Riordan 2

Riordan

We all tensed for a moment. Everyone in this bar seemed far more dangerous than any in our small group, and the hand on Elfred's shoulder was attached to one of the biggest and most imposing gentlemen there. I sensed more than saw Lothar's hand tighten on that huge knotty club of his, and Farkus seemed frozen in fearful indecision. For my part, after years of running a bar myself I knew it's not a bar fight until an actual attack has been made. Elfred gave a slight smile and turned to face the armored warrior. Sure enough a quick exchange of friendly insults, the kind of which only men with a comfortable history engage in, dispelled our concerns.

The big man, clad in a worn but magnificent suit of plate mail, was introduced as Sir Corwin Janus, a Captain of the Order of the Sword. He immediately led us to a large table in the back and bought us all a round of drinks. The beer was darker than what Kettlewell brews, with a faint earthy aftertaste that was quite pleasant.  We drew less attention from the other patrons, seated as we were at a removed table instead of standing in the entry way, and our small group relaxed once the eyes of strangers were no longer on us.

Corwin’s joviality dimmed when we explained what our mission was, and he instructed us to stand and come with him. We rose, drinks untouched in our hands, and followed him to the bar. A still beautiful elven woman, the slight weathering of age showing in the sharpness of her features and a few modest lines in her face, greeted Corwin with the casual familiarity reserved for a regular customer. Corwin quickly introduced her as Elena Moondagger and asked her in a hushed tone if we could use “the room”. She lifted a sardonic eyebrow and tossed him a key, pointedly busying herself elsewhere.

Corwin led us through the taproom, through the tables and fire pits with their soot blacked chimney hoods, and then out a door in the back. We stood outside, the inn behind us, and gazed from an elevated vantage point out over a sloping field. A vast section of the area was laid out before us, and unbidden from my lips sprang, “Does this place serve as a watch post?”

Sir Corwin paused and giving me a look replied, “When need be.”

As I locked eyes with the big knight I became aware of a gentle mournful music playing in the background. Investigating we rounded the corner and saw a massive cemetery nestled at the base of the inn. A man stood at the gate of this sprawling graveyard, playing a curious instrument that seemed a cross between a set of bagpipes (or at least as they have been described to me) and a stringed instrument. The melody was high pitched and haunting. Corwin began leading us down to the gate, and through it into graves and memorials. He gave a gentle nod to the musician, identifying him as a warden of the cemetery, and talked to us as he walked.

“The inn is hundreds of years old,” said the knight, “and was built to serve the visitors of this: the Heroes’ Garden. There are at least 700 graves here- heroes, mercenaries, and adventurers all. The Emperor Balerian is buried here. No one has cataloged them all and many of the stones and memorials are no longer legible.”

We were well into the cemetery at this point as Sir Corwin continued, “Here in the center, this worn obelisk. Yehorem wrote a book and claimed it was the oldest marker here. According to him it is the resting place of Marwin the Gold.” As Corwin talked I passed within a few feet of the weathered black pillar, and an un-natural chill swept over me and raised the hairs on my arms over newly risen gooseflesh. Glancing around I seemed to be the only one so afflicted, and the feeling passed as we passed the obelisk.

The knight, oblivious, kept weaving his tale, “The savage wars were around 716 – 730. Leading up to that the church has been going through a period of de-militarization. The various tribes of orcs and goblins took advantage of that and attacked the area kingdoms. They had the whole of the east reeling until the Order of the Sword was re-established and the knights of the Church pushed them back.” At this he gestured to his massive shield where a sword backed by a blazing sun was painted.  We also discovered that he knew Father Faerris, and held him in somewhat of a respectful derision.  When Salem mentioned that he might be interested in joining the Order of the Sword at some point, and that he was currently under the tutelage of Faerris, Corwin smiled and said, “We’ll get all of Faerris’ nonsense out of your head and get you on the right path.”

This was an aspect of the Church I had never been exposed to before. I had read about various knights and orders, but it was never suggested that they were religious in nature. Was the Church a political player? Why did it need a fighting force? Just how large was this force? Could the church overthrow a kingdom? This new revelation would need some thought.

We had come almost completely through the Heroes’ Garden, and Corwin stopped at what appeared to be a pair of cellar doors set in the ground. Using the key he obtained from Elena, he opened the doors revealing a flight of steps and a torch lit tunnel. With barely a pause he headed down. Having come this far, we followed him through the tunnel, torches flickering in the light breeze from the open door, and into an underground chamber dominated by a massive table;  a table so large it could easily seat sixty.

Corwin gruffly said, “This is a safer place to talk,” tossed his shield onto the table, and sat down. As I took my seat with the others I was hit with the certainty that this room was old, ancient even.  I couldn’t explore the though further though as my attention was pulled to the matter at hand.

“I don’t think it is a wild beast you are looking for,” Corwin started. “I need you to keep this information to yourselves – we don’t want to create a panic – but we have had reports of goblin war bands in the area, traveling with attack animals. I think it is likely that this is what you are looking for.” Further conversation revealed however that Sir Corwin adamantly refused to believe that there were other possibilities, and had an almost zealous suspicion of all goblinoids. When he learned that we had a converted goblin in our village he darkly hinted that our fellow villager was most likely a spy and waiting for the opportune time to slit our throats in our sleep. In spite of his obvious prejudice, we could not overlook the goblin war band theory and promised to investigate. Corwin cautioned us against engaging any goblins we were to find, “A goblin war party will rip farmer conscripts like you apart. Better to let me know where they are and let the Order deal with them.”

After our council with Sir Corwin, we headed back to the inn. Elfred seemed uncomfortable with the goblin information supplied by Corwin. He reluctantly agreed that it was our best lead, and mentioned that there was someone in the inn who could help. Re-entering the taproom Elfred led us over to a table occupied by what could only be a centaur.

Elfred named him as Curu. I have heard tales and read stories where centaurs are present, but my imagination failed to prepare me for the actual thing. He was seated on the floor, a table in front of him and his back to the wall, and managed to dominate the table’s area completely. From the waist down he was equine, but it was the thick solidness of a plow horse instead of the lithe riding horse I had pictured. From the waist up he was a man, but more so. Impossibly muscled it seemed his skin could barely contain the wild savage power of his massiveness. His clothing and gear was constructed out of skins and hide, and little wooden charms dangled from the straps and tassels.  Around his neck was a carefully carved necklace of wooden pendants representing animals. His weapons were worn like a farmer’s tool that had been passed down, fixed when needed, and used often.

Immediately our friendly greetings were rebuffed. Curu seemed to be very surly by nature, and we obviously were making social faux pas in our conversation as he took offense at our breaking of cultural rules that we were not aware of. Finally Elfred, who clearly had dealings with him before, was able to coax a location out of Curu as he indicated a clearing on Ajani’s map.

“What’s there?” asked Salem. Curu’s only answer was a fierce stare and flared nostrils. Elfred quickly interjected, “I think we’ve gotten enough out of our friend. Thank you Curu.” The party left the prickly centaur and found a different table.

The decision was made to stay the night in the inn, and then head out to investigate Curu’s lead in the morning. Elfred, Ajani, and Salem had a conversation about religion, talking about the differences in Faerris’ beliefs and Corwin’s, and Curu’s pagan religion. I didn’t pay attention, as I found the topic uninteresting, and instead examined my party members.

The chances of us being in a fight were high. I had enough experience with Ajani, Gahiji, and Lothar to know that I could depend on them, and Elfred was obviously the most experienced and best equipped member of our little group. Josiah had a steady determination about him. I didn’t think he would break and flee although he would probably be reluctant to engage. Salem’s personality was solid, along with a belief in the divine that bordered on crazy, but physically I didn’t know how well he could handle things. Best to keep him in the back I thought, and away from melee if possible. Farkus and Neris were the problem.

Farkus flat out didn’t want to be there. He was scared and felt wildly out of his element. Thus far he had frequently bemoaned his choice to come along, and was the first – and only – one to suggest we give up at every opportunity. He’s a good guy and was still with us, but clearly wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. Given a chance, I think the best thing would be to keep him in between some combination of me, Lothar, Elfred, or Ajani. It would make it harder for him to break and run and might give him a morale boost as well.

If Farkus’ problem was he didn’t want to be there, Neris’ problem was he wanted to be there too badly. He’s desperate to prove himself as some sort of hero from a story, wildly over estimates his own abilities, and believes that he can treat with the rest of us as equals. In short he’s a royal pain and a clear liability. The problem is, I don’t want his death on my hands if I can avoid it and he has already shown us that if dismissed he will clumsily follow behind.

Unable to come to a conclusion about how to handle Neris, I pulled my attention back to the group. The religion conversation was still going on, but some of the group had wandered off and were now sitting with a woodsman at another table. Speaking of tables, ours was covered with empty mugs – only one of which was mine. Even Elfred was slurring slightly, although Salem still seemed to have his wits about him. Sighing I stood and wandered over to the bar.

Elena Moondagger was cleaning a section of the stout oak bar top. She looked up with a guarded but friendly expression. “Can I help you with something?” She asked politely.

“Actually, I was hoping I could help you. Toss me another rag.” I replied. Startled, she reached under the bar and did what I asked. I helped her wipe down the bar, wash the mugs, and do the general work that keeps a bar tidy and efficient. As we cleaned I told her that I owned an inn myself, and we chatted about work. We kept the conversation superficial, but by the time I headed upstairs to the room I shared with my travel mates her guarded nature had fallen away as we came to an understanding and became acquainted.

As expected most of the group came up drunk, and continued drinking in the rooms until the small hours of the morning. Elfred was one of the worst off, so I was surprised when he knocked on our door at dawn, all bright-eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to start the day. Elfred tried to innocently play it off as if he was a champion drinker, but I wasn’t born yesterday. “You got any more of that special wine from the other night Elfred? You know, the stuff that made us feel healthier?” I asked pointedly. He had the grace to look sheepish as he passed around his wineskin. As before the liquid went down with a warm tingling. I looked around the room at my compatriots. There wasn’t a hangover to be seen; everyone looked like they had a good night’s rest. “Thanks” I said, handing him back the skin. He chose not to comment, and instead quickly suggested we pack up and get a move on.

That is how, after a long night of heavy drinking, our group found themselves alert and rested as we walked through the early morning dew of the Stein & Shield’s lawn and into the forest.  The forest grew wilder and thicker as we traveled, and by evening we had some difficulty finding a clearing to camp in. Before we could go about the process of setting up camp, one of my companions called for quiet. I turned and found everyone peering into the dark shadows of the tree canopy. Twilight had given way to dusk, and the last fading greyness made the blackness seem impossibly deep. Salem lit a torch and Neris strode forward a bit, gazing into the stillness of the woods.

The spear that flew out of the dark was graceful and silent, embedding itself deep into Neris’ torso with only the faintest thunk. Neris didn’t even get to cry out. He just fell backward onto the mossy floor of the forest, limp and lifeless. I immediate began shouting orders. To my relief the whole group, including Elfred, responded to my commands and I was able to pull us into a defensive formation. We held there, shields and weapons at the ready, nervously waiting. Two more spears flew at us and then, with a snarl, 4 wolves stalked into the clearing – hackles raised and teeth bared. Behind them came 6 beings wielding clubs and spears.

They were short, of a size with Kettlewell back home, and had a pale colored skin that was ridged and warty in odd places. Their eyes were deep sunk and yellow, two pits over a bulbous nose. Their teeth were jagged and broken and their smiles mimicked the predatorial grins of their pets. These could only be goblins, but much like the centaur in the Stein and Shield, no tale or story could prepare me for this deadly arboreal meeting.

They rushed us with the wolves, and in the blink of an eye I found myself engaged in a life or death struggle. I tried to maintain some semblance of control but all was confusion – shouts, screams, a flash of teeth, the sudden impact shooting up my arm as my spear struck home.  Clarity came instantly as a goblin spear pierced my side with an intense flash of pain.

Kicking the goblin off me I realized at some point a wolf had torn my arm open and I was bleeding profusely. Looking around I saw that many of my comrades were grievously injured. I locked eyes with Lothar who was obviously on his last legs, streaming blood from numerous wounds. I saw him look around as well, counting our enemies. One wolf and two goblins still stood. The rest lay about the clearing like discarded toys, dolls decorating the floor of a child’s room. How long had we been fighting? It seemed an eternity, a heartbeat, a blink in the eye of god. His gaze returned to mine, and we both mustered our strength, rallying for one last push. Salem had managed to escape injury, and was doing his best to tend to the wounds of our fallen. Ajani and Gahiji were also still on their feet, menacing the remaining wolf. Perhaps our friends might survive, even if Lothar and I did not. As we each advanced on our respective foes, death, like night, descended on the remaining goblins as a black arrow for each flew out of the tree canopy above us, neatly planting in their foreheads.

The goblin attack defeated, we collapsed to the earth in exhaustion.