Mud and Magic Ch. 08

"I'm Rhys," he said, handing the necklaces to the dark elven females. "And my scary friend is Borna. You are followers of the Moon Maiden?"

Both females, with their holy symbols in hand, hummed a hauntingly beautiful tune, touching each other. Sparks of silver and green shot from their fingertips, caressing along their bodies, etching every contour in a hint of moonlight before dissipating.

"Ahh, much better." The bruise on the dark elf's jaw was gone. She pointed with a long, slender finger between her shapely breasts. "I am Zeris and this is my apprentice -- and lover -- Caerinne. Thank you for saving us."

Rhys unlocked the chains binding them. "You said you know what's happening here. We're in a bit of a hurry. Our friends outside are fighting off Carver's men."

"Oh, it won't take long. Carver has made a deal with House Dree'vex."

"Huh?"

Zeris exhaled slowly. "House Dree'vex," she repeated, caressing Caerinne's back and the large spider tattoo etched in a vitriolic green. "Her former family and the largest provider of slaves and mercenaries in Kil'Erva. Our former home town." She pointed downwards.

"A deal? About what?" Borna rasped.

Zeris shook her head. "I don't know the specifics. You'd have to ask the commander for that. All I know is that House Dree'vex is falling over backwards to keep the deal running, even...," she sighed, "even pimping out convicted renegades like us."

"I don't know how much in the way of provisions and gear will be left when we're through," Rhys said, "but you should try and reach the 'Dancing Dryad,' four days west of here."

"We'll make do," Zeris said, coming unsteadily to her feet. "May the blessing of the Maiden be with you." Even naked and bruised, wearing nothing more than a smile and her thin necklace, Zeris radiated confidence and an undeniable majesty. She kissed her palm and made a gesture towards the both of them. Rhys suddenly felt light-headed and invigorated, as if he had slept for two days.

"Let's not tarry," Borna growled. "No idea if Lishaka and Chassari are still alive." She ducked back out through the curtain.

"I'll free Sylae and meet you outside," Rhys said, hot on her heels. He unlocked the cage and handed the key ring to the naked, tattooed elf. "Will you be alright?" he asked.

"Your sympathy honors you, human," she said. "I will not forget this." She tore the silver ring off her neck and slipped from the cage. "I need a weapon," she said, unlocking the cage next to hers. The elf girl within looked at her with large doe eyes.

"Outside is a dead guard. He has a sword," Rhys said, heading for the door. "Good luck. The 'Dancing Dryad' is four days west of here."

Sylae sighed, a sound of utter disgust. "I know that watering hole." Her voice filled with resignation, she added. "And I don't know any better shelter close by. Thank you." She made her way along the cages, unlocking doors and neck rings.

"Good luck. The back of the camp has a new exit," Rhys said, dashing from the room. He caught up with Borna a few dozen feet outside. She slashed at a tent, tearing down a large chunk of the wall. On eight bunks, soldiers snored. The smell of spilled wine wafted from the tent.

"Cover me," Borna snarled, ducking through the hole. There were wet sounds in the darkness.

"What are you doing?" Rhys hissed, aghast.

"Tying up loose ends," Borna said, tossing away a head. "We don't want these guys to show up when we least need them." The coppery stench of blood nearly choked Rhys. He took a step back from the tent.

Something large and heavy slammed into him, taking him cleanly off his feet. He heard the sound of wood breaking. When the world stopped spinning, he lay in the mud a good ten feet from the tent. A massive, towering shadow crept closer, inspecting a giant, spiked club and pulling a broken-off stone shard from it.

"He broke our club," one voice grumbled in a bastardized Orc dialect.

"Now we break him," another, even lower, growled back. Somewhere off to the side, another explosion rocked the camp, followed by screams of pain and panic. In the flickering, infernal glow Rhys could finally see his attacker. He was nearly fifteen feet tall from his three-toed, clawed feet to the horns crowning two warty, uneven faces. The arms of the ogre were thicker than Rhys was wide at the shoulders and he wore a shaggy fur kilt, plated gloves and an elaborately etched armor, the grooves painted in eye-watering green and yellows. The by now familiar mark of House Dree'vex.

Rhys scrambled to his feet, his ears still ringing. He frantically looked for Borna but couldn't find her. There were sounds of battle coming from the other side of the tent she had cut open.

The ogre closed in on him. "He doesn't even try to run," one of the heads said.

"And humans say we are stupid," the other chuckled. The club whistled through the air. Rhys dodged backwards, escaping another rib-crushing hit by the skin of his teeth.

How am I supposed to beat this monster? he thought. To his dismay, the first hit and following impact had dispersed his Armor spell. He took two quick steps back and fired off a Force Missile. Five projectiles curved away from his fingers, leaving small, smoking craters all over the ogre's chest and arms. He didn't even flinch.

"That tickles!" both ogre heads exclaimed. The monster changed the grip on its club and slammed it down in a vicious overhead smash, trying to pulverize Rhys. Only a dive into the mud saved him from a very painful death.

The ogre yelped. Blood-spattered and wearing nothing more than a kilt and a sword, Sylae emerged from between the ogre's legs. Nimbly she dodged past another swipe of the club and pulled Rhys to his feet. "Need help?" she asked.

"Thank you," Rhys panted, dodging sideways. The club missed him and tore down another tent. This one was empty and the hit scattered gear, bedrolls and personal effects everywhere. "How does one stop such a beast?"

"Like you kill any rampaging monster," Sylae snarled. "Pointy end into soft bits." She ducked under another swing and dashed in, slashing at the ogre's knees. To Rhys' surprise, the monster deflected the attack with a swipe of the hand. The blade pinged off the armored gauntlet.

It can't hit what it can't see, Rhys thought, planting a beacon of light right between the right head's eyes. Both yelled in protest. But instead of panicking, the ogre yanked the shattered tent off the floor and flung it towards Rhys. The large piece of fabric fanned out, threatening to bury him.

Oh no, you don't, he thought grimly. His first experiments with magic involved flying pebbles -- and this was almost the same, only on a bigger scale. And suddenly he knew how to beat the ogre. He flung out his hand, releasing a burst of energy to stop the sheet from falling further. Another burst of energy from his other hand turned the fabric into a solid sheet of matter, hovering over his head.

"Sylae!" he called. "Quick! You can use the sheet as a platform!"

He heard quick steps come closer and a moment later, he felt more weight on the floating sheet.

The ogre came closer, laughing in wonder. "So much easier to squish puny elf now!" one of them roared. Rhys couldn't see what was happening above the sheet but there was the sensation of movement and then a murderous impact. The sheet crashed down to the ground, squarely hit by the giant club. Rhys felt something give within and a murderous lance of pain shot through his head. Through bleary eyes, he saw Sylae sit between the ogre heads.

"Hello, boys," the half-naked elf purred, ramming the sword into the left ogre's ear. Rhys saw the left arm go limp and the ogre went to one knee. Fighting to stay on his feet, Rhys pulled more energy in and released it in a burst of fire, aiming for the right head. The ogre got his plate gauntlet up just in time. Instead of incinerating his face, the fire blast turned the gauntlet into a red-hot clump of liquid metal. There was another horrible roar. The blade protruded from the right head's eye, the hilt wedged in between fleshy eyelids. Gently, the brutish giant teetered forwards and backwards until it crashed to the ground. Sylae landed nimbly next to the ogre's head and yanked the sword free in a shower of clear ichor and blood. She shook off the blade before facing Rhys, a hint of concern on her angular face. "You're bleeding," she said.

"Where?" he gasped.

"Everywhere. Eyes, nose, ears. You should find some healing," she said. "And good job with the tent." Her hand brushed his shoulder. Before Rhys could say anything in return, she was gone, a lithe shadow melting into the darkness.

Groaning, Rhys pulled his last healing potion from his belt and downed it. The pain lessened somewhat but didn't entirely vanish.

What happened? he wondered. Did the ogre hit me after all? He checked. No, the Armor is still intact and no signs of injury. The spell maybe? Sorcerer's Burn? He shook his head, regretting the movement instantly as another jolt of pain flared up. Idunn will know. I'll ask her.

"Borna!" he called, carefully moving past the lifeless ogre corpse. He found her in front of a large tent, kneeling amidst a dozen dead soldiers. She looked battered and bruised, even her angelic face had taken damage. A long cut ran down her cheek, making it seem as if she cried a streak of bloody tears. She looked up as he closed in.

"Found the commander," she gasped, pointing at the body she was kneeling on. His chest plate showed more gold than black. "He wasn't in the mood for a chat though."

"Oh, here you are," Lishaka said. She sounded tired. Her robe was mud-caked and her eyes sat deep in their sockets. Chassari limped into view behind her, clutching her left arm.

"I got the ogre," Rhys said, hugging the goblin and Chassari. "Or rather, I helped Sylae."

"Looksss more like he got you," the snake-woman hissed. "You look horrible. And who'sss Sylae?"

"She's right. I'll get the dark elves," Borna said, coming to her feet. "The commander's tent is over there." Her tail slashed in the direction of a large, octagonal tent across from them. She bounded into the darkness.

"Let's see if the commander has left any useful information," Rhys said, looking around. Lishaka had been busy -- the western side of the camp was a blazing inferno. Whatever had been stored in the tents burned merrily and there were a shocking amount of corpses piled up in the aisles. The cross-beams he had seen from behind the camp belonged to more banners of House Dree'vex, most of them alight along with anything else which seemed even remotely flammable. It wouldn't take long for the commander's tent to become another victim of the blaze.

"How did you manage to keep all these soldiers at bay?" Rhys asked.

"Teleport," Lishaka said. "We came at them from many angles." Rhys wasn't quite sure who was steadying who. Lishaka trembled against him and Chassari tried not to moan whenever she made another step.

"What about the healing potions you had?" he asked.

"All used up. Diluted ssswill," the serpent-woman groaned. "I need to work on my crowd pleasing skillsss." She pulled aside the richly embroidered tent flap. A large desk dominated the space, alongside another of Carver's banners. Several sturdy travel chests were placed along the walls and a simple cot stood along one side. Oil lamps hanging from the beams provided ample illumination. Everything was spartan, neat and clean. At the foot of the cot was a backpack. Chassari upended it on the covers and claimed a potion flask. The serpent woman scowled at the embossed holy symbol of Desire before uncorking it. She sniffed. "Ah, the unpleasant ssstench of healing," she muttered, gulping down the flask's content. "Now I can deal with the desssk." She pulled a small roll of tools from her belt and began to tinker with one of the drawer locks.

"Let me see if the commander has his keys with him," Rhys said. He returned to the outside. The idea of pilfering the dead didn't sit quite right with him but it had to be done. He took one step, then froze. The very distinct noise of many horses drew near, along with cries of alarm.

Rhys ducked back into the tent. "Someone's coming. Whatever you do, do it fast. We'll meet back at the 'Dryad.'"

Lishaka looked at him, her eyes wide. "What are you going to do?"

"We can't leave Borna behind. Grab anything which looks useful and get out of here. I'll try to keep them busy."

"You can hardly stand!" Lishaka cried.

Chassari cursed. Her jaws worked, a strange, chewing motion just before she spat a hissing blob of green liquid at the desk. The wood smoked and cracked. Bracing a foot against the frame of the desk, she tore open the drawers.

Rhys refreshed his Armor spell, wincing at the throbbing headache threatening to split his skull, before he left the tent, battle staff in hand.

Outside, several riders reined their mounts in, all of them fully armored, bearing lances and large shields, with pennants fastened to the gleaming points snapping in the wind. The closest rider hooked his lance into the crook of his arm and pulled off his helm. Long, blonde hair spilled free. Eyes the color of utter darkness lanced into him.

"My, if it isn't Rhys," Faedal sneered. "Fancy meeting you here, boy."

* * * *

Borna dashed back into the stinking slave pit. A shower of silvery sparks danced in the air. She wasn't a spellcaster but her senses were as sharp, if not better, than any sorcerer's. The magic the dark elves had used had been powerful enough to leave a lasting after-effect. Snarling in barely controlled anger, she slammed the door shut behind her, breaking both the lock and the frame.

No matter, she thought. Need to find healing for my friends. She stopped and cocked her head. Horses? What are horses doing here? She ducked between two tents which hadn't caught fire yet and crept back towards the center of the camp. Her nose confirmed what her ears already had noticed, the particular musk of horses. And lots of metal. She reached a good vantage point and froze. At least two dozen riders and another five or so pack horses had arrived. And not any old grunts, by the look of things, she mused. The animals closest to her began to prance nervously, forcing the riders to try and quiet them. Borna ducked deeper into the shadows. Rhys and the leader of the riders stood near the former commander's dead bodyguard. Borna rubbed one of the many gashes she had sustained during that fight. She didn't regret killing each and every one of them. They had the stench of the slave pit about them. Reason enough to end their miserable existence, she thought grimly.

Something Rhys said cut into her thoughts.

"Faedal. What an unexpected surprise." He hefted his battle staff.

"Pray tell me, Rhys. What are you doing in our supply camp?" Faedal asked. "You're a long way away from home. And where's Thurguz?"

"Are the fires and the corpses not obvious enough for you?" Rhys snarled. "I'm trying to stop your advance into the elven woods."

Faedal tossed his head back and laughed, a sound of genuine mirth. Some of his men joined him. The fallen paladin fixed Rhys with a wicked stare. "I admire your guts, boy. Now, you better tell me where the rest of your team is and I'll kill you quickly."

Borna sniffed. She could still make out Chassari's and Lishaka's distinct smells, even amidst all the fire, smoke, shit and blood. Don't do anything stupid, Rhys, she fervently thought.

"As you might have seen under Storm Harbor, I usually work alone," Rhys lied. Borna grinned fiercely, baring her fangs. "By the way, how many undead spellcasters did you manage to raise?"

Faedal drew his sword in a swift motion and advanced on Rhys. "Don't you remind me," he snarled. "For that transgression alone I should kill you."

"I have a better idea," Rhys said. Borna applauded him quietly. Despite the fully armored warrior bearing down on him, he stood his ground. Either his balls are bigger than I suspected... or he's beyond caring. She tensed her muscles, ready to pounce and save him.

"Oh? Don't tell me you want to fight me," Faedal said, stopping two steps away from Rhys.

"That's exactly what I want," Rhys said, slamming the butt of his staff into the mud. "I challenge you to a duel."

Faedal cocked his head. "Have you lost your mind, boy?"

"No. According to 'The Tales of Orran,' a duel is sacred, even to scum like you."

"I could run you through here and now," Faedal said, making a quick lunge with his sword. The tip stopped less than a finger's width from Rhys' throat. "But this is too intriguing."

"Shouldn't we try and contain the fire?" one of Faedal's companion asked.

"Don't bother. Looks like the camp is a lost cause," Faedal snapped. He returned his attention to Rhys. "What are your conditions?"

"If I win, you go back home and deliver a message to Carver. If I lose, I will become your prisoner."

"At least I won't have to return empty-handed," Faedal admitted. "My lord Carver is already mad at me for razing your precious little hamlet. If he were to know that this camp has been destroyed as well..." The fallen Paladin shrugged. "Fine. And to show that I'm a good sport, you may have the first blow. We fight until one of us yields or can't continue. Since you offered to become my prisoner, I'll try not to kill you." He sheathed his blade. "Come at me, little Rhys."

He has lost his mind, Borna thought. Or he's trying to allow the others to escape. He has to know that he can't win this. Snarling softly, she circled around the throng, taking the long way around, away from the horses. She heard Faedal laugh, a genuinely amused sound and the clangor of Rhys' staff against his armor. As she passed a gap between two tents, she saw them. Faedal blocked each and every swipe with his gauntlets. And each successive strike seemed to drain Rhys. Gnashing her teeth, Borna hurried on until she was behind the commander's tent. Her claws made short work of the thick fabric and she peered inside, just as Lishaka finished her spell. Borna didn't have all that much experience with teleportation but the way both the goblin and the serpent-woman flickered as they winked out of existence didn't seem normal. Or the fact that Chassari had left the gear bag behind. The serpent woman had tied it to a long leather strap but her hand couldn't hold on to it as the spell went off.

Borna dashed into the tent, picking up the gear bag as she went. She stopped just shy of the flap, peering through a gap in the fabric.

"Admirable. It's obvious that you've barely mastered the basics," Faedal said. "Allow me to demonstrate." A swift kick brought Rhys to his knees. Suddenly, the fallen Paladin held the staff. "Oh, what a nice piece," he whispered, running his gauntleted fingers along the shaft. "Utterly wasted on a mongrel like you." The staff came around in a whistling arc. Rhys covered his head with both arms. The staff rang off him like a hammer off a bell. The young sorcerer fought to his feet, stumbled backwards and loosened a spell. Faedal was engulfed in a fireball which even ignited the commander's tent. The horses, already skittish, stampeded away, tossing riders off their backs. Within a moment, the space in front of the tent was empty. Faedal, unharmed, whirled out of the smoke, the end of the staff shrouded in a plume of black energy. Not yet done, Rhys fired off a quintet of Force Missiles. Like miniature comets, they slammed into Faedal's armor, not even leaving a scorch mark.

Snarling, the fallen Paladin tapped Rhys' chest with the energized end of the staff. Rhys' skin lost the metallic sheen it previously had. Faedal changed the grip on the staff and scythed Rhys' feet out from under him. The next hit struck a kneecap. Rhys screamed, his voice cracking, clutching his mangled knee. Faedal stood over him, the sizzling end of the staff mere inches from his face.