Chapter Eight: Ambush!

The time till noon passed quickly and the party resumed their travel several hundred yards in front of the caravan. As they were passing by the side of a particularly steep dune, Ark noticed a small smudge appear on the horizon. He pointed it out to the rest.

"Is it a sand storm?" asked Malthus.

"No," said Turadyl. "My spell would have alerted me."

"Anyway, the dust doesn't stretch far enough along the horizon. I think its riders of some kind," said Cronwyn. "Must be a fair few to be kicking up that much dirt."

"Since it looks as though they are going to outnumber us, we should get our backs against this dune here. That would at least stop them surrounding us. And there would be a bit of cover to fire arrows from," said Turadyl. "Difficult to retreat though. Rodrick, what do you think?"

But the impulsive fighter was not there! At the first sign of trouble he had picked out what the other had not seen. The riders (they were close enough to be seen now), were not aiming for the party at all, but rather heading straight for the caravan. Rodrick was now heading straight for the caravan as fast as his camel could take him.

"That crazy fool!" cursed Cronwyn. "He's right though. I don't think they've even seen us yet. We better get back as soon as possible!"

The whole group set out to follow Rodrick, but he now had a fair sized lead. What was worse, as they got closer to the caravan, some of the riders seemed to split off to intercept them.

Rodrick managed to reach the caravan before the riders hit. Zeid was trying to organise his men to fend of the onslaught, Lamshar's camel was well defended in the middle of a circle already. Rodrick was about to assist, but before he could even call out "Bandit", they were on him. The riders didn't slow from full charge when attacking. The first wave swept over, slicing through the caravan guards with drawn swords. Before the Slagovichians had chance to recover, the second wave attacked from horseback with short bows.

Rodrick easily cleaved his first opponent from his mount with a crushing blow. The second managed two parries before being felled. But then an arrow caught his camel full in the chest. The beast crumpled from the pain, and Rodrick fought the rest of the battle on foot.

The rest of the party had managed to get close to the caravan before being cut off. They had dismounted to make use of the small amount of cover that was available. Ark, Turadyl and Kris were using their long bows to devastating effect. With their cover, Shayam, Malthus and Cronwyn were advancing on the enemy.

It was then that the leader of the raiders made himself recognised. He was a giant man, over six and half feet tall with flaming red hair unusual in those parts. He carried a huge two handed battle axe and was dressed in dented plate mail. He sliced down to caravan guards to give himself room and then raised a horn that was hung around his neck to his lips. The sound the issued was deafening. In fact it was so loud that later Kris was to claim that he could actually see it. All before the red-headed giant were sent tumbling, camels crashed to their knees and caravan guards lay on the ground clutching their ears. The bandits gave a loud cheer and pushed home the effect. Rodrick suddenly found himself very alone.

Shayam, Cronwyn and Malthus were close enough to see that their friend was in trouble. They pushed onwards through the flood of bandits in their path.

Turadyl threw down his bow, he could no longer pick out anymore targets without fear of hitting his own men. With a few words he cast a spell and leapt into the air.

The caravan guards were now getting better organised, and many were now in small groups hiding behind dead camels or boulders. Some would fling spears at the enemy, while being defended by their friends with swords. But the bandits were slowly swallowing these groups up. The red-headed warrior made a big difference by bashed his way through the ranks of all who opposed him. He struck out on a direct route towards Lamshar's camel. Rodrick moved to intervene.

The bandit was stronger and fresher, since Rodrick had already taken many hits in the battle. But the Darokin had the value of experience. In any case it didn't matter. A thin smile grew on the bandit's beared lip as he raised his horn again, and gave a resounding blast.

Lamshar's camel was down in a second. Rodrick struggled to remain standing but was swept off his feet. The raider lowered the horn and ran towards Rodrick with a raised battle axe. He brought his weapon down with a huge smash, Rodrick somehow managed to block. The noise of the two blades meeting pierced the battleground. But Rodrick's defence had no strength. With a twist, the giant send his opponents sword flying into the sand several feet away. His next stroke was brought down on Rodrick's neck with full force. The brave fighter was dead in a second.

"No!" screamed Malthus at the top of his lungs. Cronwyn and Turadyl were stunned. How could their friend be dead?

The cleric responded by felling his opponent with a blow to the knee. He moved on without finishing the man, but Shayam was there with a grim look his face. A blade flashed out from his hand and silenced the man. Cronwyn kept on Malthus' right, also trying to fight towards the man who had killed their friend. Malthus kept screaming at the top of his lungs as he waded through the dead and dying. He called loud enough that the red-haired man noticed. The leader raised the horn to his lips for a third time, to repeat what had been done to Rodrick...

But he had not seen Turadyl! The elf had flown as straight as an arrow and managed to get directly above the fighter. His gleaming plate mail made a nice target in the hot desert sun. Turadyl called on his magic, and sent a beam of sizzling white hot electricity to the ground and back. At first nothing seemed to have happened, then bandit fell dead in his tracks.

Panic began in the bandits around him, then spread throughout them. Suddenly they were breaking contact and fleeing out into the desert. The caravan guards were too tired to chase them. There was silence near the caravan except for the moans of the dying.

Malthus sprinted to Rodrick's side at top speed, with Cronwyn and Shayam close-by. The cleric knew that he was probably too late to make a difference but wanted with all his heart to save his warrior friend's life. He fell to his knees when he reached Rodrick and nursed the man's head in his hands. Some small amount of life was left in him!

Rodrick looked up with great difficulty. "Here," he gasped while putting a small leather tube in the cleric's hand. "It's up to you now." Then he sighed his last breath, and his head fell limply.

Malthus bowed his head. "Is there... Anything we can do for him?" asked Cronwyn. Malthus answered, "I'm afraid not. I can not heal him. The Great Halav could bring him back, but alas, my powers are not that mighty."

Cronwyn stared downwards. He was joined by Turadyl who had just flown down and the three others from the caravan. "I couldn't get to him in time," said Turadyl. "I just wish he hadn't rushed off by himself like that..." Cronwyn nodded. "Yes, he did make a mistake. But I think this is the was he would have wanted to go. In a blaze of glory."

Malthus was still bowed over Rodrick, apparently praying. Cronwyn and Turadyl noticed the rest of the group approaching. They were stunned when they saw Rodrick's condition. "I didn't know him for long, but he seemed like a good man," said Shayam.

The toll had been high on the side of the caravan guards as well. Over twenty guards and five merchants had been slaughter by the bandits. Zeid, the caravan guard, had also been killed. Turadyl was saddened by that, he had been the only one of the Slagovichians to treat the party with any respect. Shayam searched the body of the bandit leader, but he only got there second. Someone else must of taken the horn, because it was not left on the body. The dark fighter guessed that one of the retreating forces may have picked it up. There was nothing on the body to link the bandits to the Master, it appeared to be just what it seemed - a random bandit attack.

Lamshar was heard from around the corner of his dead camel, before he could be seen. It appeared that he was ranting and raving for everyone to get moving. Suddenly people were running around, loading the wounded onto camels and stripping anything valuable from the dead on both sides. It appeared that they were just going to leave the bodies there in the sand. "Come on!" Lamshar screamed at them. A trickle of blood was creeping down his bald white head. "There is a oasis nearby. It is easily defended and we will be safe there!"

Rodrick was quickly slung onto his mount. Malthus walked along side the camel to make sure he didn't fall off, clutching the vial with the map in it with his other hand. Everybody got moving quickly, partly because of the danger of the bandits regrouping and attacking again.

The next few hours were a blur. The endless sands were interrupted by a large craggy rock formation. The caravan squeezed through a narrow gap in the worn orange sandstone, and followed the trail that lead down to quite a large natural gully. There was a big muddy pool of fresh water here, and the huge walls that surrounded them seemed to shield them from the heat. "I remember this place," whispered Cronwyn to Malthus and Turadyl. That small entrance is the only way in or out and five men could hold it easily. The rock on each side to too shear for any but the most experienced climber to descend. We should be safe here."

Now the pressure was off, the caravan visibly relaxed. A double guard was put at the entrance, while the rest of the merchants went about tending to the animals. A few camels that were injured in the fray were separated from the rest and then put to the knife. At least they would all eat well this night. They were surprised when Surna Lamshar walked over to the 'foreigners' tent and addressed them in his almost perfect Thyatian. "I want to thank you all for helping today. I know that you could have hidden and left us there to die, but you entered the fight, and it cost you the life of your friend." The lead merchant seemed to be struggling with the fact that foreigners might actually be trustworthy. "It would honour me if you would dine in my tent tonight, after you have put your friend to rest." With that he turned around, and stumbled back to his own side of the camp, his torn robes fluttering behind him.

The party set about the grim task of burying Rodrick. Malthus insisted on trying to dig a grave in the rocky excuse for soil that they were camped in. In the end it became more of a cairn, with everyone helping to gather the rocks. Even with all of them doing the work, it was well dark by the time they were finished, and the scene was illuminated only by torches. Malthus said a few brief words, mainly about how noble Rodrick had been to the end. Turadyl and Cronwyn merely stood there with their head bowed. Shayam, Kris and Ark hung back, but also paid their respects. Perhaps only the razor sharp Kris picked up the fervour in Malthus' voice when he said that their 'quest would be finished, not matter what'. The wild hammer armed man didn't seem to be talking about a simple pilgrimage. Kris was also surprised to hear a Glantrian praying, but had heard rumours that the laws on this had been relaxed in recent times. In any case, what you did once you were out of your country was often different to what you did at home.

So it was with heavy hearts that they walked towards Lamshar's tent. They were joined by the water boy, Ghitu, who seemed to have been watching the whole thing from the shadows of a wagon. Tears had cleared a few clear patches from his young face, otherwise covered in dirt and dust. He followed behind, obviously intent on joining for the meal.

They had all noticed Lamshar's tent was the biggest before, but they weren't prepared for the shear opulence of it. Their diminutive host welcomed them with a quick gesture from his hand, and sat them down on either side of him. Although the mood was sombre, the free flowing wine and food seemed to draw conversation out of everybody, and in someways was cathodic. Lamshar forced each member of the party to recount their version of what happened in the battle. The information was passed on through translator to the twenty or so merchants who were squeezed into the tent, along with a servant each. Ghitu insisted on serving them all, which made the eating a little slower. His job was to first dish up a very syrupy coffee. This was followed by camel meat, still steaming on the bone. The slow minded boy ladled cup upon cup of burning grease and melted camel butter onto it, until Turadyl for one thought he would be sick. The eating was incredibly messy, but everybody seemed to be enjoying it and eventually they were able to relax a bit. Even the last dish of very green dates didn't seem so bad after a fell jugs of sweet dessert wine.

Once everyone's tales had been told, it was time for the minstrel to tell join them all together and tell them in song. It seemed like a lot was lost in the translation to the party, since the merchants clapped, cheered and wept along to it, while the party were just shocked at the distortion that could take place after even one day. Cronwyn, who could understand a little of their language, seemed to enjoy it more than anyone else from the east. He finally got the chance to question Lamshar after that.

"Lamshar, I have been meaning to ask you..."

"Ahh! But you must call me Surna, I demand it!" Said the caravan boss, obviously suffering from the effects of his own hospitality.

"Well, Surna," Cronwyn continued. "Surely this caravan's size is larger than average. The biggest caravan from Glantri I have seen would have hardly half the number of animals!". Cronwyn reclined a bit in the tent and chewed on a date until his host could clear his mouth enough to answer.

"Ahh my friend. The desert war has not stopped trade, even the most hardened warriors can't do without the finances brought by free trade, and we are able to pass freely. However bandits and brigands have taken the opportunity created by the chaos to increase their attacks on us poor traders. We have increased out size to compensate, safety in numbers ehh", Lamshar nudged Cronwyn and winked.

Cronwyn accepted this answer, and after seeing the size of today's attack against the caravan, understood the reasoning. He left the conversation at that, since it was clear that the rest of the party wanted to make their way back to the tent.

The meal had been extremely filling and the crackle of fires was loud against the cliff walls as they walked back. Wafts of smoke spoilt the otherwise sweet smelling night air. Even though they were all far from home, there was a warm welcome feeling about the oasis, as if haunted by many similar nights when lonely desert travellers had found comfort and safety, if for only one or two nights.

Later that night Cronwyn awoke to a terrible cramp in his stomach. It was so unbearable he was forced out of bed even though the night had become bitter and cold. Turadyl noticed him leave as he was on watch. Finding some solace at the latrine, dug earlier in the day, Cronwyn noticed Kris there also, obviously struck with the same after-feast infliction.

Surprised by the unexpected arrival of his new friend Kris made an awkward attempt to regain his composure: "I see that you also appreciate the 'excellent' quality of the caravan meal, but don't worry, if we are lucky we'll feel well again tomorrow morning" He then added in a lower not so persuasive voice: "At least... I hope."

As they chatted while walking back to the tent a bad smell (other then the one from the aforementioned toilet) pervaded the air. Sniffing the air revealed a rank almost sulphurous smell.

Cronwyn looked embarrassed. "I really must apologise", he told Kris, "I blame it on the dates. They looked a little on the green side."

Then a faint squeak, just on the edge of hearing, drifted to their ear. Out of the corner of his eye Cronwyn saw a dark flash across the bright face of the near full moon. He did not see it clearly but he knew it had passed.

"Did you see that?!", Cronwyn questioned Kris. When the bowman just stared at him with a confused look on his face, the trader went on. "I just saw something fly in front of the moon. It was just a flash of movement, and I couldn't get a good look." The merchant drew his rapier. "It was heading for the tent, lets move."

The smell quickly faded but Cronwyn seemed resolute as he explained what he had seen to Turadyl. The elf shrugged. "I haven't seen anything flying around bigger than a moth. Mind you, the light from all these campfires is hindering my infravision a little. It can't hurt to take a look around I might..." The elf froze. A faint sulphurous smell was now also reaching his nostrils. And it was coming from inside the tent. They all whirled around and burst inside their lodging.

A jagged hole had been ripped out the back of the tent, in the corner nearest to Malthus' sleeping mat. And there crouched over the cleric was some sort of winged creature that looked a bit like a monkey. It claws were poised over the neck of the priest, and is barred it's lips back to reveal its fangs with a hiss when the three of them stumbled in.

"Malthus! Get up!" Yelled Cronwyn as he sprung at the thing with his blade. He nearly managed to skewer the cleric as Malthus sat up and the evil smelly creature flung itself into the air. There was a confusing clamour of arms, legs and wings as Kris and Turadyl tried to get hold of the beast. It evaded them and with one swipe of its claw, opened a new exit in the roof of the tent and leapt outside. Turadyl managed to get to the entrance in time to send an orb of spinning light after it.

Malthus woke feeling dazed and confused. His first thought was for his holy symbol, his second for the vial Rodrick had pushed into his hand. "The map. The map! Its gone!" He boomed.

On the outside of the tent Turadyl cursed the fact that his 'fly' spell had been expended earlier in the day during the battle. He stumbled around, trying to his bow. Kris didn't understand what map the old man was talking about. But was the first to fire an arrow at the creature. It was a difficult shot, made impossible by the poor visibility even with Turadyl's light spell. The Karameikan only got one shot off before the beast sprung over the side of the stone walls surrounding them. Kris cursed. "I missed him! Follow me as soon as you can!" Then with a hushed word spoken into his bow, he started moving at incredible speed towards the cliffs. As he reached them he barely slowed and seemed to almost float up them. Cronwyn had also appeared from the tent and stopped to admire the man's movements. "His climbing skills are amazing. You would almost think he was trained in that sort of thing."

Malthus was almost beside himself with rage as he ordered them to pack up their weapons and follow the beast. Armour was donned, and Shayam insisted on also coming to help them retrieve their possessions. Ark seemed keen to stay back and guard the tent. The rest of the camp had also been roused by this point, although Lamshar didn't appear and no-one offered to help.

Meanwhile Kris streaked across the desert at an incredible pace. In the moonlight it was difficult to see the small rocks and scrubs that scattered across the desert floor and Kris cursed as he continually tripped over the scattered debris. Unable to keep up with the creature, Kris did get a good look at where it disappeared. Arriving over the crest of a small hill he spied what appeared to be an old ruin. It was filled with dark shadows against the star lit night. At that point he did the only thing that was sensible. He sat down and waited for the rest of the party.

They were able to see the creature's progress across the desert until the magic light seemed to disappear about a mile away from the caravan. The position was obvious and the party caught up with Kris soon enough.

Chapter Nine
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