The half-elf raised her crossbow, only to realize she stared down a broken weapon. Though she had picked it up on reflex when she moved, it still had a crossbow bolt sticking out of the shattered stock. It was unloaded as well as broken beyond repair.
A beam of magical energy, smaller than Mel’s wand blasts but deadly enough along its path, shot from the elf’s finger. Salgor and Petrow saw the danger only when it was too late to avoid it. Trestan stumbled into the path of the beam on purpose. He put his sword out to try and deflect it, but was unsuccessful in doing so.
“Trestan!”
“Lad! Get down!”
“Tres!”
The companions watched as the beam sliced into Trestan’s abdomen. The young man continued to stand for a moment, though pain convulsed his body. A glimmer of light became visible through the young smith’s back as energy burned through him. The fine elvish sword dropped from the hand of the strong smith…a hand that no longer had the strength to retain its hold. Then the beam stopped, and Trestan had paid the price to protect his friends.
The young man collapsed. Salgor reached out and grabbed his crested shield. The dwarf held it out in front of himself and the former prisoners, glaring at the wizard. Cat had no missile weapon available, but in anger she tossed her broken crossbow through the air. It fell short of its target, but the half elf was screaming like a madwoman and throwing daggers, rocks, anything solid she could get her hands on. Mel finally got around the barrier; wand ready to return a shot at the elf.
Revwar realized it was time to make an exit, or risk his own life. The cloak caught the wind and operated like wings to lift the elf and the limp cleric away from the ground. The caster flew away from the bluff, soaring out over the sea to aim towards the ship. Mel followed him with a few blasts from his wand, but the magic missed his opponent. Soon Revwar was far enough away from the wand that it could not hit him.
* * * * *
Trestan was still lying where the wizard’s beam struck him down. He believed by Abriana’s faith that it was worth it to save his friends, even if he had to offer his own life. The pain wasn’t really as bad after the initial agony. At first it had felt like burning from the inside out, but the sensation gave way to a chill that crept into his limbs. He could no longer feel his legs. He grunted in pain as he picked his head up. The legs were fine, but he saw the damage to his abdomen. Trestan had a hole in the metal plate of his armor; the edges of it showed signs of being melted. Through the hole he could see a reddish and black glimpse at his insides, partially burned.
He lamented the wizard’s escape, though his thoughts remained confused by the item that had rolled out of the elf’s bag. He heard shouts as his friends got closer. Petrow got to him first, looking over the wound and recoiling. With some hesitation, Trestan’s childhood friend used a scrap cloth to apply pressure to the wound. Petrow wasn’t looking much better than the young smith. Bruises, a swollen eye, and torn clothes were evidence of how badly the slightly older youth must feel.
Trestan tried to find words. The first ones came out with difficulty. “Did you see what the elf had in his bag? Was I imagining things?”
“Tres,” Petrow started, “You shouldn’t talk. Save your strength. I didn’t see it but I can guess what it was.”
Trestan tried to lay back and relax, but he felt he was losing his breath. “They left the holy relic on its pedestal back at the church didn’t they? We looked it over before we rode out that night. Yet, I swear, the one Revwar had looked just like it.”
Petrow couldn’t answer, but Lady Shauntay stood nearby and offered a brief, stiff response. “It was. They replaced it with a duplicate, or something else.”
Trestan looked up at the noble. Certainly she was a beautiful as he always viewed her, even despite her currently ragged condition. The blonde hair tumbled free about her shoulders, and her lovely eyes hovered over him. He saw hurt hidden behind her eyes, and regretted they hadn’t gotten to her sooner. “At least we got you back, milady. You should all get out of here before they send more after us. We rescued this lovely lady, an honor, which makes it all worth it.”
Trestan succumbed to a fit of coughing, and missed the frown on Petrow’s face. Salgor, Cat, and soon Mel rushed to his side. Petrow mumbled loud enough, “This was nay worth it, Tres. We never should have bothered coming.”
Lady Shauntay glared at Petrow, but he didn’t care about any opinion she had at that moment.
Trestan looked up again to see Cat’s face. In this bright light, she seemed as radiantly lovely as the noble lady they had rescued. Her face displayed a grief-stricken frown, but her green eyes and black hair were part of a very wonderful image. It was one thing he would miss when he left this world, the prospect of a future with either of these two lovely…
Bright light?
Trestan looked over his right shoulder towards the bluff’s edge. Out to the east, the sun had risen and was shining across the water on them.
He commented, “I didn’t expect to live long enough to see this sunrise.”
* * * * *
The creature cast a long shadow in the light of the sunrise. His axe and one remaining horn silhouetted against part of the deck. Bortun had seen the bolts of energy strike out across the sky, and had stood by helplessly on the ship while a battle raged on the bluff before him. He knew very little about the outcome, but he didn’t like what he saw. A group of sailors and mercenaries had run to the beach like they were escaping the wrath of gods. Loung was one of them; even now he was rowing out to the ship with the other survivors. As Loung got closer, the minotaur saw lines of blood across the man’s body.
The wizard descended to the deck holding someone else under the cover of his billowing cloak. The dark armor identified her long before Bortun saw her short, blonde hair. The cleric was limp and unmoving. Revwar landed on the deck, cradling her bloody head against his robes. As the minotaur approached, Revwar smirked.
“You picked a perfect moment to leave camp and help load the ship.”
Bortun waved his axe with one hand at the bluff. “What happened up there? Did they destroy our plans?”
Revwar didn’t answer. The elf picked through Savannah’s pockets and pouches. He kept her head supported as he emptied bag after bag on the deck. A potion rolled out of a pouch that Revwar recognized as a healing draught. The elf popped the cork and forced the liquid down what was left of the woman’s mouth. As Bortun and several sailors watched, the jaw reformed and melded back into perfect shape.
Savannah’s eyes popped open. Revwar helped her to another healing miracle before she started to sit up by herself. Savannah spit out some blood and felt around her face in wonder at the remaining proof of the seriousness of her injury. Bortun waited anxiously for an answer as she gathered her wits.
The abbess stood up slowly, cautiously, and looked herself over. She had already become conscious of the fact that her skull helm was missing. “What happened? I don’t remember…”
She looked from face to face, and suddenly a memory came back. Her hands flew to her mouth in retrospect. While Savannah recalled her memory of the quarterstaff strike, Revwar looked about at the gathered throng of sailors. “Who is in charge here?”
The men looked at each other in confusion. Their captain had died the previous day due to a rumored illness. Orthymbar had been promoted, but wasn’t among those returning to the ship. The second mate had been a big guy that loved to wield a mallet, and he was missing also. The officer ranks of the ship had been decimated.
Revwar listened to the ensuing discussion and nodded. He had expected as much. “I guess that leaves me in charge. Anyone disagree?”
Bortun turned around and lifted his axe with a sneer at the surrounding sailors. The crewmembers fell quiet and none dared argue the point. Revwar continued, “Raise anchor, we set sail at once as planned.”
Loung Chao climbed over the railing. Bortun and Savannah both got their first looks at Loung’s scars and bruises. Several men be
ing hauled on board suffered from cuts, burns, and missing limbs. The three of them looked to Revwar. Bortun asked again, “What happened up there? We are not going to fight any more?”
Revwar scowled in anger. The others were not used to seeing the mage openly angry. “Beaten by novices. Children! The noble yet lives, so does the young man that attacked us in camp.”
Loung looked towards the distant bluff. “Then they will talk. They know too much.”
Revwar shook his head. “It matters little now. They will find out what we tried to cover up, but they can’t catch us or find us once we sail out of sight. We are out of their reach. For all the trouble this caused us since landing at Barkan’s, this whole situation has only delayed us a little.”
Revwar reached into a bag and took out a green stone with strange markings. Any resident of Troutbrook who saw the item would swear it was the sacred stone set outside the Church of the Sacred Harvest. The sight of it had shocked Trestan, especially since he remembered seeing it safe on its pedestal back at the village when they had departed. Revwar held the stone between his three companions and spoke, “They may have won a small victory, but they lost the war to come. The holy relic that was once stolen has now been returned to its rightful owner.”
The cleric of DeLaris said nothing, but there was the hint of a smile in her eyes as Revwar handed her the stone.
CHAPTER 13
Petrow tried staunching the blood flowing from Trestan’s wound. He felt that he was only delaying the inevitable. Lady Shauntay just stood by quietly, with not even a word of thanks to her dying rescuer. Not that one might be expected, for the noble seemed to be in a state of shock. Salgor and Mel looked on quietly, but there was nothing either could do. Mel was eager to ask about the item from Revwar’s pouch, but he kept his tongue respectfully silent.
In contrast to those who were silent and in shock, Cat was a flurry of activity. She tore through one of her packs. Dry food, some metal lock picks, and the container of jelly from the Troutbrook inn were tossed aside in her frenzy. “I can’t believe I would let something like this sink to the bottom of my pack!”
Finally, Katressa pulled out a vial of liquid. Trestan recognized the significance of it. There was a holy symbol on it just like the vial Cat had shown him on the streets of Troutbrook. He struggled to reach it as she brought it to his lips. The young smith almost felt like retching, but he forced the liquid down his throat. Calmness hit his belly, and warmth came to his abdomen. Petrow, Mel, Salgor and Lady Shauntay looked on with amazement as the wound started to close. The melted metal hole in Trestan’s breastplate remained unchanged, but the open wound dwindled to a puckered scar. The scratches on his brow and nose left by the scimitar strike melted away to smooth skin. The last drop went down his throat and the abdomen wound stopped regenerating. Trestan’s expression became less pained after the warm relief of the miraculous draught. Although something remained of the wound in his abdomen, it did not seem as life threatening as it had moments before.
Cat tossed aside the empty healing potion, but Trestan pointed accusingly to the discarded vial. “You told me, beside that lamed horse in Troutbrook, you didn’t have any healing potions left.”
Cat seemed to blush, “I save my potions for emergencies like this. They are not for animals or enemies. My healing supplies are reserved so that I don’t have to watch helplessly as a friend dies.”
Trestan looked into her green eyes. “I would have saved the horse. But if it was a choice between it and me then I’m glad that I’m the one still breathing. Thanks Cat, for saving that.”
Salgor looked to the ship, expecting more people to come back and finish the group. He leaned forward and spit out a gob of blood. Behind him, Mel tried to imitate the move but only managed to create a gob of saliva on his goatee. The dwarf noticed activity on the deck. “Looks like they’ve had a bellyful too and are giving up! By their actions I think they might be setting sail.”
Cat nodded in agreement, “They are pulling up the anchor. I see men raising the sails.”
Trestan sat up, a wince of pain evident to his friends. Petrow lent Trestan a hand, helping his friend to stand. The handyman then offered his own comment, “I think they’re getting away with the village’s holy relic. Or, perhaps a stone that happens to look just like it. Seems we were lucky but their true objective got away from us.”
Trestan struggled to get his balance without Petrow’s help. The young smith walked slowly, testing his legs, to where Lady Shauntay stood. She had paid little attention to the group, staring off into her own world. Trestan spoke as he reached for her hand, “It was worth it to rescue the jewel of our village! ‘Twas my pleasure to be of service milady…”
The moment Trestan’s hand touched hers she recoiled. Her hand jerked back out of reach. “Don’t touch me!”
The young smith frowned and let his hand drop. He stood uncertainly, awkwardly by her side. Trestan’s imaginative mind had visualized this moment of rescue many times during the journey, but reality moved in an entirely different direction. Lady Shauntay looked at him, and then at the entire group. There was fright in her eyes, and through that window to the soul a fleeting glimpse of the nightmare she endured since her capture. “Don’t bother me right now, just leave me alone.”
The noble tried to shake her head as if trying to dismiss thoughts in her mind. She turned to leave but promptly tripped over a body. She recoiled and scrambled away from it. As the party watched, she sidestepped a few more bodies, before resigning herself to sit on a crate. She turned her face away from them, leaving only shaking shoulders to hint at her crying.
The party took in the scene around the camp. There were bodies lying everywhere, most of them in scorched groups lined in the path of Mel’s wand. Smoke rose from tents and supplies that had been left burning by the magical assault. Bolts stood out from other corpses, silent proof of Cat and Mel’s accuracy. Severed limbs and parts of men littered the area of the camp where Salgor fought. When Trestan looked back to where he had been fighting, he knew he would no longer see the cleric lying there. He did spot the two bodies he expected to find: the headless mallet wielder by the bluff edge, and the scimitar wielder who had worn the eye patch.
The latter was moving.
Trestan started to run towards the man but slowed, nearly doubling over in pain. “One is still alive.”
The rest of the party, except for the reclusive noble, went with Trestan to check on the man. The man with the eye patch held a vest against the wound in his torso. His other hand applied tension to a piece of leather wrapped around his severed leg. It was obvious the man had already lost a lot of blood. The scimitar lay unattended beside him. The man looked up as he heard the others approach. He made no move for his scimitar, and would have lacked the strength to wield it even if he tried.
The party ringed the enemy. Cat held her rapier in a ready position, suggesting that any attack would be his last action. Petrow kicked the scimitar aside and held the blackened saber ready. Trestan kneeled close and judged the man’s intent. The mercenary didn’t raise his hands in surrender, but both hands were occupied trying to stem the flow of blood from his wounds. The man looked at them with a pleading eye, not offering any resistance or threatening moves. Trestan actually felt a bit of guilt. This man had tried to kill him, but was no longer a serious threat.
The mercenary spoke, “I can’t stop the bleeding. I’m a dead man in a few minutes nay matter what else happens.”
To the surprise of everyone in the group, Trestan practically jumped forwards to help apply pressure to the man’s torso wound. Cat nervously looked between the two. Trestan was not carrying any weapon. The young man had left the bloody elvish blade back where he had fallen. The mercenary also seemed to have no weapon but at least the scimitar was out of reach. A couple of the party called for Trestan to move away, but the young man tried to control the bleeding.
Salgor moved closer with his own bloody axe in hand, “Forget it boy. He won�
�t live to see a prison. You might as well do the right thing and end his misery quick. He tried to kill you earlier, did he not?”
Trestan answered, “Abriana is not a violent deity. She offers love and healing. This man is nay longer trying to kill me, and I won’t let a human soul die needlessly.”
“Bah!” Salgor scoffed, but held his ground. The axe was ready to drop if the man made any sudden move.
Trestan looked to Cat. The half-elf seemed puzzled by his actions, but she held the rapier less threateningly. The adventuress stared back at the young smith and spoke her mind, “You should not feel any guilt, Trestan. This man is harmless now, but he stood and defended the wrong things. He will die, don’t blame yourself. We couldn’t have saved the noble without bloodshed. How do we know he didn’t mistreat the noble like the red hair did?”
The young smith tried his best to hold the cloth of the man’s vest against the blood pooling around it. The man weakened enough that he lost his hold on the leather strap wrapped around his leg. Blood spurted forth as the mercenary’s tired hand dropped to his side. Trestan got his other hand on the leather strap and tightened it as well.
Trestan looked to Cat again, “I will not worry as much about this man’s past as I fear for his future. Tell me the truth now. Do you have any more healing potions? Please don’t lie to me Cat!”
The half-elf replied, “I have nay more left. I swear to you that is the truth! I lied in Troutbrook and it saved your life today. I do not like to waste healing miracles on enemies, but that seems a mute point right now. I have nothing to save him.”
Mel spoke, “I don’t even have any poultice remaining. It wouldn’t work fast enough to cure wounds such as these anyway.”
The man occasionally looked about the others like he expected them to kill him at any moment. He turned his one good eye upon Trestan. No hatred could be found there, only sorrow.
Trestan could do little to help the man. The young smith’s hands quivered as blood squelched through his fingers. “This is not just about my conscience, Cat. Certainly a part of me aches to have ended lives this day. Another part of me is relieved that events didn’t take a worse turn than this. I do this because I worship a kind and forgiving goddess. I am expected to defend what I love…but afterwards if I murder a helpless person I would be throwing my morals in the face of my religion. There might be healing potions in the supplies, someone should look.”
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 28