Bridge Quest

by Pdmac

  “Probably the front gate,” Manas chuckled. “The foundation rock for the rest of the wall goes down at least twenty feet. If he breaks through the gate doors, we can’t stop them.” He gazed down at Karl. “Let’s hope your plan works.”

  “We’ve made a good start last night,” he said. “Don’t know how many humans he has in his army, but we whittled that faction down a good bit. Once the trolls are dealt with, I think he’ll be having second thoughts about his success.”

  “Let’s hope.” Manas said, walking away to give last minute instructions and encouragement to his warriors.

  As the sun burned away the mist, Manas’ army waited by the gates while Karl’s team readied their attack in the cottage in the forest.

  The mist had thinned when a cry of alarm went up in the forest and Karl could hear the panicked voices of those in fear. Karl wished he was with the team in the cottage so he could see for himself, but he knew his presence was needed here.

  Those in the cottage hunkered down, once the shrill cries of terror penetrated the surrounding forest. They watched as men and women raced among the tents of those slain, their faces stunned and scrunched in panic as they vainly tried to understand what had happened.

  Into the midst of the scurrying warriors and leaders, Cyril strode purposely, an angry scowl permanently affixed to his face.

  “How the hell did this happen?” he barked. When no one replied, he turned to one of his captains, a stern man with little patience for excuses. “How many are dead?”

  “We’ve counted over 700, m’Lord.”

  “The gods damn it all,” Cyril bellowed. “That’s almost a third of my army.”

  “Yes, m’Lord.”

  “Well?” Cyril demanded staring at the captain.

  “It’s not magic,” the captain replied. “I’ve had the trackers looking at the prints. Though the prints are mixed and heavily over-trodden, we know they were human.”

  One of the trackers approached, a middle aged man dressed in deerskin and calf-high boots. His hair was long and wild, and mostly white.

  “Beg pardon, m’Lord.”

  “Yes, Sawluch?” the captain said.

  “Far as me and them other trackers can tell, all them prints seem to lead back to there.” He pointed to where Raquel and the others lay in wait. “Don’t make no sense though. Them brambles is thick with thorns and snags.”

  Raquel put her finger to her lips, warning everyone as they watched Cyril walk up to the edge of the cottage and reach his hand out to gingerly touch a branch and thorn. From inside the cottage, it looked like Cyril was rubbing a thumb and fingers in the air, just above Wendell’s head.

  “Cut it down,” Cyril commanded.

  “Tried that already, we did,” the tracker answered. “Every time we cuts it, it grows back thicker.

  Cyril’s scowl deepened. “This smells of sorcery. Where’s Mavie?”

  “She’s still at Tal Olca,” the captain answered.

  “What?” Cyril roared. “Damn that woman. I gave orders for her to be here. Why is she still there?”

  “If you remember, m’Lord, you had her stay behind to maintain control over your domain while you were on the march,” the captain answered, “so that when you return, you are not hindered in your rule.”

  Somewhat mollified, Cyril stared again at the thick growth. “I still want this cut down. Burn it if you have to.”

  “Yes, m’Lord.” The captain dipped his head.

  “Ready the catapults. We launch in ten minutes. I want those projectiles battering the far walls. Focus on one spot. Are the other catapults ready?”

  “Yes, m’Lord. We’ll set them up and range them first thing as soon as the mist clears.”

  “Good. I’ll be near the gates. Send someone to fetch the orc captain. I don’t want them screwing this up.”

  “Yes, m’Lord.”

  Raquel and the others exhaled a slow breath as Cyril and the two men walked away.

  “We wait until the signal,” she whispered, warning them to be patient.

  That lasted until a few moments later, when three men walked up, one holding a torch, the other two with falchions.

  “Try cuttin’ it down,” the man with the torch said.

  Those inside the cottage closest to the three men scooted away as the falchion swings encroached into the space above their heads.

  “It ain’t workin’,” one of the men complained. “Every time we cut a branch, two grow in its place.

  “Hell,” the torchbearer snarled. “Lemme see if this works.” He stepped forward to thrust the torch into the imaginary brambles when Bruno grabbed his hand, jerked him forward and at the same time thrusting a stiletto blade deep into his chest then pushed the man backwards.

  The man staggered back, dropped the torch and grabbed his chest before dropping to his knees and rolling over onto his side, dead.

  “Gol damn,” one warrior blurted as he stutter stepped backwards.

  The other warrior kneeled beside the dead man. “He’s done killed hisself. Looky that.” He pointed to the slender stab wound in the chest, blood flowing out. “Them thorns are killers.”

  “What we gonna do?” the other man asked, casting fearful glances around at the few warriors still working through the encampment of dead bodies.

  “I ain’t gonna get myself killed,” the other replied. He picked up the sputtering torch and just as he reared back to toss it into the brambles, an elf arrow burst through the branches, piercing his heart.

  The other man gasped just before the second arrow found its mark in his own chest.

  Had any of their compatriots paid attention, they would have seen three bodies tugged by their feet into the brambles then disappear.

  Up on the wall, Karl waited with anticipation. The mist was almost gone and he could see the enemy positioning beyond the walls.

  Then he heard it, the command to launch the catapult stones. His anticipation was rewarded when among the first volley were five large stones high in the air, troll tents streaming behind them.

  There was a sudden lull in the assault as shouts of anger and fear spilled out through the forest.

  Karl leaped down the stairs and strode to where Manas now stood in the front of his warriors, poised to attack. “Let’s do it.”

  Two guards lifted the gate bar and pushed the gates ever wider as the army of Westhaven poured out.

  Back at the cottage, Raquel heard the commotion and notched an arrow. “It’s time.”

  The team abruptly materialized out of the brambles and launched their attack. Making quick work of the humans, they forged on to seek out the orcs. Along the way, they smirked and pointed at tent sites where trolls remained forever frozen in stone, some of them still prone on field cots, others looking up when the tents were snatched away. They stopped to destroy more tents, unhooking tent ropes, knocking down tent poles and yanking away the canvas.

  While some trolls cowered in fear, others, more aware of what was happening, fought to keep the tents in place, struggling to hold onto the shade and darkness provided. Yet one by one, tents collapsed and the cover removed, and one by one, trolls exposed to the sunlight morphed to stone.

  But the team’s main objective lay beyond the troll encampment to where the orcs assembled.

  The mist had vanished and the sun radiated brightness, causing confusion among the orcs as they fought and argued to find shelter from the sun. Expecting their human allies to fight during the day, they were ill prepared for Raquel’s attack. Their attention focused on the army swarming out Westhaven’s gates, on the catapults and the protection of their own tents, they were unaware when Raquel and the rest burst into the rear of their camp.

  Raquel and Sharyn launched arrow after arrow as the berserker rage filled Dieter, his battle axe swinging in wide swaths, decapitating or dismembering all in his path. Sakura darted in and out of the enemy, materializing as if from the air, her daggers slicing throats or stabbing in the back of necks. Behin
d them, Lana sent out flare bursts to add to the orcs’ disorientation. Annabeth cast a flurry of ice daggers, acid splashes, fire bolts and any other spells she could conjure with indiscriminate abandon. Trailing behind them, Tina and Kendra waited to send healing mana when needed, the remaining members protecting the healers.

  They moved in one body, the orcs falling before them. It wasn’t until some fifty orcs lay dead that the alarm went up that their rear was being attacked. Despite the effects of the sun, many orcs turned to fight, but were hard pressed as Manas’ army was already at their front. Hemmed in on both sides, the orcs fought bravely, but were sorely outnumbered.

  The orc battle captain, a hulking monster almost as tall as Dieter, decided that it was time to escape and fight another day. Besides, had he thought it through, he should have let the humans fight it out and then clean up after they destroyed each other. Placing a holding force to delay Manas’ warriors, he gathered the rest of the orc army and plunged into the forest only to be confronted by Raquel and the team.

  Immediately recognizing the orc as the battle captain, Raquel called out, “The one with the spider tattoo on his neck,” and launched a flurry of arrows at him while Sharyn fired at those close by him.

  Yet still the captain came on, arrows protruding from his arm and chest. Cursing a loud oath, he raised his battle axe just as Annabeth and Lana joined in a freeze spell, causing him to lock in place, his face an angry scowl as he vainly struggled against the spell. Yet his eyes revealed his fear and anger as Dieter, the blood lust still flowing, leaped forward and swung his axe, neatly severing the orc’s head, which remained in place until Annabeth and Lana released the spell and the head fell to the ground followed by the body tumbling over.

  Seeing their leader so easily destroyed, the remaining orcs fled for their lives. Raquel and the rest of the team continued chase until Manas’ forces caught up with them. By the time they returned to the main assembly area, the battle was over, Cyril’s army destroyed.

  “This was almost too easy,” Sharyn said, walking next to Raquel.

  “I know,” she agreed. “With the sorceress and druid here,” she ticked her head at Annabeth and Lana walking beside them, “we have a distinct advantage. And then there’s the benefit of the big guy.”

  “We’re lucky to have him,” Sharyn nodded, giving Dieter a pleasant smile.

  Hearing the compliment, Dieter said nothing, but smiled. He was thankful to be a part of this team.

  “So how’d we do?” Karl asked as the team approached. He stood outside a hastily erected tent. He was spattered with blood, but seemed unharmed.

  “No one hurt, killed more than we could count,” Raquel answered. She hooked a thumb at the closed tent flaps. “What’s up?”

  “A certain brother-in-law is suing for peace,” he replied, shaking his head. “I pray she has the sense to eliminate him. It would not do us any good if he remains alive.”

  Raquel noted the ‘us’ in his statement, but decided to bide her time. Now was not the time to confront him.

  The tent flap opened and Manas stepped out. Ignoring Karl and company for the moment, he beckoned one of his captains, a humorless man of efficiency. “Take Lord Cyril to the castle. He is to remain shackled, no matter how much he complains. Let no one talk to him or provide for him. If he needs to take a piss, there will be four guards watching him.”

  “I understand, General. He is under my watch. I will ensure he is dealt with as necessary and appropriate.”

  Manas’ gaze lingered for a moment. “I want him alive.”

  “Yes, General, of course.”

  The man’s stoic response caused Manas to smile. It wasn’t far to the castle, but in the time it took to get there, Cyril would meet with several unfortunate accidents so that by the time he arrived, he would pray someone would kill him to relieve the pain.

  “Good. He’s all yours.” As the captain entered the tent, Manas turned to Karl. “You and your team were the key to our success. Without you, Westhaven would have fallen. We owe you more than can ever be repaid.”

  A screen opened up for Karl.

  Congratulations: You have completed the Quest - save Lady Gwen’s domain of Westhaven from Cyril’s armies.

  Reward: Unlimited access to supplies, scrolls, potions, and weapons currently in the domain.

  Reward: Escort to the Bridge connecting Misted Isle to the next island.

  Reward: Reputation: increase from ‘Your name sounds familiar’ to ‘I have heard of you and I am impressed.’

  “As agreed,” Manas continued, “we will provide you an escort all the way to the bridge to the next island, though in truth, no one in Westhaven has been much farther south than Durness in a long time. Likewise, Cyril’s domain ends before one gets to the bridge. Still, we will honor our agreement.”

  “Thank you,” Karl replied. “Let me talk with the team and we’ll let you know if we need an escort. “

  The tent flap opened and the captain exited followed by two guards then Lord Cyril with his hands shackled behind him then two more guards. Though defeated, Cyril maintained the aura of nobility, fully expecting people to respect his position and title even if they hated him.

  “Where is the coach to take me to Lady Gwen?” he caustically demanded.

  “We’re walking,” the captain replied.

  “What? You don’t expect me to walk all the way there. Fetch my horse.” He stiffened as though rooted to the ground until the butt end of a spear jabbed in his back pushed him forward.

  “You have a choice, my lord,” the captain coldly responded. “You can either walk or we drag you by your ankles behind an ox cart.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Cyril shot back.

  “I would, and I will if you don’t start walking.” The captain folded his arms and gave Cyril a hard stare.

  Cyril stared back at the man, quickly realizing the man fully intended to do as he threatened. Bristling at the insult, Cyril started marching towards the gate, surrounded by the Captain and the four guards.

  “I’ll meet you back at the castle,” Manas said, smiling as he watched Cyril walk away.

  Karl and the team started walking back to the cottage, Karl wanting to hear a retelling of their attack. They were standing outside one of the troll tents when a runner came up.

  “Your pardon, Lord Karl, but Lady Gwen asks that you attend her.”

  “Of course,” he politely replied. Turning to the team, he said, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  When he was out of earshot, Ross said, “She has him on a string.”

  “That she does,” Annabeth mumbled, watching Karl in the distance, walking as one without a care, chatting amiably with the runner.

  “Don’t we need to do something?” Ross asked.

  “Like what?” Conrad retorted. “She’s some sort of sorceress herself. None of us here is strong enough to break the spell.”

  “So why not do what I suggested in the first place?”

  “Leave him?” Conrad demanded.

  “Why not? Like you said, it’s not like we can do anything about it.”

  “He just needs to be away from her for a bit then he’ll see what’s going on,” Raquel reassured them. “C’mon, let’s get back to the castle.”

  “Speaking of that,” Ross interrupted. “How’d you guys get behind the enemy here? There’s only one gate and I was there when it opened.”

  “There’s a secret passage,” Wendell said followed by an “Ouch,” when Conrad kicked him. “What was that for?”

  “It’s not a secret if everyone knows about it,” Conrad snapped.

  “Secret passage?” Ross inquired with bright eyes followed by an immediate frown. “Why wasn’t I told about it?”

  “It’s called ‘need-to-know,’” Raquel answered. “You had your mission with Manas’ army. Had you been captured, you honestly knew nothing about it and thus could not reveal its location.”

  “Well the battle is over and the war is
won, so where is it?” he asked, his irritation at being left out obvious.

  “It’s complicated,” Annabeth explained. “There’s another gate in another part of the wall,” she said, reasoning that she wasn’t lying because she didn’t say where the gate was and which wall.

  “Where?”

  “Slow down, Ross,” Raquel chided, “and let her finish.”

  “The gate has a spell on it that allowed us to go through without being seen,” Annabeth said. “That’s how we got behind them.”

  “Where is it?” Ross again asked.

  Annabeth pointed to the north. “Far enough away to be unnoticed by Cyril’s army. If we’re here long enough, I’ll show you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “C’mon then,” Raquel urged. “Let’s go.”

  Their walk back was relaxed, almost lazy. Passing through the gate, they accepted the praise and appreciation of Westhaven’s warriors. Halfway to the second gate leading to the city proper, they saw a beehive of activity inside it and then something being hoisted up on a pole to the side of the gate.

  As they approached, they discovered the grizzly display of Cyril’s head jammed on a pole, the visage one of complete shock, the flies already swarming.

  “She doesn’t waste any time,” Conrad intoned, staring up at the gruesome spectacle.

  “If someone butchered your sister and flung her over the city walls,” Sakura said, “what would you do?”

  “Pretty much the same thing,” he coldly replied, “except I’d make him suffer to the point that he begged for death. I’d drag out his execution to the point that he’d go insane.”

  “And how would you do that?” Brad asked, interested.

  “I’d mess with his mind. Tell him he’s going to be hanged, drag him to the scaffold, put the noose around his neck then pull the lever but have the gallows built in such a way that he only drops something like a foot or two so that he doesn’t hang.”

  “My God, that’s evil,” Kendra said, concerned about this undiscovered side of Conrad.

  “There’s more,” he said as they walked on. “Then I’d tie him to a stake and have an archer ready to shoot him in the heart. I’d make sure Cyril knew this was the end for him and that the archer had but one shot to do the job. Of course the archer would miss the heart, but hit him in a non-vital part of his body. I’d take him down from the stake, bandage him up and tell him we’re going to do it again the next day. But,” he said with a wicked smile, “nothing would happen the next day and the day after. On the third day, he’d be dragged out for another shot and the same thing would happen. This time he might be shot in the thigh.”