*
A sudden, cold wind slid beneath their warm cloaks and settled in with a chill that sank to the marrow of their bones. At least that's how it felt to Garnthalisbain.
The mage coughed on frequent occasion, his chest heaving with the strain of breathing in the cold air. Never, during his whole sheltered life, had he spent so much time out of doors at one stretch. Garn was seriously beginning to regret his eager decision to accompany Tasha on her journey. But he could no more have turned away from it than Hal could have, though only Garn was aware of that.
Tasha turned in her saddle to make certain that her friend was all right. Garn noted that her eyes had begun to swell up from the chill winds. She offered a feeble smile of reassurance and turned back around to face the road ahead. The mage would have laughed if he had the strength. Tasha looked about as bad as he felt, but he was certain that she was bearing up under it much better than he could ever hope to.
In the lead, Hal seemed to stoically bear the chill without complaint or any obvious difficulty that he could scrutinize. And, for what was the first time in his life, Garn felt the slightest twinge of envy for the large man, for his strength and endurance. More than anything, Garn wished to experience what it felt like to be as physically powerful as Hal was. Just for five minutes, that's all he would ask for. Just five minutes.
The brooding mage shook that errant and useless thought from his mind and concentrated on his abilities. Real power. He closed his eyes and reached out to touch just a fraction of the energies that were his to wield and use and felt a warmth slide through his frail form to replace the chill. Garn sighed in relief, berating himself for not having done that earlier.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw Hal bring their little caravan to a halt. The big man peered off intently into the underbrush on the right side of the road, his eyes flashing a sharp shade of gray in the dim light. Both Garn and Tasha followed his gaze into the trees but could see nothing of importance.
Tasha pulled her horse alongside Hal's and peered at him curiously. "Why are we stopping?" she asked.
Hal pressed one of his fingers to his lips and glanced at her pleadingly, silently asking her to remain quiet. Garn stared off into the bushes again and did see some movement this time. And, listening intently, he was able to make out the sound of leaves being crunched and twigs snapping.
Tasha looked nervous. "Is someone coming?" she asked, one hand unconsciously grabbing at Hal's powerful forearm. Hal nodded his head silently and waited, his other hand straying slightly to the axe at his belt, not even considering the sword tied to his saddle.
Still listening, Garn decided that there were more people out in the trees than he had originally suspected. How many and how far away were hard to tell for the bushes had grown very dark with the sun sliding in and out of the clouds.
The big man slid his axe from his belt loop with one fluid motion and abruptly pulled his arm free of Tasha's grip, motioning for her to move back towards the mage. Surprised by the sudden movements, Tasha automatically complied.
Her horse had yet to take a step when a barbaric figure exploded from the underbrush and stumbled onto the beaten road. Hal raised up his axe, ready to strike while Tasha screamed in sudden fright. The man, obviously beaten and disheveled, jumped at the piercing sound of the lady's scream and stumbled again, collapsing to his back.
Hal urged his horse a step forward, concern etched across his face. The man scrambled away, unable to take his gaze off the gleaming axe in Hal's hand.
Garn got his first real look at the man. He was reasonably tall, perhaps reaching six feet in height. He was lean, his arms and bare chest rippling with muscles. His hair was short cropped and wildly mussed up. Obviously he had been running for an exceedingly long time going by the sweat coating his flesh.. He appeared to be older than the three of them, perhaps in his middle thirties though it was difficult to say.
Strange, blue-colored and circular tattoos were plastered over his chest and arms, giving him an almost demonic appearance. Then Garn realize that it wasn't the tattoos that made him look so, it was also the harsh whip and chain marks riddling his entire body. That, along with the heavily bleeding gash along his right leg and the bruised and bloodied features of his face added to his frightful appearance.
Garn's studies of foreign cultures informed him that the kilt the man wore suggested that the man was from the Clanlands across the Inner Sea. He struggled to rise to his feet, his striking yellow eyes flashing in alarm as they swung across to the brush at the side of the road. Garn followed his gaze.
Three mounted riders wearing identical uniforms left the tangling underbrush looking very much the worse for wear, but still in better shape than their hunt. The keltoi snarled in fury and tried to stagger away in a loping gait. The lead rider spurred his horse forward and was quickly followed by his associates. Off in the bushes, Garn saw at least four more riders following behind their comrades.
Hal's gaze was unreadable as he watched the three mounted men chase down the lone, haggard individual. His hand clenched tight about the haft of his axe, his knuckles turning white. Tasha, noting the tension in his frame looked up at him in alarm. "What are you thinking?"
Hal swung his now gray-eyed gaze away from the despicable scene and towards Tasha's. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to express his thoughts. "I just... I know that this isn't any of our... concern." He winced as the keltoi cried out in pain after being struck to the ground. He all but glared at the remaining four horsemen as they exited the bushes. "I mean, I'm certain that the man broke some law, or something... but... that's just... " He looked away again and frowned.
Tasha rested a hand on Hal's forearm, trying to keep him from doing something rash. "I know, Hal." she said. "I know."
Garn frowned at the soldiers as they surrounded the keltoi. I happen to agree with you, big guy, he thought as he pulled alongside Hal, coughing softly. The three of them sat atop their mounts, regarding the scene as it unfolded before them.
The seven horsemen encircled the barbaric individual, beating on him from a distance with their clubs. The man snarled and clawed but was unable to get close enough to lash out at his assailants without being clubbed down. All three winced in sympathy as the keltoi finally dropped to his knees from sheer exhaustion. At that point, the leader of the pack slid from his horse and motioned for two of his henchmen to do the same. The henchmen slid to the ground and quickly restrained the still weakly struggling man.
The leader, a snide looking man with an impeccably well-trimmed goatee and an impressive cape that the rest of the men did not have, stepped up to the man and grabbed a handful of slick hair. He yanked the kelt's head back and forced him to look into his captor's eyes. The beaten man bared his teeth and growled weakly.
The leader smirked. "So, Bloodied-Fist," he began, laughing at the man's impotent fury. "You've lead us quite a chase. But, in the end, as I had predicted, I was your better. And now you're mine." He leaned forward to the tattooed man's face and smiled even wider. "You're mine... again," he hissed.
The keltoi lurched forward, teeth snapping ferally and his forehead looking to smash the smile off the man's face. The leader lurched back in surprise and took a firmer grip on the back of the kelt's head, snapping a right hook across the helpless man's face. The head rocked, but he turned back to his captor and stared him directly in face. Snorting, the kelt contorted his face for a moment and spat a gooey gobbit of bloody phlegm directly into the leader's face.
The leader of the pack staggered back, cursing floridly. The henchmen grinned viciously as their enraged leader withdrew a long, double bladed dagger from his belt. The keltoi began to struggle with all of his might, writhing back and forth, straining for some leverage to break free.
"I should kill you for that, Bloodied-Fist," hissed the leader, wiping away the spittle with his sleeve. "But you're worth nothing to me dead."
"The name," growled the individual, utt
ering the first words Garn had heard him say. "Is Lochlaven, y'bastard. An don' choo forget it." His accent was exceptionally thick, as much from the way his lips and cheeks were swollen as from any natural heritage.
The leader advanced on the kelt. "I'll call you whatever I... "
"Hold!" cried out the indignant and haughty voice of Tasha, regally moving her steed forward. Hal, surprised, followed quickly behind her. Garn smirked in anticipation and kept pace with Hal, casually flexing the fingers on hand to get them loose.
The leader turned away from his prisoner, appearing to realize that they were not alone on the road for the first time. His free hand clenched and unclenched nervously while his eyes regarded Hal's size and the immense battle-axe he carried. "This is no concern of yours," he began roughly. Trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "Move on your way and we won't make an issue of this little... " Hal raised his free hand and clenched it into a fist, casually cracking his knuckles in the near silence.
The mounted henchmen began to loosen their weapons from their sheathes. Tasha cut off the leader's next comment with one of her own. "Might I inquire as to the nature of the crime which this man must have committed? It must have been something horrid to require seven well-armed and mounted men to hunt him down."
The leader became exceedingly flustered at having to explain his actions. "He is an escaped prisoner and, more importantly, my property. Now, for your sake, move along. I reiterate, this is no concern of yours."
Hal growled deeply, the sound reverberated deep in his chest and sounding almost bestial. "The lady was speaking," he spoke in a voice that was almost a full octave deeper than his normal tone. "Wait your turn." And with that he folded his powerful arms, his silver axe now plainly visible for all to see. Garn focused his attention on the only henchman who carried a bow, his eyes glinting eagerly.
Tasha smiled down at the leader condescendingly. Then she swung her gaze towards the keltoi. "Is what he said true? Are you a slave?"
"Aye!" he shouted. "I ha' done nothin' wrong except escape a life o' hell an' torture, I swear't upon me honor!" He was punched across the face again by the leader who shouted for him to be silent.
Hal's eyes narrowed dangerously in outrage and looked eagerly to Tasha. She laid her hand on his forearm again, motioning for him to be patient. She looked back at the leader and was no longer smiling. "Good sir," she began, the icy sound of her voice unnerving the henchmen. "I suggest you leave this area right now and leave the man in our care."
The leader became belligerent, the knife shaking in his trembling hand. Though whether he was trembling from fear or anger was hard to tell. "And if I don't agree?"
Tasha turned her gaze to Hal who met it with a smile grin on his lips. Garn laughed harshly. "Figure it out for yourself, buddy. I'm sure that even one of your limited intelligence should be able to work it out without too much difficulty."
The leader continued to quiver while the captive man had begun to get a faint look of hope in his eyes. "Might I have your name, dear lady? So that I may know what to have inscribed upon your gravestone?"
Tasha forced a laugh. "I am Tasha Pellaren, of the Vineyard Grove. Daughter to Lord Tyren, Duke of the Oakwood Vale."
The leader nodded slightly. "I see. I've never gotten to kill a noblewoman before," he said ever so casually. Then he dove back among the ranks of his men, ordering them to the attack as he quickly mounted his horse.
The archer swiftly drew back the string of his bow as Hal spurred his stallion forward, raising his axe in fury. The last three mounted henchmen drew their gleaming blades and readied themselves for battle while the prisoner struggled fiercely as he was dragged to the side by the two henchmen holding his arms.
The archer drew a bead on Hal's exposed chest as Garnthalisbain uttered an arcane word and lashed out his arm. A bluish blast of energy shot from the extended fingers, streaking past the charging Hal and striking the archer solidly in the chest. The arrow fired harmlessly off into the trees as the bowman was flung from his mount, his uniform and face singed slightly from the sheer force of the magical missile.
Tasha drew her slender blade and advanced on the men dragging the prisoner behind them. The silver hilt gleamed brightly in the sunlight as she rode forward. One of the men released the keltoi and turned to face Tasha, simultaneously drawing his short sword. As they closed in on each other, Garn could see her tense up. This was her first real battle, after all. There would be no instructor to admonish her if she made a mistake this time. With a fearful scream on her lips, Tasha thrust out her blade and charged in.
The henchman easily beat her sword aside and stepped out of the way of the charging horse. Tasha, afraid of losing her grip on the blade, lurched to maintain her weak hold. Unfortunately, she overextended herself and tumbled out of her saddle, landing roughly on the turf. The henchman grinned eagerly and strode forward.
Garn wanted to cast something to help her out but was having trouble thinking of anything that wouldn't hurt her as well.
Hal rode his steed directly at the mounted henchman before him. A moment before impact, the big man got one of his legs beneath him so that his foot was braced on his saddle. Then, as Hal's steed plowed headlong into the henchman, knocking both horse and rider to the ground, Hal leapt from his saddle and into the air. The next henchman was so astonished at the sight of the immense flying man that he delayed in bringing his sword up to defend himself.
Hal cleanly unhorsed his assailant, hooking his arm around the henchman's neck as he flew past. The rider was snapped abruptly out of his saddle, spinning uncontrollably before slamming headfirst to the solid turf and not moving again. Hal, on the other hand, turned his dive into a unique shoulder roll and regained his footing with ease.
Garn was so stunned that he completely forgot the spell that he was working on.
Tasha desperately tried to regain her footing as the swordsman as advanced on her. She appeared to have somehow twisted her ankle in her fall and was having some difficulty in standing. The swordsman laughed at the pathetic display before him and continued his advance, raising his sword up high. Garn cried out in alarm and started to spur his horse forward, all thoughts of a spell forgotten.
What happened next was difficult for Garn to explain, it just happened too quickly. There was a sudden growl of pure rage and then a flash of red and blue. The swordsman was tackled to the ground, his weapon knocked well into the bushes. Focusing his eyes, Garn recognized the tattooed, kilted prisoner straddling the henchman's chest, his knees pinning the man to the ground. Ferociously the kelt alternated thunderous blows to the swordsman's unprotected face. The man’s features were twisted in absolute fury, his eyes almost bulging out from their sockets. The punches were continually accompanied by the crackling sounds of shattering bones. Blood spurted out onto the turf and the man's face seemed to crumble under the furious onslaught that appeared to intend to continue long after the body had cooled and stiffened up.
Sickened, Tasha swung her gaze away and gagged at the sight of the other henchman who had been holding the barbaric individual. Garn followed her gaze and felt ill himself. The corpse was propped up against a tree, both eyes gouged out of their sockets and one arm broken in a way that seemed impossible. The man's ribcage had been smashed in so badly that white bone protruded through the flesh and blood soaked down into the turf. Hearing the victorious sounds of the kelt behind her and taking note of the stench of both dead, fouled bodies, must have what pushed Tasha over the edge. She lowered her head and retched right there on the scene of the battle.
Garnthalisbain, feeling somewhat nauseous himself, turned to watch Hal in action. He had several spells right on the tip of his tongue but was completely unsure as to when to use one or how. Fortunately, Hal was more than capable of handling the situation himself.
The last mounted henchman came at Hal from behind as he dealt with the archer, slamming the haft of his axe brutally into the side of the bowman's face. The man was knocked
back and away, spitting teeth and blood into the forest. His tumbling body plunged headlong into the trunk of a highoak before falling to the leafy ground, unconscious.
"Behind you!" Garn called out, at last deciding on a spell but then uncertain if Hal was too close to cast it safely.
Hal pivoted, his axe swinging in a high, backhand arc. The blade managed to slice into the rider's extended sword arm, neatly severing the hand at the elbow. Blood gouted from the ugly wound and over Hal's face and chest as the man screamed, reeling back in his saddle.
Completing his pivot, Hal turned aside the charging horse with a solid, roundhouse punch directly on the animal's jaw. The horse stumbled and uneasily trotted to the side, obviously dazed. Hal shook his hand out and grimaced at the sudden pain, blowing on his sore knuckles.
Unfortunately for the handless rider of the dizzy horse, he fell into the sightline of the still outraged barbarian warrior. The kilted one surged to his feet like an animal, hurdling over the crouched form of Tasha and charging headlong for the pain clouded rider. Hal moved forward, calling out for the man to stop. But the keltoi was beyond reason.
Reaching the steed, the disheveled warrior grabbed at the bridle with both hands and leapt into the air. Swinging himself up and around, he drove the heel of one foot crushingly under the jaw of the unsuspecting rider. The man was knocked clean off of his horse and landed flat to the turf on his back, the wind knocked completely out of him. The keltoi stood atop the saddle of the dazed horse and perched there for a moment or two, sizing up the distances. Then with a howl on his lips, he pounced like a tiger from his vantage point and down upon the helpless man, driving one knee solidly into the man's crotch.
The man sat up from the new pain, forgetting about his severed hand and tried to beat the barbarian away, splashing the kelt in his own blood. The kelt neither worried nor cared. He placed one hand on the back of the man's head and the other on his chin, tilting it back. Then, with one last snarl, he plunged downwards, chomping viciously on the man's larynx. Ripping and tearing with his teeth, blood trickling out from between his lips.
The man began to choke and gurgle in his death throes then dropped to the leaf strewn ground in a heap as the keltoi tore away from him, leaving a bloody gash where the man's throat had been. A psychotic look remained in the wounded, berserk kelt's eyes. It remained there even after he spat out the bloody gobbit of flesh that had been in his mouth.
Garn dropped from his horse and went over to comfort Tasha. Hal took it all in, completely shocked. Garn could hardly believe what he had just seen but was forced to. I really hope we're not making a mistake with this guy, the mage thought to himself warily.
Suddenly, the keltoi arched his back, howling in pain. He turned about to face his new assailant but the exertion of the day had finally caught up to him and he spun about, his eyes reeling, and collapsed face first to the ground. A dagger stuck out from his lower right side, quivering slightly.
Garn snapped his eyes forward and saw the leader of the henchmen galloping off into the bushes and not looking back. He was shouting some nonsense about vengeance that Garn couldn't make out. Regardless, the mage had had enough. Reaching out his arm, another bolt of bluish energy streaked from his fingertips towards the leader. It circled around to his front and hammered him directly in the chest. The leader fell to the ground in a heap.
Hal was beside him in a second, his axe held threateningly although tentatively. From the distance, Garn could see the reluctance in Hal's eyes. Despite what he'd just seen, Hal couldn't bring himself to out and out kill the man before him.
The leader crawled up to one knee, obviously trying to reason with Hal. Slowly, Hal's reluctance became more prominent and his axe slipped a bit in his grip. Garn's heart leapt into his throat as the leader slipped a knife from one boot and arced it at Hal's midriff.
But the big man reflexively dodged, driving the blade of his axe into the leader's neck. Blood fountained out onto the road as the corpse crumpled to the ground never to move again.
Hal's axe slid from numb fingers as he took a look at himself. At the blood on his hands, face and chest. He stood frozen like that for several long moments. Then he hastily dropped to his knees and turned the leader over, peering intently into his face.
Garn left Tasha's side and hurried over to Hal and knelt beside him. The big man's eyes didn't leave the leader's face for a moment. "What are you doing, Hal?"
Hal shrugged. "Aeros, he told me once that... any idiot can learn to kill someone, that isn't the hard part."
"What is the hard part?" Garn asked, resting one hand on the big man's shoulder.
Hal tore his gaze away from the leaders. Garn absently noticed that Hal's eyes were blue once again and slowly brimming with tears. "The hard part's learning to deal with it." He ran his hand under his nose and sniffed. "I didn't mean to kill him," Hal insisted, obviously needing someone to believe him.
"I know, big guy. But it was either you or him."
Hal hung his shaggy head. "That doesn't help much."
Garn casually regarded the stunned, pained expression of horror on the dead man's face and felt his stomach twist into knots. After a moment or two of looking he turned away and returned to the kelt. "It wouldn't help me much either," he muttered.
Tasha had remounted her horse and was waiting somewhat down the road for Garn and Hal. Garn stood over the inert body of the keltoi as Hal advanced.
"He's still alive," he declared.
Hal grunted, obviously not terribly surprised. "Can you do anything for him?"
Garn shook his head. "There's not much I can do beyond bandaging his more serious wounds, I don't have the equipment for anything else. I was hoping to pick up the necessary supplies in Wayfarer's Port." The mage looked off down the road and frowned. "The Port's only a few more hours away. I say we strap him onto one of the spare horses and get him some medical attention there."
The big man remained quiet for a moment, staring at the inert body and the carnage surrounding it. He looked down the road at Tasha's huddled and shaking form as she wrapped herself in her cloak. He looked down at himself, at the blood and gore spattered down his front and face.
"Do we really want to?" Hal asked.
"What? Help him?" Garn looked at the big man with his usual condescending gaze back in place. "Well it would probably have been a real waste of time fighting all these people if we'd just intended to let him die, wouldn't you say?"
Hal nodded weakly. "I guess."
Garn went off to retrieve one of the stray horses for the keltoi while Hal bent low to lift the wounded man. When the mage returned, his gaze was drawn to the blood and gore that was slowly congealing and drying over the beaten man's knuckles.
"What did they call this guy again?" Garn asked. " 'Bloodied Fist?' "
Hal shrugged. "I don't remember."
They settled the kelt precariously in the horse's saddle. Garn was about to turn and mount his own steed when Hal stopped him. "Hey, Garn?"
"Yeah?"
Hal was staring up into the barbaric man's face intently. "Am I really all that different from this guy?"
Garn smiled faintly. "What do you think?" he asked.
It wasn't until they were on the road again that Hal turned to the mage with a frustrated expression on his face. "Just what's that supposed to mean?"
Garn sighed and shook his head, concealing a small smile.
Interlude – Testing the Barriers
Confusion.
Xir felt the weariness that always follows the release of magical energies. He carefully examined the mists that made up his mystical prison with a well-practiced eye.
Nothing.
Not a single change or weakness.
He howled with frustration.
How can this be?
His hands clenched the glowing, crimson staff and shook it furiously over his head, continuing to howl.
He recalled the image he had just seen a short while ago, it could have m
oments or centuries for all that time mattered in that realm of nothingness. Using the power the staff gave him, he formed the image out of the mists. A woman, no, a girl, appearing next to him. The first being that he had seen in countless ages.
She is the one I must fear.
He shook his head about like an enraged animal to throw away the errant thought, casually banishing the illusion with a shrug of his shoulders. He was one who had nothing to fear! How could the girl possibly threaten He who was all powerful?
As quickly as the weariness came, it was gone. Replaced by another surge of Power from the mystical staff.
Xir laughed again. All thoughts of the blonde-haired girl were shoved aside by the sudden rush of ecstasy from the staff.
Preparation.
Sheer, raw Power lashed out from the dark being. An explosion of red, white and myriad other colors slammed into the mists, in all directions. Probing. Searching. Destroying.
Anything.
It stopped. Xir clutched the staff to his breast and was weakened again. He reexamined his surroundings, searching for a possible weakness in the barrier.
Not one.
But... it feels different. Less substantial somehow.
The dark figure drew into himself, physically curling up into a ball around his glowing tool of survival and absorbed the energy that it fed into him like another person would a fine wine. Drinking it down and reveling in its soul wrenching sweetness.
He opened his eyes again. They sparked with dark energies.
More...
He straightened out his muscular frame once again, assuming a more confident stance.
I need more...
With both hands on the staff, he drew as forcefully as he could upon the fundamental energies that allow the universe to be. He drew it in until he thought he could take in no more.
Then... he did.
YES!
As if a dam were to break or an avalanche were suddenly to fall, the Power seemed to rush into his being. More Power than he would have ever thought possible.
He howled again. The frustration was now gone, replaced by a sensation of sheer magnificence. No other word could suffice to possibly describe the feeling as Xir began to be overwhelmed by the Powers of the Universe as they used his dark form as a conduit.
Surely this must be what it is like as a God!
He howled yet again and lashed out relentlessly at his mist clouded barrier. He did not pause in his assault, expelling the energies just as quickly as they flowed into his possession.
The mists bucked and shuddered under his onslaught, but did not break.
But it will.