The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path

by Douglas Van Dyke

  Her emerald eyes swept over the party. “Well, the one good thing is that the crew of the sailing ship is not here. On the other hand, the four adventurers are there, performing some ritual.”

  “The wizard is in there?” Salgor hefted his axe.

  Cat narrowed her eyes at the eager dwarf. She anticipated he was about to do something rash. “Revwar is standing at a podium, reciting a chant. Savannah stands next to him, and her body is surrounded by some protective miracle. I can see it swirling about her form. The minotaur and Loung are standing off to either side, holding candles. I could see nay sign of Mel. He doesn’t seem to be in the room unless he was under the balcony.”

  Before Trestan or Petrow could say anything, Salgor responded, “So all our enemies are in one spot, and none of them have a weapon to Mel’s throat? It’s settled! We charge in fast and kill the casters first.”

  The half-elf shook her head, desperate to change the dwarf’s mind. “We don’t even know…”

  “We know enough!” Salgor declared. He readjusted the grip on his shield. The dim light shined on his crest: a dwarven temple, supporting the weight of a large ale cask, with a hammer ready to tap the keg. “We can still surprise them and sweep through their defenses! You get your crossbow on that balcony and cover us as we charge.”

  Cat tried to stutter a response through Salgor’s words, but she could not get her message across. Trestan and Petrow nervously had hands on their weapons, but they looked between their arguing friends with alarm.

  Raising his axe, the dwarf roared a challenge that easily carried to the occupants in the next chamber. “Daerkfyre grant me strength as I cleave my enemies, and tear down their dark arts!”

  Salgor Bandago turned and charged towards the entryway. Fire lit in his eyes as he moved to kill the wizard that had caused so much indignity to him in Barkan’s Crossing, back during a time before the group had even arrived in Troutbrook. Petrow and Trestan watched him charge with unbelieving eyes.

  Petrow thought that this course was foolish, but at the same time he wasn’t about to let Salgor charge in alone. He did not hesitate long before raising his axe and following the bold dwarf. The young handyman searched for his own war cry as he charged. He yelled out the first thing that inspired his sense of home and duty. “Troutbrook!” A moment after he shouted it, he regretted it wasn’t the kind of war cry that inspired fear.

  Trestan and Cat locked wide-eyed glances at each other over the stupidity of their fellows. Cat finished the sentence that she had been trying to get across to Salgor. “We don’t even know if they have the relics in there, or if this is for nothing.”

  Trestan shook his head, but the young man did not hesitate long. Battle had initiated, for good or for bad. The young smith gave Cat a goodbye salute even as he turned to follow Petrow and Salgor. Cat would have preferred that they sneak in and out to get what they wanted, but that was no longer an option. The half-elf ran up the stairs to the balcony. She skipped every other step as she bolted. She planned to cover the others with her deadly missiles just as the dwarf suggested, though she would have preferred a surprise shot. She wanted to curse all stubborn, inflexible dwarves at that moment. Katressa Bilil reached behind her back to undo the strap holding her crossbow in place. The weapon came free, as she used her other hand to grab a bolt. She could not see the reaction of their foes inside the room, but she could hear the battle cries of her friends as they charged.

  Trestan’s long stride carried him to Petrow easily. His lifelong friend jogged slow enough to keep Salgor in the lead. The smith wished he could turn back the sands of time and been more vocal about caution. Petrow wore a hint of worry behind his eyes too. The smith seriously considered every armed fight he had been involved in up to this moment. This same group had paralyzed him easily the first night, in the streets of his hometown. He had fallen during the goblin fight over such a small thing as stepping on a stone with his bare feet. Although he was proud to have done so well in the bluff battle, it had ended with him mortally wounded. He told himself to feel proud, if nothing else, that he stood up for his hometown against such fearsome opponents. Mel might still be alive, depending on them to save him. Trestan bolstered his will with the thought that a relic which had prevented many hard times for his village was now being used to further some dark purpose. The young man strengthened his courage with the image of Sir Wilhelm charging into battle, and he found the voice to proclaim his own war cry.

  “For the love of friends and all good men! Abriana guide me!”

  His right hand reached for the handle of the elvish blade. In the past he had always considered it Jareth’s sword, not wanting to claim it. Now the Sword of the Spirit whisked free of its scabbard as Trestan drew it forth. The young man placed both hands on the hilt. Although the sword had belonged to a paladin, it felt right and whole in his hands like it never had before. Light from the chamber ahead danced across the runes of the magical blade as Trestan Karok beheld it. The bastard sword was ready for a fight, with a keen magical edge to cleave through any obstacle. His hands fit it well, balancing the blade as an extension of his own body.

  In that moment, as he and his friends charged at the enemies they had pursued over many miles, he truly felt it was now his sword.

  CHAPTER 24

  The battle cries echoed into the throne room. It was not unexpected, though the timing was unforeseen. It had been so long since the battle with the gnome that the ritual proceeded as planned. Revwar and Savannah delved deep into the incantations for the summoning. At the sounds of enemies, the elf and cleric were forced to abandon the casting to deal with the new threat. Revwar stepped from the ceremonial stand and the book bearing the words. Savannah also gave up her chant, as she looked around for the approach of the attackers. Bortun and Loung dropped their candles, which had been more for potency rather than actual necessity, and grabbed weapons. The minotaur hefted his treasured waraxe, while Loung lazily spun a bamboo quarterstaff in complex patterns. They looked about for their enemies, for there were many passages from which someone could approach. The throne room had its balcony, but it also had doorways leading from every wall.

  Three figures swept around a doorway, anger burning from their eyes. Individually, recognition and hatred flowed between them. Loung scowled at the dwarf, but Salgor’s glare went to Revwar. Yellow, elf eyes returned the attention of the dwarf and the human with the hole in his breastplate, reflecting the annoyance of being chased so determinedly. Trestan’s eyes went from the one-horned minotaur that Jareth failed to kill, to the death abbess he hadn’t been willing to finish at the bluff. Savannah likewise scowled upon the youth she had once spared, as well as Petrow, whose screams she had come to know from Bortun’s punishment. Petrow shuddered from fear at seeing the cleric and minotaur once again. He found strength in his reliable old woodaxe. Bortun snorted at all three, though looked at Salgor in a sporting way. Minotaurs did not like dwarves, and more than one ferocious battle had raged in caves and mines as the two races clashed.

  Above the deadly glares that were traded across the ancient throne room, Cat coolly rose from a crouch behind the second floor balcony. The balcony overlooking the room was bordered by a short stone wall, giving her ample cover from the eyes below. The butt of the crossbow came up to her shoulder as she held it ready. With all the shouting and confusion below, she hoped that she could get off one good shot unnoticed. One shot might separate disaster from triumph.

  Salgor hit a burst of speed in his charge, going single-mindedly for the wizard before the elf could attempt a spell. Revwar saw the approach and put one hand inside a pouch, hurrying to get his own magical attack underway. The dwarf raised his axe and seemed ready to throw it across the remaining distance to stop the wizard in time. He still had a large mace hanging from his belt as a backup. Revwar slid into his concentration and prepared the spell.

  Then Bortun charged into Salgor’s path. The minotaur had his great axe back for a swing, and he let loose with all his
strength. Salgor brought up the crested shield, but did not slow his pace. The large waraxe cleaved across at the dwarf’s chest level.

  Clang!

  The minotaur’s waraxe jolted the metal shield. The dwarf’s waraxe went up into the air, but not on purpose, and fell without harm to anyone. The tremendous blow sent the minotaur off-balance. Salgor’s apparently limp body slid across the floor; the shield dragged along by the stubborn grip of his left arm. When the dwarf finally slid to a halt, there was no sign of movement. The shield lay on his arm, but the weapon hand lay open and empty. Salgor lay unmoving.

  * * * * *

  Trestan had yelled out a warning for Salgor when the minotaur approached. The two young men assumed that the seasoned warrior of Daerkfyre would handle Bortun. Needless to say, it surprised them when suddenly their strongest warrior was apparently knocked out cold by one swing from the creature.

  The charge of the two young men faltered, and even diverted to avoid any direct line at the huge creature. Even in this disheartening moment they couldn’t turn back. They were committed to the attack. Whatever happened next, they would fight or die.

  The abbess, Savannah, stood close enough to be a tempting target. Miraculous, goddess-blessed energies were spinning protectively around her body. The cleric started speaking, offering some prayer to her goddess.

  Trestan and Petrow hesitated in their attack, waiting to see what would happen. Savannah completed her prayer, but at first there was no obvious effect. Then she stepped forwards, disappearing as she stepped into nothing. Petrow was nearly frozen with fear, unsure what to do next.

  Trestan had seen that same trick performed on the streets of his home. Petrow or Trestan was about to get a paralyzing touch from behind. Even as Petrow stood frozen with indecision, Trestan shifted his weight and reversed the direction of his blade. He turned as he swung, expecting that he might find her standing within deadly inches behind them.

  Savannah stood there, uttering the first words of her prayer. Her cold, blue eyes were fixed on Trestan, even as one hand reached for him. “DeLaris, please stop this soul from…”

  The Sword of the Spirit came at an arc which would separate her head from her shoulders. Since the magical blade had cut through many things with no effort at all, it surprised Trestan when he felt it bounce against something solid. A tingling numbness momentarily went through the young man’s fingers at the shock. The surprised cleric stepped back, as her mystical protection wavered and then disappeared. The miracle she had been intoning was interrupted. The cleric registered shock that her protective field was smashed, dismay that her attack faltered, and concern that Petrow had been clued in by Trestan on where she stood.

  Petrow turned around and brought his axe to bear on the cleric. Trestan shook one hand of the numbness now plaguing it before concentrating on his opponent. The young smith focused single-minded determination to deal with this one foe despite the dangers around him. Savannah did not hesitate for long. The dark cleric pulled out her flail; the spiked ball glowed with darkness. Petrow and Trestan separated as they approached, coming at the cleric from different sides. Savannah backed up as they came, but she did not run or cast another miracle. She faced them directly with her enchanted weapon.

  * * * * *

  Bortun approached the dwarf’s unmoving body with long strides. Salgor showed no response. The dwarf’s fingers still extended loosely through the straps of his shield, while the other hand lay unmoving next to the mace on his belt. The axe from the short warrior discarded several steps behind the minotaur. Bortun snorted unpleasantly at the smell of the dwarf. The creature listened to the sound of Salgor’s breathing, and heard slight snores as the dwarf dozed.

  Bortun smiled, as he brought his axe up for a killing blow. His eight foot frame held his great axe up high as he imagined the blow that would chop the dwarf in half.

  Salgor exploded into motion. The dwarf warrior rolled over and punched out with his shield at the minotaur’s leg. The crest of the shield smacked hard enough against the minotaur’s knee to leave an imprint. Bortun howled in pain as he doubled over. The large axe blade came down to chip the stone floor. While Bortun stood hunched over in that position, Salgor’s mace whipped up and slammed the creature on the side of the head.

  The muscular minotaur lost his balance and went down. Bortun head reeled, dizzy from the painful sting of the mace. He tasted blood deep in his throat. Any second the creature expected the dwarf to fall on him with a series of blows, but it was mistaken.

  Salgor hopped up to his feet, but ignored the downed minotaur. The dwarf turned his attention back on Revwar, standing easily next to Loung. The elf had canceled the completion of his earlier spell when the minotaur had intercepted Salgor. Hatred for the wizard as well as fear of his spells stirred the follower of Daerkfyre to attack the elf. Salgor started pumping his short legs into a charge. Bortun reached out with one hand to grab at Salgor, but the stunned minotaur missed.

  Loung was ready to intercept the dwarf, but Revwar held out a restraining hand. The elf then chanted more arcane syllables as he motioned with his other hand. The staff was near him, but merely leaning against his body as his hands went about magical gestures. Salgor charged onward, determined to strike the wizard before he could complete the spell. Salgor knew that if he was able to land a hit from his mace on Revwar, the elf wizard would not be getting back up from it.

  * * * * *

  Cat lined up her crossbow sights. In the room below, the elf stood in the throes of his casting, unaware of the deadly bolt pointed at his heart. She put the minotaur and the charging dwarf out of her mind. Her sharp ears put aside the sounds of the cleric fighting her two human friends. All of her world focused on that first surprise shot. Like the hunting cat displayed on her rapier pommel, her green eyes were intent and set to kill her prey.

  She fired. This one surprise shot would hopefully put the battle in their favor. The bolt stopped in midair inches from Revwar’s chest, caught by the hand of a martial artist.

  Cat remembered that unpleasant battle on the streets of Troutbrook, when Loung had caught every bolt fired at him. Loung smiled up at her, snapping the bolt with one hand. He stood calmly, staff held in one hand, and no armor other than silk fabric. The Tariykan warrior had been there to protect the wizard from the known, but hidden, crossbow wielder. Revwar’s spell continued, and the dwarf still charged, but Cat had used up her surprise shot.

  The frustrated half-elf went back to reloading her crossbow, aware that Loung would wait for anything else she might launch at the wizard. Cat’s best asset was her precision with a crossbow, yet that meant nothing if something prevented her from hitting her target. Salgor was not likely to complete his charge. Bortun was getting up from the ground. She could only hope the two young boys from Troutbrook could stand toe-to-toe with an abbess of the Death Goddess.

  * * * * *

  Petrow’s first wild swing actually made Trestan evade to one side. It also backed up the deadly cleric, but she came at Trestan with her infused weapon. The young man got his sword up to block, and shards of light burst from the impact of the weapons. Trestan stood ready for another blow, but the cleric switched direction. It was akin to some of the strategy that the young smith had used when playing around the three trees back home. She succeeded in backing up one opponent, only to attack the other. Petrow was surprised, but the spiked ball of the flail did nothing more than glance off of his raised axe.

  Trestan responded quickly. He went at the abbess with numerous swings of his own. The young man tried to push forth with an attack, hoping Petrow would do the same. His sheer ferocity forced her to give ground, though he failed to strike her with his blade. Petrow shifted his position alongside them, as the abbess backpedaled from the assault. A couple of times the elvish blade and the imbued flail met with a shower of sparks.

  The abbess possessed more skilled with a weapon than she appeared, though the flanking men kept her fighting defensively. A couple times she g
ained more room by feinting towards Petrow. He flinched more than Trestan whenever an attack came at him. As they moved across the throne room with their sparring dance, Savannah took every opportunity to try separating her attackers.

  Petrow stepped in a few times with his simple woodcutter’s axe. He tried to catch the cleric between his blade and Trestan’s. At one point his axe scratched a trail across the side of her dark armor. Meanwhile Trestan continued to swing his sword with two hands. Wrist over wrist, in Jareth’s style, he kept his sword spinning. It was a display that demanded Savannah’s attention. She knew the enchanted sword and the wielder would be the larger threat.

  The fight staggered to one side of the throne room. Behind Savannah loomed one of many exits from the chamber; beyond that many side passages. The cleric could not earn any easy advantages, though she decided it was time to make one. One of her hands reached into a pouch, while the other renewed greater fighting tempo with the flail. She had to buy time for a miracle, and the two young men weren’t about to give her the opportunity to cast anything.

  Trestan hammered away at her swinging flail with his sword. He wanted to push closer, but several of her swings came close enough to create a real danger. Trestan saw her take an item out of a pouch. The elvish blade pushed the attack with new vigor, desperation giving it more ferocity. Trestan backed the cleric up faster than Petrow could adjust. Savannah was forced to leap back a step, but she used Trestan’s charge to her advantage. Crouching low, under the latest swing of his sword, she brought her flail against his knee. The blow connected, and Trestan’s balance faltered. His knee stung from the hit, though a metal guard plate absorbed most of the damage. Savannah followed up the attack by throwing out her other arm towards Petrow. He recoiled as he feared the magical reagent in that hand.