Thera Awakening
A novella for Interplay’s Stonekeep
By Steve Jackson and David Pulver
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
THERA AWAKENING™
Copyright ©1995 by Interplay Productions. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Layout and Design by Dave Gaines
Edited by Scott Everts
Illustrations by Spencer Kipe
Based on background material by Chris Taylor
An Interplay Book
Published by Interplay Productions
17922 Fitch Ave.
Interplay, CA 92714
Thera Awakening and Stonekeep are trademarks of Interplay
Productions.
First Edition: October 1995
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter One
"Curse this weather!" the woman said. "It looks to rain till the gods return."
She was kneeling on a narrow, muddy track, raindrops spattering off her broad-brimmed hat. On either side of the trail stood huge oak and birch trees and tangled undergrowth. There was a faint sound of crickets. She brushed wet brown hair aside, stood up, and turned to face her companion. He was a young man, of average height but with broad shoulders and a stubble of beard, black like his hair. Like her, he wore a sword and dagger, light armor, a shield strapped on his back, and a hat to keep off the rain. Under it his green eyes glinted, catlike in the forest gloom.
"No tracks, Tam?" he said. Watch-Master Hoth had split the patrol into pairs to cover more ground, and they had been searching along the forest trail for nearly an hour. It was mid-afternoon. They would soon have to rejoin the other searchers if they were to return to the fort by dark.
"Nothing. If they came this far, the rain's covered it," the woman called Tam replied. She shook her head. "An entire trading caravan. A dozen armed men. There's no sign of them, Rathe. It's like the forest swallowed them up."
Rathe nodded thoughtfully. When the Seth party failed to return from their trading expedition, a patrol had been dispatched from Stonekeep to look for them. They'd found a two-day old track—and then lost it when a heavy rainfall turned the forest trails to mud. "Maybe the others have found something," he said.
"You think it was raiders?" Tam asked.
"Could be." Raiders--savage humans or the wild goblin-like throgs—sometimes attacked Stonekeep's logging or trading expeditions. That was what Watch-Master Hoth had believed, Rathe knew. But... "It doesn't make sense, Tam. We've had good relations with the tribes of Khera Vale for over a year. That's why Master Seth sent out the trading caravan. And you remember what happened the last time throgs attacked an armed expedition."
"They got a bloody nose." Tam grinned wolfishly. The fierceness of the stone-age throg warriors was little match for the dwarf-wrought armor and iron swords of Stonekeep's warriors. Especially since the throgs could never stop fighting among themselves long enough to unite against humanity. "But maybe it wasn't raiders, Rathe. Maybe..."
Suddenly, Tam stopped, drawing her sword. A shadow was moving by a tree. Her sword whispered from her scabbard, but Rathe put a restraining hand on her arm.
"Wait," said Rathe. "It's Orvig. I'd recognize that shuffle anywhere."
"Aye, it's Orvig, ye blind loon," said a gruff voice. A small man-- a dwarf—stepped out of the bushes. He nodded to Tam. "Fast on the draw, m'lass, but can't you tell a dwarf from a throg?" He took off his hat, shook it. Water sprayed out, and Tam cursed. He grimaced, then nodded to Rathe. "Your Watch-Master sent me over, m'boy. Hoth says get back down the track. He wants us to reach Fort Thunder before nightfall."
Tam perked up. She was already soaked to the skin. Getting to Fort Thunder sounded good to her.
"No one else found anything?" Rathe asked.
"He thinks its hopeless." The dwarf kicked a stone into a puddle. "I fear he's right. Night's falling, and we'll find nothing in this weather. I just hope tomorrow..." He looked at Rathe, frowned when he saw the youth wasn't listening to him. "What is it?"
"The Seth party. Four pack mules. And no signs of raiders. And yet, they vanished off the trail. Perhaps they fled from something..." Rathe scratched the stubble of beard on his chin. "If I wanted to get away from someone," he said slowly "I'd head for high ground." He looked around, then spotted a low hill, half masked by a stand of juniper trees. "There, perhaps. I think we should check it out first."
Tam followed his gaze. The hill was some three hundred paces distant, almost invisible in the rain. It was pouring down steadily, ending any chance of picking up the trail they had lost.
"Aye," said the dwarf. "Any chance is better than none." Together, he and Rathe started off east, toward the hill.
"And no chance at all, more like," Tam said softly. Rathe was disobeying orders by not returning, but she knew better then to question him. The dwarf-woman who had accompanied Seth was Orvig's own clan-sister. Rathe and Orvig were close—Tam knew vaguely that he was a friend of Rathe's family. And Rathe was her superior officer. Sighing, her thoughts of a warm campfire and dry clothes banished, she shouldered her pack and followed them.
They moved up the hill in single file, scrambling through the brush. Rathe took the lead, with the dwarf following and Tam bringing up the rear. Despite his short legs, Orvig made good time up the hill, ducking under soggy branches that Tam had to push aside. She was silently cursing Rathe when he halted suddenly. Taken by surprise, Tam almost tripped over the dwarf.
Rathe struggled to find his voice. "It's the Seth party. They're... dead."
Orvig took one look. Then he groaned, turned away and covered his face with his cloak.
The hilltop was an abattoir. The wind was blowing east, or they would have smelled it. At least a dozen men and animals had died there.
Rathe had never seen such slaughter, and he felt his gorge rising, but he knew it must be far worse for Orvig, whose sister might be among the bodies.
A young man lay dead, ripped almost in half. A severed leg lay across his chest. Another sprawled corpse was mutilated beyond recognition. Rathe guessed there were a dozen bodies—the entire Seth party. Pack mules lay in the mud, slaughtered alongside their masters. That he had guessed so well, only to find this carnage, seemed to Rathe a cosmic joke. This was butchery, not battle. His fists clenched, and he felt a tide of anger swell within him. What had done this? Why?
"I don't think it was throgs or savages," Tam said. She gestured at one body, great chunks torn from it. "Something was... feeding. It must have been wild beasts. Mutants."
Rathe nodded agreement. Nothing remotely human killed this way, but the forests held many horrors beyond man's ken. Mutant animals. That was why all Stonekeep's logging and trading parties were armed. But it had been many seasons since an entire trading party had been lost.
Orvig shuffled over. He moved slowly, like an old man. His face was pale and drawn. "Have you found Jhen's body?" he asked.
"Not yet." Rathe said. He had seen no dwarf-sized corpses, but some of the bodies were torn to bits. He hated to think what Orvig would be going through. "Maybe she got away," he said, knowing it wasn't much.
"Dwarf-girl's a small morsel," said Tam. "Like as not, they carried her off as a snack."
Orvig jerked back. Rathe could have hit her. Instead, he put his arm around the dwarf's shoulder and simply glared. Tam looked down, abashed. "Count the bodies," he ordered her. He looked at the sky. It was getting darker. "Then we'll report back."
Orvig and Rathe walked slowly among the dead, seeking answers. Bes
ide him was the body of a middle-aged man, the clothes now bloodstained rags, the head attached only by a thin strip of gristle. Rathe recognized the patrician features and sharp nose of Master Trader Seth, the leader of the doomed caravan.
Rathe shook his head sadly, then knelt down and closed the staring eyes. Seth had not been a friend or relative, but everyone in Stonekeep knew everyone else, at least by reputation. This had been a decent, hard-working man, who had long since earned the right to stay home in safety. Seth had gone back into danger, over and over, because he was a good trader and the city needed him. Rathe hoped his death had been quick.
The Master Trader lay next to one of his pack mules. A dozen gaping wounds marred its body. Saddlebags hung loosely from a broken strap...
"Empty?" said Rathe slowly. He lifted the saddlebag, passed it over to Orvig.
Even in his grief, the dwarf's mind was sharp.
"It's empty?" His eyes widened. "Not beasts, then."
"Unless this one held food. Let's check the other bags before it gets too dark."
The story was the same. Packs and saddlebags were empty—and two were missing. Rathe called Tam over, from where she had been counting the bodies.
"Eleven dead," Tam reported. Rathe thought she looked a little green. "Including Master Seth and his deputy Lara." She glanced sideways at Orvig. "I haven't found your sister yet, but..."
"Never mind that," said Orvig harshly. "Rathe, tell her."
Rathe explained what they had found. "Did you see any tracks?" he asked.
"No," Tam said. "It's odd. Whatever killed them... oh."
"What?"
"No weapons. None of the dead have any weapons on them. Someone must have—" She paused, stared at Rathe. "That's crazy. Animals don't loot! It doesn't make sense."
Rathe looked westward. The sun was just beginning to fall below the horizon, but they had perhaps another hour of light. He was suddenly overcome with a feeling of being watched. They should leave here, he thought.
"It's time to report back," he said.
Watch-Master Hoth commanded ten troopers: seven men and three women. Orvig was along as an observer, since Stonekeep's Dwarven community had a stake in the missing trade expedition. Hoth was a large man with equally large passions. When Rathe had arrived almost an hour late, he had worked himself up into a tearing rage. Rathe's news didn't alleviate the anger. Neither did being led to the site of the massacre. It merely deflected it.
"Savages," said Hoth. "It must have been savages. Or throgs." He spat on the ground. The Watch-Master rounded on Rathe, expression fierce. "You say you found the bodies almost an hour ago. Why didn't you report back immediately?"
Rathe was Watch-Second, Hoth's deputy leader, but this was only his first patrol since his promotion. Rathe felt that his actual reasons—a need to try to make sense of the slaughter—would be too hard to explain. But he had a good excuse. "I had to check for survivors," said Rathe. "Sir."
"And you found none, correct?"
"We counted the dead. Master Trader Seth and all of the caravan were among them. So were the pack animals. Jhen Stonemelter, the dwarf representative, was not. She might have escaped, or..."
"Or you might not have performed a thorough search."
"Yes, sir," Rathe answered stiffly. He clenched his teeth but kept his face stony. It didn't seem to matter to Hoth that he'd been berating him just a moment before for spending too much time with the bodies. At least the rain had stopped, for the moment. But now flies were buzzing around the corpses.
Hoth looked over to the hilltop, where Tam and the other soldiers were sorting through the bodies. They'd decided to bury them here. "Well, if the dwarf woman's here, we'll find her."
Out of the corner of his eye, Rathe saw Orvig. The dwarf was leaning against a tree, shaking his head. So far, there had been no sign of Jhen. Rathe could guess what his friend was going through. Dwarf family ties were very close.
"Sir, what could have killed them?" he asked Hoth.
"Savages, as I said." Hoth stared at the corpses being piled up. "They ambushed Seth and murdered his men, then hacked up the bodies to make it look like mutant animals did it. But they gave themselves away. Look at that mule there... and there. Those are sword wounds, plain and simple. And they topped it by stealing the trade goods."
"The caravan wasn't carrying anything especially valuable?"
"Not to us. Six bolts of cloth and three sealed casks of wine. A cask of iron nails. Simple goods, just to trade for herbs and hides." Hoth laughed, bitterly. "Why trade when you can steal, eh?"
"But why would they take the trouble to make it look like a beast attack, mutilate the bodies, even gather up any spent arrows—and then go ahead and steal the caravan's weapons and goods?"
But Hoth was shaking his head. "You give them too much credit. The average savage—or even throg—isn't that bright."
Rathe knew better, and he knew that Hoth knew better, too. With their primitive weapons, the savages had to be doubly stealthy and clever. But he couldn't contradict Hoth directly. Maybe if he changed the subject a bit... "I think we shouldn't pull out yet, sir. We could check out the savage village that Seth's party was attempting to reach. We can scout..."
"The trouble with you, Rathe, is that you think too much." Seeing the young soldier stiffen, Hoth softened his voice, patted Rathe on the shoulder. "Finding the bodies was good work, son, but let's not get carried away. One savage village wouldn't have the guts to attack one of our trading parties. It would have to be several. And if there are savages on the warpath, ten men won't be enough. The Council will want to put together a retaliatory expedition."
Rathe wasn't sure that was a good idea. They weren't even sure it had been savages. He decided to give it one more try.
"Sir, I don't..."
Hoth cut him off. "Don't worry, Watch-Second." His eyes glinted fiercely. "I'll make sure you have a position in it." He glanced at the sun. It was would be night soon. "But it's a full day's journey back to Fort Thunder and another two days to Stonekeep. I'd like to get moving before full dark. We'll camp a few miles from this cursed place."
Rathe sighed. "Yes, sir." The soldiers had finished burying the bodies. It had taken nearly two hours. Stonekeep's dead would rest in shallow graves on the hillside.
"Listen up," Hoth said. Heads turned to face him, the tired men and women leaning on camp shovels. When he was sure he had their attention, Hoth drew his sword. It gleamed dully in the light of the setting sun. "Seth came to trade with the savages. They massacred his people, then tried to cover it up. They failed. We have ten troopers. We can't pay them back. But we'll be back in force—and we'll punish the animals who did this if we have to burn every wildman village in Khera Vale to do it."
None of the men cheered, but many nodded grimly, Tam among them. Stonekeep's vengeance would be swift and merciless. Rathe just hoped it would be well-aimed.
Rathe noticed Orvig standing silently. He was staring away from the graves, toward the setting sun. Hoth's talk of vengeance would be cold comfort to him. Rathe almost wished they had found Jhen's body. Then Orvig could have laid her to rest. Or did he prefer faint hope to a bitter certainty? Maybe so.
He walked over to the dwarf, leaned down to put his arms around Orvig's shoulder. Orvig turned to face him.
"We still haven't found a body, Orvig," Rathe said gently. "Don't give up." He tried to sound hopeful. "Jhen's probably still alive. If the savages captured her..." Why should they, Rathe thought, if they killed everyone else? He struggled for something that made sense. "They know Dwarves are wealthy. Maybe they want a ransom. We can get her back."
"Huh," Orvig grunted. "Save it for the soldiers, boy." He fixed Rathe with his gaze, eyes dark. "I overheard your conversation with Hoth. I'm afraid your Tam had the right of it." He looked over at the fresh graves. The patrol was breaking camp. "Whatever ate them..." His voice broke. "Jhen's dead," he said simply, then lapsed into silence.
Rathe placed his hand on the dw
arf's shoulder. They stood silently for a few moments. Then Orvig started to speak. "Jhen was nearly forty. My youngest sister." He sighed. "I remember when she first saw the sun. She was sixteen years old. It was a revelation to her."
Since the Devastation—the great magical disaster that had nearly ended civilization—men and Dwarves had lived together, as partners. But they also lived apart. While humans dwelt in the upper levels of the great keeps, the Dwarves delved far below. The Dwarves were crafters and farmers, partners of mankind, growing the succulent mushrooms and forging the hard steel that Stonekeep needed, in exchange for the lumber and fresh food harvested by men. But they rarely ventured out into the light.
Orvig was still talking. "When I first came topside, I was frightened." He gestured. "Everything was so—open." He waved his hand.
Rathe nodded in understanding. He remembered his first time in the dwarf caverns under Stonekeep, visiting Orvig's cousin. The deep winding tunnels and the weight of stone pressing down had been almost too much for a seven-year-old boy.
"I was frightened, boy. But not Jhen. She loved it. Wind, light, animals..." He smiled. "Our parents despaired of her. She didn't want to be a stonemason or a chemist. She wanted to be a trader, to travel, see the world." Orvig sighed. He sounded old and sad. "The years pass by quickly. Time melts lives, boy."
They marched in single file down the narrow dirt road, eyes scanning the forest on either side, alert for any attacks from the savages—or whatever—that had annihilated Seth's party. Rathe, as Watch-Second, was in charge of the rear guard: Tam and two other troopers, Loric and Calvert. Orvig clumped along beside them.
Rathe noticed Loric seemed to be falling behind. He slowed his pace slightly until he was walking beside the soldier, a quiet, dour youth in his late teens, with a bushy red beard. Rathe glanced meaningfully into the forest.
"Seems quiet, doesn't it?" Rathe said. He kept his voice low.
"Yes, sir," Loric replied. His voice sounded a bit hoarse. "Do you think the savages did it?" A cough punctuated the end of his sentence.
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