Chapter I Part 5: Mourner

The cold desert air blew the scent of sand across the roof of Red Spires Garrison. The night had only begun to settle on the city, but it was a moonless one. The only light that illuminated the battlements came from the dozen or so torches hanging from the sconces on the walls. Their impish dance cast a faint, slightly maddening orange glow on the fortress’s red granite.

Acantha grasped her aspergillum as the figures of the hobgoblin captain and his two lieutenants emerged into the flickering torchlight. She was more than a little frightened-these were nothing like the grunts they had easily dropped in the mess hall. These were grizzled veterans. She was at a loss for what to do- she had never been any good at combat, but she wanted to do something, anything, for the sake of her companions.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion-the fanged mouth of the hobgoblin spitting insults, making chewing motions; the gnoll’s tongue slurping about its black, doglike lips; the wizard’s hands flexing, preparing for arcane gestures. The gnoll’s pet hyena was yelping and gibbering, pawing at the ground. Thick, fetid-looking drool dripped from its jaws.

The scream of metal being drawn out of leather tore through the air around Acantha. Milica was standing erect, with her heels snapped together, her left hand behind her back, and her deadly rapier held forward by a straight arm. Kieran was crouched low, her own rapier held low with the blade pointing upward. She held her dagger in her other hand up to her face, covering her mouth. Lesa held her thinblade over her head with a cocked elbow, while her other hand grasped the kukri at her waist. Another breeze blew, fluttering her hair, which glowed like molten copper in the torchlight. Acantha raised her own weapon, hefting its solid weight with one arm and raising her shield with the other. Even Lesa’s hound was ready, her massive head held low near the ground, her teeth bared, her eyes locked onto the gnoll’s pet hyena.

“A swift painless death to the worthy,” Acantha prayed. “Grant thee us this request, O Lord Kelemvor.”

The cry of the paladin snapped Acantha out of her thoughts. Alioth was trading barbs with the captain.

“So, the little outsider wants to fight?” taunted the hobgoblin, mocking Alioth’s celestial heritage. “Maybe you should go back to your heavens and seek refuge with your gods, or you will never live to regret the day you crossed Kreshnak of the Iron Nail tribe.”

Acantha admired the paladin’s nerve-he said nothing in response, fixing his topaz eyes on the brute, his greatsword held ready.

The cleric quickly ran through a mental list of the spells she had prepared that day-none of them seemed to be of much help, but she was grateful that any of them could be converted into a healing spell in any case. Had the hobgoblins been undead, she would have been able to use her undead turning ability.

“Unfortunately,” she muttered to herself. “They’re not undead.”

Milica, who had heard her despite the softness of her tone, scowled in impatience. “Then we’ll make them undead,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Could we skip the “un” bit and just leave them dead?” Kieran chirped.

“Focus, everyone!” Azareth cried as he readied his first spell. A black cloud rose up from the ground around the wizard’s feet as he extended his finger. A blood-red circle of glyphs appeared around him, glowing in the midst of the black cloud.

“Nekul-matrak!“

The negative energy swirled to Azareth’s fingertip and darted towards Kreshnak, screaming like a banshee.

Acantha shivered as she felt the ray speeding through the air. Merely looking at the purplish-black ray seemed to sap the energy out of her muscles. As soon as the ray passed by, however, she felt a wave of relief as the strength seeped back into her. She shuddered at the thought of how the spell would affect its actual target, then stubbornly reminded herself that you were supposed to hurt your opponents, no matter how horrible the attack.

The ray of enfeeblement struck true, grazing Kreshnak’s arm. The hobgoblin howled as the black energy flooded his veins, but even as it faded he was able to stand. Acantha was amazed-although Kreshnak’s grip on the sword was not as steady, he lumbered toward the paladin with ease.

“I hope you like pain!” Kreshnak roared as he swung his greatsword. The flaming blade left a red-orange trail as it scythed through the air-and through Alioth’s armor.

“Alioth!” Acantha screamed as the flaming sword bit into the Aasimar’s side and knocked him to the ground.

The cleric gripped her weapon tightly. Its exquisitely-carved metal was warm to the touch, and this comforted her somewhat. The stylized skull carved into the flanged head always unnerved her, though-it always reminded her of that fateful night when the living dead tore her father to pieces. Nevertheless, she called to mind something she had learned in her training as a cleric: Although Death is not something you always want at your side, it certainly is something you always want on your side.

“Lord Kelemvor,” she prayed. “May Death be on our side.”

“See? That’s what all you brave people get!” Kieran yelled as she backpedaled. “How can we enjoy gold if we’re dead?” Acantha could see from the movement of Kieran’s drawn rapier that the rogue was quivering in fear.

“Stop being such a coward!” Milica shouted back.

“I’m not a coward, I’m moral support!”

Lesa, the ranger, sprang up onto the damaged trebuchet and landed beside the injured paladin. She flicked her thinblade at Kreshnak, tearing through the knotted muscle on his arm.

“Nealla!” she yelled. “Rethyr shal e’mai!”

The cooshie obeyed, snarling as she leapt toward the wizard. The dog’s jaws closed and tore through the flailing hobgoblin’s robes, but the teeth did not bite into any flesh.

“I’m scared. Can I just stand here and cheer?” It was Kieran again, looking indecisive as she pondered on what to do, even as she readied her weapons.

“We should attack the wizard!” Azareth shouted as he flipped furiously through his spellbook. “He’s just as fragile as I am!”

Kieran nodded tentatively and hustled toward the hobgoblin wizard, taking up a position opposite the hound.

Alioth, meanwhile, pushed himself up and grunted. He placed his hand on his side and closed his eyes, whispering words of healing as positive energy sparked across his wound.

It’s not enough, Acantha thought as she knelt down beside him.

“Ovidar, nabora, sesma” she whispered as she placed her hands on him. The spell mended the torn and scorched flesh, and took away the paladin’s pain.

“You should be more careful,” Acantha chided.

“Tyr bless you, I-”

The words of thanks were barely out of Alioth’s mouth when a jagged battleaxe sank into his shoulder blade. Acantha’s eyes traveled up the blade, down the haft, which was held by a filthy, hairy hand, which belonged to the slavering gnoll. The hyena-man’s eyes were glaring with hate and bloodlust.

A shrill human voice pierced the cleric’s ears, shaking her back into focus.

“Acantha, stop making puppy-dog eyes at the paladin and fight or I swear by Tempus’s bloody axe I’ll tear your hair out! Alioth, you’re being too reckless!” Milica yelled as she stepped behind the gnoll, flicking her rapier at its back.

“I’m not even doing anything!” The paladin gasped out in reply as Milica’s rapier struck true. The gnoll yelped in pain as the blade glanced off its spine and sliced through flesh. He made a strange sound-it sounded to Acantha like a cross between a bark and a laugh-and the pet hyena snarled and leapt toward Kieran.

“They get attacked by the big guys while I get mauled by a smelly dog,” the rogue muttered in displeasure the animal bore down on her, gibbering like a madman. The hyena pounced on Kieran, latching onto her leg with its powerful jaws. The rogue screamed and slapped the animal away with the flat of her rapier.

“Don’t worry,” Azareth said, attempting to comfort Kieran. “It’s just a flesh wound-at least compared to what Alioth went through, at least.”

“Wow, we’re a nice little ray of sunshine, aren’t we?” quipped Kieran as she wiped the blood and drool from her injured leg. Azareth wasn’t paying any attention any more, though-his eyes were locked onto the hobgoblin wizard.

The hobgoblin opened one of the many pouches strapped to his belt, produced a small ball of bat guano and sulfur, and closed his eyes as he gestured. Fiery red runes sizzled to life around him, and the smell of sulfur began to rise up from the ground. His voice had an eerie, otherworldly layer added to it, sounding like the roaring and crackling of a firestorm.

“Everyone, duck!” yelled Azareth. “That’s a fireball spell!”

“Otano, ful’digyamma!” the hobgoblin chanted. The little ball of guano ignited as the runes coalesced around it, circling in ever-tightening rings. Just as the wizard was about to release the fireball, Nealla, Lesa’s faithful hound, took advantage of this moment of distraction and clamped her jaws on the wizard’s arm.

The runes fizzled like candle flames being snuffed out as the hobgoblin howled. The fire consumed the spell component, which fell charred onto the floor as the wizard shook the cooshie off. Nealla dropped back lightly onto the ground, her teeth bared, her ears pricked and her eyes full of fire.

“My turn!”

Azareth raised his hands in a quick, arcane gesture. Three glowing rings of purplish-blue glyphs flashed briefly around Azareth’s hands and focused into tight, apple-sized spheres of energy.

“Arza’grashna!”

The three spheres shot toward the hobgoblin wizard, arcing and sizzling through the air like tiny comets. The magic missiles slammed hard into the wizard’s ribcage, winding him and forcing him to double over in pain. Blood dripped from his lips as he straightened up. From where she was, Acantha could see that the missiles had left puncture wounds not very different from those a dagger would leave-she had treated more than a few of those in her career as a cleric.

“Wow! Love you, Azareth! That was amazing!” Kieran cried. The half-elf girl blushed slightly, her cheeks turning a slightly darker shade of blue.

“Anytime,” the moon elf replied, pleased that he had been appreciated by someone in the group.

“And the half elf blushes a pathetic shade of blue,” Milica muttered in disgust as she watched for another opening.

“I was speaking for all of us!” The rogue cried out defensively.

It was then that the hulking hobgoblin captain turned to Lesa. “Pray to whatever nature god you have, little elf,” Kreshnak growled, spitting out the last word in disgust. With a flourish and a howl, the hobgoblin swung his flaming sword at Lesa, aiming to take off her head.

The nimble elf ducked, and Acantha could have sworn that the tongues of fire from the massive sword singed a few of the wood elf’s copper-colored hairs. Kreshnak let out a guttural cry that sounded like a word-Acantha assumed it to be a curse in his native language-and used the momentum from the swing to lunge at the injured Alioth.

Alioth tried to raise his sword to parry, but the flash from the blade’s flames singed him and caused him to wince-allowing the hobgoblin’s weapon to break into his defenses. The greatsword slipped between the joints of Alioth’s breastplate, slicing through tendons and muscle.

“You seem to attract a lot of attacks,” Lesa commented.

“Just keep fighting!” Alioth hissed through his clenched teeth as he grasped his wound.

The ranger jabbed her thinblade into the gnoll’s abdomen, yanked the weapon out, and with an elegant pirouette, hacked her wickedly-curved kukri into the hyena-man’s thick neck. Her movement was so fast that the gnoll only noticed both wounds after Lesa yanked out the kukri. The hyena-man gave a horrible shriek.

“Somebody, get him now!” Azareth said, pointing at the black-robed hobgoblin. Acantha saw that the mage was pulling out another spell component from a pouch. She would not be able to get close enough to attack in time. Jaw set and brow furrowed, Acantha resigned her soul to Kelemvor.

“Nealla!” Lesa yelled in a voice that Acantha found hoarser than usual. “Rethyr shal e’mai! E’MAI!”

The elven hound’s tufted ears pricked up, and she lunged for the wizard’s exposed neck. Her vicious jaws snapped shut, but she had missed the wizard completely.

“I’ll do it!”

Kieran moved over to attack the wizard, tumbling past the snarling hyena. The animal tried to bite at the rogue’s injured leg, but Kieran was far too quick. She landed behind the wizard, who was still distracted by Nealla, and thrust her blade between the hobgoblin’s ribs. A horrid cry gurgled out of the wizard’s mouth as he shuddered and fell to the ground, pierced through the heart.

Acantha breathed a sigh of relief as the mage fell, whispering a brief prayer to Kelemvor to grant the hobgoblin’s soul a fair trial-after all, each mortal was entitled to one in the grim court of the Lord of the Dead.

“Your comrades have fallen. It is now your turn!” Alioth cried out. The paladin’s greatsword flared bright white, and Acantha could have sworn that for a fraction of a second, she saw the shimmering image of great winged angel standing above Alioth. Its platinum skin reflected the orange glow of the torchlight, which added to its inherent radiance. Although it did not look straight at Acantha, she could guess that the gaze of the angel would be as heavy as the world and that to look back into the angel’s topaz eyes would be to stare straight into the sun-a sight that would be soul-piercing in its beauty and at the same time absolutely terrifying.

“A solar…” the cleric managed just as the vision disappeared and Alioth swung his greatsword.

“Tyr take you!”

The blade gave out a strange, metallic howl as it sliced through the air, splitting the gnoll in two at the waist with a brilliant white flash. The torn hyena-man fell onto the stone floor, gurgling in its death throes. Acantha felt almost glad that the horrible creature was dead. At the sight of its dead master, the gnoll’s pet ran yelping down the stairs with its tail between its legs.

“It ends here!”

Alioth followed through with his swing, aiming to take Kreshnak’s head with the same blow.

“You just got lucky, outsider,” Kreshnak hissed as he ducked below the scything blade.

“Call it what you will,” the paladin responded calmly. “It is the might of Tyr!”

Acantha noticed that Milica cast the paladin an admiring glance from where she was, then noticing that he was occupied with something else, turned her eyes away with a bit of pink still dusting her cheeks.

“Hopefully there isn’t a third time,” Acantha commented as she once again touched the paladin’s shoulder to heal him. “You are lucky-Kelemvor does not mean for this to be your time to join him.” The positive energy flashed from the cleric’s hands and sealed the wounds shut.

Milica tore her eyes from Alioth with some difficulty and leapt toward Kreshnak, using the gnoll’s heavy head as a stepping stone.

“Wizard, cover me!”

The swashbuckler flicked her blade at the captain’s neck, hoping to sever his jugular-but the gnoll’s head wasn’t as stable as she had hoped, and she fumbled the swing. Milica stumbled back to her feet, cursing as she regained her composure-and promptly ducked as she heard Azareth call out an incantation.

“Shareer ful’shammah!”

Acantha turned to see the wizard holding a twisting loop of fire in his hands. Burning red runes floated in the air around Azareth as he pointed at Kreshnak with right index and middle finger.

The helix of fire sprang toward Azareth’s fingers, uncoiling out of his left palm like an unraveling thread. The fire left his fingers in a tight, focused ray, which stabbed directly into Kreshnak’s chest. Howling in blinding pain, the hobgoblin smothered the flames with one hand and recovered his stance.

“Doesn’t this guy ever die?” Kieran cried out in frustration.

Still smoldering and smelling of sulfur, Kreshnak turned to Azareth.

“You’ll pay for that, shrimp,” he snarled through clenched teeth.

The hobgoblin reached for something at his back and produced a small flask from his belt. Acantha was taken aback by the sight, thinking it strange that the brute would threaten Azareth with a healing potion. Then she realized that the liquid inside the bottle briefly flashed orange as it sloshed around inside. She remembered what was in the bottle-of course, she had sold the same to so many adventurers before.

Alchemist’s fire.

Kreshnak roared and swung his arm, sending the little flask tumbling end over end through the air, its contents pulsing orange. Acantha thought it was aimed at Azareth, but she realized quickly that Kreshnak had a more explosive attack in mind.

The flask was nearing the end of its flight, and the end of its trajectory was right inside the storeroom-the very same room that was full of haphazard piles of smokepowder.
-by Ice and Aslan

~ by J. R. R. Flores on July 25, 2007.