Swashbuckler's Gambit - Chapter 7
Swashbuckler's Gambit - Chapter 7
by: John Cressman - 06/27/2005
Chapter 7 - Visitors in the Dark
It took the rest of the day for them to hunt down the remaining orcs. During the hunt, Jonitillus stumbled on some gravestones for some of the Vallon orcs. When he showed them to the elves, they were enraged and insisted that the bodies be uncovered and burned with the rest of them.
"Better to burn them," said one of the elves, "than to have their filthy carcasses polluting our land."
Jonitillus and Battlefield helped them dig up the orc's graves, while Freubie and Angharad helped tend the wounded. Liath was still pale. The wizardress had expended an enormous amount of energy with her spells, killing entire groups of orcs with a single fireball. Kwix watched over her, strumming his harp softly in a soothing melody.
As Battlefield and Jonitillus finished up digging out the orc bodies, they came across one that had been placed in a crude wooden box.
"What do you make of this?" asked Battlefield.
The swashbuckler looked down at the orc coffin. None of the others had been in put into boxes. They had simply been thrown unceremoniously into the grave and covered up. "Probably one of Gurk's lieutenants. Possibly killed when they first entered the valley and fought the elves."
The two of them finished uncovering the wooden casket and managed, mostly due to Battlefield's exceptional strength, to lift it up and out of the grave. The coffin didn't look very old and had a roughly drawn picture of the orc's god carved into the lid.
Battlefield grinned. "I wonder if they buried him with any treasure."
The big northman reached down to open the lid but Jonitillus stopped him.
"Hold on Battle," the swashbuckler told him, "let me take a closer look at this."
Jonitillus bent down and ran a careful eye over the coffin. He took out a small metal probe which he sometimes used to pick locks and move it lightly in the space between the lid and the bottom. As he moved it past the center, he encountered a slight resistance and stopped immediately.
"Find something?" asked Battlefield. The big man had apparently seen orc traps before and had backed up several feet.
"It's trapped," the rogue replied, straining his eyes to see into the thin space. He brought out other tools and watched with a bemused expression as Battlefield took a few more steps back. Jonitillus removed another probe and started to test the tautness of the trigger. He suspected there was a piece of thin, flexible wire connected from the top of the coffin to something at the bottom. If the wire was loose, then pulling on it likely pull the pin out of some spring-loaded device and set off the trap. If the wire was tight, then pulling up on the lid would snap the wire, releasing some spring that was already cocked and being held in check by the wire.
Testing with the thin metal probe, he decided it was loose. That meant he could cut it and the trap would be disarmed. He reached down and pulled a pair of very thin wire-cutters. He looked up to tell Battlefield what he was doing and saw that a crowd of elves had gather, at a safe distance, to see him working on the trapped coffin.
"Nothing like working in front of a crowd," he grinned. "This is the part where it might go boom, so if I would take a step ba."
Before he could finish the sentence, the crowd all took a few steps backward. He turned back to the coffin. And slowly inserted the wire-cutters into the crack between the lid and the bottom. Jonitillus pushed them in until he had the trigger wire between their sharp blades. Saying a quick prayer to whatever gods were listening, he closed his eyes and snipped the wire.
Cracking his eyes open, the swashbuckler realized the trap had been disarmed. He found he was holding his breath and slowly released it. Then he picked up the probe again and ran it across the rest of the wooden coffin, just to make sure there were no other traps.
Satisfied, he replaced his tools in their case, and stuck it back into a pocket in his tunic. He moved around to the back of the casket so the door of the casket would open up towards him, offering him a little protection if there was another trap.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered softly and threw open the casket. Nothing exploded, and he looked down.
Inside the casket was the body of a large orc, dressed from head to foot in bright chain armor, made from some type of feysteel. The orc's arms were crossed over its body and in its right hand was a shiny gladius - a short, double-edged sword. He also found the trap mechanism attached to the bottom of the coffin. Carefully, prying the top off, he saw that he had been right. Mostly. Opening the lid would have pulled two pins, which would have broken two vials of chemicals. He wasn't sure what the chemicals would do when mixed, but he was sure it would have been unpleasant.
"I wonder who was?" said Battlefield, who had moved up next to him when the coffin hadn't exploded.
One of elves who had stepped forward bent down and looked at him. "That was Gorynn, the leader of the Vallon Brigade. It was he who led the raid into our village and took the hostages. I am glad to see at least some of our arrows struck home."
"What would you like us to do with him?" asked Jonitillus.
"Burn him with the rest," spat the elf, "and it's more than he deserves!"
Another elf walked over and looked down at the dead orc. Jonitillus had spoken with him previously, while planning the raid on the orcs. His name was Sas'hra Thaltalis, one of the elven rangers. "None of us will touch the things an orc has worn, but if you wish to take his armor or weapons, I'm sure they would fetch a good price in Qeynos."
"Thank you," said Jonitillus, who had been trying to figure a way to tactfully ask if he could loot the body. He looked up to Battlefield, who nodded and bent down to help him take the valuables from the dead orc.
Later, after the orc bodies had been burned, the elves returned to their village and there was a small celebration. The dead were honored, as were those who had fought valiantly. Each of the companions was awarded a green cloak, making them all honorary greenhoods. Then, there was more celebrating with many different types of specially prepared foods and elven wine.
Freubie complained for nearly an hour that the wine wasn't nearly strong enough for a dwarf, while Kwix composed an impromptu ballad about the battle. Jonitillus was talking with one of the elven warriors when the elves suddenly grew quiet and the sounds of celebration died into a sudden hush.
"What is it?" asked Jonitillus, his hands already falling to the well used hilts of his weapons.
The elf looked around. "Strangers," he replied, "in the vale."
Elves were moving into action, dousing fires and reaching for weapons that had been kept close at hand. Within moments, the previously lit celebration area was plunged into darkness and elves faded into the shadows.
Jonitillus pulled his dark cloak closer to him, becoming one with the shadows. His human eyes strained to see movement on across the star lit vale.
For several moments, no one moved. Jonitillus knew the elves were out there in the darkness, but he couldn't see them. He could make out the large shape of Battlefield, trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a large oak. He also made out the squat form of Fruebie, who had taken shelter behind one of the large barrels of wine. Even after a second glance, the swashbuckler couldn't tell whether the dwarf was hiding or drinking from the tap.
Suddenly, the sound of bird calls sliced through the night air. Even though he wasn't familiar with night creatures, the swashbuckler recognized the patterned chirps as something more than just birds. He guessed it was the elven sentries' way of communicating.
Suddenly, elves emerged their hiding spots. Sas'hra appeared so abruptly that Jonitillus almost started.
The elven ranger regarded him with respect. "None but an elf would have seen you hiding there. You are exceedingly stealthy for one of your kind."
"Sometimes," he replied, "it pays to be able to walk unseen."
The elven ranger nodded his agreement. "The sentries reported intruders, but they are not orcs. They have intercepted them and are bringing them here for questioning."
It wasn't long before a small group of elves led three figures into the camp. Two of the newcomers were shorter than the elves and struggled to keep up with them, while the third towered over them. As they came into the newly rekindled firelight, Jonitillus could see one of them was a large human, one was a dwarf and the other was a small gnome with spiky hair and some sort of small, tinted glasses perched on the brim of his nose.
Battlefield stepped forward, extending a hand. "Sareb," he called to the other northman, "it is good to see you my friend."
"Likewise." The two clasped hands in a firm handshake briefly. Even though Sareb was a large man, the northman still towered over him. Battlefield turned towards the others.
"Thorran and Elvy," he greeted them. "I did not expect you to see you so soon."
The elves visibly relaxed once they realized that Battlefield recognized the newcomers. The sentries lingered for a minute or so, then one by one, disappeared back into the darkness.
"You know I like to be called Strummer," piped the little gnome. He pulled out a mandolin and began a popular melody. Kwix quickly joined in, pulling out his lute and playing a complimentary tune.
Battlefield rolled his eye. "Sorry Elvy. I mean. Strummer."
Smiling with satisfaction, the little gnome settled on a log next to Kwix, as the two bards played with unsurpassed skill. Even many of the elves, known for their own music, stopped what they were doing and gathered around the two master musicians.
In the meantime, the other two newcomers stepped in close to talk to Battlefield.
"I'm afraid it isn't good news that brings us out here," Sareb told them. "We've come to take Freubie back."
"Fruebie?" Battlefield looked back at the dwarf, who was still treating some of the elves who had been hurt in the raid. "What's this about?"
The new dwarf looked over at Fruebie and shook his head. "It's his brother. He's been wounded battling some new gnolls in Thundering Steppes. His wounds are beyond are healing, but he's a stubborn one. He insists on seeing his brother before he moves on."
Battlefield's head sank. "I know his brother," he said, "he's a good dwarf."
"The best," said Thorran. "His lost will hit us hard."
"Where did these gnolls come from?" asked Angharad who came up to stand next to Battlefield. "There have always been tribes of gnolls throughout the Steppes, but they've never been organized enough to be more than an annoyance."
"Something changed," said Sareb. "We're not sure what, exactly. But Am'ph-dre is studying some type of crystal we took from one of the dead gnolls. It seems to be the key to some sort of teleport magic."
"If anyone can figure it out," said Liath, "Amps can."
The large man nodded. "Aye," he said, "she may dabble in magicks that some say are best left untouched, but she's a smart one."
"Well," said Battlefield, "we'd better go tell him."
The others nodded and moved as a group over to where Fruebie was treating the wounded elves.
Jonitillus turned back towards the two bards, marveling at how well their music seemed to meld together and become and almost tangible thing. While he had thought briefly of following the life of a minstrel, Vemirik - his old mentor - had showed him that his true talents lie in the quickness of his wits and the quickness of his blades. Still, watching the comely elven maidens dancing in front of the two grinning bards, maybe being a bard wouldn't have been such a bad choice.
Several hours later, the members of Legion had gathered to say good bye to Fruebie. Thorran, who Battlefield affectionately called Gauze, because of the young dwarf's inclination to over pack medical supplies, had decided to stay with them to help with their mission against Deathfist Citadel. Sareb, Strummer and Fruebie would be heading back to the docks, where a chartered ship waited to take them back to Qeynos.
"Good luck in your journey, my friends," said Angharad, as the three readied themselves to depart. "Be careful on your trek back to the docks."
"Trek?" said Strummer, raising an eyebrow. He grinned evilly. "We're taking the quick route!"
The companions exchanged confused looks and turned back to Strummer. "Quick route?"
"A little something Amps taught me," he replied, grinning. He seemed to concentrate for a moment and then intoned words of power. "Evado Incolumitas!"
The magic of the words took hold and their forms blurred and began to fade away, but not before Strummer flashed them a cocky grin.
"Wow," said Liath, whistling to herself. "Amps taught Strummer a teleportation spell. It probably took them all the way back to the docks!"
"I don't suppose you can carry us to the Deathfist Citadel that way?" asked Battlefield. "It would save a lot of time."
"No, I haven't quite mastered that one," replied Liath.
Battlefield gave her a mock look of disgust. "Bah! What good are you then?!"
Liath grinned and looked him straight in the eye. "I am rather good with shrinking spells though." She looked meaningfully down toward his metal cod piece.
"Ahem," Battlefield cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "I'd better go talk to the elves to see if they can give us a map." He spun and hurried away.
Liath looked an Angharad and the two giggled. Angharad moved off towards her bedroll and Liath pulled out her spellbook and began studying.
Jonitillus walked over to her and sat down on the log near her.
She looked up from her book. "Do you need something?"
"Actually," he replied, putting on all the charm he could muster. "I was wondering if you can teach me that teleportation spell."
Liath raised an eyebrow. "Well. I'm not sure."
"I know," he interrupted, "I'm not a mage. But I have studied quite a bit of magic and have picked up pieces here and there."
Liath rolled her eyes. "There's a big difference between the little tricks you do to blend in and teleportation magic. I don't know if you could."
"Come on," he flashed her his best grin, "do it for me. I know you'll make a great teacher! Pretty please.."
Liath rolled her eyes. "I suppose if I don't agree, you aren't going to leave and let me study?"
Jonitillus shook his head.
"And I don't suppose threatening to turn you into a squirrel or other small woodland creature would dissuade you?" she said, trying to look menacing.
The swashbuckler shook his head again. "Do you know how hard it would be to study when some annoying little squirrel is pelting you with nuts?"
She smiled despite herself. "Oh, very well! But I warn you. I haven't mastered it myself. and you could end up blowing yourself up!"
Jonitillus remembered back to his first attempts at alchemy. "Wouldn't be the first time."
June 5, 2006
