Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos Page 13

  She had no more than dragged him outside his cell when the occupant of the next cell spoke up. "Release me, and I'll help you drag him out."

  She stopped and peered through the bars at the prisoner. "Mind yer own business, shorty. This ain't no jailbreak. This man be innocent."

  "Ya know? That's just what I said. They didn't seem to believe me either."

  She was about to ignore the little man altogether when he mentioned the one thing that she couldn't afford to overlook.

  "You sure do look awful tuckered out there, Granny."

  ***

  Borin wiped the blade on Crimsin's tunic, and then sheathed the dagger in the belt of his robes as he stood. He next walked over to the other two fallen figures. He knelt down, grabbed a handful of hair and raised the dead man's head up to the torchlight.

  It was just as he had feared. Clawtorn was not alone in her treachery. He knew this man. His regular post was near the docks. He worked mostly with Customs, checking for known suspects in smuggled goods.

  "That's Major Korbet!" Marcus shouted, still descending the drainage-pipe of the building behind Selina.

  Borin wheeled about, flipping the dagger and catching the blade before catching himself. "Blast you, Marc! I came damn close…"

  "You always were a bit jumpy, ole boy," Marcus snickered.

  "You go ahead and laugh it up, but we have traitors in the ranks!"

  "So I gathered." Marcus sobered. Then he dropped the last quarter of the pipe's length, landing on his feet and clapping dust from his hands. "Incidentally, you're welcome," he said, kneeling by Selina, and lifting her head onto one knee.

  "What?" Borin asked, dropping the traitor's head back to the cobbles. "Oh yes, that. Er…thanks," he offered casually.

  "Well, don't hurt yourself or anything."

  "What? I said thanks."

  "Both of you! Shut up!" Selina exclaimed, and then grasped her head from the pain she had just inflicted on herself.

  "Ahh, the fair Princess doth awaken," Marcus crooned.

  She looked up to realize that he was cradling her head. Considering their last conversation, she did not find this act of kindness particularly comforting.

  "Can you sit?" he asked.

  "I think so," she replied with uncertainty, and with his assistance came to a sitting position. She then grabbed her head with both hands again. "Anyone got an aspirin spell?"

  "Huh?"

  "What?"

  "Aww, never mind."

  "She needs a Cleric. She was talking like that a few minutes ago, too."

  "Hmm, isn't that Selina's dagger you have there, ole boy?"

  Selina's hands shot immediately from her head to her bosom, whereupon the unaccustomed disarray in which she discovered herself suggested the definite possibility of a completely different form of foul play.

  Borin delivered Marcus an expression that seemed to imply that he might be considering the Lieutenant as an additional candidate for traitor. Then he noticed Selina's outstretched hand, along with her own expression of angry expectation. "Oh! Yes…of course," he stammered, quickly returning her dagger.

  ***

  "Madam? I assure you, I need not be bound to this contraption like some beast of burden!" he insisted while struggling against the ropes that tied him to the cane-yoke.

  "Shut yer yap, shorty. Ya got just one job, and that's to pull. If'n I want yer opinion, I'll be sure to smack ya upside yer skull."

  "Well, I never!" he intoned with indignity.

  "Halt or die," a stoical voice commanded from the darkness ahead.

  Crumly obeyed without hesitation, but Magnatha was not so easily balked. She casually sidestepped to the front of the gurney, thereby standing between Jester and whoever might be about the business of doing him further harm.

  This was either one of those worthless guards, finally returning to his abandoned post, or the vanguard of the mob coming back to finish the job. She wasn't sure which, but whoever he was, he had an oddly muddled accent. "And who doth wag his tongue with such decree from yon vantage of obscurity's dark and faintly refuge?" she asked in the full idiom of her forefathers. If they were guards, they should at least recognize her usage of Elder Homidris, otherwise it would not matter. She might spare a guard who showed some honor, but a mob deserved no quarter. Still, the reply was nothing she had expected.

  "Tis but one of no repute, nor consequence, save that of immutable devotion to mine ally. And lo, even in pitch doth mine eye bear his witness as clearly as day, as clearly as he hath been made thy fallen victim, and would be thy captive, but for this dagger I grasp whose blade doth itch to bear ill upon such throats that dare bear such wicked blood."

  Delphi had disguised her voice by lowering it, and further by suppressing her Dark accent. She wasn't certain how effective this would be, but the less her opponents knew of her, the better. Then the villain had spoken in an ancient dialect of Homidris. This was no particular challenge since all dialects of this region had been part of her early curriculum for Heartrot's Quest. Still, she was surprised to come across anyone who actually spoke it.

  What the shadow had said was completely unexpected. Aside from her astonishment at hearing someone other than herself speaking such words, the circumstances surrounding the Magistrate's death was such as no guard would call himself Jester's ally. Neither would the vigilantes. She talkin bout the runt?

  Magnatha looked speculatively at the Dwarf, who, according to her nose, had just soiled himself.

  In response, he looked back up at her with bloodshot eyes, and then both belched and passed gas loudly.

  "I pray thee. What name hast thine ally?"

  "He is the goodly Jesterwolf Thistle, newly appointed Ambassador to Spurious Grove, as if such hath escaped thee," answered the shadow incredulously.

  Magnatha was unsure what to believe. Obviously, this was neither guard nor Vigilante. "If thou art truly mine Kinsman's confederate, then let thy shadow fall, that we shall look, one upon the other, and if fate so wills it, be well met."

  Kinsman? After a long and tense moment, Delphi stepped from the shadows. She still had a firm grip on the dagger, but she had placed it back within its sheath. "Jester never spoke to me of family, if in fact you are his kin," she began. "But… I suppose if you weren't such, then you wouldn't know to test my ignorance." She wasn't entirely certain of her logic, but the only alternative would be to kill this woman. In respect and consideration of Jester's value of family, and perhaps her own newly acquired sense of such import, this was not an acceptable risk.

  ***

  Merfee sat bolt upright. "Spurious! Are they…"

  "Dead…all dead," she intoned with great sorrow. "There were so many. It was over in mere minutes. Then they headed back toward that light," she indicated the giant portal on the distant horizon.

  "We should look for survivors," he began.

  "No! No, my Love. You don't want to go in there."

  "But…"

  "There's nothing left. Nothing but…" she looked away, unable to articulate a description of the carnage.

  ***

  "Hold the line!" shouted the Master Sergeant as the latest rush against his section of defense threatening to end what remained of his command. Had it not been for the Rangers' unexpected reinforcement, the line would have already collapsed. But now, with half his people either dead or too severely wounded to fight, the possibility of a breach was rapidly becoming a solid possibility, yet again.

  "Company C, reporting for duty, milord!"

  The Sergeant wheeled about, thoroughly expecting to find proper reinforcements. What he saw was nothing but a smallish man leading perhaps two-dozen unarmored civilians. "Stand aside, Citizen! You're in military zoning. Nothing for you here, but death."

  The little man stood his ground, staring back at the soldier through thickly rimmed spectacles and a defiant scowl. "Company C, Arbitos Reserves, reporting for duty, milord!" he repeated in a loud and resolute voice.

  "You tell
him, Eggbert!" affirmed a spindly woman in the Company's ranks.

  The Sergeant glanced briefly at the woman in question. She was perhaps four hundred summers and all of ninety pounds, but she had prompted similar responses from the majority of her peers: a menagerie of short, fat, skinny, flabby, and placid-looking civilians. Still, he was running low on troops, and these people were obviously patriots.

  "Well…can any of you fight?" he asked, whereupon the woman who had so vigorously supported Eggbert's adamant stand, promptly fainted dead away.

  "Heavens, no!" Eggbert replied with an appalled expression. "We're Company C."

  "Yes! I know! You've said that twice already…"

  "C stands for Cleric."

  "Cleric?

  "Well…we are not quite a complete Company, milord," Eggbert included, shifting his gaze nervously, unwilling or unable to make eye contact. "We seem have a straggler, but I'm sure he's on his way…I think."

  "Bah! Precious Perdil won't show!" shouted a chubby teen near the back. "Last I saw, he was heading for the docks."

  "You just pipe down back there, Bub!" intoned Eggbert, his hands planted firmly on both hips to illustrate his authority.

  "No, Eggy, he's right. Perdil is a coward," the woman who had fainted said in a subdued voice while regaining her feet with the help of her friends.

  "Agnes!" Eggbert reproached. "He's your own Nephew!"

  "It doesn't matter anymore, Eggy," she smiled weakly. "As long as you and I can stand side by side, healing our brave soldiers, then nothing else matters."

  "Oh, Agnes!" crooned Eggbert.

  "Oh, Eggy!"

  "Oh, brother!" exclaimed Bub.

  "Right, then!" shouted the Master Sergeant. "Cleric Company is now attached to A-Sector! We've got injured soldiers out there, people! I want every last one of you on the line, now!"

  "Yes, milord!" Eggbert shouted out proudly, and snapping to attention as Agnes gazed upon him with unabashed adoration.

  "Company, march!" Eggbert commanded, prompting the odd little group of brave civilians to tend to the business of healing soldiers.

  I may become ill, thought the Sergeant wearily.

  ***

  "Blast!"

  "I am sorry, milord. We're doing the best we can with what we have."

  "Send six men to run a sweep through the city. I want every soldier to the front! Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes, milord. Right away, milord."

  "Captain!" Amara shouted, over the War cries, death cries, and general Melee.

  Reginald turned toward the sound of her voice, and then bolted forward, catching her just before she fell. He beheld a deep gash along her left cheek, as she dropped into his arms. Upon closer inspection, he noted that the fabric of her bodice around the shoulder had been burned away, along with a good portion of flesh.

  "Private!" he shouted.

  "Yes, milord."

  "Get a healer!"

  "No!" Amara shouted. "You can't. There's a shortage of healers already. If you pull even one of them off the line, you'll kill dozens. Besides, that is not why I'm here."

  "What then, milady?" he asked gently. She didn't seem to realize that she had collapsed into his arms.

  "I'm out of blasted…arrows! Need more…arrows…" she exclaimed hoarsely, her words trailing off as if she were losing her power of concentration.

  Reginald glanced back to the line. Most of the other Rangers had already exhausted their ammunition and had joined with the infantry. What remained of the Spurious archers were but a sparse handful, scattered about the outlining fringe of the battle proper.

  There had been a surge of hope when several groups of civilian reserves arrived to act as a buttress to the waning lines of defense. These were primarily support in the natural arts, such as Clerics, Druids, and the like. The occasional Retired Paladin and Warrior also arrived, fully prepared to give what remained of their lives in exchange for one last glorious battle.

  Unfortunately, that hope had been all too brief. The Dark-elf forces simply continued to flow in, seemingly inexhaustible. It was as if every ounce of Arbitos resources had been foreseen, and then factored into their preparation.

  He cradled the older woman in his arms, holding her hand up, while examining the bloody fingers that had been loosing arrow after arrow, until her very flesh had given way to the bowstring's wear.

  "They need me," she insisted in a distant, drifting tone.

  "No, milady," Reginald offered gently as the blood flowing from the back of her sweat-drenched hair dripped from the back of his hand. "Your work is all but done, I fear."

  Her eyes, which had begun to wander, refocused as she struggled to regain lucidity. She managed to meet his eyes, and his grievous expression confirmed that for which she searched.

  Chapter Six-There Goes The Neighborhood

  Their return had been uneventful. Upon materializing at the Hub, they were even fortunate enough to find yet another Druid who was willing to escort them back to camp.

  Reaching the camp itself had been another matter. As they drew near, the sounds of battle reached them from over the rise. Then an arrow from out of the darkness struck the Druid in the chest, dropping him where he stood.

  ***

  "Has anyone seen Dobin and Reanna?" he shouted while winding through the huddled survivors.

  "Haven't seen them, Cleetis," an old woman replied wearily, and then continued to administer first aid to another of the fallen Tarots.

  "Reanna! Dobin!" he continued to call.

  "What's happened to Mama and Dobi?" Tuda whimpered, the fear and uncertainty in her voice nearing that of her father's.

  "Oh, I'm sure they're just fine," Ezlea soothed, pulling Tuda closer. "I bet they're with Nere and Huey."

  "Where are Nere and Huey?" Tuda asked, not at all comforted by the effort, especially since both of the oversized Tarots were last seen holding off the brunt of Dark-elves in order to facilitate everyone else's escape.

  ***

  "Nanna? She's scrubbing too hard!" he exclaimed as her cane shoved him back to the ground beside the fountain. "Ow! Uh, stop it!"

  "Oh, hush up! It's just clean water."

  "He will be fine, though a good night sleep wouldn't hurt," concluded the slender Cleric as he looked toward the southeast.

  "I thank thee kindly, milord," intoned Magnatha sincerely, doing her best to perform a curtsy, but settling for a quick nod when her knees refused to comply.

  "And I," added Jester while attempting but failing to evade Delphi's endeavors.

  "And I," Delphi added, kneeling beside Jester with a cheerful expression as she continued to scrub.

  "And I would like to be untied now!" Crumly exclaimed indignantly.

  "Well, then, I suppose I should be reporting for duty," said the Cleric.

  "Duty?" Magnatha asked.

  "Yes, milady. I am in the reserves. My unit Commander stopped by my home on his way to the front. I've been ordered to report…"

  "What front?!" inquired Magnatha and Jester in unison.

  "Oops," said Delphi. "There is something I forgot to mention."

  ***

  Reginald pulled a gold chain from around his neck and placed it on Amara's chest.

  The private, who had been scanning the front with a spyglass, now glanced down at the pendant. The Captain had given her his own Congressional Talisman of Glory. Then he removed his outer robe and draped it reverently over her body.

  Reginald held the shrouded figure's hand for several moments. He supposed he could have lied to her…let her pass gently. He could have, but no Hero should ever be so deceived. When his time came, which could indeed be quite soon, judging by the bad way this battle was turning, he only hoped he could match her Valor. Certainly, he could not surpass it.

  Returning to the spyglass, the Private caught sight of something startling. "Captain? I think you'd better take a look at this," he intoned seriously.

  Reginald got to his feet, took the spyglass, a
nd then scanned the direction the Private indicated. At first, he could only make out the overall battle, as though it were an indivisible melding of interlocked combatants. The melee of opposing infantry comprised the main body of conflict. This was accompanied by scattered volleys from what few organized Rangers remained. Unfortunately, as the Rangers' ammunition dwindled, the Casters of both opposing forces were brought forward in order to fill that tactical gap. The effective result of various spells, ranged from explosive, burning, freezing, and sometimes electrifying offence to the buffering and healing defense, formed an overall chaotic display of conflicting fireworks that slowly but surely worked its way south, into the city's interior.

  Then he discovered what had prompted the Private's concern. A small group of Arbitos soldiers were running straight north. They had already crossed the enemy line, and had yet to encounter resistance. A Dark-elf woman seemed to be leading them. She carried a banner, raised high, and waved it expansively as they progressed. The flag itself bore no special design, but was simply the blood-red shade of the Empire's Allegiance.

  Upon closer inspection, he recognized more than a few among their migration, and several of these were carrying someone else: someone bearing an uncomfortably similar resemblance to the missing Colonel. They crossed behind a stationary line of mounted beetles, seemingly unnoticed by the Dark-elf riders whose attentions were focused on the battle proper.

  Reginald quickly pushed the implication back. He wanted to find some other explanation.

  "Traitors!" exclaimed the Private when he witnessed the appalled expression on the Captain's face.

  "Hold your tongue, boy," Reginald shot back. "We can't know for sure…"

  "Oh, yes, we can."

  Reginald jerked about, facing the new arrivals. "Borin!" he exclaimed, his expression momentarily brightening as he dropped the spyglass and grabbed his son by both shoulders.

  Borin smiled patiently.