Dreams and Nightmares


Chapter XI. Dreams and Nightmares

Ephirea's vision was hazy. The rank, fetid atmosphere around her was doing its best to stifle her ability to breathe as each ragged breath she took nearly sent her into a fit of coughing and gagging. Holding in her air for a moment, she quickly tore loose a piece of her baggy sleeve and wound it around her head, covering her mouth and nose. There, that seemed to take the bite from the air around her. She took the remaining pieces of sleeve still dangling on her arm and tucked them carefully into the leather bracer which wrapped around her forearm. The last thing she needed was to get her sleeve caught in her bowstring when she fired an arrow.
Now that she could breathe well enough, she took a look at her surroundings. Well, what she could see of her surroundings with her eyes burning like they were. She could just make out the tips of tree limbs poking out through the yellowish, acidic fog which permeated the air. She began walked towards them, reaching down into the quiver slung over her left hip to pull out an arrow. She carefully nocked the arrow on the bowstring in preparation, as she wanted to be ready in case she ran afoul of something that needed to be shot. She could feel the wrongness of this place like someone standing next to her was screaming it at her over and over. However, there was something quite familiar about it as well. It was like a tingling on the back of her neck that made her hair want to stand on end and sent little shivers down her spine.
She moved closer to the trees, looking at one in particular and saw their enormous twisted and misshapen trunks. What kind of tree was this? She had been around Mer many times, but had never seen a tree like this. She slowly stepped past it, making certain she did not touch any of the sharp thorns that jutted out from the ugly black bark of the tree. A thorndigger tree. That is what she would call it from now on, a thorndigger tree. As she moved past the tree's range, she came across a small clearing where the noxious fumes from the fog cleared a bit. The thinner fog in the clearing itself was gray, however, not the yellowish color the rest of it was. It was definitely thinner, as she could see all the way to the other side where more of those thorndigger trees stood.
She decided to trust her instincts and step into the gray fog, but as she did her face smashed into something as if she had run into a wall. She reached her hand out cautiously in front of her to feel what had struck her and it was stopped abruptly. The stuff looked as insubstantial as the yellowish fog did, but it had a texture to it that was as hard as stone. She could still see it swirling like normal fog would, but when she pressed harder against it, she could feel its sandpaper-like texture as it glided over her fingertips. If she had not been getting such a bad feeling from this place, she would be willing to wager that Tersiano was playing some sort of illusionary trick on her. If he was, he was going to take an arrowhead right where his robes parted.
The sight of movement drew her attention back to the trees on the other side of the clearing. There was something lurking around there to be certain. She withdrew her hand from the solid fog and put it back on her bowstring with its nocked arrow. Whatever was moving out there had better have good intentions, or it would soon be skewered. Ephirea watched intently as an outline of a body emerged from the trees and began to move out into the gray fog of the clearing. The form was cloaked so that Ephirea could not make out its features. The archer had a brief, irrational desire to put an arrow into whoever it was just because they could enter the gray fog and she could not.
The figure made a sudden movement, hunching its shoulders and cocking its head as if it heard something that had startled it. When she saw the movement, sudden recognition flooded Ephirea and she lowered her bow, shouting to the figure in the fog. "Malaryn! Malaryn, it's me, Ephirea!" she cried out.
The figure did not seem to notice her, but it did however reach up and pull back the hood of its cloak, confirming Ephirea's suspicions. Malaryn's eyes scanned the sky above, searching for something Ephirea could not see. She tried again to penetrate the gray fog in front of her to reach the big smith, but it would yield neither to her pushes nor to the arrowheads she dug into it. She could feel the sense of evil growing thicker, more powerful, and the usual glibness that she was proud to keep in any situation was promptly doused as water on a flame. She knew Malaryn could feel it as well when he crouched down even lower and raised a hand instinctively for protection from something he could not see.
The feeling of crushing power increased tenfold and Ephirea could be aware of nothing else but the horrifying tableau in front of her. Her bow slipped from her nerveless fingers to clatter on the ground, unnoticed by the archer. She felt a glimmer of recognition at this terrifying surge of power, but her mind was so overwhelmed by its strength that she could not focus enough to identify it. She saw Malaryn drop to his knees and throw his head back, looking into the sky for the source of the sensation. She saw his eyes widen in terror and he threw his body forward, huddling in a ball on the ground.
The entire clearing suddenly turned pitch black. Not the type of darkness that Ephirea was used to, where you could still make out the shadows in their various shades, but an unnatural darkness that defied all natural laws. However, the raven-haired archer did not need her vision to know what was happening inside the clearing, she could feel it with her mind. She could feel it with senses she never knew she had, amplified by the awesome power of the being that was now close to her. She could sense the massive jaws that were there, but yet not there, closing around Malaryn's big frame. She could feel his body stiffen as if frozen, as the life was being drawn from him in a horrible flow of flaming cold. She could feel the jaws that were not there release and drop Malaryn, and the smith's body crashed to the ground in a crushed and mangled heap. Then she felt the awful presence rapidly withdraw from the clearing, taking with it the impenetrable darkness that had cloaked it.
Ephirea opened her eyes to see Malaryn in the same position that he was in before the darkness struck, on his knees and curled up into a ball. This did not make sense. She had felt him crash to the ground in a heap, had felt every rock and stick from the ground poke into his flesh. She moved back to where the gray fog still swirled so that she could get a closer look at the big warrior. He did not appear to be moving, not even to breathe. She beat on the sliding stone-like fog, calling his name over and over, but there was no response.
Ephirea's back stiffened and her head snapped up as a sudden thought occurred to her. She was still out in the open and whatever had attacked Malaryn might soon be back for her. She quickly pivoted on one heel to retrieve her bow from the ground. She smoothly, through years of practice, re-nocked the arrow, scanning the fog above for signs of the enemy. She saw nothing but the sickly, yellowish fog that swirled all around her. Well, things could be worse. It could be the solid gray fog that surrounded her.
She turned back to check on Malaryn and was surprised to find him standing up, staring blankly, straight in front of him towards the trees. He seemed to be extremely pale, his skin flushed out and almost white. She could not blame him there, that being that had attacked him had caused her to lose all of her warmth as well. As she moved back to the impenetrable fog wall, she watched Malaryn suddenly stand on his toes and let loose a horrible scream. It set Ephirea's teeth on edge just to hear its shrill pitch. Malaryn's low voice could never make a sound like that!
Ephirea reached the wall, and could only stand, transfixed, as she watched Malaryn suddenly tear open the steel bracers he wore over his wrists. He fumbled about the clasp as if he could not get his hands to move the way he wanted them to. Finally, he just grabbed the bands tightly and ripped them loose, popping the rivets which held the leather straps to the steel. Ephirea began to scream in horror and revulsion at Malaryn as she saw him open his mouth and bite deeply into each wrist, his blood fountaining out of the wounds he had inflicted upon himself. She saw him remove his mouth with an expression of relief on his face and she thought she heard him speak in a low voice. "That should end it. By the Gods, that should end it."
Ephirea beat on the sliding stone-hard fog with her bare hands, trying vainly to batter down the barrier preventing her from reaching her friend who lay slumped over on the mossy ground, his blood pooling around his body. Suddenly the fog grew thicker and the damnable gray mists soon denied the archer even the sight her friend. Ephirea slumped to her knees, weeping. She was certain her tears flowed as much for her own helpless frustration as for the loss of her friend.
Her mourning was interrupted rudely by the sudden sensation of being seized by the shoulders and arms. She raised her head to see the gray fog had flowed towards her and was wrapping her wrists and shoulders with its stone-like embrace. She struggled with all of her might against the unyielding shackles, but her screams of fury were impotent against the fog's strength. She felt the ragged piece of her sleeve come loose from around her face and she involuntarily gulped in a lung full of the rank yellowish fog that still saturated the air around her. She closed her eyes, hacking and wheezing, and fought like a wounded tiger against the grip of steel that held her.
A voice shouted close to her ear, "Ephirea! Ephirea, stop fighting!"
The archer opened her eyes to see a woman's peering into her own. She studied the face briefly, looking for some type of sign she would recognize. It was a pretty woman with light brown hair and brown eyes staring at the confused archer from behind a darkly tanned, almost dirty brown colored face. Ephirea thought she might know this person, but the cotton that seemed to fill her head was preventing her from thinking clearly enough to place her. She only knew that she had to escape, to continue to fight the fog that held her tight.
She looked down at her wrists, expecting to see the rock-hard mist of the gray fog, only to see it was a man's hands which held them fast. She looked up to see who this person was and saw a tall man wearing blue robes staring down at her with a stern expression on his face. His eyes whirled around in a flash of colors that tickled the back of Ephirea's mind. Something was familiar here.
The man spoke to her in a strangely metallic voice, "Ephirea, you're all right now. You should be as right as the night in a bit, and then you can start poking us with your arrow heads again."
Despite his teasing words, Ephirea could hear warmth in the tone of the man's ringing voice. What was it about him that struck such a familiar chord? The cloud muddling her thoughts would not lift so that she could remember what it was she knew she must know.
"Let… let me go… whoever you are. I… I won't run away," she said to the strange man.
The man smiled enigmatically before replying, "I have absolutely no doubt that you will try, my dear. Unfortunately, I never could refuse a friend's request."
He released Ephirea's wrists suddenly, almost causing her to fall backwards on the bed she had been sitting up on.
"What are you doing, mage?" asked the brown-haired woman beside Ephirea. "She's going to get away!"
Ephirea shrank away from the blue-robed man, edging back to the end of the bed. She began to coil her legs up underneath her in preparation to leap away from the two somewhat familiar strangers when she felt a hand on her shoulder. A sudden iciness flowed forth from the hand and forced away the cloud of confusion wracking her mind. She suddenly remembered where she was, in the young boy's house in Haven. She took a frantic look around her and almost broke into a sob of relief as she recognized Melina and Tersiano staring down at her.
She looked behind her at the owner of the hand on her shoulder and saw Dealyon standing there, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood. The druid's voice was low and gentle as he said, "Rest easy Ephirea. You have been stricken with a terrible fever caused by the your exposure to the elements from the storm Aramari summoned. I have done what I can to clear the confusion from your mind. You were fortunate to have survived the ordeal, for something was interfering with my attempts at healing."
Melina moved closer to where Ephirea sat, saying "We were all so worried. This morning you started thrashing about like you were being attacked. You had been out for so long that it came as a sudden shock when you began to move around at all."
Ephirea looked up at Melina, moving her head slowly. Fast movements still caused her to get a bit fuzzy. "What do you mean 'out for so long'? How long have I been sick?"
Tersiano answered in his usual droll manner. "Why, my good dear, we have been in Haven for three days now. You have been moaning and groaning and nearly making the owners of this lovely house insane for almost every minute of that time."
Ephirea's eyes opened wide in amazement. "Three days? Yayenger's Blood! We've got to get moving to find out where this sage lives. I think Malaryn and I can go and…"
The archer's words trailed off as the memory of Malaryn being attacked and dying in the clearing came rushing back to her. She threw off the blankets that covered her and jumped up from the bed, looking around the room frantically. "Malaryn!" she gasped in a frantic breath. She ran up to Melina and grasped the Accabashi woman's shoulders, looking her in the eyes. "Where is he? Where's Malaryn? Is he all right?"
Ephirea watched Melina flinch away from her frantic stare. The mercenary woman could only wonder how her face looked, painted as it was with desperation. Melina maintained her eye contact with Ephirea, however, and answered her in a conciliatory tone of voice that only served to agitate Ephirea further. "Don't worry Ephirea. He's out front with…"
The brown-haired archer never heard the rest of the sentence as she threw open the door to the bedroom, sending it slamming into the wall with a loud crack. She sprinted through the main room of the house, all traces of wooziness gone, and practically leaped out the front door, landing on the porch lightly. The bright sunlight outside overwhelmed her eyes for a moment and she squeezed them shut until the pain subsided.
When her eyes had adjusted to the daylight, she took a look around the outside of the house. People were walking up and down the street, apparently oblivious to all else but their own matters. Ephirea heard some voices talking from off the porch to the left and she turned to see Malaryn and Ell doing some type of exercise. The big smith and the Yerracht were standing on their hands with the heels of their feet touching the walls behind them to maintain their balance. They were pushing themselves up and then lowering themselves back down repeatedly. Even from where she was standing Ephirea could hear them arguing with each other about who could do the most repetitions.
"Malaryn, are you all right?" asked the mercenary. "I had this awful dream that you had died and I needed to make sure you were..."
Ephirea's words trailed off as she watched Malaryn and Ell turn their heads and gape at her. They both stood there on their hands for a matter of seconds before Malaryn grunted something and toppled over to the ground in a crash of armor. Ell effortlessly lowered her feet to the ground and stood there with a little half-smile on her face. Malaryn stood up and began to studiously brush himself off, his eyes resting anywhere except on Ephirea.
He cleared his throat twice before he spoke. "Uh.. Ephirea… it's great to see, that you, uh, are all right. What, uh, brings ya out here?"
Ephirea watched in amazement as Malaryn scratched the back of his head, his face actually turned bright red as if he were blushing in embarrassment. What on Mer could be wrong with him?
Ell answered Ephirea's unspoken question by simply smiling and gesturing towards Ephirea's body. Perplexed, the mercenary woman looked down at herself, only to realize she wore not a stitch of clothing! She felt her entire body flush red from head to feet in embarrassment. She darted inside the house with a squeak, racing towards the bedroom she had emerged from previously. She ignored the purring laughter of Ell floating in from outside.

"Well it's not as if we were doing nothing but sitting on our haunches during the three days you were sick, Ephirea," stated Quillion, in response to the archer's question. "We've been taking turns walking about the city in various forms of disguise to find out what information we could."
The Half-elf turned and took a piece of parchment from his pouch, holding it out to Ephirea. "This is the most important item of information we discovered."
The mercenary took the parchment from Quillion's hand and began to read it silently. Quillion did not need Ephirea to read the writing on the parchment to him, for he already knew what it declared. A band of outlaws was loose in the lands around the city and anyone who found them was offered a purse of eight stone-weights in gold. The descriptions of the band of notorious outlaws were detailed across the bottom of the poster, each of them a near perfect description of the members of the companions.
They had first found out they were wanted by The Knights of the First Order almost two days ago, as soon as the storm's fury had abated. Since then they had been relying on Tersiano's and Quillion's own magic to disguise them as they walked about the city to find out where Oheniies' house was located. Quillion wished that he knew where Scintara was, for her skills in disguise would have proven invaluable during their search. Her disappearance worried Quillion greatly. The first night they were here, he had sent Ell out to look for signs of Scintara's passing. She had returned and reported finding a rain-blurred chalk marking on a building near the front gates, but nothing else. The Half-elf hoped that the light-fingered thief would return soon.
Until she did, however, there was the problem of finding Oheniies' home. It seemed almost no one in the entire city had even heard of the venerable sage. Quillion supposed he could understand why. The sources he had accessed in Three Corners had said that the man had not been seen outside of his residence for some years. Despite that, Quillion knew there had to be someone in this city with information of the sage's whereabouts.
Ephirea handed the parchment back to Quillion, snorting in disgust. "Horse thieves! Of all the rotten things they could have accused us of! They could have at least called us murderers or something with some class. As if any of us has even seen a horse during the entire trip up from Two Sands. This whole thing really grates my soles!"
Quillion could not help smiling back at Ephirea's winsome humor. It was good to have the archer back to her normal sarcastic self. Though any days of blissful silence were now nothing but a faint hope.
Preosha sat forward in her chair, leaning intently towards the center of the loose circle the companions were sitting in. "What I've been wondering is, who put our names up as outlaws and described each of us in such perfect detail."
Quillion looked back at the short woman in the heavy chain mail vest. "My best guess is that Emiriak sent our descriptions ahead of us to one of his spies here in the city. Of course, it's also possible that someone from The Knights wants us out of the way for his own purposes. Either way, that's a problem for another day. We must find out where Oheniies lives, and we need to find out where Scintara disappeared to as well."
Ephirea took a sip from the mug of spiced cider she held in her hands before speaking. "Has there been any change in Aramari's condition?"
Quillion received a slight shake of the head from Dealyon before answering. "No, I'm afraid not. It's just the same as before. Her body has all the signs of being asleep, but nothing can wake her. Dealyon here seems to think her mind and spirit aren't even in her body any longer. It looks like we can't really do anything but make sure she's safe."
Tersiano spoke in his metallic lilt, gesturing in the air in front of him with his fingers. "Can't we take her to one of the priests of Meyasha in the city? Surely one of them would be able to help. Meyasha is, after all, the Goddess of healing and something or other."
Quillion's mouth hung slack, as he stared at the bored-looking wild-mage. He could not believe one of the companions, or himself for that matter, had not thought of that idea sooner. Of course one of the priests of Meyasha could help. It was what they did. "Why didn't you tell us of this idea sooner, Tersiano?" asked the Half-elf.
"Why didn't you think of it sooner, oh perfect leader?" replied the wild-mage.
"Good point," said Quillion. "Regardless, I think that some of us need to take Mari to one of the priests for help while the rest of us continue the search for that damned sage's lair."
"I think we should go after dark, if we're all going to go out at once," declared Malaryn. "You and Tersiano won't be able to disguise us all and the Knights patrolling the streets will certainly take notice of us if we go during daylight."
"Agreed," Quillion stated, rising from his chair. "I'm going to get some food and some rest before nightfall. I'd suggest the rest of you do the same."
"If dinner is involved, you can count me right with you," said Ell, rising from the floor where she was sitting. She reached Quillion just as the Half-elf reached the door of the private room that Master and Mistress Rentre, or Morena and Geryld as they preferred to be called, had been kind enough to lend them. Malaryn was right on both of their heels.

Nightfall saw a group of figures emerge from the Rentre family's house and stand in the street, taking care to keep in the shadows as much as possible. They conferred for a moment in low voices that sounded no louder than a soft hum from two strides away. The group then split into two groups, the smaller of them carrying a litter holding a body covered in black cloth amongst them. The larger of the groups headed deeper into the city, in the direction of the main barracks of The Knights of the First Order, while the smaller group headed towards the Western side of town where the businesses of Haven were located.
As the two groups faded into the night, a figure slid from the shadows on the roof of the house directly across the street. The night was this figure's element, the place where it flourished. A long time had passed since the figure had been allowed to be unrestrained like this. It watched the house patiently until the family that resided therein turned out their interior lamp lights. Gliding across the street without a sound, the shadowy figure approached the darkened house. It paused only long enough to hang a tattered black cloth on a nail jutting from the door frame. This accomplished, the figure gained access to the house with less problem than it took to breathe.
The people sleeping soundly in their cozy beds in the neighboring houses never heard the screaming that soon after echoed through the quiet night.

As Malaryn trudged through the business district of Haven, he was growing more and more frustrated. He did his best to conceal his irritation from his companions, but he was tired of every building in this area of town looking almost exactly alike. He could not tell a church from a tavern in this maze of blocky, brown buildings. Unless he was looking directly at the signs hanging from their front eaves, he could but guess at the purpose of each establishment. If this kept up, they would never find out where the church of Meyasha was located. Back in Two Sands, you could easily spot a church from over twenty lengths away, since churches were built so as to regale the public with their splendor. Not to mention it was only churches and smithies that were made of stone in a city where wood was so plentiful. Not so here in Haven, where it seemed every establishment was fashioned from the brown stone that was so plentiful in this area or just built with brick.
The big smith and Quillion were carrying the litter bearing Aramari between them while Preosha darted back and forth between the buildings on the street, searching the signs hanging from their fronts for the church of Meyasha. Malaryn hoped that the inventor would find it soon, for he was seriously considering returning to the house and coming back during the daylight hours. He was as worried about Mari as the rest of the companions, probably more so, but this walking around aimlessly was useless.
He could hear his footsteps echoing down the alleyways between the buildings in the silence of the night. He could barely make out the sound of Quillion's footfalls, and he wagered he could only hear that because the Half-elf was weighted down with the litter. Malaryn had always envied Quillion's naturally light Elven feet. Malaryn did not consider himself clumsy by any means, it was just that a man his size was going to create some noise wherever he went. It was strange that the city was as quiet as it was. Even in the business district after hours, he suspected that someone should be moving about. The only sign of life Malaryn had seen was the occasional light from above one of the shops, where the merchants generally made their homes.
He heard a soft whistle coming from ahead, and he leaned to the side to peer past Quillion to where Preosha was waving them on excitedly. She must have found the church. Quillion and his steps quickened as they approached the brown brick building where the silver-haired inventor stood. As they drew near, Malaryn looked up at the sign swinging from the eaves in the night breeze. "The City of Haven Temple to the Goddess Meyasha," he read aloud. "Well, it looks like we finally found the blasted thing."
Preosha poked him sternly in his armored shoulder with her staff. "You know, Malaryn, it's really not that good of an idea to bad-speak a church when you are about to ask help from its members."
Malaryn rubbed the spot where the staff had scratched his steel shoulder pauldrin. "All right, all right. Ya know, there's no need to scuff my armor about it."
The diminutive inventor just snorted and said, "You're lucky if that's all that happens to you tonight, young man."
Malaryn bit back the sharp retort that he had been about to say. Preosha's habit of dropping into her "lecturing tone", as Lysinthia called it, was starting to grate Malaryn's good spirits. Sometimes Malaryn wondered if Preosha actually had been a classroom teacher, or whether that was a habit born of too many hours in design meetings with Gnomes.
"All right you two, knock of the bickering. We've got more important things to do here," said Quillion, giving Malaryn and Preosha a flat look.
Malaryn and Quillion carefully set down Aramari's litter while Preosha walked up and knocked loudly on the church doors. It seemed entirely too loud to Malaryn, but that could have just been the oppressiveness of the street's silence playing tricks on his mind. After a moment, Preosha knocked again and the sounds of it echoed throughout the streets.
While he waited, Malaryn kept a vigil of the area around them and saw Quillion doing the same. Nothing moved in the street, but he did see the outline of a man move into the lighted window of a shop across from the church. Whoever it was, was looking down at the group of companions from the second story of the building, the light radiating from behind him obscuring his features. After a few seconds, the man reached up and drew the curtains across the window, closing himself off from the night. A scratching noise from the door caught the big man's attention, and he and Quillion turned back to the church in time to see the heavy oak door open a crack.
A nasaly voice issued from the darkness on the other side of the frame. "Yes? What do you want at this time of night?" It was a man's voice and it gave the impression that its owner was more than a little perturbed at the interruption.
"We're here to obtain your services for our friend here, who, as you can see for yourself, is gravely ill," said Preosha in her most lecturing manner. "This is a church of Meyasha isn't it? You do still heal people here, don't you?"
The door opened a bit wider and a man's wizened old face peeked from around the side of the door. He looked down at Aramari with what Malaryn thought was an expression of pity. No that was not quite it. There was a little fear mixed in with the pity as well. What would a priest of Meyash have to fear from three strangers and a sick woman? Malaryn quickly curtailed that line of thinking. Of course the man is going to be a bit scared with three people armed to the teeth standing outside his door in the middle of the night.
"You have an ill friend? Why didn't you say so sooner?" asked the priest. "Here," he said, opening the door as wide as it would go, "bring her inside, so we can take a look at her."
Malaryn and Quillion bent down to pick up the litter and take Aramari inside. Preosha promptly walked in the door of the church as if she was the High Priestess and the priest opening the door was but a servant. Malaryn admired her composure, considering the situation, but he saw the priest grimace in reaction to her airs and the warrior wished she would stop the act for once.
As Malaryn entered the church, he stopped for a moment and stared in wonder. No matter how drab the outside of this building looked, the church had apparently spared no expense for its interior. The ceilings were vaulted and very high, apparently copied from an ancient design. The benches of the church were carved from the dark and expensive rosewood found only in the Rivendale forest. The walls were tiled in beautiful and enormous mosaics depicting various tales of church lore, and the floors were polished marble. The only light in the room came from the altar itself, which bore over a thousand lit candles burning in the same pattern of a hawk in flight that was carved on the medallion that Aramari and the priest were wearing. All in all, the room radiated a feeling of being welcome, yet cold and distant at the same time. It was nothing like the church of Meyasha in Two Sands, that was for sure.
The priest gestured for them to continue on, saying, "Take her over to the altar where I can have a little more light to examine her by. I'll just lock this door and be right along."
The big smith heard Quillion mumble some words of thanks and the two of them walked down the aisle, taking care not to slip on the polished marble floor and drop the litter. The room was enormous, spanning at least four lengths from door to altar. They were about halfway down the aisle when Preosha slowed a bit to walk beside them. She was still walking in the same haughty way as before, but she now wore a worried look on her face. She spoke softly to the two of them, continuing to look straight ahead.
"Have either of you noticed that the priest isn't following us?" she whispered.
"He said that he had to lock the door and he would be right along," said Quillion.
Malaryn spared a quick look over his shoulder and remarked, "He's not locking the door. He's just standing there watching us and wringing his hands together." The blacksmith suddenly had a cold feeling seep into his body. "Uh, Quill? I don't think this is..."
His words trailed off as he heard the soft chanting coming from the darkened area behind one of the pillars. A mage! "It's a trap!" he shouted. He reached across his body and drew his throwing axe, which had been enchanted long ago to always strike its intended target. With his strength, he managed to maintain the balance of the litter with his other hand. He hurled the axe in the direction of the chanting just as a cloud of blue smoke billowed up around him and the others. A sudden blackness claimed his mind and he collapsed to the ground. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the sound of the others falling to the ground and a distant scream echoing through the rafters. Good, at least that goblin-lover got what he deserv...

© 1998 C.A. Lutke

The Feast of Winds The End of Destiny, Book One - Hero`s Return, chapters 11 and beyond The Search for the Sage