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The right of Sean McKeown to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of these documents may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, scanning and recording, for any purpose, without the express written consent of Sean McKeown.
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Trent felt cold, even under his woolen fur, as he blundered on through
the thickening haze of the chilly mists of Terisiare. Mistress was
following him, he knew, and it was his job to lead them both over the
ruinous landscape of old Icatia... with the blizzard coming, the already
snowy path would be treacherous. Ever since they had left the
Sisterhood, seeking news of the wizard, Trent and his mistress Gwen had
suffered the journey across the ruins in fear of the roving goblin
tribes known to have infested old Icatia after the fall of Empires. Her
full name was Gwendolyn, as well he knew, but he called her Gwen mostly
because she found it annoying. Wizards annoy easily, and sorceresses
are renowned for even shorter tempers.
Gwendolyn followed her guide with little trust, finding the troll-like
creature the Sisters had raised and trained to be duplicitous and ill
minded. Holding him on a loose leash barbed with energy of the Pure
mingled with that of Illusion, Gwendolyn knew just how tenuous her
control over him was. With too tight a leash, she feared he might seek
out goblins to rid him of her, and that if held too freely he would not
be able to hold himself to task. While Gwendolyn dared not trust this
creature the Sisters entrusted her with to further her search, perhaps
more confidence in this illusion of freedom she held over Trent than was
wise. Her faith in the goodness of the Sisterhood helped her bear the
sedge troll, knowing the Sisters would not wish to harm her or block her
in her quest. Still, the creature smacked of chaos and dark magic.
Trent searched earnestly across the landscape for signs of the goblin
scouts he knew to be around. High up in the mountains, earlier that
day, he had seen with his keen vision evidence of a goblin warrens; as
the path brought them closer, his sense of smell confirmed the fact and
added a new spring to his already-urgent step. Some footprints,
perhaps, lay in front of them... with the fine frost, he would have to
wait until he got closer in their approach to tell if they were
footprints at all, much less Goblin or Human. He hoped it to be the
latter, a Knight patrolling the frontier, rather than goblins; away from
his ancestral marshes, the goblins could overwhelm and harm him swiftly.
With a sudden urgency, he led his mistress with greater speed. "Gwen,
milady, I think there be goblins ahead. I saw tracks. Best we see with
haste, eh," he called back in the wind. "Best not be caught unawares,
if trap it be."
"Yes, yes. And call me by my proper name, Trent, or it'll be less food
when we rest," she replied, a sigh in her voice. Withholding food from
her guide would be cruel, and as a noble adept of the Pure she could not
do so, she wouldn't think of it unless she restricted herself as well.
But he doesn't know that, she thought to herself with an inward smile.
For the last week, since they set out for old Havenwood, he had insisted
on calling her Gwen... hope that he might take her wishes to heart was
fading, but she still knew some tricks. He seems to be a good guide, at
least; she took his advice tempered with her own knowledge.
The pair broke into a staggered run, keeping low to the ground, Trent
leading the way along the paths of old. Gwendolyn wore a furred white
cloak of Elvish cut atop her sorceress's simple garments, and her pack
had been dyed white to help obscure her in the growing winter. Trent,
however, could not disguise his rusty hues so easily on the open plain;
he had refused the offer of a white travelling cloak before leaving the
Sisters. Gwendolyn carried it in her pack, as well as much else they
would need: ancient maps unearthed by the scholars of Argive, three
week's rations, simple tools and other necessities. Her pack was
lighter than she might have liked, but she had to trust in her ability
to call for tools through the mana lines.
"Bad smell. Orcs have passed here," Trent called back on the wind.
Gwendolyn searched the horizon, her magical senses searching for traces
of the foul beasts. Trent's pace increased again, and Gwendolyn
struggled with uneven breaths, the chill air lancing pain deep into her
chest as her stiff muscles tried to keep up to the troll's hobble.
Passing a bank of snowdrifts, Gwendolyn and Trent saw that the sighted
tracks were not, as Gwendolyn had hoped, from a mounted knight. The
campgrounds looked to have been used by a small raiding party of
Goblins, and upon further examination of the site, an Orc was with them,
most likely as a prisoner to be returned to the Mountain King. Trent
sniffed around the smothered remains of a campfire, returning to
Gwendolyn's side with hurried whispers.
"False-tracks lead to the plateaus to the west, oy. Real-tracks,
masked by makers, lead same way as us: south. Little-vermin, goblins,
these be... big-vermin also, as prisoner or sacrifice," the troll
whispered, head huddled next to that of his crouching mistress.
Gwendolyn began to rummage through her pack, removing the map of
Icatia, and the white cloak. Huddling over the map, her thin frame and
billowing cloak protecting it from the light snow, Gwendolyn traced
their path, and the boundaries of the mountain-tribes of goblins.
Tracing the old King's Road on the outskirts of Icatia, and the warrens
of the Goblin Kings, the need for alertness and stealth became obvious.
With a raiding party around, the goblin scouts would be further from
their normal posts to ward off a counterstrike from the orcish nations.
They might have to fight to get past, but Gwendolyn would not fight
until all other options had been revoked.
"Trent, the goblins will be out in force these days. We'll have to be
stealthy, and careful, or else we'll have to fight them," she whispered
to her squatting companion. "I want you to wear the cloak the Sisters
made for you, so they won't see us in the snowfall. Please, Trent, put
it on."
Taking the folded cloak from her, sniffing it warily, Trent answered.
"Since so pretty-like you ask, Gwen, me'll put up with it..." his voice
rising and falling with a child-like singsong. "Still wanna bosh
goblins though."
Thumping his chest in a show of pride in strength, Gwendolyn struggled
to tie the cloak around his neck and fasten the front from the wind.
Cut to fit his short, stocky body, the robe would have looked
preposterous on any human. But the cloak was fashioned upon elvish
designs, as was hers, and masked his form well in the mist and snow.
Pulling the hood upon his head, he flashed an impish grin at Gwendolyn,
his protruding incisors reminding her again of his nature and origin.
After a brief, cold meal, the pair left southwards under cover of
darkness. Unbeknownst to them, they had already been spotted by a
goblin scout.
Mrrhg the goblin scout, after he had sighted the pair of travelers in
his King's territory, followed them to the goblin campsite his brother
Errhg and his Goblin Raiders had stopped at the night previous. The
party of 8 Raiders, an Orcish warrior as their prisoner, had broken off
into six guards for the prisoner and two rear-scouts to cover their
return to the King Upon The Mountain. Mrrhg covered their western
flank, a day's journey behind the band, with the Goblin Hero Bl'aat
rearguard upon their eastern side. Now, with a possible danger upon his
squad of raiders, Mrrhg raced across the permafrost to his warrens...
not through loyalty to King or family, but out of fear that the
travelers might attack him. Wanting to be safe from intruders, as well
as out of this infernal, eternal cold, Mrrhg's feet kept him going long
after the strength to continue had left him.
After hours of long travel, the Moon and her Companion rising across
the nighttime sky as a glow amid the haze, Mrrhg passed the raider
squad's campsite. Panting and wheezing for breath, his weak frame
racked with chill and exhaustion, he slowed to a more reasonable pace,
confident that the intruders would find them a bigger threat than just
himself. He circled to the south, approaching the low campfire from the
homeward side to avoid being skewered by an otherwise friendly spear.
The orc lay unconscious amid the circle of goblins. Errhg and three of
his other warriors slept around the small fire-pit, and in the gloom
Mrrhg could see the beady eyes of another goblin, standing watch over
the sleeping party and their captured foe. Another watch would be
further out, on a hilltop, scanning for incoming threats from their
northern and western sides. A low growl froze Mrrhg in his tracks, in
time to avoid that spear-point he was so worried about.
"Who's on watch, sir? It just be me, Mrrhg, with news from the North. We be followed!"
"I be Flaut. What news brings you running to the safety of your
brother's arms? Chased by a goat, perhaps," the strong goblin said,
bringing himself into the circle of light. Fiercest of his brother's
goblin warriors, his scarred face bore many marks from fallen Orcs, and
brought a new chill to Mrrhg.
"A female human, and she be with a troll for companion. A day's
travels behind, if time be as I guess," Mrrgh said, crawling closer to
the fire and a small iron pot, the party's meal for the night.
"Describe the wo-man, runt. Is she of the Knights?"
"Nay, she travels light and without sword. In an Elfish fashion."
"And she and her beast have stopped for the night?"
"Yes, not far from the last campsite."
"Go, sleep, rest from your travels, runt. In the morning, we will
prepare for her," Flaut commanded. While Flaut settled back into the
shadows, for the last watch over the Orc, Mrrhg opened his pack and
removed his bedroll, settling close to the fire.
A wicked smile crossed Flaut's face, as the beginnings of an idea
entered his mind. Visions of reward and glory flashed before his eyes
as he considered how to catch the human and her companion, suitable
prisoners to present to his King.
Gwendolyn awoke with a start, the light of the rising sun creeping over
snow-capped hills to shine into her eyes. Sitting up straight in her
bedroll, she reached for the calm center inside herself and touched the
magic of the Pure, feeling outwards for the wards she placed around the
hillock. With a calming touch, she knew they were left alone, nothing
had approached in the night.
Or left, for that matter. Her reach left the wards, turning instead to
the chain of Pure and Illusion that helped keep Trent by her side.
Gwendolyn was actually beginning to like him, if not trust him.
I think I might actually like the little scamp, she
thought to herself. A child-like innocence surrounds him, masking the
blights of his origins. The Sisters have done well by teaching him.
Still blinking the sleep from her eyes, she turned to look for him.
Dimly focusing, she saw him sitting around the beginnings of a fire-pit,
building a ring of stones. Finally, she fumbled out of the warm
bedroll, into the chilly morning air, and fished a breakfast's worth of
rations out of her pack for the both of them.
Trent saw his mistress rise, and turned towards her. "G'mornin',
Gwen... breakfast?" he said. She sat down next to him, glad that he had
cleared the snow from around the pit. At least she wouldn't get wet and
feel miserable while she was awake, too.
A barb of Pure mana started a warm glow inside the fire-pit, a magical
smokeless fire to warm their bodies and their spirits. She set down a
wrapped package, the day's rations for the two travelers. Inside was
dried venison and brown bread, being eagerly shuffled around by the
troll's chubby fingers; he ate a large portion of the meat, and a good
deal of the dried beans at the bottom of the wayfarer's packet.
Gwen started munching on the dry bread, taking mouthfuls of snow to
wash it down. She ate little of the meat; unless she hunted the beast
herself, more than just a small portion of it would disrupt her gift for
the Pure. She left some for later, and gave an extra stick of the jerky
to the troll. She put some beans into her hand, to snack on as they
walked south, and neatly folded the rest of the package to save for
later.
"I slept well enough, thank you," she replied. "And you? I hope your
confidence in my wards has grown, so you can rest at night?" Trent
didn't think much of her magical talent, ever since an elk had stumbled
into their camp four nights previous. Some creatures just didn't grasp
the strengths and the limitations of the Pure without condescension.
"Well enough, methinks... I didn't have t'share me bed tonight!" he
cackled back, trying to goad his mistress.
The light jab at her unacknowledged, his face drew into a frown and his
tone settled into seriousness. "What say you, milady Gwen, of our
travels south? Ambush, mayhap, if scouts the little-vermin post to spy
us," the troll said amicably, trying to get Gwendolyn to break her
silence. "Hide we may try, but it'll be a boshing if us's spotted."
A serene smile lit upon Gwendolyn's face, and her gaze turned skywards.
"But you don't havta worry, Gwen, those goblin vermin'll get boshed
good, boshed so's they won't cross paths with Trent the Troll again!"
her companion continued, an air of false bravado entering his voice.
Her eyes lost focus, and the touch of her magic flew outwards from
her in great circles. She felt him! After these long years, finally,
she knew that he was somewhere nearby. A voice unheard haunted her
mind, almost language but not quite... Elric's voice, but not words,
emotions. Her wounds freshened as never before, sorrow filled her
heart; but hope greater than before swiftly replaced it, she had never
before been within reach of him!
Abruptly, the sensing was over, as if a door between her and her true
love was thrown shut.
Finally, her gaze leveled upon him once again, Gwendolyn spoke. "Oh,
Trent, he's near! The quest is ending, at last, I've felt it," she
spurted out, her voice lilting in the frosty breeze. "South it is, and
the goblins be damned!"
Her hands extinguishing the fire, she took up her pack with renewed
vigor, only a slight grumbling from her stomach bringing her mind to the
present again. "We'll move along the path, as stealthily as we can
manage in the fresh snow. If the goblins have a quarrel with us, I am
sure my skills can keep us all from harm's way. Let us be off, my
friend!"
"Off it is, then, Gwen," Trent announced, a wide grin upon his face
at his little joke. When it came to jokes that amused only himself,
Trent seemed to have no end.
Gwendolyn turned southwards, and with a flick of the Pure she
disenchanted the knoll around them. At once, a light snow began to fall
on them, now that they were unprotected by her wards. With a steady
pace, she led her companion off upon the trail, resuming the quest to
find the Ebon Stronghold. The duo hunched low, to blend in with the
terrain, and set their pace for the day's walking. For hours, it would
be only foot after weary foot of wallowing in snowdrifts.
At noon, the snow finally stopped falling on the two travelers.
Gwendolyn felt cold, tired, and waterlogged from trudging about the
frozen scrublands. Trent felt as if his body was slowly turning into
ice, but with a troll's stubbornness he pushed forward, leading his
mistress along the path. Their spirits were low, in their own private
misery; Gwendolyn's elation at her sensing this morning had already
faded to a distant memory.
Finally, it became too much to bear lightly. "Trent, let's stop and
warm up for a bit, this cold is getting to me," Gwendolyn called out.
Her companion turned wordlessly from his path, heading up to the hills,
out of sight to any passerbys.
Miserable, Gwendolyn caught up with Trent before he reached the crest
of the hill. She touched her gift, reaching out with Illusion to cast
the snow from the low hill. A barb of Pure shot out, raging barely
under control in front of the Trent and Gwendolyn.
After a minute, a wave of warmth brought into being by Gwendolyn's
magic and will passed soothingly over her. With a flush of relief, she
sunk to her knees in the softened, soggy loam, her cloak slipping from
her shoulders. The heat grew, her desire for it building it into a
solid, palpable thing in the air around her. When finally she felt like
a human being again, she let the heat dissipate back into the air around
her, her hold upon the sparking ball of Pure firming, shaping the rough
projection to its proper shape and subduing the light produced by it.
With her warming task completed, she released her hold upon the gift,
allowing reality and sensation to return. That reality was worse than
she had thought it could possibly have become in just a minute...
Trent stood in front of the warming mana channeled by his mistress,
gladly feeling the chill in his bones receding. He set himself to
scanning their surroundings, searching for tracks in the recent powdery
snow. He and Gwendolyn had kept away from the old King's Road,
following a frozen riverbed southwards, keeping in the general direction
of Havenwood and the Elves that lived there without making their passage
noticeable to the goblin parties they knew to be in the area. To the
east, he saw the Road, snaking around the numerous snow-covered
hilltops; any tracks upon the road had been long covered by the falling
snow. To the north and west strung the mountain chains of Dwarven
legend, home now only to the tribes of Orcs and Goblins that now
overruns the land, continuing to the horizon as far as his sharp eyes
could see.
Content in their safety, Trent relaxed, rubbing his hands up and down
his body to enliven his numb limbs. Grunting with contentment at the
spreading warmth, he suddenly sensed a threat.
Trent snapped around, scanning the hillsides for movement with his
hawklike gaze. Gwendolyn, standing aloof while working her magic upon
herself and the hillside, moaned lightly behind him; Trent heard nothing
else to back up his call to alertness. But, like a buzzing in the back
of his skull, his animal instincts told him that someone was about.
"Gwen, there be trouble brewin'," Trent said. No reaction at all from
his companion added to the eerie feeling gnawing at his guts. The hairs
on the back of his neck began to rise up, and he began bristling at the
long shadows cast by Gwendolyn's glowing orb. "There're Goblins, it's
t'be a boshing!"
A sudden sputter from the magical flames twisted the shadows around,
and out of the corner of his eye he saw a gleam in the changing light.
His natural instincts took over, and he loosed himself in a rage at
where he supposed his enemies to be.
Trent's trollish battle-cry split the silence of the air, finally
bringing Gwendolyn to her senses. The goblin raiding party revealed
themselves around the duo, and Trent threw his considerable weight at
the largest foe in sight, a burly goblin with a grim, scarred face.
While Trent didn't have a weapon, such as the goblins with their swords,
he wasn't worried much... he was the weapon.
Fangs, claws, and muscle made him a natural fighter; his almost rocky
hide his best defense.
Trent struck his foe, a mighty roar still issuing from his snarled
lips. The two fell to the snowy ground and began to slide down the
slope of the hill, Flaut's sword ripped from his strong fingers by the
raging sedge troll. The pair wrestling all the way down, neither
noticed much of their descent, so intent were they upon the gruesome
face of their foe and the twists of their dance of death.
Gwendolyn caught her composure as more of the party surrounded her,
choking back the instinctual fear she felt at being so outnumbered. She
ceded the offensive to the goblins immediately, instead turning to
defending herself and her companion. Through long experience, she
swiftly collected her mana lines and raised defenses out of the ether of
the planes, inscribing around herself a circle of protection against the
goblinish attackers.
Safe from immediate harm, Gwendolyn took stock of their situation.
Seeing that she was a wielder of mana, the goblins mostly encircled her;
she drew the attention of three goblin warriors. Trent, almost out of
her line of sight at the bottom of the hillock, wrestled with an
unusually large goblin, and seemed to be winning, holding his opponent
in a death-grip by the neck. Another strong-armed goblin, armed with a
short serrated sword like his companions just beyond the realm of
Gwendolyn's circle, was heading down to aid his fellow. An oddity
caught Gwendolyn's attention through magical sensing, as she could not
see the three that were acting most peculiarly.
Gwendolyn cast a quick enchantment upon the goblin approaching Trent's
fight, temporarily pacifying the goblin raider. She started following
her magical sensing, seeking out the trio lurking under cover upon the
next hill. The Circle of Protection followed her, pushing away the
fierce-looking goblins in front of her. With a rush of Illusion, she
hovered over to the next hilltop, eyes searching every detail of its
crest.
Lighting down upon the hill, Gwendolyn got a good look at what puzzled
her so much. Two more Raiders kept guard over a severely bruised and
beaten Orcish prisoner, of more normal stature than their companions.
Gwendolyn recaptured her instincts again, the curiosity momentarily
solved. If possible, she would free the Orc from his bondage, although
she could guess what appreciation he might show her; Goblins and Orcs
hated Humans almost as much as they hated each other, human wizards
especially for the control they could wield over the members of their
tribes.
Gwendolyn turned towards the commotion behind her, to see the five
goblins trying to overwhelm Trent at the hollow between the two hills.
The scar-faced goblin lay still, most likely killed by her burly guide.
The others encircled him, rushing at him and dodging his blows,
including the one she had ensorcelled.
Her travels reminded her of a fact: some goblin tribes had in their
employ Goblin wizards, aberrant creatures only vaguely trained in the
use of magics. They could bind warriors to protect them from the
casting of certain spells, 'how could I have
forgotten?' she cursed herself. She knew how; she was a
warrior by training only, not by birth. Frenzied, she dived to protect
her companion.
Blood lay thickly around Trent as he thrashed at the goblins, running
the snow red around him. The blood was both theirs and his, he had
clubbed and clawed and killed the goblins as they came at him, but their
poisoned blades had already hamstrung him. He called out to his
mistress for the tenth time, a scream of "Gwendolyn!" that curdled the
blood with his insistent need. He grabbed
the head of the nearest goblin to his right, brutally gouging the
goblin's eyes as his jaws clenched around the sniveler's head. Blood
flowed into his mouth, and he heard a sickening yet satisfying
crunch as he crushed the goblin's head.
He felt a searing touch and cried out in pain as Gwendolyn fell out
of the sky beside him. Luckily, the goblins were feeling the same pain,
and were repulsed by Gwendolyn's circle of protection. Through the
blood flowing into his eyes, not all of it his own, he saw that
Gwendolyn was mostly unhurt. Such was the luck of being a spellcaster.
Gwendolyn called through the mana lines, seeking a spell to make the
goblins go away and forget about them. There was no need to kill them,
if they could reasonably avoid it. Unfortunately, the dead and injured
goblins would be a severe complication, especially since these goblins
obviously had a goblin wizard in their employ. While thinking, she cast
healing spells at Trent to close his wounds. The goblins circled
nervously, testing the limits of her circle, trying to break through it.
One tried to throw a dagger at her, but the blade was deflected by her
magic; the circle was strong.
She concentrated on the task at hand; there must be a spell. Amnesia
is too strong, coercion too noticeable. Suddenly, and much to her
surprise and distress, the "task at hand" became something else.
With a sharp crack, the air around Gwendolyn and Trent was rent
asunder, tearing apart the Circle of Protection with the magic of Chaos.
Gwendolyn had severely underestimated these foes; the goblin wizard was
not only in their employ, but was with their raiding party. She cast
frantically about her, conjuring into being walls and defenses to
separate them while she regained control of their situation.
"Trent, they've got a wizard with them..." Gwendolyn told her
companion, heaving with his exertions. A grim expression crossed her
face as she tried to smile weakly at the troll, to reassure him of her
ability. The last thing she would need now would be for her guide to
bolt on her...
"Oy'll bosh him first den," Trent growled, a feral sound from deep
within his throat. "Wot's the plan den?" he asked.
Gwendolyn noted how his language had degenerated as the animal within
took hold over his actions, filing it at the back of her mind for later
analysis. Again, the wave of chaos flooded around them, dissolving the
walls and enchantments of the Pure she had laid around them; the chaos
struck like a blow but abated swiftly, dissolving into nothingness along
with her magic.
Gwendolyn remembered her masters' words, and shifted her tack.
'If one magic fails, try another facet. While one offers
strength, many offers versatility', old Riback used to
say, before he left her and Elric on their own.
"The plan is to keep them as far away from us as possible, then
disappear. Does that suit you?"
"I'll deal," he said, eyeing the rushing goblins warily. He fell
into a fighting stance to face their impact.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Just stay close!" Gwendolyn
answered, cutting her words sharply as she sent the magic of Illusion
about her, to manipulate the scene of the battle with her very thoughts.
A duel sphere rose up around her, encapsulating the pair in a shimmering
bubble of Gwendolyn's own life energies, projected outwards to ward
magical attacks. She cast spells at lightning speed, thrusting off the
raiding party with the power of telekinesis.
The trick would be to find which goblin was the wizard, and kill him so
they could move on doing the least harm.
Plut, King's Wizard, sent his fellow raiders on the attack against the
she-mage. His spells of anarchy had torn through her defenses, but were
doing little now to pierce the spells she was using to repel the
warriors. From what he knew of human tactics, she would be looking for
him now, trying to see who it was that broke her spells.
His plan, as he had been running it according to the King's custom, was
to make sure she couldn't pinpoint the wizard among them. All the
warriors, himself included, had been warded against some of her magics,
and being a strong goblin by any standards he joined wholeheartedly in
their attack against her.
Plut charged with sword in hand and Mrrgh at his side. With a flank
charge, they split up and thrust at her side. As he had hoped, the
she-mage thrust away Mrrgh first with her power. With a wicked cry, he
slashed his sword within her mage's sphere, catching a body full force
with the point. His sword, unlike the others, was not only poisoned but
enchanted, able to pass through the barriers of wizards. He grinned as
the mage threw him, this time more agitated than before.
Sailing full-force away from his prey, thrown high into the air and at
great speed, Plut cast a simple counter-spell to let him fall to the
snow at mere bone-jarring speed. Although his body was aching with a
sharp pain, he was happy... that pain meant he had struck true. He
limped back towards the western ring of the field of battle, where the
rest of the raiding party made plays and feints to pass the time until
he and his enchanted sword returned to attack again. He called to them
in his native tongue, gibbering at them to parry with the wizard.
The sky lightened despite the snowfall, to a searing intensity. The
last thing Plut saw was a face within the sizzling sky, as a thousand
sparks of righteous fury exploded inside and all around him. He could
cast no spell to protect himself from the wrath of God...
Sean McKeown
[email protected]