Pathfinder Tales: The Crusader Road

by Michael A. Stackpole

  One blow with his iron-wrapped club shattered a sharpened log. A large piece flipped up into the air, then bounced down and rolled over some goblins. Blood and unrecognizable bits sprayed into the air in its wake.

  The head of the snake.

  Arrows flew thick and fast, but not nearly enough to kill this giant. The arrowheads were too small to penetrate deeply and would take a long time to work into muscle and blood vessels. Ogres would die in torment from them, but not nearly soon enough.

  "Archers, take the goblins!" Tyressa turned and trotted back around toward the green. She whirled her spear around, clearing a circle in the goblins. They didn't so much withdraw—happy though they were to leave wounded and dying kin on the ground—as they ran off to easier targets. Or to escape great danger.

  Tyressa turned and shook out her shoulders. The big ogre, by intent or happenstance, had followed her to the green. She pointed her spear at the larger of the ogre's two eyes. "You're mine."

  It didn't matter if the ogre understood her words or not. He had enough arrows sticking from his ears that she couldn't even be certain he'd heard her. But the dark eye tightened. The ogre barked a sharp command which slowed two other ogres. They took up positions between him and the longhouse, grinning lopsidedly.

  Their master aped that grin and laughed.

  In the handful of heartbeats before they joined combat, Tyressa saw things with frightening clarity. Had her enemy been just a man, the laugh would have been bluster and bluff. Coming from a man, she'd describe it as evil; yet his willingness to meet her in single combat would suggest honor. She, defending her home, would claim righteousness favored her. They both would believe that this would give her an advantage.

  The ogre's laugh suggested none of that. The ogres had come to Silverlake in a mass for nothing more than a midnight raid on a fully stocked larder. First in would feed well. The ogres were foxes, and Silverlake was one overlarge henhouse.

  And I'm an amusement, a bantam defiantly crowing at the fox.

  Twice her height, three times her width and four times her weight, the ogre pounded the ground with his club. Tyressa felt the ground shake and took a step back. The ogre offered a comment in his foul tongue and his two compatriots laughed.

  Oh, for a gust of the wind that sped you from Mosswater, Jerrad.

  As he lifted his club again, Tyressa darted forward. She feinted toward his middle, so he swiped with the club. She dodged left. As it swept past, she thrust. She stuck him inside his elbow, unfortunately shy of the artery. The point went deep and remained in when she yanked back. She whipped the spear around, shifting it to her left hand, and cracked the steel end off the monster's knee. It shattered the scapula serving as armor, but did no real harm.

  Tyressa rolled forward, passing beneath the club's return strike, then reached her feet and faced the ogre again.

  A guttural comment from one of his two compatriots stung the ogre more than her assault had. The monster's eyes tightened. He backhanded the sharp-mouthed ogre, knocking him closer to the longhouse, where he drove a caltrop into his heel. The third ogre laughed at the second. For a moment it appeared they might fight one against the other, but their leader snapped an order which silenced both.

  Tyressa cut right as the ogre thrust the club at her. The blow missed, but dented the alarm bell and crushed the posts holding it up. She lunged forward, driving the spearpoint into the ogre's left foot. She ducked beneath the club's sideswipe, then pulled back and put another point on her spear.

  Though huge, the ogre moved more quickly than she might have guessed possible looking at its robust belly. Tyressa kept working to her right, forcing the ogre to pivot on his wounded foot. She jammed another spearpoint in that ankle, drilling in below the shinbone. The ogre's frustrated attempted to hit her constantly forced him to flex his elbow.

  Deeper and deeper, little spear point. Find something.

  The subordinate ogres started chattering again. Her quarry becoming more angry. He turned toward them, cursing savagely, and exposed his back to her.

  Tyressa smiled and saw her chance. She started forward, then something clutched at her leg. A wounded goblin had grabbed on and wrapped itself around her calf. Even as she sought to bring her spear down butt-first to crack its skull, the goblin's legs caught her other ankle.

  Tyressa went down.

  And her foe, alerted by wild gesticulations, turned back and raised his club.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The face of the murderous goblin rising above Jerrad evaporated in a hail of black needles. Skin peeled back, disappearing in a green-black mist. The ears vanished and, just for a heartbeat, the big gold earring on the left hung in the air. Facial muscles flew to bits. The jaw gaped. The goblin jerked backward as if it had run into a wall.

  Lissa, blazing with golden light, flew up, drew Alorek's bow and loosed another needle shaft. Above and around her, coming over the south wall in a river of golden fire, sprites flew into battle. Their volleys dropped goblins and forced them to the east, where human archers spitted them with clothyard shafts.

  Jerrad punched and kicked right and left, knocking goblins back. "Lissa, what are you doing here?"

  "Killing goblins." She circled around him once. "Try to keep up, Wisewing, or we'll have to give you a new name."

  The sprites carved a trough through the goblins, scattering them and their hellish hounds. A path littered with writhing and bleeding creatures led to Silverlake's green. An ogre turned from the longhouse and two confederates to raise his club and smash...

  Mother!

  Jerrad ran, knowing he had to save her. But how?

  Then it came to him. As he leaped over dying goblins, he cast one spell after another. He dropped his voice as low as he could and growled, "Touch her and your life will be pure torment."

  The ogre's club continued to rise, but he came around to face Jerrad. The youth could read nothing on the monster's face. He hoped for fear and would have settled for surprise. What the ogre should have seen was the illusion Jerrad had used to enter the tower, but with the gold blazing as if it was molten.

  Jerrad thrust a hand at the ogre and triggered a blast of light. The monster's pupils contracted, but he didn't even raise a hand to shield his eyes. Instead he pointed the club at Jerrad and snarled an order at his subordinates.

  The nearer of the two ogres started for Jerrad. Before it took a full step, a man came running down the slope of the longhouse roof. The one-eyed man launched himself at the ogre, a battleaxe drawn back in both hands. He brought it down heavily, cleaving the ogre's skull down to the neck, then ripped the axe free as he rolled to his feet.

  It's Kiiryth's friend, the Broken Man!

  The Broken Man came fully around as the second ogre reached for him. The axe took the monster's hand off at the wrist. Then from behind it, up at the roof's peak, Kiiryth shot. The arrow drilled into the back of the ogre's neck. The creature rose up on its toes, back arched, then collapsed in a tangle of limbs.

  Jerrad turned. His mother had regained her feet, crushing a goblin's skull with her heel. Her spear spun up and around, then she nodded to the ogre and beckoned him forward. "Your fight is with me."

  Then something slammed into Jerrad's back, driving him face-first into the ground.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Tyressa let her spear rise to whirl above her head, then brought it down to circle her waist. Blade and butt flashed past as the weapon spun. The ogre's eyes narrowed, and he moved left warily. Tyressa accommodated his choice, reversing her earlier course. She came at his right, avoiding the club, feinting at his hand and forearm.

  Tyressa could read neither fear nor intelligence in the ogre's eyes. Animal cunning, maybe. The ogre watched her the way a cat might study a feisty mouse. She caught no curiosity, just annoyance at having to delay feasting.

  Lips peeled back in a fierce snarl, the ogre hammered the ground with his club. The tremor coaxed a dull clank from the broken bell. Tyressa slowed, stepping warily, r
emaining just out of range.

  The ogre slammed the club down again and again. Stones and bits of broken post danced. He began to beat a steady rhythm, hitting harder and harder, sinking depressions into the ground. With his free hand, he imitated her invitation.

  The club fell again, and Tyressa darted forward. Before the ogre could heft the club, she lunged, stabbing deeply into the creature's groin. Blood spurted, and she pulled back, but the spearpoint didn't release cleanly. It hung up for a second, trapping her in place.

  The ogre flicked his left hand in a swat. Tyressa caught only a glancing blow, but that was enough to toss her across the green. She hit and bounced, rolling to her feet. She reached over to grab another spearpoint, but her bracers were empty.

  She brandished her spear, bringing the iron-shod end into play. The ogre laughed, lifting his club. Both were metal-wrapped wood, but his club mocked her stick. I can hit him a thousand times and do no harm, but even grazing me with that club...

  The ogre raised the club high, pumping his arm victoriously as he advanced on her. His gaze measured the distance between them. He might miss once or twice, but he would kill her.

  Then an odd thing happened. As he brought the club to the apex of its arc, it fell free of his right hand. The fingers twitched like the legs on a dying spider. The ogre brought his hand around to look at it, but the forearm flopped limply at the end of his arm.

  The spearhead. It found a nerve.

  The ogre's expression melted from triumphant to disbelieving. He started to turn back to grab for his club again, but his foot didn't fall right. It smeared a goblin into a bloody paste, and slipped wide. His knees wobbled, then he sat down abruptly. Mud splashed—mud mixed of dirt and the blood pulsing from his groin. He tried to drag his right hand over to staunch the wound, but it still refused to work. His head slumped forward. He stared down at the weakening jets of blood, then leaned back and collapsed.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Teeth sank into Jerrad's shoulder. Something tugged, flipping him over. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a goblin dog, then it was gone. Nelsa had her legs wrapped tight around it. She'd trapped its throat in the crook of her left elbow. Her right hand raised a knife. She plunged it between the hairless beast's ribs. Blood bubbled from punctured lungs.

  Jerrad scrambled to his feet again and ran past her, scooping his sticks up. He raised them in a guard, snarling at a goblin brandishing two knives. Its eyes narrowed.

  Then an arrow struck the goblin in the left temple. The creature spun around on one foot as if drunk, then pitched over backward. One knife landed beneath its body; the other stuck straight up in the ground.

  Jerrad backtracked the arrow's path. Kiiryth gave him a nod from the longhouse roof. Then he turned and shot again, this time toward Silverlake's gates.

  Jerrad looked around for another threat, but saw none, and so let the illusion fade. The sprites spiraled up and out of the settlement like sparks rising from a fire, headed west. A couple of archers had mounted the walls and shot out toward the forest as well. The reserve archers raced forward.

  He turned to Nelsa. "How is it possible they're all gone?"

  "Beyond my ken." She smiled. "How's your shoulder?"

  "Hurts as much as my ankle and my ribs." He gave her a grin. "Thank you for saving me."

  "I was saving a tall man in fancy gold." Nelsa kissed him on the cheek. "If I'd knowed it was you, I'd have knowed you didn't need saving."

  Ranall appeared through the ranks of reserve archers streaming toward the gates. He carried Serrana, her arms around his neck and her face buried against his chest. Her right foot hung at an odd ankle, but she still held on to her bow.

  Ranall walked past Jerrad and carried his sister to Tyressa. He set her down on the ground and knelt beside her, holding her hand.

  Their mother bent over Serrana and stroked her brow. "We'll get that seen to, and your cuts, too, Jerrad. Very soon." Tyressa slid a knife from her belt. "But first, we slit every goblin throat and make certain the ogres are all well and truly dead."

  paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas , Aug 10, 2014

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Homecoming

  Tyressa's eyes burned and arms ached. She'd have been happy to ascribe the latter pain to the exercise of making sure all the enemy were dead, but she was beginning to feel the effects of the ogre's blow. She hadn't allowed herself to feel the pain until dawn thrust rosy fingers through the low clouds. With its light came a true accounting of the damage done.

  So much destruction.

  Kiiryth came around the longhouse corner and tossed her a waterskin. "It does appear that the Bonedancers made up the majority of the goblins. A human tribe would be devastated, but goblins breed fast enough..."

  "I know. We'll have to deal with them in another couple of years." She smiled. "We'll have walls of stone by then."

  "That will keep more than goblins out."

  "Only those we don't desire to let in." Tyressa nodded to him. "That doesn't include you or the Broken Men. Without your help..."

  The half-elf shook his head. "We didn't give you much more than a warning." He jerked a thumb toward the west. "The Kellids showed up and attacked the goblin flank and rear because of how you'd dealt with them. The sprites came because of Jerrad. The work you did in preparing and organizing your people was what occupied the ogres enough for everyone else's efforts to matter."

  "You may see things as you will, but I know the right of it. You and the other Broken Men, to get where you were, had to fight through the goblin horde, and more than one ogre fell to your people."

  "Not my people, Lady Tyressa."

  Her eyes narrowed. "That's right. You will do me the service of sending your master to me, so I may thank him."

  "I don't think..."

  "Kiiryth, do this."

  The archer watched her for a moment, then nodded. "I'll convey your message."

  "Thank you." Tyressa drank from the waterskin and went to toss it back, but the half-elf had already vanished.

  In the battle's aftermath, the people of Silverlake converted the eastern longhouse into an infirmary. She slung the waterskin over her shoulder and entered, pausing for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lower light. The most seriously wounded had been placed in the north end. No one expect any of the eight people there to recover consciousness, much less recover. Families and friend sat with them for comfort. Tyressa had been of mixed feelings about summoning children back so they could watch parents die, but who could tell what solace the injured might take from a child's words or the splash of a tear?

  She turned toward the south end, where Serrana sat propped up on a cot next to Tunk Murdoon. She'd broken an ankle and he his leg. Moll and Ranall stood watchful guard over them. Mulish, his thigh wrapped in bandages, sat on a stool between the cots.

  Tyressa smiled, but allowed a bit of her weariness to show. "I apologize for being so poor a host and having so poor a feast."

  Moll shook her head. "As I told you the first handful of times you apologized, you need not apologize. Echo Wood defies those who would predict the future. It mocks those who plan. I don't think there was any malevolence on the wood's part in letting this happen, but the events have given the wood a sense of your measure."

  Tunk nodded. "Means either winter will be uncommon mild, or fiercely cold—no middle ground. Also means you've won the right to be here."

  Tyressa closed her eyes for a moment. The way we know we exist is to survive an attempt to destroy us? The sentiment sent a quick chill through her, but a burning pride chased it off. Since before her arrival, since her brother's treason, people had been trying to destroy her and the Vishov family. Even my brother was doing that.

  But now we've won. She nodded, opening her eyes again. Not victory, not really even a reprieve, just the opportunity to continue.

  "I can truthfully say we'd not be here without your help—the help of the whole Murdoon clan. You were the firs
t people who greeted us as friends." Tyressa smiled broadly. "This we will never forget."

  Tunk threw her a wink. "And, next year, we'll be having your feast, without a night's entertainment?"

  "I will do all within my power to make it so."

  She excused herself and wandered through the building, thanking and reassuring the wounded and worried. Neither the Kellids nor the fey had allowed their casualties to enter Silverlake for treatment. Tyressa assumed the fey had their own ways of handling injury, and that the Kellids just didn't want to acknowledge having had any of their own blood shed. The wounded were evenly distributed amongst the people, with the archers having fared the worst.

  Having completed her rounds, she walked out onto the green. People were piling goblin bodies on sledges to drag them west, to the field where they'd be burned. Others hacked the ogres to pieces so their parts could be buried separately and distant. If any ogre was going to summon them back from the beyond, she was determined to make the task as difficult as possible.

  Silverlake's dead had been laid out near the southern wall and shrouded with tent cloth. They'd be buried there temporarily. Next spring, as Silverlake expanded, Tyressa would have them moved to where she'd had the parlay with the Kellids. She'd already dubbed the place Memorial Hill, and her only regret was that it would have room for many more bodies.

  "Kiiryth said you wished to see me."

  She didn't turn toward the voice. "I wasn't certain you wanted to be seen."

  "Neither was I." The one-eyed man emerged from the longhouse shadow. "How long have you known?"

  She looked him up and down. Far too gaunt, hair pared to a faint white stubble, one eye gone and so many more scars added. Even his voice had changed, become more tentative. He met her gaze, but not with his chin up.

  "Not until you leaped from the roof to save our son."