“What in hell were they?” Ailric asked as Jorn approached. The knight, too, had caught a glimpse of them.
“I don’t know,” Jorn said. “Grang’s teeth! I’ve never seen the like of such things.”
“Did they see us?” Willock asked.
“I thought so at first. At least one of them might’ve, but from the looks of it the other one didn’t think so. I’d hate to deal with a herd of those things charging us. They look twice as strong as trolls.”
“That open area up ahead,” Willock said. “They were standing guard there. It could be where they’ve taken Sal.”
“Let’s move a bit farther from tha’ damned road before we scout any further,” Ironhelm said.
They did not argue with the dwarf, working their way some distance deeper into the swamp until they were well out of sight of the road. They found a small dry area surrounded by dense undergrowth and crouched down out of sight. Scanning about the area, Willock saw a large tree nearby.
“I think a look from above is in order,” the woodsman said.
He made his way over to the tree and began to climb, looking over his shoulder at the road as soon as it came back into view with his ascent. It was silent, none of the strange beasts to be seen. Willock continued working his way up the tree, until finally he neared the top. Poking out above most of the tree-tops, he took in his surroundings. That they were close to the far side of the marshes was apparent, the White Moors not very far away to the southwest. The nearest edges of the hills could not be more than eight or ten miles away at the furthest. Past the moors loomed the next ridge of the mountains, rising to their snow-tipped heights thousands of feet above them.
It was the open area a hundred yards away from the tree that took Willock’s breath away, however. Much of it was obscured by the trees between his vantage point and the open area, but he saw enough to be amazed.
____
“It’s a ruined city,” Willock said.
“A city?” Jorn said.
“Yes,” the woodsman went on. “The ruins are stone, probably marble. They are in the Guardian style of architecture.”
“Columns, domes, symmetrical design,” Ailric said.
“Precisely,” Willock said. “I saw part of a dome very clearly.”
“It must be some forgotten Guardian outpost,” Jorn said.
“Whatever they are, the ruins are roughly three hundred yards across in a broad oval-shaped area amidst the swamps,” Willock said, scratching out the general shape in the ground with a long stick. “There are piles of rubble strewn everywhere. On the south side over here, I could make out the outline of what might have once been a small temple. The roof is domed and the entire building is nearly intact, although there are a few gaps in some parts of its walls. The temple is built upon a tall, flat platform of stone overlooking a broad open area in the center of the complex. On the far side of this square is a pair of smaller buildings. They are also largely intact, although they are somewhat overgrown with vines and what not.”
“Incredible,” Ailric said.
“But that is not all,” Willock continued. “I saw something else. On the far side of the temple are a series of arches topped by some sort of bridge, just coming into view. I’m not sure what that it could be. It almost looked like a walkway over the swamp. In any case, it was hard to see very much else from the tree. I noticed that a portion of the square looked to be flooded and I saw smoke from several fires, including what seemed to be a bonfire burning in front of the temple.”
“Did you see any of those creatures?” Ironhelm asked.
“I counted six in the square, by the bonfire,” Willock said.
“But no Sal?” Jorn said.
“No,” Willock said.
“Then we need to take a closer look,” Jorn said.
“How close?” Ironhelm said.
“Close enough,” Jorn said, standing.
The dwarf thought about it for a few seconds.
“No, laddie,” he said. “We should wait until night. Aye, till night.”
“We might not have that much time,” Jorn said. “I’ll go alone rather than wait until later.”
“Tha’s too reckless, laddie,” the dwarf protested.
“Grang’s ass! I’m not leaving Sal in the hands of those things!”
“We should hold off, laddie,” Ironhelm said. “Approach at night.”
“Wait here. I’ll be back,” he said, turning away.
“Ach!” Ironhelm shoke his head. “This is damned foolishness.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” Willock. “If you must go closer, I will go with you.”
“I’ll not sit here waiting for you two like some old laundrywoman,” Ironhelm growled. “If you two laddies are going closer, I’m going with you.”
“Not all this again,” Ronias muttered, shaking his head.
“I’m a swordsman the equal of any of you!” Ailric said. “If the dwarf is going, then so am I.”
“Well, that’s great,” Jorn said. “The clanking of all that armor will be real useful sneaking up on them.”
Ronias rolled his eyes at the farce.
“Well, I am not about to sit alone in this awful place,” he finally said. “Lead the way! If you must insist on marching us all off to certain doom, let us be on with it already.”
_____
They crept closer, wading through black water up to their waists. Ahead, a great mass of crossed their path. As they drew closer, they could see that it blanketed a portion of an ancient wall. Much of the wall had long since collapsed, but much remained intact.
Jorn reached the wall and looked up and down its length. He saw other stretches in the distance. They appeared to curve, once forming a great circle around the ruins. Jorn inched over towards one of the gaps in the wall and peeked through. He could see into the open area beyond, but couldn’t make out anything in detail.
“Hugh and I will scout ahead from here,” he whispered, stepping through the gap.
“Be careful, laddie,” Ironhelm said.
They worked their way nearer to the ruins. Jorn began to get an idea of the size of the ruined town, crawling over huge pieces of rubble scattered amid the swamp. Close to the edge of the cleared area, they spied a portion of a small building still standing. It was the size of a small house or maybe a shop, its roof and one of the walls long gone. The wall facing the cleared area up ahead still stood, an opening that once served as a window in its center. Inside the walls of the little house, a large tree stood surrounded by deep water.
Jorn slid past the tree, up to the window. He hoisted himself up out of the water and, standing on a thick root of the tree, peeked through. He ducked quickly down, turning back towards Willock.
“Three more of the beasts,” he whispered. “They didn’t see me.”
“Good,” Willock said.
“Let’s take another look,” Jorn said quietly.
He pulled himself up to the opening again. The beasts’ were standing a hundred feet away, their backs to him. Beyond was a clear view of most of the ruins. Willock now stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Together they could see directly through the trees and across the square towards the temple.
Scattered around the edge of the square were dozens of shabby-looking tents, a few of the swampbeasts sitting amongst them around small campfires. In the square itself stood dozens more of the creatures surrounding the bonfire. Beyond the bonfire, a few more of the lumbering brutes stood on the broad steps leading up to the temple. Next to the temple, they could also see the series of arches emerging from the marshes beyond. Willock suddenly understood what it was, an ancient aqueduct that once must have ran from the hills all the way to the ancient town square. Even now, water poured down from edge of the aqueduct into a small pond.
“Let’s take a real look,” Willock whispered, producing the spyscope.
Quickly assembling the contraption, Willock pointed it towards the temple. He studied the beasts standin
g on the steps, their huge curving tusks gleaming in the sun. They clutched long spears and each wore some kind of amulet around their necks. Panning upwards, he saw another of the creatures standing atop the steps. It, too, wore an amulet around its neck, larger and more ornate than the others. It also wore a headdress made from part of the skull of some large horned animal. Willock figured it must have been some kind of priest of chieftain.
The swampbeast priest-chieftain stepped out from the interior of the collapsed temple, shouting something to the others. From behind him a pair of spear-bearing swampbeasts emerged from the temple, each dragging a rope attached to several Saurian prisoners and Flatfoot. The beasts forced them all to sit atop the stairs. The gnome looked miserable and filthy, looking around in a strangely bewildered manner. He almost seemed drunk, if Willock didn’t know better. Willock’s heart sunk as a barking cheer went up from among the swampbeasts assembled around the bonfire. More of the beasts began streaming from all ends of the ruins towards the bonfire.
“What’s going on?” Jorn whispered.
“Its Sal,” Willock said, handing Jorn the scope.
Jorn took it, putting it to his eye.
“Grang’s teeth!” he said. “They’re making ready to murder him! We’ve no time left to waste.”
He started to rise but Willock grabbed his shoulder and held him back.
“What would you do, Jorn?” he asked. “There are a hundred of those monsters out there, at least.”
“Let me think. Let me think.” He paused, frowning. “We’ll move around the other side of the temple. We might be able to snatch him from behind and dash out into the marshes again before they know what to do.”
_____
“We have to act now,” Jorn said.
“The risk…ach…it just seems impossible, laddie,” Ironhelm said, scowling. “I don’t wish to abandon the gnome either, but -”
“We’ll never make it through the temple dungeon without him,” Jorn said.
“Very well laddie,” Ironhelm finally said. “We won’t leave the gnome, not without a fight. Aye, but we must be quick about it. Ronias, you cast your spell right before we snatch him, into the midst of the crowd of ‘em. They’ll be too startled to pursue us, with any luck. Give us a huge one of those fireballs if you can manage it, laddie! Aye, we’ll have the slightes’ of chances but we just might pull the damned thing off.”
“We can grab Sal and be back into the swamps before they even realize what is happening,” Jorn said. He turned towards the elf. “Ronias, can you cast the spell?”
“I can,” he said, a look of bemused frustration was on his face. “And I will. After all, it is not as if I have any choice in the matter.”
_____
The rear wall of the temple loomed up above the four of them like some great mountain in the midst of the dreary marshes. To their left, they could see the aqueduct. It emerged from the west, disappearing into the distance as it skimmed the tops of the trees. The temple was built upon a huge stone platform which rose out of the muck, covered in creeping vines, and reached up twenty feet above them. Ironhelm wondered how it had not sunk into the swamp. Its foundations must go all the way down to the bedrock deep underground.
“I can’t get up that in this armor,” Ailric said, staring up at its sheer height.
“We’ll have to find some way,” Jorn said.
“There!” said Ronias, pointing towards one corner of the platform. A narrow staircase, long since grown over with vegetation but still clearly visible, led up the side of the platform to the back to the temple.
“That’ll do,” said Jorn.
Up they went, weapons drawn. Jorn was first, Ronias in the rear. The going was slow, Ailric having to be extra careful not to slip and fall on the treacherous footing in his unwieldy armor. Jorn glanced back. He never understood why some warriors chose to fight in such bulky costumes. As far as he was concerned, what one gained in protection from heavy armor one lost in speed and agility.
Jorn reached the top of the platform and then darted back behind the rear wall again. The others soon followed, Ailric as quietly as he could manage. They were behind the temple at last, amidst the ruins but still out of view from the horde of swampbeasts. Jorn looked up and down the length of the wall. There was a wide crack to the left that went all the way down the entire height of the wall.
Approaching, he took a look through. The interior of the temple was a pile of all manner of rubble and debris, including several heaps of bones. A cavernous domed roof remained overhead, a long crack meandering across its entire length. Somehow the dome stayed up. The Guardians, no one disputed, were expert builders.
Jorn saw the debris as a stroke of luck. The rubble would provide some cover, at least, so they wouldn’t be seen until they rushed out to rescue Flatfoot. Jorn stepped through the crack and into the temple, his sword drawn. He eased his way carefully forward, crouching down behind a large chunk of marble. The others slowly made their way inside as Jorn took in his surroundings. On the rear wall behind him he could make out faded inscriptions. He knew the characters, the formal letters of classical Vandorian script. It was in the old Luthanian tongue, referring to someone named Felicius Fidelitus, High Priest of the Guardian Order.
Jorn waited until the others were through the wall and then began inching forward further into the temple. It must have been magnificent once, carvings and inscriptions running the entire length of the walls. Above them, a few patches of faded bronze still clung to the ceiling. Once, the glistening metal would have covered the entire ceiling.
After another twenty feet, he could see through the rubble and clearly make out the open sky in front of the temple. Motioning for the others to stay back, he crept forward and caught a glimpse of the line of prisoners sitting atop the steps in front of the temple. There were five Saurians tied up along with Flatfoot. Jorn breathed a sigh of relief that the gnome was still alive. All of the prisoners seemed dazed, sitting there silently.
On either side of the prisoners stood the guards. In front of them was the priest-chieftain. He was barking and growling wildly, the crowd of swampbeasts at the foot of the temple responding to him loudly with a cacophony of barks of their own. Jorn could see the priest-chieftain holding two things in his hands. The first was a long knife, covered in black blood, which he shook about in the air above him to the apparent pleasure of the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. The object in his other hand looked like a bloody, dripping piece of meat. It took Jorn a second to realize it was a heart. Lying at the shaman’s feet was a Saurian corpse, its chest ripped open.
The shaman kicked the corpse several times, rolling it towards the top of the stairs. Guards appeared from off to the side, lifting the corpse high and hurling it forward down the steps. A great roar of approval lifted up from the crowd.
The guards roused another Saurian, dragging it forward. The creature was then beaten badly by the guards until he was a bleeding mass of contusion, a confused and dazed look on its face the whole time. Jorn scrambled back to the others and told them in a hurried tone what he saw.
“So that’s three guards plus the priest doing the sacrifices,” Willock noted.
“Ironhelm and I’ll come around the left and take care of the guard there and the priest,” Jorn said. “Ailric and Hugh come around the other end and handle the others. Ronias, you need to be ready with your spell. Understand? Good. Ronias casts his spell and, as soon as it goes off, we strike. Once we’ve got Sal, we run like hell back into the swamp. Everyone got it? Now let’s go snatch us a gnome.”
They took their positions, moving forward until everyone was in place. The second Saurian, now slain, was cast down the stairs to the eager crowd. The guards grabbed Flatfoot and dragged him forward. Ronias looked across the rubble at Jorn, waiting for a signal. Jorn nodded slowly, gripping his sword. Ronias returned the nod, turning and beginning his chant. It took a few moments for the magical energy to rise within him as he stepped forward into the sun. Befor
e him was a crowd of hundreds of the swampbeasts, filling the square below. The guards and the priest faced the crowd and didn’t see him.
Ronias cast the spell, the fireball flying through the air and landing in the exact middle of the crowd of monsters. Ronias withdrew behind a column, his knees almost giving out on him as he head grew light.
_____
Jorn watched the fireball going off, leaping forth from his hiding place. He buried his sword into the back of the nearest guard. Its great hairy bulk fell forward down the steps of the temple, Jorn pulling his sword out and whirling around to face the priest-chieftain. The priest-chieftain lay on the top step of the temple already, clutching his hip and bleeding all over the steps. Flatfoot stood nearby, his arms unbound and his eyes alert. In his hand was a long knife.
Ironhelm had seen it all. Just as Ronias was casting his fireball spell, the shaman loomed over Flatfoot. The beast’s knife, still dripping with the blood of the Saurians, was raised above the doomed gnome. Flatfoot stood there, his arms tied behind him and his face blank with drugged confusion. Suddenly, his bound hands were free and a long knife in one of them. He lunged forward and stabbed the creature in the hip. The monster howled with agony, falling forward.
Flatfoot pulled out the knife and deftly stepped aside out of the way. He turned, ready to make a dash in the direction of the aqueduct but stopped in his tracks with a stunned look on his face. He saw Jorn emerging from the shadows, cutting down one of the guards. He also saw Ironhelm charging out alongside the Linlunder, waving that enormous battle axe of his towards where the priest-chieftain stood a moment before.
“Ironhelm!” Flatfoot exclaimed. “Bloody good to see you, old fellow!”
Jorn brought his sword down upon the back of the shaman’s skull. Willock, meanwhile, buried a pair of arrows in the back of one of the other guards, which only seemed to enrage it. The monster roared, charging towards the woodsman. Ailric stepped forward from behind one of the columns, slashing at the swampbeast. It thrust its spear right at the knight, but Ailric sidestepped the blow and brought his sword down into the monster’s arm. It cut deeply, almost severing the limb as another arrow struck it in its great bulky chest. The beast roared again, now swinging the huge spear like a club. Ailric ducked the blow, stepping back. The third guard charged him, as well, but did not see Ironhelm and Jorn racing in from the side. Ironhelm buried his axe deep into its leg, sending it sprawling forward. Ailric, meanwhile, waited for the final guard to thrust his spear again. Dodging the blow one more time, he lunged forward with his sword and buried it deep in the hulking monster’s chest.
Child Of Storms (Volume 1) Page 46