The young rogue pulled back the hood of his dark cloak as he enjoyed the freshness of the early morning air. As he passed the crossroads he noted three piles of smoldering ashes.
Innkeeper’s wife, I’d wager, he thought. Pyre the corpses, wagons and all evidence the Brotherhood of the Chain were ever here. Clever. Expensive as I’m sure they could use or sell the carts but less trouble if anyone comes looking. Bet she used those urns of oil to make sure the blaze did its work. Impressive woman.
Turning his attention back to the woods, after a few minutes of study he found a proper sized sapling and trimmed it down into a walking staff. Satisfied that he now had a way to trip any game traps he might encounter on his way, he moved off the road a distance. He needed to follow the road to the next town but his highly developed sense of paranoia argued that he’d live longer if he avoided any potential ambush lying in wait for a single unwary traveler.
He walked along for most of the morning making slow progress through the underbrush. Force of habit made him move silently and he often paused to listen, look carefully and even smell the air. The words of Shan Starsglow came back to him “Speed will come later, youngling. Learn to be part of the forest first".
The raucous caw of a stormcrow in the distance triggered another chain of memory, that of his first meeting with the enchantress Livinia.
He'd managed a few "jobs" since returning to Pand'las after his years of servitude to the elven boyer and wanted to celebrate his ill gotten gains at the Pig and Whistle. The second he'd entered the inn his eyes had been drawn to the woman in black.. A fiery cascade of orange hair flowed down around a perfect heart shaped face of very light complexion. Full sensuous lips, a straight nose and arresting deep green eyes perched atop the sort of figure that normally populated his adolescent fantasies. Most exciting of all, when the inn's black bird, Simon, had "ca-Cawed" from his perch above the door, it drew the eye of the beautiful woman right to the entering rogue. Her slow smile of invitation drew the young man to her table like a moth to the flame.
She said nothing but the bedroom eyes she flashed at him spoke volumes. Her gesture toward the wine and his swallow of the offered cup were his last memories before groggily awakening naked and paralyzed in the magic users bed.
Being young and male, Livinia's purring description of how she would use him as an animate sex toy did not sound threatening in the least. In fact, if he had been able to speak he would have indicated his full approval of her plan. As with many things in life Bast soon learned to his sorrow that fantasy and reality were often seperated by a wide gulf.
Over the next interminable weeks, Livinia repeatedly and mercilessly demonstrated her description had been absolutely accurate. Bast, completely controlled by magic, was sexually used without being able to experience pleasure or even release. He was literally her toy, an unfeeling automoton who was magically compelled to do anything his mistress ordered. His growing understanding of nature of rape and his hatred of the crime became integral to his concept of himself. He felt so debased by the helplessness of this form of slavery he doubted he would ever enjoy being with a woman again.
When she had finally tired of painful and humiliating tricks and decided her “pretty toy” was beginning to bore her, she had compelled him to ply his trade as a thief at her bidding. His new role allowed him the ability to think and act to some degree, but he was still enspelled to return his booty to her after each job. Livinia, who had first chosen his targets based on spite or envy, eventually opted for pure avarice and set her sights on the magical treasures of other spell workers. He found his hand tracing the outline of the scar on his chin as he recalled his last assignment.
Although he'd barely survived the theft of the bishop's crystal, a clear gem the size of a large marble, the enchantress had immediately given him a new target. He returned from casing his next "assignment" to find the enchantress' tower in an uproar. Lightning bolts flashed and furniture flew as the fiery spell worker shrieked in frustration. Through the screams of her tantrum he gathered that the "Cloaked old man", thearchmage Dantilanos and a pair of his dark dwarves had paid a visit and "appropriated" the bauble over the objections of Livinia and her huge Tac'jie Orc guards. Despite the fact that the Archmage enjoyed a level of magical power great enough to dwarf her own, the enchantress was blaming the hulking captain of her guard for the loss of "her" crystal and expressing her displeasure by magically caging the screaming Orc in her huge roaring fireplace, roasting him alive as she ranted about his incompetence.
For his daring to suggest that the corpse of one of the dark dwarves was something and that perhaps the orc had had enough, the young rouge had earned two things: a hard lesson not to put himself between a madwoman and her victim and a magical lashing which left the scar on his chin which he would wear for the rest of his days.
Something of the ominous silence which had settled over the woods broke through his reverie, abruptly ending the flood of memories the crow's call had sparked. Ducking down behind a clump of flowering antrilthe cloaked figure put his hood up and stealthed behind the trunk of a large tree. In an instant he had used his magic climbing boots to sprint high into the branches. He stopped to watch and listen but his silent vigil did not last long.
They glided in from different directions, quiet as snowfall and smooth as a breeze. The elves were well armed with longbows, hunting spears and longswords. They ghosted up to the base of his tree and one called up “Come down, kitty cat. Save us the trouble of coming up after you or you will regret it.”
“Sastahl! E tardan mord?” one of the males addressed the speaker. Bast translated the question as “Bah, why not just kill him now?”
The first speaker’s answer, which translated as “Because then we’d still have to climb up there to get the body” decided the cloaked rogue’s next action.
He ran silently along the branch he was standing on, moving in the direction of the road. He moved quickly and silently but did not escape the keen eyed hunters below. The first arrow missed him by a foot. The second and third were only inches off target. He picked up his speed, sacrificing stealth to attempt to outdistance his hunters. No matter how fast he ran the elves easily kept pace with him on the forest floor below. Leaping from branch to branch he could not see the feral gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of the “fair folk” but the accuracy of their weapons improved each time his jump gave them a clear target. He had a shallow gash in his left arm and another on his hip before he halted.
The road was once again in sight when he stopped. Simultaneously catching his breath and planning his next move, he rogue stood on a thick branch and leaned against the trunk of a tree. He saw a caravan on the road heading back in the direction he had just come from at the same time that his hunters did. After a quick set of hand signals, one elf piled his gear at the base of the tree and began climbing while the others fanned out to ambush the caravan.
Rather than give his opponent the initiative Bast whispered a word which turned his cloak into a simple Bronze torc around his neck and drew his shortsword. This turned out to be a very fortunate choice as the Elf climbing the tree with the ease of a spider chose that moment to gesture and launch a bolt of some spell at the rogue above him. The Spellcutter absorbed the magic and channeled the energy to its wielder, healing his minor wounds and empowering him to flash down the trunk of the tree in order to strike at his climbing assailant. While the elf was not powered by the channeling of arcane energy, he was both nimble and experienced. Anticipating his quarry’s turning to attack if he survived the magic, the elf had thrown a dart almost immediately after launching his spell
The young rogue smiled thinking he could use the sudden burst of magical speed to bat the throwing spike aside as he ran down the trunk. The smile disappeared when the buzzing dart multiplied in flight. He was now a victim of his own momentum and though he knocked away three of the incoming missiles he caught the fourth one in the thigh. He grunted as he pulled the vibrating dart from his leg and reacting in an instant, leaned back against the trunk of the tree and lifted his feet. His movement towards his opponent increased dramatically as he went from running to plummeting. He hit the climbing elf in his upturned face with both feet.
The marauding elf’s body cushioned the rogue’s fall from the tree at the cost of the erstwhile hunter’s neck. Bast ignored both the snap of the elf’s vertebrae on the landing and the following spasms of the cooling corpse as he applied a quick tourniquet to his thigh above the wound. The numbness of his leg told the rogue what he already dreaded.
Poison! The damned dart was envenomed! He spared a glance at the body beneath him as he called forth the cloak and reached into a pocket for a jar of balm. Crap! He thought. Even with the healing energy from the blade I’m still losing feeling. And this is the last of Shan’s salve. I hope it works.
Hissing at the pain he made two intersecting cuts across the puncture. He dabbed the remaining ointment from the jar into the wound and then cutting the sleeve from the dead elf’s shirt he bandaged his thigh. Allowing himself a few seconds to catch his breath, Bast emptied the gold and silver from his assailant’s purse and took the rings from his fingers. He also tucked the four remaining magical darts and the elf’s quiver of arrows into his cloak.
Rising gingerly he determined that he would get as far into the woods as possible before he had to loosen the tourniquet. Whatever poison that bastard was using, I’ll want to be well hidden before it takes effect.Can’t count on that caravan to take all of those bastards out. Using the dead elf’s hunting spear as a support Bast began hobbling off into the forest.
On second thought the young rogue reconsidered As soon as they finish with the caravan they’re going to look for revenge for their captain. And being elves that means they will never quit until I’m quite dead. SHIT! Grabbing the elf’s longbow he gingerly walked back up the trunk of the tree. Although he preferred his own shortbow, he decided the greater range of the longbow might serve him better.
*******
For all their lack of planning, the elven raiders were both competent and deadly. One had moved to the front of the column, one to the back and the remaining three had spread out along one side of the road. They were deadly with their longbows, taking out mounted caravan guards first to prevent a countercharge and then shooting the draft animals pulling the wagons. The caravan was quickly reduced to a number of stationary targets.
After losing 5 mounted guards, someone in the wagons got incredibly lucky with a crossbow while seeking a source for the arrows that were destroying the caravan. Firing blindly into a bush, somehow he or she wounded one of the attacking elves in the shoulder. When the wounded elf cried out another raider, this one a shapely female, abandoned her position in the ambush and swiftly moved to see to her injured comrade.Bast timed his shot so the arrow entered her back and continued through her wounded mate's head, pinning the two together in death. He watched to see if any other raiders realized that now three of their number were gone.
Although shocked by the attack and stuck in the middle of the road, the guards and merchants of the caravan knew they were fighting for their lives. The attackers had offered neither warning nor parley, clearly demonstrating that this was more than a simple robbery.
Bast watched from his high post as an elven archer in the caravan dueled with the raider attacking the middle of the stalled group. The elf in the caravan had a position behind a cart loaded with crates and was exchanging arrows with an adversary using a fallen tree for cover. Both were clearly masters with the longbow as when either popped out from cover multiple arrows would fly before the first had found a target. Although the crates provided better protection, a well placed shot revealed that the ambusher was wearing a magical shield spell which prevented his being hit by his opponent's arrows.
This was not the case with the attacker at the front of the convoy as a group of guards had circled around while he was attempting to pick off targets of opportunity. They charged his position and after one ate an arrow the remaining pair were facing the attacker with sword and shield. The elf actually laughed as he drew his longsword and beat back both attackers. Bast could not hear what was being said but assumed threats were being exchanged when the figures stood still. Bast ended the tableau by putting an arrow through the elf's gut. The guards quickly did the rest.
Despite his high vantage point, Bast could not see what was going on at the far end of the caravan. He did see the dueling archers at the center of the fight as the escalation began. The raiding archer's magical shield apparently did not extend to his weapon as a brilliantly shot arrow from his opponent had damaged his bow. Apparently incensed at this loss the ambusher had brought a wand to bear and launched a fireball at the cart his adversary was using for cover. The resultant explosion had blown the defender several feet from the cart while both stunning and disarming him. When the ambusher took a moment to gloat over his soon to be dead opponent, Bast fired three arrows in quick succession.
The missiles struck but again failed to penetrate the elf's magical shield. They did, however, buy some time for the caravan archer as the raider turned his fury on the rogue in the tree. Bast abandoned his position, put the tree trunk between him and his opponent and began hobbling down the tree as fast as he was able. He did not get far when the fireball from the elf's wand exploded, radically expediting his descent.
Uh oh was about all the young rogue had time to think before the world went black.
******
He betrayed nothing as he returned to consciousness 1/2 a day later. He heard a woman's voice humming a tune as she moved around. Before opening his eyes, testing his limbs or even changing his breathing pattern he decided to determine what he could of his situation. There might be an advantage to having some idea of where he was before anyone knew he was awake.
"Ross", a female voice called out. "Ross, he's awake, boy. Run and tell Master Bandor and Aldron that the young man is awake"
That certainly worked well the rogue thought. Probably not going to fool them now. Might as well go with it. He wiggled fingers and toes to see if he still had use of his extremities and then opened his eyes to see he was inside a tent. He noted that he was naked save for his torc and beneath a thin blanket on a camp bed. His initial alarm was mollified when he saw his clothes, boots and weapons on a nearby stool.
"Sit up slowly please," The female voice addressed him. He looked up to see the smiling broad face of a halfling woman who offered him a drinking bowl of water. He slowly sat up took a sip and suddenly finding himself desperately thirsty, attempted to down the bowl in a single gulp. The woman's iron grip prevented his drinking too fast.
"Thanks. Where...." he began but the halfling woman smiled serenely but shook her head, gesturing to the elf warrior and dwarf mage making their way into the tent. The dwarf was solidly powerful (as dwarves tend to be). His bright red beard had a sprinkling of gray in it and was woven into a single massive braid which was tucked behind a thick belt. His head was completely bald and unlike most magic users the rogue had encountered he was dressed in shirt and pants rather than flowing robes.
"Is he alright, reverend sister? asked the dwarf with a tone of respect.
"He'll be fine" she assured the magic user. "He took care of the poison himself and the fireball did little more than warm him. The lady's grace took care of the damage he sustained in the fall" Bowing to the mage she smiled and made her exit.
"Well, introductions first, I suppose. I am Bandor, a mage of some small power and this gentleelf is Aldron, my trusted bodyguard and friend."
Aldron was more muscular than most elves Bast had seen. The almost feminine "prettiness" that elves generally shared was tempered by both the scars he wore and the intensity of his look. The elf also immediately conveyed a sense of competence in all of the armory of weapons he wore.
After looking over his hosts Bast got up from the bed and began putting on his clothes without the least bit of self consciousness about being naked and unarmed before strangers. He was pleased to see that the tears in his shirt and pants had been mended but he didn't even acknowledge the other two in the tent until he had buckled on his weapon belt. When he was fully dressed he turned, dipped his head and simply said, "Bast"
"Well, Bast, can you explain what happened?", the dwarf asked. "Aldron here credits you with ending 4 of the raiders, and we are certainly grateful, but everything happened so fast, I was wondering if you could give us more information on who the elves were and why they attacked us".
The young rogue poured himself some more water and said "No idea". After several seconds of silence he added "Treed me deep in the woods. Ran branch to branch back to the road. They saw you and one came up the tree after me while the rest went after you."
"You jumped down on the raider who hit you with the dart?" The bodyguard asked.
Bast nodded
"But you climbed back up the tree to aid us." the Dwarf added.
"Climbed up to kill hunters before they finished you and came back after me. ", the rogue responded.
"Hmm....yes, well.....still, Aldron says you killed two in the bushes, wounded the swordsman attacking the head of the caravan and then took a fireball that was meant for him."
Bast snorted and said "Shot at killer who would come after me next. Fireball was....unexpected."
"Youngster, why are you resisting being a hero?" Bandor asked , venting his frustration. "You'd think...."
The young rogue held up his hand and stopped the mage in his tracks. "Lies make things complicated. Not a hero, don't need the bullshit"
The mage sputtered as his bodyguard nodded.
"Where is this?" The rogue asked indicating outside of the tent with a bob of his head.
"We're two days from Turning town." Aldron said. "We couldn't stay where we were and didn't want to leave you...."
Bast shrugged off the concern about being taken along in a direction he hadn't intended and asked, "Turning town?"
"A small walled city that sprung up about three hundred years ago at the foot of Mount Kangan
The young rogue was oblivious to the opportunity to be impressed with the dwarf's wealth in maintaining two homes. Instead he asked Aldron, "No clan crest on the attackers?"
The elf and dwarf exchanged a quick look as the teenager's question revealed an understanding of elven social customs far beyond their expectations.
"No,"Aldron replied "The raiders were wildlings"
"Or needed to be disavowable" Bast said.
The elf warrior acknowledged the conclusion with a solemn nod.
"Well, I'm hungry." The dwarf exclaimed, changing the subject. "Let me show you the rest of this caravan before we sit to dinner."
Bast followed the pair out of the tent.
**********
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