by T. H. Lain
Vadania's stomach churned at the thought of the abomination they faced. It was a vulgar affront to the natural world, a cruel and twisted play on the eternal cycle of death and rebirth. The creature's metabolism was sped up to the point that harm was irrelevant. If that was the case, the druid thought, she must take the battle to the core of the process.
She concentrated her attack on the troll's neck, slashing with the tip of her scimitar at the corded muscles connecting the troll's head to its body. Living flesh closed around her blade, sticking it fast. Fighting against her own revulsion as much as the troll's flailing claws, she dug her weapon into the base of the monster's skull. She hammered the heel of her hand against the hilt of her sword, driving the blade through layers of tissue and bone, probing for the soft brain beneath.
She felt something give and realized it was the sword's tip piercing the back of the cranium. The troll dropped to its knees. Its arms still flailed, but without conscious control, only reflex. Vadania jumped back, leaving her sword in the troll's head.
The beast clawed at the scimitar. Its scaly grip locked around the weapon's cross hilt and tried to pull it free of the bone, but its strength was failing fast. Krusk stepped directly in front of the beast and raised his axe. The troll's horrid screech drowned the whistle of the axe until the blade sliced through the neck, just below Vadania's sword. The headless body tumbled sideways as the head, its eyes still rolling and the jaws snapping, rolled to Krusks's feet.
"The fire!" Vadania yelled.
Krusk picked up the head and held it at arm's length. The mass of skin writhed around his fingers as he carried it across the clearing and tossed it into the blaze. The stink of burning flesh fouled the area as flames licked up the troll's face. The flesh blackened, smoked, and split before the troll's eyes finally stopped rolling from side to side and only a blackened skull remained.
The others quickly hacked the body to pieces as it thrashed on the ground, knowing that within minutes it could regenerate even its lost skull and brain. The oozing parts were dragged or kicked into the firepit. Within minutes, all traces of the beast were gone, except for bloodstains on the ground and an unbearable stench in the air.
"What manner of beast was that?" Krusk asked as he shoved his axe into the fire.
Orange flames engulfed the blade, spitting and hissing as the thick, green blood coating its surface was consumed. Lidda moved about the camp, looking for bits of the creature.
"Troll," she said. "The bad news, there's likely to be more."
Vadania knelt by Malthooz's side. The half-orc was wedged into a tangle of roots where he lay all through the fight. His pupils were huge and his skin was even more ashen than its normal, gray hue. She waved her hand in front of his face. Malthooz stared past the druid, as though he was looking at something in the distance, or nothing at all.
"He's in shock," Vadania announced, placing her palm on his forehead.
She muttered softly over the half-orc's body and he relaxed, the calm spreading downward from his face as the druid's healing magic took effect.
"That should calm his nerves," she said, and she joined her companions near the fire. Looking at the charred ends of bones lying amidst the embers, she added, "I've no mind to pass the night here, but he needs to rest before we press on. He's had quite a scare."
Krusk pushed past Vadania and grabbed Malthooz, lifting him from the ground.
"I'll carry him," Krusk said. "We can't face another of those things."
He wrapped his arm under Malthooz's and heaved the limp form over his shoulder, then moved off. Vadania started after the barbarian but Mialee's hand pulled her back.
"He's right," she said.
Lidda passed by the druid, her backpack over her shoulder, her short sword and crossbow slung over her back. Vadania watched the rogue follow Krusk into the darkness. She lifted Mialee's hand from her own and grabbed her things.
"We've got to do something about that one," the druid said.
"Krusk or Malthooz?" Mialee asked as she started down the trail.
Vadania thought for a moment before answering, "Both."
They moved as fast as the situation allowed. Krusk was not slowed much by the extra weight, and Vadania knew that he was still working off the steam of battle. For all his outward gruffness, the druid did notice that the barbarian shielded Malthooz from the branches that hung across the trail and moved him carefully around the fallen trees that lay across the path.
She felt a growing affinity for Malthooz even though he was proving to be more trouble than he was worth. She also understood the frustration that he felt with Krusk. It was a frustration all of them dealt with from time to time. They'd learned to take the barbarian's temperament in stride. Vadania couldn't imagine the brute without his crotchety attitude. It was his essential characteristic, even if it was an exhausting trait. Still, for all of his grouchiness, Krusk was a rock of reliability in a world of shifting alliances. His dependability was unwavering and his bark far worse than his bite, provided you were on the right side of his axe.
Malthooz was a different matter. Something about his stubbornness reminded the druid of Krusk. There was no reason why he should be with them, and he was learning that the world of hired swords was more dangerous than he ever imagined. Yet he had chosen to come along, still believing that he could get Krusk to go home with him. The druid admired the principle behind Malthooz's determination. He was putting his own neck on the line for the sake of his people.
Vadania thought that she understood the kinship between the half-orcs. She would never call it love, at least on Krusk's part, but it was certainly real. The barbarian showed no genuine need for close emotional ties. His quick temper, however, sometimes betrayed something deeper. The only people who ever felt it were bitter enemies and close friends. Malthooz had to fall into the latter category.
As the night pressed on, Vadania sensed that the forest was changing around them. She caught the scent of salt in the air and knew that the ocean was not far off. She was tired beyond belief and needed rest if she hoped to use her magic in the days ahead. Waves of fatigue moved through her muscles and her mind was clouded with the strain of their flight.
She moved ahead to confer with the others, and they decided to pass the remaining hours of darkness on the edge of the coast away from the forest and another attack from its numerous dangers.
The druid used the promise of rest to keep her moving the final few miles. Even Krusk looked as if he needed sleep, she thought, as they cleared the edge of the forest and collapsed on the sand.
The morning sun burned through the fog shrouding the beaches of the northern Fell Coast, bringing with it the promise of a warmer day. White sand formed a gentle slope stretching away on their left, meeting the ocean a hundred yards beyond.
Vadania thought they should have journeyed farther into the woods, but Mialee and Lidda were eager to leave the darkness behind and Krusk didn't want to waste time looking for another path. The druid's eyes strayed skyward every few minutes.
"We would be wise to stay near the forest edge," she said, her voice flat.
"Rocs," she added, in answer to Malthooz's puzzled look. "Giant and vicious avians that frequent coastal areas. They scavenge by day and eat anything. The sea cliffs to the north are probably filled with them."
The half-orc shuddered, looking at the towering walls of stone in the distance. The encounter with the troll was still fresh in his mind.
"If we keep to the cover of the trees we will be all right," Vadania said. "Most of the birds have migrated south by this time of year. Only the few too old to leave remain." She glanced up again. "They are still deadly, however."
They camped on the beach that evening. Vadania didn't think they were in any danger after dark. Even so, they camped under a low-hanging tree in the crook of two large logs of driftwood.
Malthooz sat away from the fire and the others, his back turned to them. He could hear Mialee and Lidda talking to Krusk in hu
shed tones. From the sound of it, it was not a pleasant conversation. Malthooz guessed that they were scolding the barbarian about his attitude, which had not improved since the fight in the woods. Whatever the case, he didn't think that any of them would pay much heed to him.
He grabbed the worn leather backpack that sat in front of him and drew it up between his booted feet, then rummaged through books and parchments to get at the wooden symbol lying in the bottom of the pack. The words of the disciple of Pelor who gave it to him ran through his head: "You lack faith, Malthooz. Faith in what you are."
His hands fell upon the uneven surface of the small wooden disc. He pulled it from the pack and set it on the ground at his feet. The center was raised in the pattern of a rising sun. It was a simple design but it was crafted to flow with the natural grain of the tree it was made from. Its simplicity was beautiful. The cleric told him that the symbol was a key to his power. As much as Malthooz wanted to believe it, he still just saw it as a lifeless chunk of wood.
The sound of footsteps in the sand behind him alerted Malthooz. He threw the symbol into his pack and tossed the bag aside.
"Still rummaging through those books?" Lidda's voice broke the stillness. She came up behind Malthooz and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Come on, none of us likes this gloom and doom." She chuckled and ran a hand through the half-orc's unkempt hair. "Krusk is getting to be unbearable even to Mialee."
Malthooz sighed and said, "I failed myself and I failed you, Lidda. My stupidity almost cost me my life. I cannot forgive myself for such idiocy."
"Idiocy is what we're all about. Risking our necks for a few gold coins here and there."
Vadania left her seat by the fire and approached them.
"Lighten up on yourself, Malthooz, you'll get used to failing. I did."
"Yeah," Lidda added. "Anyway, Vadania and I have decided that you need some lessons—a few tricks and techniques with that stick of yours."
Malthooz laughed. He looked at the two women, their toned muscles rippling in the firelight. His eyes strayed to the scimitar strapped to Vadania's side.
"No, we won't start there," she said, unhooking the weapon from her belt and setting it on a nearby root. "We'll start small."
She hunted around for a long and slender piece of driftwood.
"Grab your staff," she said, testing the weight of her own pole. "Now put it up like this."
Malthooz tried to mimic the druid's stance, feet wide with his staff held crosswise across his chest.
"Now," Vadania said, coming at him, "step into my advance and raise your staff to block mine. Good."
They ran him through a battery of simple maneuvers, showing him the basic techniques of quarterstaff fighting. While the women each favored a different tool for battle, they were both handy enough with the pole to give Malthooz a few rudimentary skills. The three of them parried back and forth across the sand, exchanging mock blows with their wooden staves. It was not long before Malthooz was out of breath and had a number of dark bruises, more colorful than painful, on his sides. The elves had not broken a sweat.
"Enough," Malthooz hollered, falling to the sand. "Enough!"
"Bah," Krusk's deep voice boomed from the fireside. He had watched the sparring lessons with quiet disdain. "You wouldn't last a second in a real battle if you tire that quickly."
He grabbed Malthooz's staff from the sand and started forward.
"Get up," Krusk shouted as he bore down on Malthooz.
Malthooz scrambled to his feet but was too slow to avoid Krusk's lightning-quick swing. The staff cracked across his shoulder, snapping at the point where it hit his shoulder blade. The half-orc stepped back in shock but managed to keep his footing. Though pain bolted through his arm, he refused to let it show on his face.
The half-orcs stood face-to-face for many moments, their eyes burning with the rage of a rekindled rivalry. Malthooz sneered.
"It is no different than it ever has been, is it, Krusk?" he asked.
Krusk tossed the splintered ends of the staff to the ground and stormed off.
When Malthooz awoke the next morning, the ache in his shoulder reminded him of the furious confrontation the night before. He knew that Krusk hadn't meant to fly off in such frenzy and guessed that Krusk's anger was probably directed more against his own conflicted feelings about returning to the village than against anything Malthooz had done. He was also certain that Krusk's actions, however antagonistic they might seem, were really a sign that he did care about what was happening to his friends of long ago.
Malthooz rubbed his sore muscles. If this was Krusk's way of showing love, so be it. It was better than the silent treatment Malthooz had endured during the journey up till then. The standoff seemed to bring the two to a mutual understanding. Malthooz was pleased with himself for not backing down. Perhaps it was only stupid pride. It was painful pride for sure. It was also a start.
More than anything else, it showed Malthooz that the only way he could make Krusk consider the request was to relate to him on Krusk's terms. There was nothing new about that, but it was easy to forget such lessons over the years.
Malthooz rose from his bedroll and started packing his things. Lidda and Krusk were hiding the remains of the camp. They kicked sand over the smoldering embers of the night's fire and smoothed the sand with pine branches.
Vadania was nowhere to be seen. Malthooz guessed that she was off in the forest, gathering food for the day's journey or herbs for healing or casting spells. Once they left the woodlands for the open beach and cliffs, such things would be much harder to come by.
Mialee sat against the trunk of a tree, poring over her spellbook, memorizing the spidery script that flowed across the pages in a way that allowed wizards to access the magical secrets held within the words, diagrams, and formulae.
Malthooz looked around for the broken ends of his walking staff. The fractured pieces of wood were nowhere to be seen. He finished rolling his bedding and tying it shut with a length of silk cord. As he carried the bundle over to his backpack and began strapping it to the underside of the bag. something caught his eye. A long, lean staff of wood rested against his pack. Lying next to the staff was a shorter and much sturdier-looking piece. The surface of the smaller weapon was worked smooth and it tapered down its length from one end to the other.
Malthooz finished tying his bedroll in place and hefted his backpack to his shoulder, wincing as the weight of it pressed on the bruise beneath. He paused for a moment then took off his pack and rummaged around for the symbol of Pelor. He hung the trinket from a leather cord around his neck, tucking it inside his tunic. After re-donning his pack, Malthooz slid the club into his belt and grabbed the new staff. The weapons felt balanced and reassuring.
For the first time in a long time, Malthooz greeted the coming day with confidence.
They traveled north along the sand well into the morning. The forest to the east slowly gave way to sandy bluff then to a jagged wall of stone. The beach disappeared as the tide came in, forcing the group to climb a number of low rises where huge sea stacks trailed out into the surf. By the time the sun reached its crest in the sky, the water finally started receding and travel became easier.
Rippling water lapped at the heels of Krusk's boots as the companions rounded a final peak of rock and got their first view of the broken ship.
Despite the lateness of the day, a thin fog had settled over the beach, the winter sun unable to shake its hold on the shore. The mist obscured sight at any distance greater than a quarter mile and gave the whole scene a ghostly aspect.
As they moved closer, Krusk could begin making out the details of the wreckage. Treachery lay on the beach as though she had been tossed as a giant's plaything. A gash split one side of the hull where it was impaled on the rocks. The mast was a tangle of splintered timber and snarled lines, and the rudder was nowhere to be seen. A few large crates were strewn around the craft, those too heavy for the sea to have claimed as its own. Already the boat was
sinking into the sand. The smell of salty air mixed with something else more putrid.
"I don't like this," Krusk said, eyeing the wreck. "It smells of death, but I see no bodies."
"I think we're a bit late for whatever happened here," Lidda said. "I'd guess that Vadania's rocs beat us to the dead."
"Or they've been washed away," the druid added.
"We should split up," Mialee declared, stepping forward to join the other two. "The tide's going to turn before long. We can cover more ground in teams."
Krusk nodded and said, "I don't think there's any danger in that. Whatever happened to the crew is long done."
"Good," Mialee said. "I'll take the half-orcs and check the inside." She adjusted a pouch of herbs on her belt. "Lidda should go topside and Vadania can search the beach for tracks."
The railing at the rear of the ship hung half a dozen yards above the surface of the sand. A grappling hook and rope made the ascent as easy for Lidda as a climb up a short flight of stairs, and she reached the edge of the deck in seconds. Grabbing the top with both hands, she vaulted up and over it, landing in a crouch on well-worn planks. She snatched the crossbow from its holster on her back and advanced down the ship's length.
She moved stealthily along the deck, gliding around the perimeter of the vessel, riffling past folds of cloth from the fallen sail. She rummaged through a few boxes that were lashed to the deck at various points as she made her way to the bow. Most of the containers were smashed open, with yards of heavy canvas, hemp rope, and an assortment of pulleys spilling from their insides.
From the open deck, it looked as though a hurricane had hit the ship. What remained of the mainmast was no more than a short, jagged stump protruding from the decking. Rivets still held the stub firmly to a steel collar where the post emerged from belowdecks. The lower end of the once towering pole presumably still ran down through the heart of the craft and butted the keel. The rest of its length lay across the deck, flattening a section of railing near the front of the boat, with its final yards hanging over the beach.