When they had traveled for another hour, Sharessa dared to hope they had escaped their hidden tormentor. Maybe Ingrar had been right, and the creature couldn’t leave the woods. Maybe they were safe out here in the moonlight. Sharessa made a silent prayer that it was so.
No sooner was the prayer conceived in her mind than she heard a splash behind and below her. One of the men behind her gave an urgent whisper. It came again, louder. Then she could make it out.
“Gami! He just jumped!” Sharessa didn’t remember which sailor was Gami. She thought madly for a second that she should learn the names of the other sailors, as if that might ward them from danger.
Hurrying back toward the commotion, Sharessa saw the sailor’s dark figure in the moonlight. He stood near the edge of the cliff, staring down at the water far below.
“I can’t believe it. He just walked right over the edge. He had to have seen—”
Before Sharessa could open her mouth, spindly arms reached out from the inky blackness behind the sailor. As she drew her breath to shout, thin claws closed on the man’s arms. “Look out!” she cried as those arms withdrew. Before she could close the distance, the echoes of his screams were already returning from the chasm behind her.
This time the sailors responded to the attack by crouching and falling silent—except for Turbalt. He crashed into the sailor in front of him, running away from where Gami and the other sailor—was his name Haj?—had vanished. Someone near Turbalt grabbed him and pulled him to the ground.
“Let me—” Turbalt’s voice was smothered. Whoever grabbed him had the sense to put a hand over his mouth.
Sharessa spared a glance over the ravine’s edge. Silver ribbons of light danced across the river, but there was nothing else to see. She snapped her attention back toward the forest. She could almost feel her pupils widening as she gazed into the gloom, but she saw nothing.
“It’s gone. Go, go!” came Belmer’s whisper from beside her. He moved past her, into the darkness. Sharessa obeyed him, taking the lead by herself.
She slipped quietly as a cat through the half-light of the forest’s edge, careful to avoid the uncertain boundary of the ravine. She paused to listen for the sound of the others following. Satisfied that they were moving again, she increased her pace. This time she drew her slim cutlass from its scabbard. No sooner did she have it before her than she heard a rustling in the trees beside her.
Sharessa threw herself down, rolling on her shoulder. Something heavy whipped past her head, and all the flesh on her neck contracted. She came up in a crouch, her sword before her. She could see nothing, but a faint smell of sulfur lingered in the air.
“It’s here!” she cried in warning. But it was too late. The fiend was already among the men behind her.
An ululating scream pierced Sharessa’s ears. It sounded completely inhuman, but Sharessa knew it had to be from another of the sailors. Blades flashed, and dark figures converged on the spot from whence the scream had come. Sharker and sailor alike were ready this time. Sharessa nearly ran into Anvil and Brindra where they stood with lour of the sailors, forming their own circle back-to-back. Whatever had been there was now gone, and ho was another crewman from the Morning Bird.
Farther back from the ravine, another man shouted in surprise. Ingrar’s voice cried, “Here! It’s here!”
“Follow me,” said Sharessa, already running. She dashed toward Ingrar’s voice, into the trees. She had almost reached him when she heard the boy’s grunt of exertion, then a clunk of sword on wood.
“Where is it?” he raged. Among the vague silhouettes of tree branches, Sharessa saw Ingrar’s black figure slashing blindly. She slowed lest she run into his hacking sword. Then she saw one of the branches unfold like the joints of an insect. It lashed down at Ingrar’s head.
The boy screamed, clutching his face. “My eyes! My eyes!”
Sharessa stabbed at the attacking limb. Her sword struck nothing at first, then branches, then nothing again. Then her blade struck something tough and yielding. She struck again. Her sword hit hard, but the blade did not bite. A rough, dry claw gripped her wrist and held it fast.
A blast of foul breath struck Sharessa in the face. She struggled to free her arm, but the fiendish hand bound her fast as steel. It twisted her wrist so hard that she gasped and dropped the sword.
She struck out with her other fist, but a bony manacle clasped that one too. Belmer appeared beside her, his long blade thrusting at the thing that held her.
“Damn!” he cursed, stabbing again and again. “I can’t pierce its hide.” He slashed and thrust, and each time his blade turned away.
All the while, the powerful claws squeezed Sharessa’s wrists harder. Her mouth opened to scream, and she felt a hot spray of blood upon her face. The manacles opened.
“Ha!” cried Brindra from Sharessa’s side. She struck again above Sharessa’s head, but the thing was already moving. More ichor rained down on Sharessa’s face. The rotten stench of it made her retch.
“I hurt it!” cried Brindra gleefully.
“Kill it!” shouted Belmer. Together, they followed the sound of the fiend’s escape. After a few steps, they stopped to listen again. The trees rustled to their left.
“Where?” cried Anvil.
“Between here and the river,” shouted Belmer. “Open the lantern!”
The trees shook again, this time to the north. Sharessa reached for her fallen sword, groping in the darkness. Her trembling hands found roots, weeds, then bare ground. Finally they touched her cutlass. She held it up again at the trees, feeling only slightly safer.
Light spilled out near the edge of the ravine. Anvil held the lantern high, looking up into the trees. Beside him, two sailors crouched with their cutlasses ready, frightened but ready to defend themselves. Brindra rushed to stand by Anvil, her face illuminated more by her excitement than by the yellow lamplight.
The others remained in darkness, though Sharessa thought she saw Rings’s short, stocky shadow near the edge of the light before it faded back into the darkness. She wondered where Belmer had gone. The fiend couldn’t have killed him. Could it?
“It’s still here,” said Brindra, panting. “I can feel it.” She grimaced up at the trees. Every time Anvil shifted the lantern, the boughs seemed to move.
“Hold that light still,” snapped Brindra. Her eyes sought out the slightest movement. Dark crimson ichor oozed across the surface of her blade.
Sharessa usually felt safer in the shadows, but not now. She crept toward the circle of light to join the others. Once there, with her back against Brindra’s, she counted heads.
All of the Sharkers were present, as were three sailors. Turbalt had shoved his way into the middle of the circle they formed, pressed against the ground below Anvil’s huge form. He sobbed quietly, alternately hiding his face and glancing around like a cornered hare.
“It’s no good,” said Belmer, reappearing suddenly at the edge of the circle. “The thing won’t fight when we’re ready. Let’s move.”
“Let’s wait until Ingrar’s ready,” she said. She looked at Belmer to see whether he would overrule her. He returned her gaze, paused for only a second, then nodded.
The young pirate clutched his bleeding face with both hands as if trying to press his eyes back into his head. After his initial shock, he had regained his calm, despite the grievous wound.
One of the older sailors stood near the young Sharker. The grizzled sea dog took off his shirt to reveal an expanse of gray hair on a tanned chest. Without a word, he tore the cloth into long strips, fashioning a bandage for Ingrar’s eyes.
Sharessa smiled her thanks to the old sailor, taking the bandages.
“I can’t see,” Ingrar told her plainly. “My eyes are burning.”
“You’ll be all right,” she said. “Once we’re in Eldrinpar, we’ll find a healer. Take your hands away.” When he did, she dabbed at his bloody face with the bandages. Then she saw that he might need more than just healing
. A deep scratch crossed both eyes and the bridge of his nose. One eyelid hung limply, almost completely cut away. Sharessa tried to bind his eyes, but she hadn’t the skill. The old sailor took over.
“I feel sleepy,” said Ingrar.
“Anvil will help you,” Sharessa said. The big man nodded at her, passing his lantern to Belgin. He sheathed his sword and lifted Ingrar in his arms. The boy’s head lolled against Anvil’s shoulder. Shar’s face must have betrayed her alarm.
“He’s asleep,” said Anvil. “I can feel him breathing.”
Sharessa nodded, then turned toward the light. A trio of moths circled the lantern in Belgin’s raised hand.
“Let’s move,” said Belmer. “While we’re all still breathing.”
They walked for another two hours. After the first mile or so, the tree line drew away from the ravine’s edge. The ground between the forest and the ravine was covered with wild grasses, relatively level except for a jutting stone here and there. There were fewer places to hide, and the Sharkers slowed a little, feeling safer with some distance between them and the obscuring forest.
Belmer called for a halt, and Sharessa organized a quick watch. She set Anvil and three of the Morning Bird’s sailors around their temporary camp. She chose each site herself, making sure that each had a clear line of sight to the woods. Then she returned to the light of their brief camp.
“It’s a kind of paralytic, I think,” said Belgin as Sharessa rejoined them. Across Ingrar’s sleeping body, Belmer nodded his agreement.
“At least the poison won’t kill us,” said Belmer. He laid a slim hand on Ingrar’s temple, smoothing the bandage. He looked up to see that the others were watching him and removed his hand quickly. “But that doesn’t make the thing any less dangerous.”
“If it would just stand and fight,” grumbled Brindra. She sat with her sword across her knees, wiping the blade with a dirty cloth. The fiend’s blood had come off long ago, but the stench of spoiled meat and rotten eggs remained. She kept polishing the metal in a vain attempt to banish the stink.
“Where did you find that sword?” asked Belmer.
“What’s that to you?” responded Brindra. She remained surly around the outlander, still deeply resentful of Kurthe’s death.
If Belmer took offense at the barrel-shaped woman’s tone, he didn’t show it. “You cut the fiend, while its hide turned away my blade and Sharessa’s.”
“Maybe you just missed,” snarled Brindra.
“No, he’s right,” said Rings. He bent down on one knee beside Brindra. Their heads were at the same height, now. “I’ve never seen you sharpen this blade.”
“Never needed it.” Brindra shrugged, but she looked at the sword more intently.
“She took it from an Ulgarthan buccaneer,” explained Rings.
“So it might be enchanted,” concluded Belmer. “Anyone else have a magical weapon?”
Rings held up one of his axes, a dwarven weapon with a curving blade. “It’s an everbright,” explained Rings. “I don’t know whether it can hurt that fiend, but it has the magic of the smith within its steel.”
“What about yours, Belmer? Enchanted?” asked Belgin. Sharessa wanted to know, too. If Belmer wielded an enchanted weapon, that would explain his uncanny prowess with the sword. Many were the tales of quickblades, weapons enchanted with the speed of lightning.
“Never used one,” said Belmer. “Too easy to detect. Not worth the risk.”
Belgin nodded as if he understood, and Brindra looked at Belmer with scorn.
“You mean if the fiend attacks again, these two are the only ones that can hurt it?” Turbalt’s voice seemed strange after such a long silence. His plaintive whine had not been missed.
“Perhaps,” said Belmer. “We might be able to burn it. The thing found us even without our light, so there’s no reason we shouldn’t carry torches.”
“That way we can at least see what we’re fighting,” said Brindra. She stood up and sheathed her blade.
“You and Rings must be ready to attack as soon as the thing appears again,” said Sharessa.
“It may come after you, Brindra,” said Belmer. “After all, you’re the only one to hurt it so far.” Sharessa thought for a moment that the outlander smiled faintly at the thought.
“That’s all right with me,” said the big woman. “I’m ready to finish the job for what it did to Ingrar.”
Sharessa half-expected Belmer to say that they must leave Ingrar behind, but he just looked down at the young, blinded Sharker. Either Belmer realized that the others would rebel at such a suggestion, or he was beginning to value their lives more highly.
“We’ve rested long enough. Let’s make those torches and keep looking for Anvil’s bridge.”
Sharessa was the first to spot it. She said nothing at first, afraid that the shadows were playing tricks with her eyes. But the shadows had always been friends to her, and as they drew closer, she saw that her first impression had been right.
“There it is,” she said, pointing. A slender bridge arched across the ravine ahead. Below, the waters roared as the river narrowed. White spumes glinted in the moonlight, far below.
“Strange place for a bridge,” said Belgin as they came closer. Indeed, there was no discernable path on this side, yet the bridge itself looked well tended.
“Weird looking, too,” said Rings. He was right, thought Sharessa. The bridge looked as smooth as alabaster in the moonlight, thin and delicate where it arched over the ravine. At either side stood ornate archways of spiky, twisting designs that reminded Sharessa of no culture she had ever seen.
“Wait,” said Belmer. “I don’t like this.” He paused in thought a moment, then said, “It’s a trap. We go around it.”
“Don’t be a fool,” cried Turbalt. Sharessa wished that the stupid little man would keep his mouth shut. “It’s our only way of getting away from this… this thing.”
“Then you cross first,” said Belmer icily. Without waiting for Turbalt’s reply, he waved the party on. Everyone followed, including Turbalt after a sputtering pause.
“Not that I don’t trust you,” said Rings. “But what makes you think that bridge is a trap?”
“You saw it. No man ever designed that bridge,” Belmer replied. “It was more a fiend’s idea of a bridge.”
“Illusion?”
“I’m sure of it. The fiend must know we’re expecting a bridge, so it made one for us. It’ll probably ambush us as we start to cross.”
“There is a bridge around here, somewhere,” said Anvil. “But I agree, that’s not it.”
“So glad to have your approval,” said Belmer. Sharessa thought there was more humor than threat in the man’s voice this time, but Anvil shut up.
“We’ll walk up to the bridge, as if we were going to cross it. When I give the signal, run past,” said Belmer. “Rings and Brindra, you guard the rear.” Sharessa heard the jingle of Ring’s nod and Brindra’s indifferent grunt.
They walked toward the strange bridge, not so slowly that they looked suspicious, but not so fast that they couldn’t retreat. As they came within ten yards of the queer archway, Sharessa watched for a sign from Belmer. When they had almost reached the bridge, his sword appeared in one hand, and he snapped, “Run!”
They sprinted like athletes on a track, heads low but faces forward, their weapons gripped tightly as batons. Rings and Brindra hung back, but not by Car. Belmer lingered behind with Anvil, who still carried Ingrar’s unconscious body.
Sharessa ran until her lungs burned. What strength she had kept after the Morning Bird sank had melted with the heat. Beside her, Turbalt puffed loudly. The little man could run much faster than she had expected.
“Look,” called Belmer. They all slowed, then stopped. Sharessa turned to see Belmer pointing back toward the bridge. Its pale form melted away to show an empty space between the ravine’s sides.
“Still want to cross there?” Sharessa asked Turbalt. The fat man gave her a black
look before returning his gaze to the ground.
They regrouped, anxious to move away from the failed ambush.
“The fiend is getting clumsy,” said Belgin. They walked close together again, ringed in lamp- and torchlight.
“No,” corrected Belmer. “It’s learning. It won’t make the same mistake again.”
“You sound as if you admire the thing,” said Sharessa.
“What’s not to admire?” said Belmer. “Imagine an army of them, if you could control them.”
“Aye, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Rings walked with his enchanted axe ready.
“It’s that sort of thinking that brought them here in the first place,” said Sharessa. “If it weren’t for the bloodforges, there wouldn’t be any fiends in Doegan.”
“Bloodforges?” asked Belmer.
“They are what give the rulers of the Five Kingdoms their power,” said Sharessa. “Great magical artifacts that create armies.”
Belmer halted for a moment and stared intently at her. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, yes. If it weren’t for the bloodforges, I think, Doegan would control the entire region.”
“Or the Fallen Temple would,” said Anvil. His voice was even more hoarse than usual, Sharessa thought. The strain of carrying Ingrar was wearing him down. “The emperor is the only thing that keeps the Temple in check.”
“Emperor,” chuckled Belgin derisively. “He’s no greater than the others, a petty king warring for land.”
“And who else will protect us from the fiends?” retorted Brindra. She and Anvil were both from Doegan. “Surely not the shepherds of Edenvale.”
“Hey!” interjected Ingrar weakly. The others stopped arguing at once, all eyes on their wounded companion. He murmured some protest about the bravery of Edenvalers before Anvil made him drink some water. The wounded youth sipped a few drops and returned to sleep.
“Tell me more about this Fallen Temple,” said Belmer.
“It’s a corrupted order based on one of the old gods the Ffolk brought over centuries ago,” said Sharessa. “People say that the Fallen Temple brings the fiends into this world.”
Forgotten Realms - [Double Diamond Triangle Saga 05] - An Opportunity for Profit Page 4