by David Combs
“I thought you said you only caught a glimpse of that dagger,” said Tyrell to the thief.
“Well, yeah, the first time, but I liked it so well that I went back for it.”
Tyrell threw open the door only to bounce off the chest plate of a giant blond haired warrior clad in black armor. A rain-soaked red sash was tied at his waist. The knight snarled when he saw the mage and punched Tyrell in the face with his mailed fist.
Nestor kicked the door shut and threw his shoulder against it to keep the knight and his companions outside. Galen caught Tyrell as he fell over and dragged him to the end of the bar.
“Wha’ happened,” mumbled Tyrell.
“You got punched so hard that your eyes match now,” replied the thief. Nestor held the door closed, but the pounding from the other side grew louder and louder. The barbarian also saw the two crossbowmen were back on their feet, and reloading their weapons.
“Someone better come up with a plan fast because I can’t hold this door forever,” he shouted. An ax blade hammered through the door, narrowly missing Nestor’s face.
Tyrell closed his eyes, ignoring the pain that shot through his jaw. He focused his mind on the door as he drew his magic to him. Galen snatched a fallen stool from the floor and drew his sword. He winked at a terrified barmaid who huddled beneath a long table with some other patrons, as he squared off against the two assailants. As Galen advanced, they dropped their crossbows and drew their swords instead.
“Hurry up,” yelled Nestor as the ax crunched through the wood again. The wood of the door suddenly swelled and popped as Tyrell’s magic warped the boards. The spell wedged the portal tightly in the frame. The barbarian backed away from the door, clapping the somewhat unsteady mage on the shoulder.
Galen poked the stool into one attacker’s face, as he parried the sword of the second man. “Did I ever mention the time I saw a beast tamer in the circus? This reminds me so much of that day. Here this man was surrounded by ferocious lions, and all he had to defend himself with was a whip. Of course, my sword blade doesn’t give you the same effect, but you get the general idea.” The young thief made a quick spin, tripping one of his lunging opponents towards Nestor. The snarling barbarian’s fist timed the attacker’s stumble perfectly and drove the man into unconsciousness with one pounding blow.
The ax tore through the door again, this time ripping away a chunk of wood. Nestor and Tyrell exchanged worried glances. “Galen,” called the wizard,” quit fooling around, we’ve got to go.”
Nestor dashed to the bar and grabbed the bartender through the crowd of cowering people. “Where’s the back door to this place?” The ax hammered again, and Tyrell saw the enraged visage of the blond knight through the breach in the doorway. Galen tripped his other opponent and broke the stool over the man’s head.
“It’s in the kitchen and unbarred only for deliveries,” replied the bartender calmly, “but don’t you think your friends outside have it covered too?” Tyrell looked at the door and wiped blood from his nose. More splinters flew as the ax ate away the main tavern door.
From the kitchen, a booming thud resounded as someone bashed away at that unseen entrance. Galen knelt by the fallen soldier, patting down the man’s pockets. The thief lobbed a jingling bag on the bar which disappeared under a casual pass of the bartender’s rag.
“Go to the wine cellar,” the man said with a curt nod to the thief. “Third cask on the right. Twist the tap to the left.” The three men ran immediately to the cellar door which was right beside the kitchen door. Nestor’s keen ears heard the clank of armor plating, and as he saw the door start to swing open he threw his weight against it. The clatter of the armored foes as they fell in a heap was like a thousand frying pans dropping to the stone floor.
Nestor ran down the stairs of the wine cellar to see Galen duck into the low tunnel behind the cask. Tyrell and the barbarian followed immediately after him. Nestor pulled the secret door closed again, just as the first armored footsteps rang against the cellar stairs.
They followed the tunnel for about fifty yards, where it suddenly ended in an old wooden ladder that led up to a trapdoor. Galen pressed his ear to the wooden planks above, and then carefully pushed it open. As they scrambled out of the tunnel, the smell of horses assaulted them. Quickly, they ran to the stalls where their mounts were quartered.
“No rest for the weary,” mumbled Galen.
“You still owe me a drink, by the way,” countered Tyrell.
“First round is on me once we get back home.”
“We’ll hold you to that, cutpurse,” growled Nestor. “Right now, let’s get out of here.” The warrior threw open the stable door and jumped into his saddle as Tyrell led the beast by. They charged out into the courtyard, startling the few knights still outside. They jumped their mounts over a low stone wall and rode into the dark shadows of the Thelvenin Wood.
***
Thick fog enshrouded the centuries-old trees around them. After their dash from Del Torac, the trio made a madcap path into the forest. They doubled back on their trail, rode in wide circles, and crossed over their own path in an effort to shake off any pursuit from the village.
“Well,” muttered Tyrell. “I think those soldiers are the least of our worries now.”
“What do you mean,” asked Galen.
“I haven’t the faintest idea where we are now”
Nestor gaped at Tyrell. “You got us lost in a haunted forest?” The barbarian glanced around the dark glade and shuddered.
“Cheer up, Redbeard,” said Galen. “Only the ruins of Khasharsta are supposed to be haunted. Thanks to Tyrell, we’re probably nowhere near there.” The young thief swung out of his saddle. “I’ll go have a look around, and see what I can see.” He disappeared into the mist.
“All of this damn fog has my sense of direction fouled up,” growled the barbarian. He dismounted and stretched his tired muscles. “Any landmarks that we might want to look for?”
“I doubt we’ll find any signposts saying ‘This way to Khasharsta’ if that’s what you mean. Maybe if we climbed one of these trees we could get our bearings from the stars.”
“Might still be too many clouds from the storm, but perhaps we’ll get lucky.” The big warrior pulled himself up into the branches of an ancient oak, vanishing into the thick foliage.
Tyrell cursed under his breath. How could he have led his friends into danger so blindly? If I were a real mage, I could have just opened a portal that would have dropped us right in the middle of Khasharsta. He sighed.
“Tyrell,” called Nestor a moment later. “I think I found our signpost.” The warrior dropped from the tree branches and landed on the forest floor with the grace of a hunting cat. “Del Torac is over that way,” he said as he pointed. “I could see the town lights. Also, I saw some mountains in the opposite direction.” He gestured behind him. “Does that help us any?”
“Yes. I remember there being some mountains on one of Kellen’s old maps. If Del Torac is back that way, then Khasharsta is vaguely to our right. Good work. Let’s try not to lose it this time.” Nestor nodded and made a mental note as if he locked the proper direction in his mind.
Galen strolled back into the clearing. He was singing a bawdy tune about a knight who got his group lost in the forest. Tyrell scowled, but the young thief ignored the glare. “I hope we have found ourselves by now. Our friends have set up camp about three hills over there.” He pointed in the direction of the town. “By the way, their leader is the big fellow who tried to squish your face, and then hacked the front door to pieces with his ax. I saw him taking out his fury on a fallen oak. That poor thing will be sawdust by morning at the rate he’s working on it.”
“Duly noted,” said Tyrell. He felt a pain in his jaw just at the mention of the knight. “Let’s mount up. We can ride through the rest of the night, now that we know which direction to go in. Maybe we’ll have lost them by morning.”
Tyrell summoned his magic to muffle the sou
nds of the horses, just in case the knights had scouts nearby. Silently, the three men rode off in the direction where, hopefully, the lost elven nation waited.
CHAPTER NINE
“The briar bushes are more likely to fall to your blade than your swearing, Redbeard,” called Galen from a tree branch. The thief had crawled to this vantage point to look for any indications of the elven city.
Nestor cursed loudly and often as he spitefully hacked away at the wall of brambles and thorns that had ravaged his arms. “Just tell me if I’m chopping in the right direction. I’ve lost so much blood to these thorns that there won’t be any left for the damned vampire to take.” He wiped his brow and took another ferocious swipe.
Galen jumped out of the tree, landing beside him without making so much as a whisper. “It’s going to take us weeks to get through this mess,” he said. Nestor twirled his hatchet, wordlessly offering the handle to the young thief.
“You can put it away now, Nestor. I’ve found a better way in.” Tyrell pushed through the underbrush with a strange smile on his face.
“You couldn’t have found it before I had done all of this,” asked the barbarian. He waved his arms around at all the fallen vegetation.
Tyrell turned to the bushes, beckoning to something hidden there. A wizened old man cautiously entered the clearing. His eyes narrowed as he studied Nestor and Galen with suspicion. The two men both noticed something bizarre about the old man. His skin was a honey gold color, and his sharp blue eyes twinkled agelessly. He moved with sure youthful energy despite the mane of wild white hair that hung down to his shoulders. Even though he was clad in rags, there was a certain grace and dignity that he carried about him that belied his tattered appearance. He turned to the wizard, jabbered something in a smooth flowery language, and then cackled madly.
“Great,” muttered Nestor. He watched as the old man wandered over to his horse, and started to rummage through the saddlebags. He grabbed something from within, popping it quickly into his mouth.
“He’s loopy,” said Galen. The thief chuckled as the newcomer pulled a rock out of a pouch on his belt, listened to it intently, and then gently set it down on the forest floor. Afterward, he resumed his inspection of Nestor’s belongings.
“He’s also possibly the last living elf of Khasharsta. More importantly than that, he knows the way into the city,” said the mage.
“You want us to follow a crazy elf into haunted ruins to look for a magic sword that may not even exist, and if it does, will likely be guarded by things just as dangerous as the monster we want to use it against in the first place,” Galen asked. The thief shook his head as the old elf chewed on the stirrup of Nestor’s saddle, and then apparently scolded it for being too tough to eat.
Nestor dug his hatchet into a fallen log. “So where did you find him?”
“I literally stumbled over him while I was looking for a path into the ruins. He started babbling, but when I realized that I could understand some of what he was saying, I decided to bring him along.”
Galen dazzled the ancient elf by making a coin dance across his own knuckles. The elf let the coin roll from Galen’s hand to his own as it reached the end of its trail, and continued it along his own slender fingers. Nestor rubbed his forehead. “I don’t suppose he can tell you anything about Gilgorad’s sword, can he? Might save us a lot of trouble if he can tell us that Shadow Reaver is just a legend.”
At the mention of the elven general’s name, the elf pushed past Galen and dashed over to Nestor. He chattered excitedly, but the gibbering ended in a sudden squeal of fear as the old elf fell to the ground curling into a quivering ball. He slowly rocked back and forth on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Nestor and Galen looked to Tyrell for an explanation.
“All I caught was something about ‘the ancient evil’ and ‘bloodthirst’.” Tyrell shrugged, “Sounds like our man though, doesn’t it?” The mage knelt down beside the elf, speaking haltingly in the same flowery language. He received no reply. “He’s scared so badly that his mind is locked up. I might be able to try to touch his mind with magic in order to find out what we need to know.”
“I think his mind’s touched enough already, but you might as well give it a try,” said Galen as he watched the wizard go into a deep trance. Slowly, the cowering elf relaxed, his eyelids closing with longer and longer blinks. Loud snores shortly broke the silence in the glade. Tyrell’s own eyes popped open suddenly. He gasped as he fell back on the grass. Nestor knelt beside his friend while Galen checked on the sleeping elf.
“I’ll be OK,” said Tyrell. He waved away his friend and smiled. “I found the way into the city. There’s a secret path that our friend here, whose name is Kershaw, knows about.”
“Anything about the sword?”
“Not that I could find. I had no idea how big of a place the mind is. Maybe with a little more practice, I could have, but I really don’t want to risk doing any damage in someone’s head.”
“Could you really damage his any worse,” Nestor snorted.
Tyrell ignored the comment. “I’m hoping to find some clues about Shadow Reaver once we enter the city.” The mage got up and gently shook Kershaw awake. He said something to sooth the old elf. “We need to go back a bit. There is a glade that we passed through with a huge hollow tree. The tree hides the entrance to an old escape tunnel that leads into Khasharsta. Do we have any idea where the cultists are?”
Nestor nodded. “They can’t be more than an hour behind us. With all of the time I’ve spent attacking these bushes, I’m sure they’ve closed that distance. Hell, all they have to do is follow the path we’ve cleared. Should lead them right to us.”
“All the more reason to hurry. The tree we’re looking for is only a couple of minutes away from here.” Tyrell led the elf away while Galen and Nestor gathered their horses.
They found the old tree easily. It stood alone in a small glade, towering above the surrounding trees like it was the king of the forest. Even among the monstrous trees of the Thelvenin Wood, it was a giant. They found a small crawlspace that led into the very heart of the trunk that opened into a chamber just large enough for the four of them to stand in. Kershaw looked around and blinked rapidly as old memories began to awaken. The elf jabbered again and fell to the ground as he pawed at the dirt of the floor.
“What’s he after,” asked Nestor.
Tyrell shrugged. “Must be the entrance to the tunnel.”
“Well, tell him to hurry,” whispered Galen. The thief pointed out the tree’s opening. “We’ve got company.” Tyrell moved to the thief’s vantage point and frowned. Half a dozen horsemen in dark armor were warily riding down the trail towards them.
“Damn, they must know that we’re close,” muttered the mage. “They just don’t know exactly where.”
Kershaw let out an exultant whoop and pointed at an iron ring planted in the ground. The elf tugged at the trap door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Galen. Nestor. Clear the edges, and help him get that thing open. I’ll see if I can slow down our pursuers.” Tyrell closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the ancient magic of the forest flowing into him. It was an immense swell of power that washed over him, but he bent the energy to his will. Nestor and Galen located the sides of the door buried beneath centuries of moss and dirt. With a heave, the barbarian, thief, and wizened elf pulled aside the massive stone block revealing a short flight of stairs that led into a musty, earthen tunnel. Kershaw chattered again and rushed down into the dark passage. Nestor made a grab for the elf, but Kershaw’s speed and nimbleness were considerable despite his age.
“Galen, go after him, and see that he doesn’t get too far ahead of us,” growled the warrior. The thief nodded, then jumped down the stairs. He too vanished into the darkness. Nestor grabbed Tyrell’s elbow, steadying the staggering wizard. “Are you alright,” he asked.
“I’m still a little groggy from the mind reading, and the magic here is a far stronger than I’m used to. I’ve covered the entr
ance with an illusion of vines and moss. It should keep them off of us for a little while longer, but won’t hold up if they really get curious.” He waved towards the tunnel entrance. “Come on, we’d better catch up to the others.” Quickly, but carefully, they descended into the tunnel, taking a moment to let their eyes adjust to the gloom.
The light that filtered through the entrance was quickly swallowed up by the surrounding darkness. Though they moved slowly, Tyrell and Nestor still stumbled and tripped as they crossed the uneven rocks along the uneven floor. If not for Kershaw’s continuous chattering that floated back to them from somewhere up ahead, they would have considered themselves hopelessly lost.
Nestor yelped as a hand from the darkness grabbed his forearm. “Easy, Redbeard, it’s me,” said Galen.
“Alhambra’s Hells,” swore the barbarian. “I thought you were some guardian spirit grabbing after me. Can’t see a damned thing down here. Where’s Kershaw?”
“He’s right in front of us playing in the dirt again. The tunnel is a dead end. He was talking the whole way down to this point, and then suddenly stopped. I think he bumped his nose against the wall.”
“I thought elves could see in the dark?”
“Not when it’s pitch black apparently.”
Nestor pounded his fist against the stone wall before him. “So we’re stuck, and with those cultist knights close by looking for us.” He drew his sword. “Guess we’ll just have to go back the way we came and fight our way out.”
“Not if we can find a secret door,” said Tyrell.
“What makes you think that there is one?”
“First of all, why build a tunnel all this way under the forest only to make it into a dead end?”
“Maybe they didn’t get to finish it,” growled Nestor.
“Secondly, the rock ahead of us feels like worked stone, not rough like the tunnel walls. We’re almost inside.” Tyrell knelt down beside the elf and said something that sounded to Nestor like the wizard swallowed a bug. Kershaw’s reply, mused the barbarian, sounded like he hacked one back up. “He says the mechanism is heavily trapped, but he can’t remember how to disarm it.”