Chapter I: Beyond the Red Spires

Chapter I: Beyond The Red Spires

Shieldmeet 1372, The Year of Wild Magic.

The departing Flamerule sun was utterly tyrannical, and the coming month of Elesias promised no more mercy. Stiff, hot, northerly winds blew from the Great Desert of Anauroch down to the Cormyrian capital of Suzail, heavy with the scent of dead sand, sand-blasted rock and more dead sand. The lush greenery of Cormyr was beginning to wither under the oppressive weather.

The heat beat down mercilessly on Princess Regent Alusair Obarskyr’s helm as she sat at the royal box high above the opening ceremonies. The sweat from her brow seemed to evaporate and hang heavily inside the confines of the helm, mixing with the heat from her breath to form an entirely noxious atmosphere.  Although she could have opted for lighter clothing in this awful heat, she knew she had to keep up her image as the Steel Regent. Her father had left her a kingdom that had been viciously trampled upon by a red dragon’s rampage, and the nobles were looking for signs of weakness in her that would allow them to expand their own power base. Laying down the helm of the Steel Regent would cause rumors of weakness to stir.

And that was the way it had to be. Through all the trials of the recent past, Cormyr, Land of the Purple Dragon, had to push onward. This Shieldmeet was an important reminder to the people of the beleaguered land that they were still strong, still proud. Shieldmeet would always push through. It was Alusair’s way of giving them hope, as futile as that may be.

“Caladnei,” whispered Alusair to her aide. “Any word from the Stonelands?”

“Still as tense as ever, highness,” replied the sorceress, slightly above the noise of the crowd. “Although the Tilverton detachment can easily march in on the Stonelands after a day’s journey, they run the risk of being attacked by catapults. Furthermore, abandoning Tilverton is certainly unthinkable.”

“Agreed,” replied the princess. The city of Tilverton was still engulfed by the shadowy anomaly that had obliterated it a few months before. The detachment that guarded it was the only force in the area, abandoning it would allow other interested parties access to the ruined city-a possibility the Princess Regent would rather not think about.

A wind began to blow into the city, but this time it was a southwesterly from the Sea of Fallen Stars. The princess inhaled its cool dampness, welcome relief from the oppressive summer. Once she scented the approach of rain, however, he mind began to churn. She knew that bad weather during Shieldmeet was a terrible omen, but in this heat, she argued, which weather is worse?

“Caladnei,” she whispered. “Summon the recruits to the audience hall. We have much work to do.”

***

 

A howling gale drove black clouds mercilessly over Castle Obarskyr. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Its low, echoing voice boomed among the mountaintops of the Storm Horns. Caladnei sighed as the wind continued its rampage outside. Outside the window, she saw the banners of the Purple Dragon flying strong and proud atop the battlements, defiantly lashing out into the darkening sky. She grasped her staff tightly, seeking comfort from the magical currents locked within. The sensation soothed her, warming her to the veins like a steaming cup of Amnish tea. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her and rested her forehead against the staff. Behind her was the dissipating glow of the teleport spell she had cast on the six recruits that responded to the summons.

“Caladnei,” came a clear, female voice, accompanied by a gauntleted hand lightly touching her shoulder.. It was the Princess Regent. “You seem troubled.”

“Perhaps you could say that, Milady,” replied the sorceress. “I am not entirely comfortable with sending these people on this mission. We don’t even know what’s going on in the Stonelands, let alone Red Spires Garrison. Why not send the Purple Dragons instead?”

“You know that the Purple Dragon Army is spread thin enough as it is. That isn’t an option. Furthermore, we sent Swordcaptain Illancet to supervise them.”

The sorceress sighed. “Forgive my insolence, Highness, but she may very well be one of the biggest reasons I feel uneasy. Add to that the omens…”

A lone lightning bolt ripped across the sky, and thunder followed on its heels.

“I know. But I feel that waiting for the omens to come true is far less favorable than dealing with known problems, namely the unknown occupants of Red Spires.”

“This is true. Forgive me, Highness.”

“Nothing need be forgiven. Let us hope that these six adventurers may be more than hirelings. Let us hope they become our champions.”

The Princess Regent stepped up beside Caladnei and joined her in watching the thunderstorm. The rain began to pour.

“Champions in this time of darkness.”

***

The sun was dipping below the horizon as Swordcaptain Milica Illancet landed hard on her rump as the teleportation spell faded away. She bounced up into a standing position, brushed off the fine reddish sand off her leather armor, and straightened the pink carnation pinned to her collar. Looking around her, she saw that her companions were either lying in a daze from the spell or dusting themselves off. Tossing her dusty blonde hair, she turned to the fort that loomed before them.

Red Spires was one of the older and more important garrisons that were built during the thousand or so years of Cormyr’s existence, Milica remembered. Although it appeared black at night, it was actually built out of red sandstone quarried directly out of the hundreds of huge rock formations that stood in the Stonelands. It was the last major border stronghold an invading enemy army would have to tackle before pushing on into the heart of Cormyr, at least before reaching the now-ruined city of Tilverton. With Tilverton obliterated, Red Spires was cut off from Cormyr proper and could be easily used as a staging area by an invading enemy force-and this was precisely what the Purple Dragons feared.

Only days before, the garrison detachment lit a distress signal signifying an attack. However, any force that attempted to move close to investigate was fired upon by the fort’s trebuchet, so it was decided upon that a small force be teleported close enough to retake Red Spires. This was easier said than done-the team would have to sneak up undetected and be able to fight its way through whatever was guarding it-which could have been anything from a raiding tribe of orcs to a young dragon looking for a new lair. Standard infantry would have been too ill-equipped to take on such a wide variety of possible threats. Fortunately, the promise of gold and glory was always more than enough to convince common adventurers to take part in such a risky endeavor. In Milica’s case, she was just happy to get out from under her brother’s supervision.

Milica sighed as her companions fumbled with their belongings and struggled to pull themselves together.

“Alright, I’m the Purple Dragon here, so from here on, I’m in charge,” she announced. “We need to get up there and retake this fort! Are there any questions?”

A slightly-built half-elf girl with pale, bluish skin and messily-cropped black hair raised her hand.

“I have a question. Are you really supposed to be that loud?”

“I-”  Milica was caught off guard. She was never talked back to by someone she considered a subordinate. She strained to recover. “I am merely attempting to maintain some order here,” she managed. “You would do well to follow my orders.”

“Sure,” replied the half-elf. “But whatever’s hiding in there,” she said, pointing to the garrison. “Would have heard you by now.”

The young swordcaptain gritted her teeth and glared at the half-elf, crossed her arms and turned away. “Anyone else?”

The four other companions, who had been watching the short repartee, decided it was best not to speak-yet-and merely shook their heads quietly.

“Good, at least some people here know who’s the boss.”

As Milica turned away, the half-elf girl rolled her eyes. “Nobody recognizes the value of stealth,” she whispered to herself.

“Oh, by the way,” said Milica as she turned back. “I think we should establish a marching order. You!” she said, pointing at a heavily armored man with silver hair. “Take point. We need a big guy like you up there. I’ll be second.” The man-an Aasimar, a human with the blood of a celestial-nodded his assent and took his place.

“You,” Milica said, pointing at a young woman robed in black. “You’re a cleric, right? Your healing magic will support us best with you in the middle.” The woman walked into place, unhooking a heavy metal rod from her belt as she walked. As she passed by Milica, she whispered without expecting a reply.

“I have a name. It’s Acantha. Please use it.”

“I will address you in any manner I wish, Blackrobe.”

The woman opened her mouth to protest, but merely shook her head.

“You, with the book!” Milica half-yelled as she turned to a platinum-haired elf in ornate silk robes. “Stay in the middle of the line so you won’t die so quickly.”

The elf kept a steady eye on her as he walked by, a look of slight confusion on his fine-boned face. “Perhaps it was too much to expect manners from humans in this land,” he whispered. The swordcaptain did not hear him.

“The two of you! Take up the rear. We need strength at the rear as well.” The remaining two companions-the black-haired half-elf and a well-muscled elf with copper hair, tan skin and a serene look on her face-fell into position without a word.

“Alright, hands to weapons, men. March!”

The Aasimar began walking, his hand ready on the greatsword that was slung across his back.  When he came up to the stairs to the fortress’s front gate, he raised his hand to signal the party to stop.

“Why are we stopping, mister…uh…Aasimar?”

“My name is Alioth,” explained the warrior. “And I think that before we go on, it would be good for everyone to agree that we are to call each other by name.”

Milica rolled her eyes, annoyed at the upstart’s ability to overturn her authority. Still, she found it difficult to complain once she looked into the paladin’s eyes-unearthly topaz with a faint amber glow. Milica nodded.

“Fine. Swordcaptain Milica Illancet, of the House Illancet, of the Third Kadrath of the Purple Dragon Army.”

“Acantha Trannyth,” whispered the black-robed cleric. “Loyal servant of Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead, may His blessed hand guide thee.”

“Azareth Starsmiter,” announced the elf wizard, bowing. “Scholar of Silverymoon and servant of Mystra.”

The petite half-elf introduced herself next.

“Kieran Aquilaë,” she said with a wry smile. “Appropriator and redistributor of ahh…ill-gotten wealth, also known to some as the Sembian Scoundrel and to many as ‘that blasted long-ears.’”

A soft chuckle floated up from the other members of the party, except for Milica.

“Can we please stay serious?”

“Levity is a rare commodity these days,” spoke the serene-faced elf with copper hair. Her voice was rich and melodious, though her diction was slightly stiff. “Take not their share. I am Lesamien Xelephia Vaebar, servant of Silvanus. Though you may call me Lesa.” She bowed slightly at the waist.

“I am Alioth Ras’Elased,” said the paladin. His voice was powerful and soothing, deep and entrancing, like the still waters of a cold mountain lake. “Paladin and servant of Tyr. Now, perhaps we should proceed up the stairs with caution. Kieran, would you kindly keep an eye out for an ambush?”

“Sure thing.”

The paladin led the party up the stairs. Kieran looked up at the crags that loomed above them, sifting through the shadows for the figures of possible attackers. However, there were torches in sconces high above them, making it difficult to see past a certain point.

Alioth stopped as the path reached its end: a heavy hardwood door, reinforced with brass bars. He held up his hand again and pressed his ear to the door.

Nothing.

“It’s clear.”

He pulled back the door, expecting to see nothing. This was why the sight of three burly humanoid creatures clad in black leather armor surprised him. Each was at least six and a half feet tall, and their features had an angry, feral cast to them. Their hair was reddish-brown in the torchlight, their noses were flat and their jaws solid and square.  All three had their swords drawn and shields raised. Hobgoblins-bigger cousins of the common goblins. They were smarter, stronger, and far more disciplined than their smaller kin.

“Um…are they friends?”

Milica strained to remember what these creatures were, but the term escaped her at the moment. She merely managed to say “I don’t think so” before one of the creatures spoke.

“A pitiful attempt at storming a fortress,” growled the one closest to them. “You woke up every last one of us in the garrison as you came up the stairs.”

Kieran was the first to react, drawing her rapier and lunging straight for the creature’s neck. The blade sparked as it bounced off the creature’s shield, and it roared angrily as it twisted its longsword and took a swing at the rogue. Kieran attempted to pivot out of the way, but the blade sliced into her leg.

“I need some help here! I don’t want my kidneys to end up as wall ornaments!”

“Fear not.” Lesa sprang into action, leaping off the walls and over Alioth’s head. She landed beyond Kieran and with a flourish, attempted to stab the second beast. Her blow only met the creature’s shield. It growled and retaliated, swinging at her legs to hamstring her. The ranger, however, was too quick for the creature. She leapt up, kicked off the creature’s shield, and dropped lightly back into position as she drew her second weapon-a kukri-from a strap on her chest.

Alioth roared as he drew his huge sword.

“For Tyr!”

He swung the mighty blade at the first of the guards, but his blow only sliced through the air above the ducking creature’s head. Sensing an opportunity to move closer, the third guard took a step and slashed at the paladin.

The blow struck true, slipping between plates of armor and drawing blood.

Alioth cried out and glared at the guard. “Beast! You shall not do such a thing again!”

Azareth clenched his fist and began summoning the power of the Weave-the source of all magic on Faerun-and charged forward. Ducking beneath the swinging swords and cursing guards, he spoke a spidery word of magic and blasted the creature that stabbed Alioth from behind. A searing ray of pure fiery energy struck the creature square in the middle of the back, burning a smoldering hole in its armor and filling the narrow entry platform with the pungent smell of scorched flesh. The hobgoblin howled in pain and turned to face Azareth, its eyes seething in blind fury.

The elf winced. “Next time, can we just try talking to them first?”

Milica drew her rapier and leapt over Alioth’s bulky frame, landing on the tips of her toes. With a flourish and a cry, she lunged at the first hobgoblin’s neck, but its shield was still in the way.

“Dammit! Is this supposed to be beginner’s bad luck?”

Acantha had not been as quick to act as she had hoped, but she ran up to Kieran’s side.

“Be strong, sister,” she said as she touched the half-elf’s wound. “Kelemvor does not require your life yet.” Kieran looked up to her with slightly frightened eyes as the wound closed. She briefly put an arm around Acantha’s head and gave a quick squeeze.

“Thanks.”

“Enough of that!” snapped Milica. “Keep fighting!”

“But I’ll miss!” replied the rogue as she lunged at the first hobgoblin again, this time with both her weapons. As sharp as the blades were, they snagged on the tough leather.

“…see?”

“Try harder!” the hobgoblin growled at Kieran, but it quickly turned to Alioth and swung its blade again. The sword slipped off the paladin’s armor, allowing him to recover from the blow he had received earlier.

Sensing an opening, Lesa pivoted and thrust her blade into the center of the hobgoblin’s back, striking true. Although the kukri was unable to slice through the leather, Lesa’s elegant elven thinblade drew blood, further injuring the creature. Howling in pain once more, the hobgoblin began to rethink its options. Lesa was just about to smile when the hobgoblin’s face twisted into a feral grin.

Steel cut into flesh. Lesa screamed as the third hobgoblin’s blade bit into her back.

As the elf woman turned to face her new foe, she reached up and touched her wound. Her leather armor had absorbed most of the blow, but it was still a significant wound. She squinted and brought her weapons to bear.

It was going to be a long night.

A long, bloody night.

~ by J. R. R. Flores on July 8, 2007.