The Knight and the Knave

Chapter 6      Days were notoriously short during the Palish winter. And some were shorter than others. Though the sun was but a few hours past its zenith, overcast skies covered the land in a shroud of darkness. A steady stream of fat snowflakes continued to pour down as steadily as it had for the past day or so. The wind had died down and everything lay in perfect stillness.      A raven's cry shattered the silence. A large black dot almost invisible against the dark clouds flew in large circles, surveying the four corners of the land below. To the north, the distant lights of the township of Ogburg twinkled in the darkness like a tiny constellation in the night sky. To the east, the massive shadow of the Raker mountains loomed so close that a strong gust of wind could smash the raven against those jagged peaks. To the south, the Gamboge forest spread like an inkblot over the horizon. To the west, the rolling plains of the Pale lay buried beneath a blanket of snow. The mostly unmarred layer of ice was almost two feet deep and resembled the icing on a cake, interrupted only occasionally by a homestead or a copse of trees.      Several large buildings lay on the ground beneath the raven. Plumes of smoke rose from stone chimneys, and warm firelight spilled from frosted windows all around. Several guards stood outside in the cold, but little activity was evident. The bird circled twice around the buildings, then veered off towards a small grove to the northwest. As it drew near its destination, several dark shapes could be seen crouching down among the trees. The raven cawed once more, landing on a branch.      "Well, it seems evident our quarry lies in yon manor," Sunder spoke in muffled tones, his face partially hidden beneath a gray fur cloak and a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck. "And it seems our feathery companion would agree." The Company had followed the trail for a whole week. In retrospect, the silver ingots had clearly pointed to their destination. The mines of the Tharius estate. Kelliam had been surprised and confused by these bars bearing his family's crest. Their mines produced copper, not silver, he told them.      Unsure of the significance of this finding, Sunder, Asharak, and Arngrim had looked for tracks to indicate how the Bone March orcs had come to the Nutherwood. Sunder easily found the wolf tracks leading from the scene of his duel with the albino. However, no sign could be found of the passage of orcs. Emanniel and Keras had voiced their belief that the orcs had probably been hidden by a spell similar to that which had been used to conceal the trolls in the northern marshes. In fact, they had disrupted the casting of the same spell here, on the night of the attack.      They followed the wolf tracks for a day, to the city of Hatherleigh, where the trail was lost. A few inquiries made by Eliazar and Jisander revealed the theft of a horse from one of the local inns on the previous night. After a day of searching, Sunder regained the albino's trail on the outskirts of town, and the companions were off.      Hoping to overtake Ad-Kor, who had a full two days advance over the Company, Sunder pushed the horses faster and farther each day. Asharak and Jerem protested this ill treatment of the mounts, fearing that a misstep in their haste would injure the beasts. A lame horse would cause even greater delays. Sunder trusted to luck, commending himself to Norebo and Rudd's mercy and hoped that Kelliam's miraculous powers could heal a horse. If it came to that, Sunder hoped that Kelliam's piety and the urgency of this mission, which was being conducted in the Lightbringer's service, would be sufficient to beseech the deity's aid.      In spite of their forced pace, their quarry maintained his distance. The mercenaries surmised that the albino must be using sorcery to drive his mount to supernatural speeds.      On the sixth day, it began to snow. After a few hours, neither Sunder, nor Asharak nor Arngrim, who also were experienced trackers, could find the trail. By now, though, the albino's destination was obvious. Southeast, the trail had led. Towards the Tharius lands. As if any further confirmation were needed, the Company found the raven waiting for them on a tree branch some time later. As it had done on prior occasions, the bird cawed a greeting and took off towards the south east, leading the way.   -----o-----        "It's hard to see through all this snow," Keras said, sniffling. His cold had improved doing the last week, but his discomfort in the cold weather had not.      "Vatun's beard, Keras! 'Tis but a few flurries," Arngrim replied, grinning through an ice encrusted beard. "Next year, I shall take you to Krakenheim, so you can see a real winter snowstorm."      Keras grimaced in mock disgust, and muffled a sneeze.      "Keep it down, both of you," Sunder ordered, smiling at their banter. "What does your elvensight show you, Lotheneser?"      The half-elf frowned, scanning the distant buildings. "There is no moonlight or starlight to see by," he said absently. Those of elven blood could see by those nighttime beacons as well as a man under the full glory of the sun at noontime. Farther still, for elven eyes were keener than those of humans. Lotheneser's faerie heritage granted him that wondrous sight, as well as the large almond shaped eyes of the elves. "I cannot see very well," he said apologetically. "But unless His Worshipful Mercy, the Theocrat, has changed his recruiting policies, I do believe we have come to the right place. That's an orc wearing that uniform."      Sunder smiled. His own considerable visual acuity could only make out a humanoid form wearing the red and white livery of a prelatal guard. He thanked the gods for Lotheneser's abilities as a scout. Sunder was certain that the half-elf's enchanted dagger could have provided them with more information, but they had decided not to use its powers yet, for fear of its magic alerting the Suloise sorcerer to their presence.      Fortunately, they had other sources of knowledge.      "You know this place by heart, friend Kelliam," Sunder said. "Tell us again what those buildings are."      The knight nodded, clutching his cloak tightly with one hand and gripping the pommel of his sword with the other. "The large building with the three chimneys, farthest from here, is the foundry, where the copper ore is smelted." Kelliam gestured to the easternmost building, then indicated another one next to it. "The one to the south of that contains both the servants' quarters and the stables, where our horses and wagons for transporting the ore are kept."      He turned to the one closest to their position. "The northernmost one is the guard barracks, needed to protect the mining operation from bandits and such. Surely it is now filled with Torevan's most loyal prelatal troops, brought over from Ogburg when he took over the estate. That and Ad-Kor's orcs, if Lotheneser's eyes do not deceive him. The two story manor to the west is, of course, my father's house," he said, clenching his jaw to hold back the sudden wave of anguish that assaulted him at the mention of his father. A flood of memories came pouring in.   -----o-----        The ceremony had been conducted in a hurry, amidst rushed preparations for departure in pursuit of the Company's red-cloaked enemy. While some of the mercenaries buried the crates with the silver bullion, Kelliam Tharius commenced his own preparations by immersing himself in deep prayer and communion with his god.      A pyre was hastily erected on the hilltop where Sunder's duel had taken place. Kelliam tenderly lifted his father's corpse. The Templar had carefully cleaned the body of cobwebs and arranged it as best as he could, but the man's face was ruined. Dried and pruned as crumpled parchment, and missing most of the hair on its head, as well as bits of flesh around the jaw, the corpse was truly horrifying. Kelliam left his father's broken armor in place, cleaning the edges of the ragged hole in the center of the breastplate, the impaling wound that had been the killing stroke.      The knight had placed the lifeless body on the pyre and prayed fervently for the man's soul to be received by the Burning Light of Pholtus. Sunder, Lotheneser, Keras and Durlan had stood by him during the brief ceremony, and Kelliam had found their presence comforting. Emanniel had been strangely silent, and kept himself aloof from the proceedings, at the edge of the gathering, with a haunted look in his face.      Afterwards, the entire Company had offered Kelliam their sympathies. Emanniel had murmured something unintelligible, but Kelliam had hardly noticed the rogue's strange behavior, lost as he was in his grief.      The Templar had taken his father's blade: Aranruil, the Sword of the Morning. The priest-forged weapon had been consecrated to the Lightbringer in the early days of the of the Theocracy. The holy sword had been in the Tharius family since that time, handed down through the generations. A fine blade under any circumstances, it became truly formidable when wielded by one of the Dedicated. In the hands of one of Pholtus' faithful, the sword became a conduit for the Lightbringer's holy power, and shone with the dazzling brilliance of the dawn.   -----o-----        Kelliam caressed the black leather grip of the holy sword at his side, and the Tharius crest engraved upon its pommel. Coming out of his reverie, he shook his head to clear it and focus his thoughts on the present. It had been a hard week for him, but the Lightbringer would see him through the task at hand, he thought. The knight stared at the snow-covered buildings that were his home.      Only one thing bothered him. One nagging question. What had become of his father's armsmaster, Andras?   -----o-----     In Progress...  Stay tuned!