Quendalon/Session23ZeraInterlude
The gentle breezes of springtime passed through the leaves, making branches and flowers dance and the buckles of armor and saddle jingle lightly. The young man sat astride his roan mare easily, a full length ahead of the mounted party of soldiers, pennants of the Imperial Realm flapping behind them. The wind brought him the sound of their low voices, as they discussed the various pros and cons of following an “untrained peasant child” into the wilderness.
Suddenly, hardened warriors were gasping and struggling to free heavy chopping swords and daiklaves from scabbards as the brush to their left rustled noisily. The young man grinned as he watched the covey of quail burst from the cover of the juniper bush and dart off to the south. The soldiers gaped, and faces quickly became crimson under faceguards and oaths muttered in rueful disgust.
Zera Thisse held up his mare, and allowed the Scale of Realm soldiers to catch up. The Scale was only one-fifth of a full Talon, but the Talonlord had personally taken command. He was a Wood-aspected Dragon Blood, and he alone seemed as comfortable in the wild as the boy from Thorns.
“Young man, would you ride ahead with me for a time?” Zera blinked for a moment, and nodded with as much grace as he could muster. “Excellent. Bannerman Doma, you take command, and put out a rear guard of five. Mya, that’s your duty. Move out.” The second Dragon-Blood led her four into the trees behind them as Ledaal Corvan adjusted a strap of his green jade breastplate, and prodded his black Marukani war-charger into motion. Zera followed wordlessly.
They rode ahead in silence for a time, and the songs of robins and blue jays blended with the dull plodding of the horse hooves. Zera stole glances at the tall, impassive Imperial, and found it hard to suppress a wave of grudging respect. There was no love lost between him and the denizens of the Blessed Isle, but this man held himself with such dignity and confidence that it was difficult indeed to find even a shred of contempt for him. Zera doubted very much that this man had ever seen the inside of a House Cynis orgy-house.
Corvan turned his head, long greenish hair swirling around his tanned face as he regarded Zera with piercing brown eyes. “The men only see a child. I know you’ve heard their grumblings, and I can hardly summon a decent apology for their words. My superiors know well of your deeds, and their recommendation is not something I take lightly. Know that I trust you to find our quarry.” Zera stared in utter shock. This was not what he was expecting. His respect for the man grew by the moment.
“I’ll do my best, Lord Corvan. Can you tell me a little more about this man? Perhaps what is so urgent about this chase? If I’m in danger, and since we track a Dragon-Blood, I know I am, it is hardly unfair to ask what I’m getting myself into.”
Ledaal Corvan smiled inwardly. This youth had courage to spare, though he didn’t have the slightest grip on tact or propriety. He rather reminded Corvan of himself as a lad. He turned the possibilities over in his mind, and decided to let the lad in on what he was getting himself into.
The apartment that Zera had recently bought for himself was on Harlequin Street, which was not the best neighborhood in Thorns, but it was well above the squalid districts where the beggars and cutpurses spent their dreary days. It was also a sight more comfortable than the logger’s cabin where he grew up. The building itself was well-cut stone, on a marble foundation. The windowpanes held actual glass, and were surrounded by intricate carvings of fanciful animals and mythical heroes.
Carved mahogany stairs curved around the back of the building, and climbed up the length of the structure, ending at each level in a small terrace. Zera lived on the second floor, and he made his way up the stairs and through the heavy oaken door, into his carpeted sitting room. He tossed his travel-stained cloak over a chair and flopped into sheepskin-covered armchair in front of the hearth, and let out a sigh.
This last trip had been long indeed, all the way to the city of Nexus. It was his first time there, and the experience had contained its share of ups and downs. He had been hired by a representative of the Guild to track a band of horse thieves, and they had cleverly thought to hide themselves right under the Guild’s nose. Nexus was where the Guild made its headquarters, and the thieves’ clever ruse was rather embarrassing to the organization. He had been paid rather well, but also cautioned to keep quiet on pain of a rather gruesome death. That was no problem to Zera; he never released the details of his work. He had a reputation to uphold.
The day disappeared into darkness, and Zera busied himself with making a fire and preparing the evening meal. He had been gone for almost a month, and it had been awhile since he had a decent meal. As he cooked a stew of beans and lamb, he realized it had also been some time since he had seen his family. His father would be proud to hear of this latest exploit, and it would do well to soothe his mother’s fears. She never liked him doing this kind of work, even though it provided a rather nice home for them as well. His mother seemed to think it would get him in trouble someday. Zera grinned as he added spices and a touch of salt.
An insistent knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, and he knocked over the shaker of salt. Cursing quietly, he set the newly emptied shaker on the table and rushed to the front room. “Who goes there?” Zera asked with more than a touch of irritation . “Open in the name of the Scarlet Empress, and the Realm.” That is never a good thing, Zera thought. I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.
The heavy door swung open, revealing three armed figures, silhouetted in the light of the torch-brackets at the corners of the terrace. The tall man at the front of the group spoke, his voice calm and self-assured. It was not the voice that demanded he open the door. “Are you the man known as Zera Thisse? The tracker and woodsman?” Zera nodded, eyes narrowed. “We have need of your services. May we come in?”
Zera sat in the wooden chair, glancing quietly at the officer sitting in his armchair, holding a teacup delicately despite the impressive size of his hand. The two lesser officers, one male and one female, stood like statues at either side of the front door. It was hard not to feel a little trapped.
“So, let me see if I have the right of this, Lord Ledaal Corvan. You want me to track a traitor to the Realm, who is headed south, and is known to have some kind of dangerous First Age item or weapon. If I agree to this task, I cannot abandon the chase even if all of my escort dies, or my fee is forfeited and I am declared a traitor myself. If I speak of anything I see or hear, I am a traitor and will be tracked and executed. Did I forget anything?”
The woman at the door grinned sardonically, but Zera’s slightly sarcastic tone did nothing to ruffle the Talonlord sitting rigidly in the armchair. “Quite correct, Master Thisse, though you did neglect one point I stressed earlier. For the duration of this excursion, you are to consider yourself under my command, as if you were enrolled in the ranks of my Talon. You are clear on that, yes?”
Zera nodded, reluctantly. This was going to be a long, long journey.
The marketplaces of Thorns were already buzzing by the time the sun cleared the horizon, and Zera was already among the stalls and yelling vendors, picking his way among the throng to the familiar shops he frequented before long journeys. It was always an exhilarating affair; he loved long journeys and preparing for them was almost as much fun as actually going. Today was a different story, however.
Ledaal Mya walked by his side, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly at this backwoods city market. She was of a height with Zera, and her chin-length, light blue hair highlighted her Air-aspect. Her face and hands had more than one scar, but there was genuine beauty underneath. If she was a Guild caravan guard or a mercenary, Zera would have tried to work his charms on her. A common tavern quote in Thorns, being so close to the Blessed Isle, came to mind. “You can take the woman out of the Realm, but you can’t take the Realm out of the woman.” Observing her contempt of these people, HIS people, he knew that she was one pretty woman he would never share a bed with.
It was a rare occurrence that Zera had a sizable budget to prepare a journey with, so he stretched it to the limit. He bought two good packhorses, traveling rations for a month, a brand new bow and several quivers of arrows, a map of the Southern reaches, and many other necessities. Mya remained largely silent, only adding minor suggestions to the list, and doling out the jade when the time came. When all was bought and paid for, they met Ledaal Corvan and the other twenty-four soldiers at the edge of the city, all the men already mounted and armored in brightly shining steel and jade. Mya quickly strapped on her own blue jade breastplate and sheathed a silver-hilted daiklave behind her back, and mounted a chestnut-colored stallion. As the sun hit its noontime peak, the journey began.
Six days had passed, and the last vestiges of civilization had been left behind. The trail had been picked up, and the Ledaal soldiers followed the youth from Thorns deeper into the wilderness. As Mya and her scouts checked the backtrail, Lord Corvan and Zera Thisse rode at the head of the column, and they talked as they rode, keeping their voices judiciously low.
“Master Thisse, the man that we are tracking is a traitor to the Realm, as I have said. His name is Ledaal Derelann, and he was the once the commander of the Legion I serve. He is a master of tactics and warfare, an implacable enemy in combat himself, and is one of the most dangerous men I know personally.” Corvan stopped to watch Zera’s reaction, and when he was satisfied that Zera wasn’t going to run in terror, he continued. “ He somehow came into possession of an artifact of the First Age, I believe after defeating a bandit lord and his rabble. Nevertheless, he discovered that it was only a portion of the true artifact that he possessed. I believe it is a staff of some length when completely assembled, and it is divided into four wand-sized sections. The first section, we have discovered to our sorrow, can affect or completely change the thoughts of men and Dragon-blooded alike. He has succumbed to the artifact’s power himself, and is now bent on amassing his own personal army and attaining some goal we have been unable to ascertain.”
“He has followers already, Lord Corvan. I can already tell by the tracks.” Zera replied, outwardly the picture of self-assurance and calm. Inside, fear began to gnaw at his belly. This was out of his league, and there would be a great deal of blood before the end. He found himself thinking of his family, and his cozy little home. He began to wonder if he’d see either again.
Corvan nodded grimly. “It is as I feared. My superiors only sent a Scale so as not to attract attention. Mya and myself are the only two blessed by the Dragons, and I fear it may not be enough. I am uncertain that all twenty-five will even live long enough to see this battle. There is much wild land between us and Derelann’s destination.”
“Where is our quarry headed, anyway? How can we be sure that he’s going anywhere in particular?” Zera asked with a quizzical look.
“Young man, we of the Ledaal clan have the wisest of councilors and advisors, men and women who can consult the stars themselves for the answers to any dilemma or quandary. They have informed us that Master Derelann has found two pieces of the artifact. The third is in the old sections of Chiaroscuro, in the districts plagued by hungry ghosts and the sadness of the Contagion. It is there we travel. If we are not in time, we must reach the city of Gem itself. It is there the fourth piece resides, in the deepest tunnels below the mountain.”
“Why don’t we just make directly for Gem, Lord Corvan? He’ll have to come to us if he wants the last piece of the staff. Wouldn’t it be better if we held it in our possession, and he had to chase us instead of the other way around?”
The venerable Dragon-blood smiled at the boy. “That is not entirely a bad line of thought, young man, but there are flaws to consider. We have no idea what the individual pieces of the artifact are capable of, beyond the first. The fact that Derelann possesses two of the wands already worries me greatly. If he comes directly for us, bearing three of the four, who knows what powers he can bring to bear on us?”
Zera nodded thoughtfully, fear beginning to creep into his eyes, when the furious pounding of hoofbeats behind them pulled both men’s attention. Ledaal Mya charged into sight from over a tree-lined hill, accompanied by only two men and two empty-saddled horses. “Hobgoblin ambush, my Lord!” she yelled as she and her escort joined the column, and wheeled their horses around. “Goral and Tain took arrows, Lord Corvan. They won’t be returning.” The Talonlord nodded and spat an oath. “How many, and how close?” Mya grimaced. “They are moments behind us. There are about fifty or so, easily double our number. They have bowmen and some even have mounts and lances. This won’t be easy.”
There was only scant moments to array their forces at the top of the hill before they began to hear the whooping and screaming of the hobgoblin bandits accompanied by pounding hooves and the warning cries of the birds above. Eleven of the men presented a solid line of heavy shields and gleaming lances, arrayed in perfect formation, and another ten pulled short horsebows from saddle cases, and nocked armor-piercing arrows.
Ledaal Corvan drew his daiklave, as did Mya next to him. He turned to Zera Thisse. “Young man, you may want to find a safe vantage point. This won’t be completely without danger.” Mya smirked. “Don’t worry about me, Lord Corvan. I’ve fought a hobgoblin or two in my travels.” This time, Corvan shared Mya’s disbelieving smile. “Very well. Be careful.” They turned to watch the slavering humanoids advancing to the bottom of the ridge. Zera glanced quickly about, settled on a large oak tree, and hoisted himself onto the lower branches. He quickly found a vantage point higher in the tree, unslung his bow, and waited.
The hobgoblins reached the bottom of the hill, and paused. Silence hung over the forest for almost a full minute, and one large, armor-clad hobgoblin pushed his way to the front. “Toss weapons down. We too many.” He grinned, saliva dripping from his protruding fangs as he gripped a heavy chopping sword with both knobby hands. “Surrender and give us jade, we let you live.” The mass of panting humanoids behind him grinned and muttered jokes to each other in their rough language. The way they caressed sword hilts and bowstaves in anticipation gave their leader the lie.
“The Scale will open fire on my command.” Corvan’s voice rang out with authority. “I give you this chance to retreat, hobgoblin. You will not get another. Do you accept?” The hobgoblin leader sneered and barked a command to his men. They drew swords or leveled lances, and the rest nocked arrows to bows. The silence returned for an eternity, the tension knotting the muscles of man and goblin alike, and the hobgoblin’s next sharp command rang out like a shot from a firewand. The mass of hobgoblins hurled themselves screaming up the grassy hill, the latter ranks sending black-shafted, cruelly-barbed arrows ahead of them.
The wave of arrows clashed against the steel of tower shields, and a single Ledaal lancer fell from her horse with a shaft protruding from her leg. “The Scale will fire!” Corvan’s command rang out, and was immediately answered by the twang of bowstrings. Black-clad hobgoblins went down, howling and clutching at pale ashwood shafts, as their brethren leaped over their fallen forms or pushed the staggering wounded out of the way. The keening throng met the lancers with a clash of steel and the screaming of the combatants, a mindless and desperate noise.
The archers dropped their bows as the goblins advanced, and drew narrow stabbing swords, and surged forth to meet those who broke the lancers’ line. The weight of the goblins’ line pushed quite a few past even the swordsmen, and it was these who had no chance at all. Mya and Lord Corvan stood roughly ten feet apart, and worked the massive daiklaves with the ease of men with wooden practice swords. Wherever those awesome and terrible blades whirled, flesh and bone was rent and blackish blood spattered and gouted along the grass.
Zera chose his shots carefully, as the opposite forces surged back and forth chaotically. Doma clashed with three sword-wielding goblins, parrying blow after blow with his heavy war-axe and steadily falling back. He never saw the goblin to his left drawing back its bow for the shot it could not miss. Zera did, however, and the goblin went down with an arrow protruding from its eye. Another shot took the horse out from under a hobgoblin lancer, tumbling the creature to the grassy earth, where two swordsmen skewered it and ran onward. He cast his eyes about, and noticed the lancerwoman who had gone down in the first flight of arrows, surrounded by four goblins. No one else could hope to get to her in time.
He leapt from the branch, letting two throwing knives fly as he hurtled towards the ground. Two slavering hobgoblins sunk to the ground screaming, hilts blossoming from their throats as Zera hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet and drawing his shortsword and dagger just in time to parry the next goblin’s swing. He parried again and ducked as the fourth goblin swung a flanged mace at his head.
Behind him, the lancers had dropped their pikes and drawn sword or axe, and the battle had joined in earnest. Heat rose in waves from the battle, and the din was nigh unbearable. Men and women had gone down screaming, and a full third of the hobgoblin host lay on the grass unmoving. Corvan and Mya were now back to back, as the human line had splintered into pockets of soldiers covering each other’s backs, as the throng of goblins swept among them.
Zera worked sword and dagger methodically, fear completely lost in the rush of adrenaline and the ecstasy of knowing that for at least that one moment, he was still alive. Aleia, the wounded solider, had pulled herself to her feet and put her back to a tree trunk, using the lance-stave like a quarterstaff, fending off the blows of two goblins as Zera fought to reach her. He caught her gaze for the merest moment, and she gave a tight smile in thanks.
He turned back to the goblins he was battling, and even as he snuck the dagger through one’s defenses and plunged it into the goblin’s throat, he saw the armored leader push its way towards him and Aleia. He had seen his share of melee combat, but he was an archer in truth. Zera didn’t believe he would survive fighting this hobgoblin hand to hand. Either way, his shortsword and dagger weren’t much of a defense against the heavy-bladed, barbed spear the goblin carried. He watched the goblin leader plunge the spear point into a lancer nearby, splitting the steel breastplate as it entered. The man went down without a sound, eyes already glazed over in death. That is no ordinary spear, Zera thought. Just bloody wonderful.
He fell back before the last goblin’s mace swings, reaching the tree Aleia leaned against. She eyed the leader and frowned. “That one’ll spit the both of us like coneys. You know that.” Zera actually found the breath to laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Aleia. Just for that, I’ll kill him myself.” Aleia laughed herself, and swept the butt of the lance under the mace-wielder’s legs, tripping him and allowing Zera to get the killing stroke. She continued the motion upwards and sunk the point into the chest of the hobgoblin before her.
The leader motioned its two bodyguards into the fray ahead, and eyed the pair with obvious relish. It paused ten feet away and grinned, speaking to them in broken Low Realm. “Hurt woman and little boy with kitchen knife. This not be easier.” Zera and Aleia shared a defeated glance, and raised their weapons to die fighting. The leader raised his wicked spear, and took his first step forward. Before the pair’s startled eyes, a slew of dark green, leafy vines sprung forth from the earth and wrapped around the goblin’s legs.
Aleia whipped her head around to see Lord Corvan lowering his hand, and Mya striding forward. A gust of howling wind tore through the trees, pulling leaves from branches and uprooting bushes from the earth as it ripped the spear from the goblin’s grip. The leader’s reddish, porcine eyes widened in fear and horror, and it began to stammer brokenly for mercy. Corvan cast a glance back at the steel-clad men and women laying in the grass, and nodded to Mya. She raised her bloody daiklave, and whipped it down violently. The stammering ceased abruptly, with a wet tearing sound. Zera looked around with a start, and realized there were no more hobgoblins standing. Men and women wearily leaned on lances and two of the archers were busy gathering the mounts of the fallen soldiers. It was over.
“Did you get a count, Bannerman?” Corvan asked as he pulled off his breastplate, dabbing a cloth against a jagged cut along his shoulder. “Aye, that I did, my Lord.” Doma shook his head. “Too many. Nine all told. Rollen, Cormic, Daye and Yolanda among the lancers, and Gia, Claye, Par, Torander, and Halima among the archers.” Corvan nodded, his mouth a grim twist. “Mark them on the roll, and get them buried post haste. No need to leave hungry ghosts in our wake.” Doma nodded and scurried off, his voice raised in shouts of command.
Corvan turned to Mya and Zera, standing off to his side. “We need to press harder. We can’t afford to take losses like this if we are to accomplish this mission. I mean to make the mountains in two days.” Zera opened his mouth to protest, but Mya laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. It was what Lord Corvan wanted, and he was a man who got what he asked for. Zera sighed and nodded slowly. “We can do it, if we press the horses hard, and don’t stop for more than one meal a day. There are passes in the mountains marked on the map I bought, and we can make it to Kirighast two or three days after we’re through, if the weather holds in the passes.”
The Talonlord considered the boy from Thorns for a moment. “How old are you, young man?” Zera raised an eyebrow at the unexpected question. “I have seen sixteen winters, my Lord. Why?” Corvan frowned at the answer, but nodded his head as if he already knew the answer. “So young to ask you this, but with Cormic, Tain, and Goral dead, I don’t have many men left who can scout. It’s dangerous duty, and you aren’t actually a solider, but I may ask it of you. Are you up to it, young man?”
Zera sighed, and nodded once. “It’ll make actually tracking Lord Derelann somewhat harder, but I do see the need. You can count on me, Lord Corvan.” The Talonlord stared intently at the boy, catching his gaze like a hawk snatches up a mouse. “I certainly hope so. There’s a lot of lives riding on your ability to do both. Now, help the others make camp and get yourself some sleep. We leave before first light. Doma will let you know when your watch comes up.” Corvan strode off, carrying his breastplate under his arm and showing no one the worry he had in his heart.
The night was old when Doma shook Zera awake. “You’ve got the duty, boy. Aleia’s your partner. You two have the west side of camp. Keep your eyes open and I’ll see you in the morning.” With a gruff nod and a hint of a knowing smile, he drifted among the sleeping forms to his bedroll.
Zera rolled up his blankets and tied them with twine, and ghosted his way among the sleeping soldiers to the west side of the camp. Aleia grinned at him as he approached, her hand toying with the rough bandage around her left thigh. “I never got to properly thank you for saving my life, farmboy.” She grinned wolfishly. “Come on over here. I’ll help you get some of that hay out of your hair.” Zera smirked. “Hay? I live in a city, soldier. And I can probably show you a thing or two myself.”
He closed the distance, and smiled to himself. At least this journey wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time. They glanced around to make sure everyone was sleeping, and gave a cursory sweep of the woods around them. “Looks clear to me, farmboy.” Aleia laughed and took off her helmet, letting light-blonde hair spill to her shoulders. Zera unslung his bow and quiver and tossed them aside. “Looks clear, solider-girl.” The night grew old indeed, and Zera was shown more gratitude then even he thought necessary. No, this journey wasn’t without merit after all.
Some hours later, he made his way back to his bedroll and drifted off to sleep. He had no idea how much worse the journey was actually going to get…
