Riding the Dim - Chapter 3

Any Port in a Storm...

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As the cold mist rose around them, the shadow of a smile fell across Gareth's face. It took only a moment to realize this was Alrich's doing, and not an instant too soon. Gareth closed his eyes and drew a deep just before the piercing scream of the alarm spell fell silent. The seasoned warrior took a step forward and let his training take over. It wasn't long before his blade felt flesh, and new screams erupted from the red-eyed creatures, all but lost in the magical fog.

Alrich ducked low behind the stone near his bedroll. The fog was now thick and obscured even the glowing eyes of their attackers. He wanted to be more of a help to his friend but he knew better. Gareth was an expert at fighting blind, trained in armed combat in the caves of Ulrethas, north of the Farstone Valley. Besides, he wielded Deathknell. Even if Alrich could see, he would only be in the way. For a moment that thought comforted him, until a set of red eyes stepped out of the fog and bared it's teeth. Alrich's own eyes went wide as he fumbled for one of his long daggers, just in time to feel a heavy thud against the side of his head.

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Alrich woke to a dark brown blur and a dull throbbing at his right temple. As his vision cleared, he saw that he was lying on a padded cot in a modest room. A small chest of drawers supporting a wooden wash bowl sat under a window at this feet. The smell of old cedar was strong and welcome, reminding him of his childhood home on Kaledon. At that moment, though, he didn't particularly care where he was. The meager cot was softer than anything he'd slept on in days, and he was halfway to actually feeling rested.

"It's midday," Gareth said from across the room.

Alrich jumped in his cot and looked toward the sound of his companion. On a similar cot, not more than ten feet away, Gareth lay shirtless with a white wrap around his right arm. A tell-tale red blotch had bled through the bandage.

"Well," Gareth continued, not even looking in Alrich's direction, "You wanted an inn."

Fully coming to his full senses, Alrich slowly sat up.

"We were...all I can remember is a sea of red eyes. I don't suppose you could...refresh my memory?"

"Your mysterious fog worked perfectly. Before even I knew it, four of those creatures were lying about the ground. That's when I heard a fifth behind me. It had knocked you unconscious and was rummaging through your bedroll by the time Deathknell caught it in its side. I heard more coming from the hills near our camp. So I gathered you and the bedroll and got to the mounts, well, mount I should say. The other had already been killed. It’s possible those things have a taste for horse. A few minutes of hard riding and we were here, bleeding about town, so to speak. The inn keeper and some sort of local regent looked after our wounds and gave us this room."

“That all begs at least one question.” Alrich responded. “Why was I knocked unconscious and not killed like the horse?” Alrich thought again about their narrow escape from the Last Necromancer but quickly found his attention turning to his companion.

"What happened to your arm?”

"Oh, that," Gareth responded, looking down at the wound. "Well, I guess I took a bit too long assessing the transportation situation, and one of those beasts caught me with its claws. It'll be fine. That regent is quite the hospitaler. Which is good because she also appears to be the only one in this village."

Alrich furrowed his brow and touched the bandage wrapped around his head.

"She?…Interesting. How did you communicate with the inn keeper?"

"I guess open wounds speak a universal language; kindness of strangers, I suppose."

Alrich nodded. Once again, he found his trust in Gareth well placed. On Kaledon, fighting men like Gareth the Bold were commonly found in the employ of spell casters as bodyguards. In a world ravaged by the rule of wizards, it was the best coin most hired blades could make. But Gareth was different. By the time Alrich found him, he'd already made his name fighting for the free lands of the North. He was no mage's man. Like most of the mundane peoples of their world, he had a strong mistrust of wizards. Luckily, that mostly changed when Alrich saved his life. That was five years ago and they'd been together ever since, though Gareth had long since repaid the debt. There was nothing but friendship holding them together now. Which was good for Alrich, since Gareth hadn't been paid in nearly two months.

"Well, I suppose I should meet our hosts," Alrich said.

"I have some silver," Gareth replied, "I thought I might see if they'll take such payment."

"Good. The Shard is going to take some study. We're likely to be here a few days."

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In the cold darkness of the mountain keep, the double doors of the master chamber slowly opened inward. Bartis stepped into the room, its air a swirling ethereal fog of purple and black. There was no actual light, just lighter shades of darkness. The tall, heavily armored castellan did not know the chamber's dimensions or whether a wrong turn might send him into a stone wall or down a steep staircase. It didn't matter. He walked in, eight paces, just as he always had for the past 90 years. He felt his master's presence. That was all he needed to know.

"He's definitely in Thalend, m'lord," Bartis said to no one in particular.

"Yes, I know, Bartis." The voice was both deep and gutteral, with a measure that had been practiced for hundreds of years.

"M'lord?"

"I make it a point to know the location of my property, especially when it's been lifted from me. He's not far from the Dim Forest, south of the Azure Wastes. Now, you're going to tell me that our agents were unsuccessful?"

Bartis paused. He wondered, not for the first time, why his master insisted on asking questions to which he already knew the answer. Perhaps the game made the necromancer feel young or, at least, alive.

"They escaped the trap set for them, m'lord. Alrich Andur travels with Gareth the Bold, a renowned warrior of these realms. He fought off...."

"I know who he is, Bartis. A lackey with an enchanted blade. It matters not. We'll leave them to Druglok. In a few days time, you'll enter the portal to Thalend and bring them back."

"Alive, m'lord?"

"Oh, most certainly. And make certain Sirf has completed the device before your journey to Thalend. We want our "guests" to be welcomed warmly when they return home.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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