horse by
the neck with half of its head in its mouth. It dropped the dead beast, picked
up its club and started to get up again.  Much to my dismay, some of the
other men started to move towards me.  Yet the giant was my first
priority, I was the only one on that road strong enough to deal with it head
on.  

     The undead
giant got to its feet again as it raised its club high above his head.  It
sought to crush me there on the spot.  I charged forward as fast as my
feet would carry me, striking at the giant just above its exposed knee.  I
pray I never see anything so wretched again as what happened then.  Putrid
green flesh exploded all around me as I cut the giants leg off just above the
knee.  As the undead beast fell over into the road I could feel the sickly
green matter entering my eyes.  I was covered in the green matter from the
giant’s leg from head to toe. Never in my life have I felt such pain as I did
that day.  I backed away from the other men towards Zackary, pleading with
him to wash my eyes out with water.  With the giant down the other men
started to attack it.  Trying to finish it off while it was still down.
 Zackary had dropped his weapon in the road and was doing his best to
clean the infected matter from my eyes.  All I could do is scream for
water.  It was then that the rest of the men moved to attack us.
 With my blurred vision I saw Zackary pick up his weapon and move away
from me.  

     From what
Zender told me later Zackary fought like a man possessed.  Cutting into
the mercenaries without mercy.  He protected me long enough to find my
water tin so I could wash out my eyes.  My eyes were red rimmed and
swollen, it was all I could do to keep them open at all.  I looked at the
world and it appeared to be wrapped in a white silken haze.  If not for
Zackary's red hair, I would not have been able to tell him from the others. I
held up my weapon and shield with no hope of helping him at all. Not that it
stopped me from going forward.  I only hoped that if nothing else I would
not harm Zackary. When the cross bow bolt slammed into my shoulder I knew it
was coming.  I could hear it but there was nothing I could do to avoid it.
While my armor stopped it from ripping through my shoulder, it still managed to
draw blood.  I tried to shake it off but as soon as I took a step forward
I could feel the burning.  Not in my eyes but in my shoulder, where the
poisoned bolt had found its mark.  As I took a second step my world went
from white, to gray to black.  The only thing I remember after that was
fallin
g forward and Zackary's scream.

    
Linda Tapper, the newest serving girl at The Red Dragon Inn was worried about
the little halfling near the fire place. She had seen him in here all the time,
served to him many times over the last couple of months yet she had never seen
him like this.  As if he was the only one in the room, the only person or
thing he had eyes for was the dragon head on the wall.  The other girls
told Linda that he took his favorite spot just before dawn and had not moved
all day long.  He ate a bit, drank far less than ever before and never
spoke other than to ask for an order.  Linda was popular with the folks
who frequented the inn.  Her fire red hair and ample bust line made her
stand out.  Most folks figured she would only be there long enough to find
a husband.  Most folks didn't know that she had one and buried him just
the year before.
      "Well, I have had enough of this" she
said to no one at all. She untied her apron and told the cook she was taking
off for the rest of the night.  She made one last trip behind the bar and
filled up two large tankards of ale.  Weaving her way past the mostly
empty tables she sat both mugs down on the Halflings table.  Pulling out
one of the chairs she sat down next to him and waited for him to say something.
 Looking into his eyes she could see something, something she knew all too
well. "So, how long are you going to stew here Master Pare?" The
halfling looked up and gave her a faint smile.
     "Oh, hello Linda. Is everything all right?"
He asked without much feeling in his voice.
     "I should be asking you that question. I have
never seen you look so lost." Linda took one of the tankards into her hand
and started to drink while she pushed the other towards the halfling.
     "I am just not feeling well.  I miss my
friends and I miss the old times.  I wish I could put everything back to
normal.  When we were all together and not fighting.  I wish Darmot
would come home so I didn't have to worry about Jasmin.  Now I find out
that Hetaron wants to kill Darmot and Jasmin.  Cynthia lied to me, made me
like her and now I see it was just so she could get close to my other friends.
 It is all just a big mess and I don't know what to do any more."
Linda could hear the frustration in the Halflings voice and felt a bit queer as
she watched a tear roll down his face.

    
"Well, sitting here like a bump on a log isn't going to make anything
better. Lord Kromwell will be home before you know it. You just wait and see.
Do you want me to make up your room tonight or will you be heading out?"

     "How
can things get better, every time I turn around it is a little worse than
before?"

    
"Master Pare, when my husband died during the war I thought my world had
come to an end. I was sure I was going to end up on the streets or even worse.
 Even when Lord Kromwell gave me this job here, I wasn't sure I was going
to make it.  I didn't know how to live without my husband.  Yet
things got better, I was able to keep moving forward.  While I still miss
my dear Declan, I know I am ok now.  No matter how much you are hurting
right now, things will get better." The halfling looked long and hard into
the eyes of the woman in front of him.  He felt something inside of him,
small at first but growing by the moment.  Then all at once it came to
him.  He reached forward, picked up the tankard of ale and did not put it
down until he had drained it all.

     
"I can't stay here. I have to get back to Jasmin. Tell her the good news.
Well, not really good news but she will feel better knowing that there isn't
going to be anyone coming around to kill her.  I have to go, thank you for
talking to me." As the halfling jumped out of his chair he reached out and
placed his hand on Linda's knee.  Only to have her lean forward and kiss
him on the cheek.  Pare stood back and looked at the red haired woman and
felt a bit of a flush come to his face. With a smile and a wave he headed out
the back door towards the stable where his little horse was waiting for him to
make the trip back out to Darmot's estate.  As he rode out of town he
couldn't shake the feeling he had.  He smiled as he placed his hand over
his cheek where the waitress had kissed him.  With a gentle sigh he let
his hand fall again and said out loud, "if only she wasn't so tall."

--------------------------------------------------

     "This
must be your way of keeping me humble." Hans said to no one at all.
"The one thing I hate the most and you give me more of it." Hans
looked around the room by the light of a lantern.  Scrolls and books lined
every square inch of the walls.  Each one holding some bit of history,
some bit of wisdom, the teachings of the god Solarth.  Each night for more
than a week he had been in that room picking over the text. Most of it was
beyond him. Written in languages long since forgotten or beyond his ability to
understand.  At the end of that first week he decided that he would need
help with it all. "But who do I trust? There has to be someone." Shaking
his head he left the room behind again.  Determined to think on the
problem at night and to summon help in the morning.

     After
morning prayers and a light breakfast Hans left instructions that he was not to
be disturbed while he was in his office.  Sitting down he pulled out
several pieces of parchment and wrote the same letter twice.  Each one was
going to a different place but the message was the same.  He was asking
the bishops of the temples in Eystlund and Westheath to send help. Explaining
how he had made a discovery and that he needed help from people who were the
most skilled in reading different languages. Also explaining that only those
most loyal to the order should be allowed to come to Arcadia. With each letter
signed and sealed Hans sat back and thought about who he would send. This was
not a walk across town, there could be a fair amount of danger for anyone that
was sent. After a careful amount of talking to himself he was convinced that
there was no one from the temple he could send. "Time to call in a favor
or two." he said as he got up from his desk.

      Hans
was surprised when he opened the door to his office there wasn't someone
waiting for him there.  As he looked around he wondered where everyone
was.  He started towards the main temple and shook his head. "No time
to waste." Turning the other way he left the temple for the first time in
what felt like a month.  Just outside the door he stood for a moment and
let the sun light soak in.  As he started down the steps a strange site
made him pause. "If I didn't know better I would say that horse is
Emily." He approached the mount with care but at the same time did not
know why his friend’s horse was here. "You should be somewhere in Toryth
Vol by now. Where is Darmot if you are here and why would you come here? Well,
I am going to the lord’s district anyway. I will drop you off at Darmot's
home." The horse did not fight or even care, that she was being led away
after only just arriving. Hans reached out and patted the horse’s neck, "I
hope your master is OK."

      Hans
and Emily made their way through the lord’s district on the way to see Captain
Turk of the royal guard.  Hans paused for a moment outside of the castle.
While the blood had been washed away, he could still see where it once said S.O.M.A.
in giant red letters on the wall.  Pausing only to say a silent prayer for
the souls of the four people who were murdered in order to send a message.
"I've changed so much since then Emily.  I was new to the order, my
faith was not yet the rock I lean on today.  It was a little softer then,
like pudding.  That battle was my baptism, I've not doubted myself since
then.  I knew this was the right thing for me, the correct path."
Hans stopped talking when he got close the quarters of the royal guard.  A
single man stood guard outside the office of Captain Turk.

     
"How can I help you priest of Solarth?" the guard asked.

     
"Tell Captain Turk that Bishop Hans is here to see him.  I require
his aid." Hans tied Emily to a post so she would not walk off while he was
inside.  All the while keeping an eye on the guard who had not moved as of
yet.

     
"I am sorry Bishop, Captain Turk is very busy and is not entertaining
guest.  You should try again tomorrow."

     
"Are you sure? This really is rather important."

     
"I am sorry, I must insist on it." The guard stated.   Hans
looked at the guard, looked at the ground and then back to the guard.

     
"You look tired son." Hans said as he reached out, placing a hand on
the guards shoulder. "You should try to get more Sleep." The guard
took one step back, shook his head once and laid down on the ground.  As
Hans put his hand on the door handle he thought he could hear the man snoring.
"Captain, I am sorry to bother you but I must ask a rather large favor."
He said as he walked in.  Captain Turk looked at the man who just walked
into his office unannounced and just shook his head.

     
"Hans, what is it that I can do for you?" Turk did not bother to ask
about the guard outside. He really didn't want to know.

     
"I need two people, people that you trust to carry a message. One is going
to Eystlund and the other to Westheath.  The security of this message is
vital and must be delivered.  The people I trust the most are off doing
other things so I turn to you.  While this may seem to be a small matter
to you, it is very important to the health of my order. Will you please help
me?" Turk looked at the priest, remembering the first time he had seen him
standing in that very spot.  He came in with Darmot and the halfling.
 He never thought in a million years that the three of them would be
around for so long or that they would become such a pain in the rear. He wanted
to tell him no.  He wanted to yell at him to get out of his office.
 Yet in the end, where would he be right now without the four of them.
 Holding out his hand he just asked for the letters.

---------------------------------------------

     
"Don't you die Kromwell, I want to kill you myself" the wizard said.
Hetaron was hunched over his crystal ball, spying on his former companion.
 Every day he watched, every day he hoped that it would be Kromwell's last
day. Yet he knew deep down inside that Kromwell would not die. His visions on
this were clear, they would meet again and soon. Yet knowing Darmot was there,
suffering and in pain pleased the wizard.  He then watched as the others
moved to protect the prone body of Darmot.  Hetaron was not worried about
the Cleric. No matter how powerful his faith, Senjin had killed many a priest.  Hetaron
was worried about the other though. "Lomark, I almost respected you. Until
I saw that you were just another slave.  A lapdog who answers to a
cleric."

     Hetaron
watched as the three men still standing where able to fight off the
mercenaries. "Baaaaaaaah! Soon I will destroy you all myself." he
said as he covered up his crystal ball once more.  He would return to
viewing them later.  Hetaron was frustrated and tired of waiting.  He
and his master discussed their plans daily.  They could not agree on a
single thing.  Senjin wanted to approach Ramanthus, join his cause and
soak up any power he would grant them after the coming battle with Xcavere.
 Senjin would not listen to his student.  Yet Hetaron knew from his
visions that it would never work.  Even with the Rod of the Arcane,
Ramanthus was doom to fail.  No, each night when the visions came it was a
little clearer than the night before. Ramanthus would fall and there would be a
battle for the rod.  Each night Hetaron tried to focus on the battle itself.
 To see past it but there was nothing there he could make out.  Past
the battle for the rod, Hetaron saw many paths.  Hundreds of possible
outcomes.  Not a single one of them was clear.

     
Standing up from the small table where he rested his crystal ball Hetaron
quietly walked out of the tent. Senjin was asleep inside of the tent, the human
woman they brought along was outside.  Nearly naked she laid in the sun,
resting her eyes.  A slight smile came to his face as he looked up and
down her well-muscled body.  This is one who was almost as evil as he.
 Her mind was sharp as a razor and her looks kept people from going on the
defensive until it was too late.  While they did not trust each other,
Hetaron enjoyed working with her.  Her mind was twisted and dark.  He
laughed when she told him that Darmot paid her to kill him.  Cynthia
wanted Darmot for herself but did not care if he died. "Alive or dead,
there is profit in it for me." she told the mage not long after they left
Arcadia.

     
"Are you enjoying the warmth my dear?"

     
"Yes Lord Hetaron. Who knew Toryth Vol could be so glorious.  This
heat is almost divine.  I take it from your tone of voice that they are
still alive?"

     
"Yes my dear, they are still alive. Soon they will face Ramanthus, then they
will bring the Rod of the Arcane to me."

     "And
you will let me have Darmot when it is done? You promised."

     
"Yes my dear." Hetaron said. All the while thinking that the only
thing she would have is Darmot’s corpse. I will destroy them all he thought to
himself.  First Lomark the lapdog and then anyone else still standing in
my way.  Once I have the rod I will break the bonds that tie me, then I
will be free.  Free of my master and his oaths.  Free to destroy
those fools still in Arcadia, starting with that damned priest Hans. Then I
will make myself king with no one to stand in my way. Yes Cynthia, you will
have Darmot.  I will bury him right next to you.  As Hetaron turned
back towards the tent he did something he had not done in quite some time.  He
smiled.