Cry of the night bird

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair. Their stealthy approach is foiled and they find themselves best from all sides...

Merrick held his staff level with his shoulders, stretched out like a horizontal battering ram. His cry of fear and rage and desperation echoed through the valley. His staff tore off the heads of the disgusting creatures in his way or split through the rotting skulls like they were made of oatmeal. I slipped on the residue of those horrid, once dead creatures, my stomach contorting like a trapped hare. All around, I saw reaching arms, gnarled fingers and snarling faces under blank, dripping eyes. The smell of death was so thick and foul I could taste the dirt and rot. I hacked, gagged, slipped and hacked again.

A bony hand grabbed me from behind and I shrieked, but then the night was pierced by the shrill cry of the night bird and the thing was lifted away and tossed among its shuffling counterparts. I paused only long enough to glimpse the sleek shape of the gigantic bird, its talons dripping with gore, as it soared overhead and then dove back into the melee.

We made slow progress, but soon the wall of the mountain was ahead of us. The black opening beckoned, a chill rift in the ancient stone. Wind that I could not otherwise feel howled about its opening--it had to be wind, didn't it? What else would it be? I fought back that panic. Steady yourself, woman, I chided myself. You'll be better protected once you're in the cavern, with your stout friends near you and less space for these creatures to grab you. Only a few more feet...

Broo Fang Tane was already there. His eyes were wide, gloved fists coated with mottled flesh and spikes of bone. His tunic was torn and he arms scraped, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. A smaller shape shuffled forth--it might have been a child, or a woman of Irfish blood--and reached for him with long, sharp fingernails, but Tane's heel burst its skull and sent it tumbling.

Seymurh was nearby. The flung bodies told that tale. They were hurled from his maces like mangled fruit from a catapult, propelled from the force of maces wielded by his prodigious strength. He was singing, I think. That, or he had something stuck in his throat. It was difficult to tell. He grinned as he parted the wall of the undying with a mighty swipe that sent broken bodies sprawling. He wasn't breathing hard and his mail appeared intact. Sweat ran from his bald head. He looked like a child at play.

We huddled at the entrance, our backs pressed together. Seymuhr and Merrick faced what was left of the horde. Tane and were positioned on either side. My lungs were on fire and my arms ached. I didn't think I could hold my knife or sword upright.

"That thinned their ranks a bit," Merrick said between gasps. "It appears there is a limit to them."

"And to me," I responded. "I...don't know how much longer I can hold on."

"You may not have to," Merrick said. "See? They hesitate. They hold back."

Indeed, the remaining creatures swayed in place, but did not advance to force us into the cavern. It was as if some wall we could not see held them where they were. They reached out, their ruined voices emitted tortured sounds, but they came no closer.

Seymuhr flicked the last remnants of torn flesh from his maces. "Perhaps the dead can still learn."

"Let's hope," I panted. "There may be hope for you yet." He chuckled at that and I marveled at my sudden ability to joke in the face of gruesome death.

We inched toward the opening in the mountain and still the creatures did not advance. I wondered, then, if we had misinterpreted their actions. Did they know fear? Perhaps the horrors that lay in the darkness beyond took root even in their wasted, rotten brains? What hope did we have, then, if the black power of the mountain witch was such that it tainted the souls of...the soulless?

Suddenly, my own feet felt like lead. I didn't want to move, either. My companions crept into the cold darkness and I reluctantly followed. The wind howled anew, but again I felt no breeze.

The slow, dark journey

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair...

Suddenly, we were alone. Broo-Fang Tane had melted into the shadows nearly as quickly as we had decided on our course of action. I could still see Seymuhr's squat, lumbering form as he crept down into the gloom. He had a mace in either hand, although they had been darkened with dirt to conceal them. I wondered, briefly, if that precaution was necessary: did the undead things lurking below us care about such things? Would they pounce on shiny objects like bored kittens? I doubted it. Soon, he was lost to view, as well.

Merrick tapped my shoulder and gave me a grim smile and a shrug. I bowed with a sweep of my hand in a universal "after you" gesture. We both clipped from our hiding place at the same time, however, me with a short knife clutched under a fold in my shirt and he with both hands on his staff. He held it at the ready, not like a walking stick. The sounds gurgling from ravaged throats surrounded us and my eyes stung with the stench of rotting bodies. I had thought my time with Seymuhr had killed any sense of smell, but apparently it had not. I lifted my shirt up over my nose, but that thin barrier didn't help.

We felt a sudden gust as a huge shape glided over our heads. We both looked up and I nearly shouted in surprise. A huge bird soared gracefully above us, circling the valley as if on the hunt. Baram, I suspected, under the grip of her woodland magic. We were fortunate to find such an ally.

We made our way through the shifting shadows, contorting our bodies to stay out of reach of the grasping dead and careful not to stumble into their path. Abilene had her grotesque sentries placed well. We had to take frequent stops and make an occasional backtrack as we made our way to the dark opening at the base of the valley. Sweat soaked through my shirt, my throat was dry and a maddening itch had started just above my left eye, but I was too scared to scratch it. I felt that every step would be our undoing, every extra movement would give us away. I felt the weight of my traveling stone resting between my breasts, a cool stone that offered escape should things go badly. We moved so slowly I feared the dawn would come and reveal us. My knees ached from the effort of our slow, careful journey.

Down near the base we heard a soft thump and a muffled curse, followed by the rattle of loose rock. Merrick and I froze. My breath caught in my throat. I could feel my heart jumping like an ensnared rabbit. Around us the dead things halted and stayed in place for a few long seconds, swaying like reeds. I looked wildly at Merrick, who grimaced at me in return. Where were Seymuhr and Tane? How close were they? We were achingly far from the bottom of the hill, surrounded by the decaying creatures that Abilene's vile magic and brought back to sad form of life. A desperate glance confirmed my fears: we where in the center of the bowl. We would have to fight our way out, whether we went forward, back, east or west.

A growl close to my ear made me yelp and ended our stealthy attack. As one, the shambling things lurched in our direction. I grabbed the knife in my left hand and pulled my sword.

"Bones of Barnok! We are discovered!" I shouted. Merrick cursed and, with a glance over his shoulder beckoned me to follow him. He held his staff horizontally in front of him as he charged, howling with fury and fear. I jumped into his wake. The sounds of battle filled the air: Seymuhr, laying waste with his heavy maces, Tane's bizarre, high-pitched staccato cries and, overhead, the sharp piercing scream of the nightbird.

I could find no voice. I lowered my head and ran in Merrick's shadow.

A plan of battle

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair...

Night fell, and I found the darkness even more terrifying. The sky was enshrouded by a thick blanket of clouds that made the valley below as black as a put. We could still hear the dead shuffling in their tireless pattern and hear the terrible, mournful sounds that gurgled forth from their ruined throats. I strained to see and thought my eyes would pop out of my skull.

"I still say we should leave, go to the nearest city and come back with an army," I hissed. "Our task seems no easier now--just the opposite."

We had stayed hidden throughout the day while Broo Fang Tane and Baram scouted for the best possible avenue of attack and that fact alone was enough to worry me. While we sought this place out, we were continually beset by the rotting dead. Now that we were so close, they ignored us? I suspected a trap, and gave voice to my fears, but my concerns were ignored by my companions.  

"She knows we're here," I reminded them.

"Think of her as an 'it,'" Merrick answered. "De-humanize the thing you fear."

"It knows we're here," I repeated. "And that did not help, at all."

"Stay close to me," Seymurh said. His voice always sounded like he spoke through an extended belch and his whisper was like the slight scrape of stick on stone. "I will keep you safe."

"I suspect I will only slow you down." At least, that's what I hoped. Our only hope at fighting our way through a battalion of biting, grasping dead things was Seymuhr. If he went down, we would be quickly overrun and torn apart. I fingered the Traveling Stone through my shirt. It was a small smooth stone the shape of an oyster that had been worn through decades, if not centuries, of use. The potent charm imbued in it would conjure a being that would transport you anywhere in Korrin, when you rubbed the stone and spoke the word. It had been given to me several years ago by a priest in exchange for a good deed. He had warned me that all magic has its limits, all tricks had their ends and advised me to use it sparingly, lest it not be functional when I truly needed it. My companions did not know I possessed it. We had been through many struggles during our short time together, but I was not ye ready to share all my secrets.

"We will go together, and watch out for each other," Merrick said, a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I nodded.

We had decided on a three-pronged attack. Tane would slink down near the side of the mountain to the west, where he said he had discovered a very narrow and tricky crevice--perhaps the remnants of an ancient creek that had long gone dry. Seymuhr would go down the eastern slope as quietly as his short, bulky body would allow. Merrick and I would pick our way down the center of the valley, using whatever cover we could to avoid detection and destruction. Baram had simply said she would meet us near the opening and left it at that. If any of us was discovered or attacked on the way to the cave, Seymuhr would unleash his maces on the unliving enemy.

It was as good a plan as we could devise. Still my heart rattled and my chest felt tight. I gripped my knife and looked at each of my companions in turn.

"This evil has stained the land too long," Merrick reminded us. "Let us put an end to it."

The nature of peril

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now near her lair...

I stared, willing the sight below us to change. It did not. Thousands of the creatures shuffled in bizarre, erratic pattern, like drunken guards on an unsteady bridge. The opening in the mountain looked woefully far away.

"It's an army," I breathed. Merrick grunted.

"I feel a song coming on," Seymuhr said. His raspy voice held the hint of a smile.

My jaw dropped as I looked up to him. "A song!?"

He shrugged. "It's not a very happy song." He twirled one of his maces. "I'll go first."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Merrick hissed. He grabbed at Seymuhr's leg to stop the fool from charging headlong into the vast army of the dead. "Even you cannot possibly fight your way that far, through so many foes. I don't care how slow they may be. We must wait."

"I do not think they...will...pause to...relieve...themselves if tha...t...is what you..............hope," Tane said.

"It is not," Merrick said. "We must use stealth. If we cannot fight our way to our destination, we must use the terrain to conceal ourselves. And the darkness."

"What dark...n..."

"The darkness that comes after the sun sets," Merrick snapped, impatiently. "We wait for nightfall. Perhaps these creatures will move slower, or be less aware of their surroundings should the mad witch be resting."

Baram nodded. "There is some wisdom there. Perhaps the night will make our task easier."

"We don't know if this witch even rests," I put in. "She's stayed alive--we can assume--for a thousand years. She is clearly beyond the needs of mere mortals. Perhaps she is continually energized by the black magic that she devoted her life to."

Merrick nodded. "Obviously she knows we are coming. How else could we explain the attacks in the forest? Still, I believe our best path to victory begins in the dead of night."

That was a poor choice of words, I didn't say. We crawled back from the lip of the valley and discussed our plan. Something was gnawing at me, some vague unsettled feeling, but I could not articulate it. I didn't know if it originated in the nature of our peril, how hopeless our task appeared to be, or something more serious. I neglected to give voice to my uncertain fear because I didn't want to earn the scorn or derision of Seymuhr. Instead, I tried to absorb some of his confidence.

We decided to seek a better route into the cave and dispatched Broo Fang Tane and Baram to find one. They could move more quickly and quietly than any of us, and we no doubt be even more effective when not encumbered by the rest of our group. Tane slipped off to the east while Baram went west--one moment she was there, giving me a nod of reassurance, and the next she was gone, swallowed by the forest she called home. I searched the trees for a glimpse of her, but could find none.

Merrick made no note of her abrupt departure. Seymuhr napped noisily nearby. I settled in to wait until darkfall.

Valley of Undeath

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now near her lair...

We moved quickly, then, with Broo Fang Tane leading the way. Quiet as a wraith and nimble as a hare, he seemingly danced through the forest as if knew every hidden root, tangled thicket or jutting branch. Baram kept pace easily, while Merrick and I labored. My face was awash with sweat, the wind chill on my clammy skin as I helped the larger man along. His breath came in ragged gasps and his face was alarmingly red. Behind us, Seymurh moved casually, swinging his maces to dispatch the random undead thing that lurched out at us.

The land tilted up and I saw a break in the trees ahead. The mountain loomed, its face as gray as the sky. Clouds shrouded its peak, as was usually the case, but these were dark, darker than nearly any cloud I had seen before and they appeared to be creeping down the slope. Whether it was a trick of the light or because I could not keep my gaze on it long enough to gauge for certain--or risk losing my balance in the tangled undergrowth--I do not know. I could not pause long enough to get a good look and I feared that if I fell to the ground, I would fall asleep within moments. I was exhausted.

"Mira," Merrick gasped. "Go ahead without me. I'll catch up. They'll need your eyes--and your mind--soon enough. You may save them from charging forward into a grisly fate."

"Your mind is more keen than mine," I replied. "You have the knowledge needed to end this evil. Don't you?"

"I admit, I haven't thought it out. Usually, we just go places and Seymuhr hits them until they stop."

"Oh." I looked over my shoulder and Seymuhr grinned at me, holding up a mace that was foul with shattered bone and scraps of mottled skin. "Well, perhaps that will be enough this time, too." I glanced again at the impenetrable dark cloud and had my doubts.

Ahead, Tane had reached the crest of the hill. He dropped to the forest floor, where a line of shrubs hid him from view. He motioned for the rest of us to follow suit. Baram sidled up next to him and leaned against a tree and, after a moment, became very difficult to see. I scrubbed my eyes and looked in her direction once more. If I hadn't watched her stand against the trunk, I would not have know she was there. Some type of sorcery? Merrick and I crawled up to the edge and looked down as Seymuhr did the same.

"Bones of Barnok," I breathed.

For the valley below was filled with shambling, uneven mounds. Things that had once been living creatures now stumbling erratically to and fro. At first I thought it was a random sequence but I soon saw it wasn't so. They were following--or trying to follow--some sort of pattern, shuffling to the east then making a halting turn and shuffling back to their starting point, more or less. Other limped down from a dark hole near the base of the peak, carrying rocks that they dropped without paying any attention to where they landed. The creatures were patrolling, working.

"Hits them until they stop, eh?" I whispered.

"Indeed." Merrick had regained his breath and his color returned to normal. "I don't think that's going to work this time."

The swarming dead

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, when the forest erupts with shambling, undead things...

They were numerous, but clumsy and slow. I quickly lost site of my companions, but heard their grunts as they fought. Broo Fang Tane's high-pitched war yowls spoke to the ferocity of his efforts.

Still, they came. Shambling and rotting, smelling of earth and blood and decay. My sword was free and flying, but lopping hunks of the putrid flesh didn't slow them down. I backpedaled with two of the things groping toward me, discolored nails seeking to tear my flesh. I remembered Tane's successful attach and aimed for a mottled head, instead. My blade bit deep and the thing dropped like a stack of sticks. I pried my blade free and slammed it down in the center of the second thing's forehead, splitting its skull. It toppled.

"Aim for the heads!" I shouted.

Seymuhr had already figured that out. He had a mace in each hand and fought without apparent skill, but terrible effectiveness. He flung four of the shambling unliving monstrosities aside with a sweep of his right arm and then hacked down with his left on another, a child whose ruined head already showed the imprint of a horse hoof—most likely the blow that had killed the poor thing—that had been clawing at his belt. He hit it hard enough to split it in half and put a dimple on the soft earth. He flashed me a grin, then swung again, battering more of the groping undead into piles of stinking shards of bone and rotted meat.

The smell was horrendous, even for one who had been traveling so long with Seymuhr--a man who challenged the limits of my nose even on the best of days. I kept my mouth open, but even so tears leaked down my cheeks and my stomach roiled at the cloying stench of the dead. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and looked for another monstrosity to strike down. Baram was fending three of them off, back pedaling as they closed in to make her staff ineffective. She had already dropped her bow.

I stepped up behind one of them and buried my blade in its skull, tearing it free as it dropped soundlessly to the forest floor. Another turned at me, vacant eyes covered in a green film, and I twisted my sword into its face, just above its nose. Baram ended the other with the end of her staff, then spat on it in disgust. She nodded to me and we returned to the fight.

Seymuhr was covered in the swarming dead. A creature gray skin and ropey brown hair in a filthy white dress clung to his left shoulder, its teeth trying to penetrate the thick fabric near his neck. Another form clung to his back, and its shredded fingers tore ineffectively at his forehead. Two more held his legs and attempted to pull his calves into their snapping jaws.

"Do these things make me look fat?" He snickered, shrugged them off, then buried a mace in each of their skulls.

"This is no time for humor, if that is indeed what you attempted," I snapped, then added, grudgingly. "Although I do appreciate the effort."

Merrick and Tane walked up. Merrick's breath came in heavy gasps and he wiped his dirty sword on a nearby patch of grass. Tane's smile, if it had ever left him, had returned. Both had torn clothing, but appeared otherwise uninjured. The forest had gone silent again.

"Is anyone hurt?" Merrick wheezed.
 
"I should be asking you," I said, for he appeared the most worse for wear. His hair hung in damp tangles and his face was red and gleamed with sweat. I looked him over, but saw no blood. "Do you need to rest?"

He shook his head but didn't answer right away. After a moment he stood straight, took another deep breath and planted his staff on the ground. "No. We shouldn't dally any longer than necessary. I don't think this was a random group of...of...those things. They were sent, like the others. The mountain witch knows we are coming for her."

Tane nodded. He wiped the rotting grime from his sandals with a slight grimace. "Perhaps these...attacks...are an indi...indic....in...sign that she...fears our ap...roach."

"I doubt it," Merrick said, his face set in a grim expression. "Most likely, she sends her pawns so she won't be bothered. I think she's up to some evil that surpasses her earlier crimes against humanity and nature. We must make haste; I feel more than our lives are in the balance."

He set out, huffing, but determined. One by one, we followed him. The mountain's shadow lay just ahead.

 

Footsteps of the unliving

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all...


Seymuhr lead the way in a slight crouch, a mace in each hand. Then went Baram, her short, thing sword was still in its sheath, but like Merrick she leaned on a thick staff that was just as much a weapon as it was a walking stick. Her brown hair was pulled back over her ears and tied with a thin strip of leather. Her ears twitched like a hound's at every sound. Merrick and I followed, while Tane brought up the rear, moving quickly and silently as he scanned the forest on either side and behind us.

The village quickly disappeared from view and the trees closed in. We walked in a bizarre, bright twilight--all gloom about our legs and shoulders, yet bright above the canopy of twisted trees.

"For a Trail of the...Dead, it's actually...quite....pleasant," Tane said. I glanced back, surprised to see him beaming. "We had a name....for this...at...the...Temple of the Sun," he went on.

"Foolhardy?"

Tane gave me a bland, humorless look. "No. A walk through...na...ture. It is a blessing of the soul, a way to...return to pu...ri...ty."

"Ah. I see. And if at the end of that casual stroll, you and four companions fight a horde of walking corpses and a witch who has somehow avoided death for a thousand years? Do they have a name for that?"

"In...deed they do. Foolhardy."

"I thought as much. The universal language."

Ahead, Baram hissed in warning. She had stopped, her left hand held up, and pointed ahead. Down the thin trail, two shambling forms moved. Vaguely man-like, but shrunken and stooped, they shuffled toward us. Seymuhr strolled forward. He twirled each mace before lifting them to an attack position.

I heard a rasp and a snarl beside me and jumped away from it. A shambling, rotting thing had somehow appeared nearby and I narrowly avoided its gnarled grasp. It had been a man once. Its head lilted on a broken neck and its long hair hung in thick, dirt-caked ropes. A bone jutted from its shoulder, yellowed with age and chipped. It tottered toward me and I fumbled for my blade. I felt so slow, like my fingers belonged to someone else. It was close. Rot filled my nostrils, earthy and sweet. Its jaws opened, sending a long, fat insect scurrying toward the darkness near the back of its throat.

With a throaty, high-pitched shout, Tane was in the air. His sandaled foot crashed into the soft skull of the creature, breaking it free. It toppled as my blade came loose. Tane had already recovered. His fists raised, he crouched beside me as the forest came alive with more shuffling, rotting shapes. I heard Baram grunt as she fought off the unliving adversaries that reached for her. Merrick's sword landed in the skull of another. Beyond the trees, more shapes moved, lurching toward us on unsteady, broken limbs. The soft rasp that emanated from ruined throats grew to a crescendo as the rotting things moved inexorably closer.

My heart raced. I could see no escape.

We were surrounded.

Trail of the dead

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. After a brief, violent encounter, they set out again

"Trail of the dead," I repeated.

The villager nodded and pointed toward the looming mountain range. "It's hard to miss."

"I imagine it would be," I muttered. I looked at my companions. They were all grim-faced, ready to take up--and perhaps complete--our quest.

"It is probably not as bad as it sounds," Seymuhr might had comforted me if his voice was not so raspy.

"Oh, you have experience with them?"

"Aye," he said and broke into a chuckle, "although not in following them. I usually leave trails of dead behind me, I do."

Of course. I shook my head. I had probably walked into that one.

"Well, let's be off, then," Merrick said. "We still have plenty of light left in this day, and this trail should be easy enough to follow."

I nodded. I would have liked to stay the night in the small village, to feel the comfort of walls and the heat of a fire for a night, at least, but Broo Fang Tane's recent actions would have made such a request awkward, if not outright offensive. I looked for the little monk and saw him helping Lobern out of the tavern. the wounded villager was unsteady on his feet, and Tane had him under one arm. A plump woman supported his other side. She wore a forced smile, but tears glistened on her cheeks.

"Do you think it will heal?" Lobern poked gently at the skin under his now-empty eye socket.

"Probab...ly....not," Tane said in his usual lilting way. "I aaaaa.......am sorry."

"His eyes were what drew me to him," the plump woman confided to me. "They were so dark, like a cave, yet filled with kindness. I still have one to gaze into, do I not?" Tears leaked anew.

"You do indeed," I answered with what I hoped was a sympathetic expression. I tried to come up with some additional words of comfort, but failed. "And it's a nice one, indeed." I turned away, coloring at my clumsy effort to soothe the woman. 

Preparations were swift. Before another hour had passed, we were well stocked with provisions: skins filled with water and wine, sturdy packs filled with smoked spider meat--given despite my objections.

"I noticed some cattle nearby," I asked. "Might you have any smoked beef, instead?"

"Whatever for?" The tavernkeeper answered. 

"I've just grown a bit weary of spider meat, is all. Surely, you could spare some of your bovine bounty?"

"What?"

"Your cows. Salted beef or smoked beef? We are, after all, putting our lives in danger to save your village..."

The tavern keeper grunted and nodded to Lobern, half-blind and still unsteady on his feet. Tane's other attacker still lay inside, barely breathing. "We've paid that toll already, methinks."

I started to point out that his companions had started that bizarre fight, but thought better of it. I was probably only wasting time. Seymuhr hiked the limb-filled pack further up on his back--he was already gnawing on a crispy, hairy leg--and said very well in a small voice.

The innkeeper clapped his hands. "Excellent. Spider is better for you, anyway. Very rich. It'll put meat on your bones no matter what--not that you need any help in that area, mi'lady."

"Of course." I pressed my lips together and ignored Seymuhr's chuckle.

Merrick clapped me on the back and headed off into the woods where we would find the trail of death, follow it to the mountain and meet the ageless witch Abilene at long last.

The Mountain Witch's Reach

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. They approach a small village in hopes of news, information or, at least, a hot meal.


Then, a small group of villagers show up and push a little too far...


Everyone was silent for a moment. The newcomer's eyes widened in shock and fear when he saw the carnage that Tane had just unleashed upon the tavern. He swallowed and edged back toward the door.


"What sort of help?" Baram's soothing voice cut the tension. She stood next to Broo Fang Tane, her right hand resting gently on the smaller man's left shoulder.


"You had best speak up, and speak quickly," Merrick suggested. "I am not certain that my companion's thirst for vengeance has been slaked."


"Ayuh," Seymuhr put in with a slight chuckle. "It's unlike him to stop at two."


"We...we...mean no harm, none of us do--even they didn't if I'm allowed a guess. We have always welcomed strangers to our lands, for they bring news of Korin, different goods to trade, or skills."


"Your wel...come leaves somethi...ng to be de................sired," Tane spoke for the first time since his violent outburst and his voices was a soft and lilting as I had ever heard it. He flexed his fingers and shook a few drops of blood from his knuckles.


"Understood," the villager said. "Understand this: we are bewitched. An evil has been spreading slowly from the mountain; we thought it was like a rain cloud--it would pass on its own, or be convinced to move off with a few sacrifices to Mikkikken. All that's done is waste a few good steers and a handful of goats."


"Mikkikken has always been an unpredictable goddess," I murmured. She ruled over the skies in some parts of Korin, but I had not thought her reach had extended as far west as we were.


"This goes beyond the fussy temperament of the weather goddess," he went on. "For the cows, goats, chickens, ducklings, elk--all we left on the altar stone to appease her--they all came back. Not blown by some errant wind or carried by some gruesome prankster. They walked back, unsteady as drunken irfs, empty of life but blazing with hatred."


"Hard to blame them," Seymuhr said. "If there is such a creature as a willing sacrifice, I've not met it."


I glared at him. "You miss the point, as usual," I snapped. 


"Oh? If I were entertaining friends, I'd take care to note their tastes in food before I invited them to supper. Perhaps, since these good people are trying to appease the divine mistress of the winds and hail, they should have thought to ask her what she was hungry for."


He turned back to the crowd of villagers at the door. "That's why I don't believe in sacrifices. Too much guesswork."


I ignored him. "The point is," I said, extending the word and putting an extra emphasis on it, "our goals may be the same and our enemy, a common one."


"We seek the Mountain Witch," Merrick affirmed. He had bandaged Lobern's eye socket as well as he could, and helped Gorb up onto a bench. "She has created a great and powerful evil and blight on the land, and we would end it."


"Oh. Well. Good. That's good. That's what I was going to ask. Makes losing an eye seem like a small cost, eh, Lobern?"


Lobern, who had just regained his wits, flashed the man a rude gesture.


"Indeed, we had come to this place in hopes of finding news of this witch, and perhaps a clue to her location."


"Well, we can give you more than a clue," he said. "We can take you there. I think. Lobern here has been there before--so many times, in fact, that he could probably find it with one eye closed...." he trailed off, embarrassed and looked to his feet.


"Depending on the eye, now," Seymuhr chortled.


I shook my head.


"That won't be necessary," Merrick said. "This poor fellow has suffered enough. Can you draw us a map?"


"You won't need a map," the man replied. "You can just follow the trail of the dead."

Down on maim street

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. They approach a small village in hopes of news, information or, at least, a hot meal.

Then, a small group of villagers show up and push a little too far...


As his high-pitched growl reached a crescendo, Broo Fang Tane spun, tore out his tormentor's eye, held it high, crushed it on the table in front of him and then crammed the shattered orb back into the ruined socket with the heel of his hand. Each separate action was punctuated by a bizarre war cry, and all three completed before the man had a chance to scream.


And scream he did: a shrill wail of pain, shock and fear. Lobern staggered and clapped a hand over the wound, his remaining eye wide with horror. Blood leaked between his fingers. He opened his mouth to scream anew, but Tane silenced him with a swift kick that sent him sprawling.


"Was it worth it?!?" Tane shouted to the other two. Veins stood out on his forehead and neck. His eyes blazed with fury and his cheeks were red with rage. "Are you laughing now??"


Gorb had frozen in place. He started to back away, but Tane was on him, pounding his trunk with a flurry of blows that left him coughing pink mist. He sank to his knees, wheezing, holding a nearby bench


Merrick grabbed me and pulled me to the floor. He tucked his head under his hands and hissed at me to stay put.


"There's nothing to do now," he whispered. "When his fury takes him, you can only get out of the way."


"But..."


"Be silent, woman!" He hissed. "You'll kill us all, and anyone else nearby as well!"


The third villager bolted toward the door and Seymuhr, who was watching Tane's outburst with a sort of amused respect, let him go.


Tane looked around the tavern room, hands still clenched into blood-soaked fists. The tavern keep had stopped where to was, his face slack with horror. He carried a try laden with new glasses of ale and it tipped dangerously before he recovered himself and leveled it off.


"He'll bring others," Merrick called to Seymuhr with a gesture toward the door that now hung open.


"I know," Seymuhr rasped.


Baram was the only one who had not fled, flinched or otherwise acted during Tane's bloody outburst. Now she made a soft cooing sound, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her eyes widened and her expression softened. She moved--very, very slowly--toward Tane, whose breath came in ragged gasps through his flared nostrils. She reached out to him.


"Oh, no," Merrick said as he closed his eyes in an expectant grimace. "I liked her, too."


But Tane did not flinch from her touch, nor did he attack her. His breathing slowed and he closed his eyes. With a deep sigh, he hung his head. "I did it...a...gain...didn't...I?"


"Again?" I wondered aloud.


"I told you he does not mix well with people," Merrick answered. Then he let me go, and pushed himself up to his knees. Evidently the danger was over.


Lobern was still prone, although it looked like he lived. Blood seeped out of his ruined socket. The other, Gorb, was dribbling blood into a small pool below him.


"I guess not," I muttered. "Bones of Barnok. We...we should leave this place. Shouldn't we?"


Merrick did not have time to respond. For the third villager had returned and I could see, behind him, the shape of several others. I wasn't sure if I should reach for my knife or crawl further under the table. Tane seemed, for the moment, calm. If Seymuhr thought the group of men was a threat, he didn't show it.


The villager, however, held up his hands. "We don't want to fight," he said. "We need your help."


Next: The Mountain Witch's Reach

Poking the bear

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. They approach a small village in hopes of news, information or, at least, a hot meal.

 

Unfortunately, they may have found something else, instead...

 

As the man approached, he stuck his little finger into the corner of his mouth. Slurping noises followed.

Merrick shifted uneasily on the bench, while Broo Fang Tane let out a deep sigh and hung his head. Across from him, Seymuhr chuckled briefly.

The men were all dressed alike: dirty pants with long shirts that hung open about the neck. They were stocky, if not large, and looked like they were used to hard labor with thick arms and broad shoulders. One of them followed their leader, a step behind and slightly to the side, scratching at his beard. The other broke off in an attempt to circle us.

"We don't want any trouble," Merrick said. "We're just looking for a hot meal, and maybe a bath."

The first man sat down beside Tane, slipped his finger out of his mouth, stuck the damp digit into Tane's ear and wiggled it vigorously. His companions laughed at Tane's disgusted expression and even Seymuhr hid a snicker.

"What do you think about that, monk?" The man said. There was a smile on his face, but little humor in his voice.

"I thank...you," Tane responded in his usual, lilting way. "I had not cleaned....my...ear in some...time." His eyes were closed and his breath came in slow, even intervals. 

"Well, then the other one is just as filthy!" With that, he slipped his arm around Tane's shoulders and stuck the wet pinky in his other ear. Several things happened at once.

The tavern keeper reappeared. "Now, Lobern, we don't want to start a fight with these good people..."

"What's wrong with you?" I shifted away from Tane and directed the indignant outburst to the man called Lobern.  

"Nothing. What's wrong with him?" He patted Tane on the top of his head like he was rewarding a dog—only with a little more force.

"I only seek a meal and some rest," Tane said. "Please there are...other...places to sit."

"And other ears to poke," Merrick put in. "Please, you've had your fun. You don't know what are doing."

"Sure I do," Lobern said and he looked up at one of his companions, a blond man who stood behind Seymuhr, just out of reach. "Gorb, what am I doing?"

"Sending a message," Gorb said with a shrug, "and making sure it is heard."

"What you are doing," Merrick hissed, "is making a terrible mistake. That man is a mighty warrior—a fighter and killer without peer. You tempt your own fate and court your own end. You beckon Ewl."

I glanced from Merrick to Tane. Surely, Tane had dispatched the Hunyn easily enough. I had thought that Seymuhr, with his thick slabs of muscle and pair of maces, was the bigger threat.

"Is that so? Are you working for the dark god itself?"  Lobern leaned in and pinched Tane's cheek. His voice suddenly got higher, and he affected a lisp--like a mother speaking to a small child. "But you're so yittle! And cute!"

Seymuhr laughed at that. The third villager closed in.

"I work for no dark god," Tane said. His head was still lowered, his breath coming in slow even intervals. I thought I detected a ragged edge to them, though. His fingers twitched and formed a fist. "I..."

Lobern wasn't paying attention. Instead he had pulled a long, slimy thing from his nose and dangled it for his two companions to see. He draped it over Tane's clenched fist. "Thanks. I was wondering where I was going to put that," he said, then sparked a round of laughter with a bellowed guffaw and slapped Tane on the back.

I looked helplessly at Merrick, wondering what we should do, then at Seymuhr, begging him silently to intervene on Tane's behalf. He looked as amused as the three villagers.

Lobern leaned in, sneering. "We don't like people walking in here, speaking of evil--there's enough of that about already. But mostly, I just don't like you, no matter how 'yittle' or 'cute' you may think you are..." He continued to poke Tane and then I saw Merrick's eyes open.

For the monk had started to make a strange sound: a sort of quiet, high-pitched growl that grew in intensity as his hands tightened into fists and I heard the bones there cracking. The growl grew in volume and then, as his eyes snapped open and lip quivered in rage, Broo Fang Tane exploded into action and the screaming started.

Next: Down on Maim Street

A meal, interrupted

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. They approach a small village in hopes of news, information or, at least, a hot meal.


"You seem unsettled," I said to Tane, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else in Korin, even if it meant having his ears chewed off by rats.


"It is...nothing," he responded with a quick half bow. "I will be strong."


"Strong? The only strong thing you'll need down below is your appetite," I said. "I, for one, am looking forward to a meal we don't have to catch."


"We can hope."


I glanced at Merrick, who looked as anxious as Tane. I caught up to him at the base of the hill as he ran a hand through his tangled hair. Slightly winded, he leaned on his staff.


"Is there something you should be telling me?"


He gave me a tight, false smile and shook his head. "No need to fear," he said, his words clipped.


There were three structures huddled around the base of the hill. The Inn or blacksmith shop to our left, a rather large home to our right--both square buildings with stout roofs made of straight logs covered with entwined branches. A small flat road of sorts separated them; it curled around a large barn and disappeared into the forest. The sound of an axe biting into wood came from beyond the barn.


"A strange place for a public house of any sort," I muttered, wondering if that was the cause for my companions' nervousness. The only one who seemed oblivious to the tension in the air was Seymuhr, who stood idly by, sniffing his armpit.


"Perhaps there is a larger settlement beyond that bend," Merrick said.


I was not overly familiar with the area and did not know for certain. I shrugged and headed for the door of the larger building. My stomach led me. I was so hungry I didn't know if I had enough coin to fill my belly.


Inside, we found a large open room filled with rectangular tables bordered by sturdy benches. There must have been a large number of people nearby, for the room could comfortably sit several dozen. A staircase to our left led to an upper level. Near that sat an empty counter  with several stools in front of it. A door was on the other side and I could hear someone working behind it, whistling as he did so. There was another door to our right and it looked like a type of good store beyond. This structure was apparently the center of commerce.


"Pick a seat," Seymuhr growled, "and I'll pick mine."


I ignored the implication, but reminded myself not to shake his hand. I chose a table near the far wall and Merrick followed, clapping his hands once. He called out and I heard a muffled response from beyond the counter.


Seymuhr slapped the table as he sat down. It wobbled and dust filtered down from the ceiling under the force of his blow.


"I'm coming!" A short bald man emerged, scowling. "Early AND impatient today, eh...?" He stopped short when he saw our odd company. He had evidently been expecting a crew of regulars, fresh in from the fields or wherever else they toiled. "My apologies, good sirs," he muttered as he hurried toward us. "I meant no offense. Travelers are rare this time of year."


"No offense given," Merrick bellowed, a broad grin on his face. A sheen of sweat on his forehead was the only thing to betray any nervousness he felt. I glanced around, still wondering at the source of his and Tane's anxiety. "My companion here is indeed impatient--and with an empty belly besides. It is he who should be offering apologies."


Seymuhr did not take the hint.


"Alas, he's a bit simple," I put in. "I offer mine in his place. We are indeed quite hungry and the thought of a well-cooked meal has dulled our sense of decorum. What do you have to offer?"


The barkeep's brow wrinkled, as if he puzzled over my words. "We've some piping hot spider stew that will chase that hunger, right enough," he said. "'Tis a creamy mixture with hunks of potatoes and plenty of meat. No need to skimp on that, hereabouts!"


"Indeed not," I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "I was hoping for something a little..."


"Bigger? Oh, a man-sized appetite is it then?" He chuckled and winked at Merrick. "I should've guessed that, so I should. It would be no trouble at all to stoke up the fire and cook up a couple of flank steaks, then. Perhaps with some turnips and mushrooms?"


I nodded. "That sounds wonderful. I am a bit surprised; I didn't see or hear any cattle on the way here."


The barkeep made a funny noise through his loose lips. "Cattle? Why in Allon's Mallet would you think we'd have cattle? There's no point--the spiders would just eat them all. No, no no. I caught some huge, fresh beasties--plucked them first, of course--and sliced only the best part of the carapace. Very juicy."


"Oh. Spider flanks. I see."


"I thought you'd be impressed. Would you like one or two?"


"My good man," I said instead, "would you have anything for a more, er, discerning tongue?"


He stiffened a bit and color rose to his cheeks. "Of course. My manners and my brains must having a tryst in the shade. You are obviously city-folk, and accustomed to more than simple fare. This will cost you a bit more coin and take a little longer--I've not yet started to prepare it yet--but I can offer you a fine plate of Sarf d'broule."


"We are fortunate to have such a creative and thoughtful host. I'm not familiar with the dish, however. How is it prepared?"


He leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. He even looked to either side, as if unsure if he should offer the details to us. "I start with fine, aged spider legs, smoked for a full fortnight over..."


"Actually, I'm not that hungry after all." I sat back, crestfallen, and let Merrick order four bowls of spider stew.


The tavern keeper turned, but Seymuhr put a hand on his arm. "Bring the rest of that slop, too," he said.


"Mira," Merrick said sympathetically. "It's better than eating them raw, or burned over a fire."


"Meh."


"One man's delica...cy is another...man's vomit," Tane whispered, his expression still grave.


"That's not helping," I said and was about to say more when the door opened and Merrick cursed under his breath.


Three men stood in the shadows of the door frame. They looked surprised to see four strangers sitting in their tavern. Then the first man gave the other two a sly smile, pointed directly at Tane and said:


"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"


They closed the door behind them and headed our way.








 

The Village in the Hills

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic.


We crested a hill and saw a small village laid out in the valley below us. A few houses were huddled near another, larger structure that looked like an inn or a trading post--perhaps both, for it had an enclosed pasture behind it that backed up to the forest. Near that a barn sat with open doors. Two horses grazed outside, although what they nibbled on I could not be sure. The yard contained more dirt than grass. I heard the rhythmic sound of someone chopping wood, but could see no one.


The inn was a long rectangular structure that had a second story perched above the end closest to us. A chimney made of rough stone let out a thin wisp of smoke from the other side. The smell of roasting meat reached my nostrils and my stomach rumbled with desire.


Merrick frowned down at the small settlement and scratched his head. He looked questioningly at me, and I nodded. Seymuhr stretched his arms and Broo Fang Tane wore a slightly worried expression.


"Do you know anything of the people here?" Merrick asked Baram.


She nodded once. "They are simple folk, but good. They may be wary of strangers, but I doubt they pose any danger--if that is your concern."


"It is," he admitted with a gesture toward Tane. "My companion does not always mix well with 'simple folk.' Or rather, they do not always mix well with him."


Tane bowed his head, embarrassed. "My message does not...always...find suitable...soil," the little man said in his usual, halting way.


"Do you think we should risk it?" Merrick asked me.


I didn't want to answer too quickly. I would have, at that moment, given my left leg to eat anything besides spiders. We had consumed so many of those eight-legged beasts that I would not have been surprised at all if I started to sneeze silk. I pretended to consider our options, looking down at the valley and then up at the mountain again. Also, I was in no hurry to face the mountain witch, if her power was as vast and dark as I suspected.


"I think it might prove valuable," I answered. "It may be that these good, simple folk, know of our quarry and can aid us--with information, if not sword or axe. We may also find provisions."


"Indeed. It's settled." Merrick looked at Baram. "Are you familiar to them? Do they know you enough to put credence in your word?"


Baram gave a slight shake of her head. "I do not think so. I fear most who live near here would consider me somewhat aloof. They do not seek me out, nor I them."


Seymuhr grunted at that and I flashed him an irritated glance. "We will have to introduce ourselves, then. Perhaps we should leave Seymuhr behind? Until we know it's safe?"


"Keep him in reserve, you mean? In case they are hostile?"


I shrugged. That hadn't been my first thought. My first thought was that our best chance to make a good impression on a cluster of wary strangers would be to keep Seymuhr out of sight and, if possible, down wind. There was no reason to risk offending him by giving that thought a voice, however. "I just think we should be cautious, this close to the witch's lair."


"I a...gree," said Tane. It was the first time I heard him sound anything but cheerful. What had happened to make both him and Merrick leery of interaction with others?


"Then let me do the talking," I said. "I would guess that I am the least threatening of all of us."


I shouldered my pack and led them down the hill.

The words we make

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram paused, a quizzical look on her face. The forest was deep around us, the mountain still distant. Between us and its gray slope, a thin curl of smoke rose into the air. The trees teemed with life, even though the chatter of birds sounded sullen and muted.


"We must be drawing near," she said. "The air grows foul."


Seymuhr turned away, snickering into his palm, and I rolled my eyes. "Your senses are indeed keen, daughter of the wolf, but they mislead you this time. Our companion has difficulties that frequently cause exception to the nose."


It was as polite as I could put it and it made the thick brute howl with laughter. I felt my cheeks color, having to explain such a thing to this noble forest warrior. I looked to Merrick for help, but he had not paused. His back disappeared behind a thick trunk and so I walked on, instead. I fell into step with Broo Fang Tane, happy that Seymuhr was behind us and the wind favored his position.


"How came you to this company?" I asked him. I knew little of any of my companions, of course, other that Merrick was an agent of the Ministry of Human Preservation and Tane was a monk, an optimist by calling or disposition. "It is unusual to find someone of such continual good cheer this far south in Korin."


He nodded slightly and beamed, his eyes half closed. His fingers, tucked up into his sleeves, suddenly appeared as he plucked a forest poppy from the ground and held it up.


"What use is the seed, if it stays where it is...planted?" He asked. A slight breath scattered the white pods from the flower. One of them landed on my upper lip and I sneezed so violently my ears rang. "We train not to perfect our art, our joy, but to share it."


"I see," I said with a nod. In truth, we were much the same, except his charge was to spread the seeds of optimism throughout the land and mine was to gather these nuggets and preserve them in the annals of Queen Phedera's history books. I was a Falcuhn, a gatherer of histories and stories.


"In truth," he said. "I was never much...welcome...at the Temple of the...Sun. No one would tell...me of my fam...ily, or the circumstances that brought me...there. I...taxed my tutors more than my peers did."


"How so?" It was the most I had heard the little man speak, and I was curious. I wondered if his usual slow, halting pattern of speech was due to a lack of practice and was determined to help him. After all, in the dangerous world of Korin, one who tried to bring happy news could not afford to be slow about it.


"I saw it in the ...little things. I knew I was tol...erated but not love...d."


I gave him a sympathetic look and patted his right shoulder. My arm briefly encircled his back and I was surprised at the coiled power I felt there. He might have been a slight man, but he was in his own way as sturdy as Seymuhr--perhaps more so.


Tane looked up at my touch and smiled broadly. Suddenly, the words flowed out of him like a creek gurgling down a hillside.


"I remember one day I was helping in the kitchen," he went on. "It was not my usual station but the sun was...hidden...and it was cool. I thought my assistance would be welcome there. The head cook went by the name of Grool, named so because of the meal he served up on odd-numbered days.


"He was a fine cook, given to ominous words," Tane went on. "He weighed each one and delivered them like they were a dish prepared for the High King. I found him that day stirring a vast pot of bub...bling brown...liquid. A silver plate piled high with sliced meat and mashed fruit was nearby.


"'You'll find a gravy boat on that shelf, in the corner,' he told me when I asked if I could...help. Make it live up to its...name.' I leapt up to the counter and stretched to find the vessel, then dropped it into the steaming...vat."


Tane paused, giving me a sheepish look. I wasn't sure what to say. Had I missed the significance of this odd tale? He was silent for a few minutes, so I prompted him. "What happened?"


"He swore at...me, of course. 'What are you doing, you rock-headed toad?' I told him that I had followed his instructions. I pointed to the dish, floating--somewhat, any...way--in the gravy. 'Is that not what boats do?'


"'You fill  a gravy boat with gravy'," he said. He spoke very slowly, a kind of...wonder...in his voice. "You don't float them in gravy."


"'Why aren't they called gravy buckets, then?' I asked him, but he didn't answer my...question.


"'Just take it out of there,' he grumbled, a hand across his forehead. 'Put it aside.' I did as he instructed--again--and tilted it on its side. 'There,' I said, 'now it's a gravy shipwreck.'"


I smiled, in spite of the gravity in his tone. "They made you leave the temple because of that?"


"Oh. No. I was still very young then. That did not make them show me the door to that hoiy place, but I suspect it unlocked it. I gave them...other reasons...to make me leave. I was not a good...student."


And then he was silent, his hands tucked up into his sleeves once more.

Song of the fallen giant

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.




That afternoon, we trekked solemnly north.


I tried to ignore the stench of the fire that clung to my damp clothes. I did not mind the smell of a natural fire, of course, but a funeral pyre carries a distinct smell that lingers for days and I could not help but be reminded of the shambling thing that was Baram's chosen man. Even the dignity of the fire had been stolen from him. If the smell bothered me, how much worse would it be fore her? Yet if she noticed it, she gave no indication. If she felt compelled to look over her should to see the last white tendrils carrying his soul to the beyond, she did not show that either.


Then a new smell invaded my nostrils. I glanced up, repelled, to see Seymuhr's lopsided grin.


"Hello," I said. I wondered if I could lift my shirt to cover my nose without risking his ire. I decided not to.


"You are a storyteller," he said, his voice as raspy as ever. "A Falcuhn?"


"As I've said, yes."


"You know things of wordcraft, then. Of language."


I felt an absurd glow of pride that he--brute that he was--recognized such a thing. Then I realized that he was asking a question, not stating a fact.


"I like to think so." I kept my voice cool, somehow.


"I've come up with a new poem, I'd like you to hear it. It describes our fight with the giants."


Oh dear. I felt cold, weak and a little ill. I had head Seymhur's poetry before and the sound left me wanting to scratch my ears off. What if he wanted my honest opinion? The maces that hung at either side of his hips swayed menacingly.


"Have you, now? That's good. A man should stretch his mind as often as he stretches his legs."


"Would you like to hear them?"


"Them?" Bones of Barnok, there was more than one. That figured. "Would these be of the Nogovian sort? Like the others?"


A grunt and a nod. "They are, but not like the other. My poems are like belches. No two are alike."


I had to give him that one. It was probably an adequate description. "Very well."


He cleared his throat and paused. Baram, Merrick and Broo Fang Tane also stopped, Tane with a mild smile on his face and Merrick wiping sweat from his. The tang of his perspiration hung in the air.


"They came through the trees
hungry, tall and hideous
I hit them; they fell."


"Wonderful," I said, my voice flat.


"I struck first and their
ruptured flesh and splintered bones
made a foul, red swamp"


"Pretty," I glanced at Baram, who flashed me a quizzical expression. "Like a tapestry the size of a wash rag."


"Crows gathered nearby
summoned by the ghastly, shrill
womanish death cries."


"That about describes it," I said, clapping him on the back. "Well done. If the fight had not been fresh in my mind already, your words would bring it there."


"I like the...part a....bout the rup......tured flesh," Tane added, slowly.


"Ghastly and shrill, like a woman," Merrick mused. "Sounds like someone I knew, for certain." He winked at me and I turned away.


"Crows will be gathering nearby once more," I put in, "if we are not soon on our way."


"There's more," Seymuhr said. He cleared his throat again and his eyes took on a wistful look, as if he were staring at a plate filled with beef and nuts.


"Why don't we save them for the fire tonight?" I said. "If we need to pause, we'll have use of some cheerful words to keep the dark at bay. And if we don't start moving, we'll indeed have to spend the night in these woods."


Seymuhr considered. "Good. That will give me time to hone them a little more."


"One can hope," I said.


We set off again.