Scott M. Sandridge

         Korgash cursed The Mists. Navigating through the soupy blue-grey vapors was difficult in the extreme, but it provided better concealment than a night sky would. And the quarry he hunted could also see in the dark. Say, Korgash, could you do a favor for me? Why, sure, Mr. Alderman, what do I get in return? Oh, not much, you get to avoid a real long prison sentence for gutting two of my constables, who were beating an unarmed woman to death. He let out a sigh. I'm never playing hero again.

         He heard some rocks slip and fall off a cliff. He didn't bother with trying to judge direction and distance. He had already learned early on that The Mists warped sound. The vapors also thickened the farther up the mountains one went, and the air would get hotter instead of colder, more stifling.

         At least, while The Mists were up, he never had to hear the Seer's voice in his head. And it had also made it easy to lose his three "escorts", which was fine by him. He preferred to work alone.

         A chill wind blew through the stifling heat. It would've been comforting was it not for the eerie whispers that accompanied it. Keeping one hand against the rocky surface, he made his way along the cliff face until he found an alcove. He decided to rest inside until nightfall when he could then see where he was going—so much for using The Mists as an advantage.

         As he rested he removed his vest of bear hide and recalled what he had been told about his quarry. Some hobgoblin named Bloodsoak, leader of a mercenary company that did a little raiding on the side while in between contracts, had raided a few too many caravans headed to and from Rexon. The raiding band was a motley group of humans, goblins, and half-breeds—and at least one troll had been spotted on occasion. It was believed their camp was five miles west of the road to Rexon, high up in the mountains. Of course, that left a lot of ground to search.

         As nightfall came, The Mists receded into every crack and crevice. Korgash put his vest back on and left the cave. Minkaraust was already high in the sky, full and blue. The crescent tip of Volki rose behind one peak, giving the jagged mountaintop the image of a green pincer claw. Korgash saw clouds below the cliff he stood on. The nightly chill replaced the heat, causing his sweaty body to shiver.

         Down below, he heard a faint voice cry for help.

         "Not my problem," Korgash muttered, half to himself, but also knowing that someone else was listening.

         The hoarse, wheezing voice spoke inside Korgash's head. Maybe she'll reward you.

         "She?" Korgash grunted. "Probably not my type. Do me a favor, Seer: go find someone else to redeem."

         And what makes you think redemption is my desire?

         Korgash headed down the path he came from, toward the direction of the cries for help. "Why else do you keep making me save people's hides?"

         Make you? He thought for sure the Seer scoffed, but it could very well have been a cough. I merely make suggestions. I've never interfered with your free will.

         "Well, I sure don't do it out of the kindness of my own heart, you old decaying coot."

         Why do you then?

         "To shut your yap, that's why. I have a hard enough time thinking as it is. I sure don't need your crotchety old voice distracting me."

         "Fine. Just get me out of here, and I'll stop yelling." The voice came from outside Korgash's head and was much lighter and softer than the Seer's. Below his feet, down in a narrow crevasse, a young woman leaped at the ledge, barely touching it with her fingertips before falling back down. He noted with derision the softness of her pale, freckled skin and full mane of flame-red hair. Her ears were rounded, but she held the contemptible fey-green brightness in her eyes. The contempt and derision he held her with was equally matched by her grimace. "Great. Just what I needed: to be rescued by a half-breed orc."

         "Look who's talking, little miss Sidhe-blood." Korgash flexed his fists and sneered. "And Pa wasn't Orc, he was Vorc."

         "There's a difference?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

         "Yeah," said Korgash. "Vorcs are tougher and meaner."

         She placed her hands on her hips and said, "I'm still waiting for you to help me out."

         "What's in it for me?"

         "Besides gratitude?" she asked, smiling. "I got some food and water to share."

         "Sorry lady, no money, no help-y."

         "I only have a few copper pensu on—"

         "Not enough. How about that bow and quiver of arrows you got on your back?"

         She folded her arms around her chest and scowled. "There's no way I'm giving you those."

         Korgash turned to walk away.

         "Wait!" she yelled. "I know where there's a good treasure hoard, but you'll need my help to get it."

         He turned his head toward her. "Speak quickly."

         "There's a bandit camp a couple miles southeast of here. I know a way in they're not aware of. We could sneak in, grab the loot, and get out before they know we were there."

         "These bandits don't happen to be led by a hob, are they?"

         "Actually, yes, they are."

         Korgash began to walk away.

         The woman let out a sharp exhale. "Wait a minute! Where are you going?"

         "I don't work with liars. Their camp ain't southeast of here; it's somewhere west of here."

         "I don't know who you got your information from, but you're wrong."

         Korgash stopped walking. "Prove it."

         "Um, do the bandits you're referring to have a troll?"

         Korgash went back to the ledge, knelt, and stretched his hand out for her to grab.

         Once out of the crevasse, she said, "Thank you."

         Korgash snorted and said, "Lead the way."

         She brushed a lock of hair from her face. "My name's Arnelda, by the way. Arnelda Verina."

         "Like I care. Start walking before I throw you back in."

         Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open. "You're not even gonna' give me your name?"

         Korgash sneered then pointed southeast, making sure he pointed with the hand on which he wore his bladed, spiked aarik glove. Arnelda started walking.

         She led him to a narrow path nestled between two peaks with overhanging cliffs, making the path look like a cave with an opened ceiling. The grey-green Mistweed grew wild and abundant, rising up between the cracks of old paved bricks from an ancient road long forgotten and abandoned. The sides of the cliffs were smooth, almost as if the passage had been hewn by picks and axes instead of occurring naturally. The white stone glittered, reflecting and refracting the light of the moons into rainbow colors. Korgash marveled at the vein of "Whitestone" he was walking through: a kingly quarry. The dwarves at Misdwä would pay a fine price for the location of this place.

         He noticed that Arnelda took long strides and was counting her paces under her breath. "How'd you end up in that crevasse?"

         "You try running for your life while The Mists are up. I'm lucky I didn't fall off a cliff and plummet to my death."

         And yet she managed to keep count of the number of paces she took, and the twists and turns as well? Korgash grunted in approval. Maybe there was more to her than met the eye.

         The passage ended at a horseshoe-shaped wall of Whitestone, still polished smooth. There were no signs of brick-laying, as if the wall had been chiseled from one giant slab. It rose to at least ten times his height. He looked around, and then scratched his chin, asking, "So, how did you get down here from up there?"

         Arnelda smiled then pushed aside some brush a couple paces left of where Korgash stood. Behind the brush was a stairwell that wound around the side of the wall. What at first appeared to be cracks on the staircases he realized were actually runes. Arnelda said, "This place used to be a Misdwar freehold back before the First Dragon War. It was the last to fall to the great flame wyrms, according to the stories I've heard. It was believed cursed, so the dwarves never came back to it. They struck it out of their maps to insure its location would be lost. Even the name was erased."

         Korgash rolled his eyes and grunted, so much for making a profit. "Not much of a freehold."

         Arnelda shook her head. "The freehold was razed to the ground. What we see here is just the foundation. They say this place once towered over the highest peaks; though, that part was likely exaggerated to make the story sound better."

         "Hey, if this place was forgotten and nobody knows about it, how did you hear about it?"

         Arnelda shrugged. "Just because the Dwar forget something doesn't mean the Ëlva forget. It's a sad tale, one of hope amidst loss. Would you like to hear it?"

         "Some other time. Get moving."

         After they reached the top of the stairs Arnelda, panting, removed her quiver and bow then lay down. Korgash, standing over her, grunted and said, "Tired already, eh?"

         Amidst gasps, Arnelda replied, "Are you always this polite?"

         Korgash laughed then said, "You should see me when I'm cranky."

         He sat down and waited. He noticed they were on a level surface of granite flanked by two walls. It resembled a pathway, wide enough to have been a courtyard at one time, cut through the mountain peak. Tell me Seer, he kept his thought unvoiced. What's your purpose in all this? And don't tell me you have a thing for the lass.

         My purpose is the same as it has always been, replied the Seer.

         "That wasn't much of an answer," muttered Korgash.

         "Well," said Arnelda. "If you tell me what the question was, maybe I can answer it."

         Korgash opened his eyes and saw Arnelda looking up at him and smiling a cocky half-smile. He had to think up a question to ask her, and fast. The last thing he needed was to have to explain how talking to himself wasn't insane. "What's your purpose? Why are you so willing to go back to a place you just ran from? And don't tell me it's for the treasure, ‘cause I already know you're not the type to make money the hard way."

         Arnelda sat up. She pursed her lips, and her eyelids closed to narrow slits, "What's that supposed to mean?"

         "It means I was with a guild long enough to know a thief when I meet one. You move like a thief. Or an assassin, but you don't have the right personality for that kind of work."

         "Just for the record, I'm not some common criminal, and I most certainly don't belong to a gang of thugs who call themselves a guild just to make themselves sound important! I'm a legitimate traveling performer educated at the Bardic College in Kevon, and I have the documents to prove it!"

         Korgash sneered. "In other words, you're a legal con artist. But that makes you even less likely to go back to the raiders' camp."

         Arnelda smiled. "No fast-talking you, is there? If you must know, I left a good friend back there. He needs rescued before they do anything nasty to him. But I was honest about them having treasure."

         Korgash grunted and nodded. "Fair enough."

         Arnelda leaned back on her elbows. "You were already looking for them before you met me, weren't you? They have a bounty on their heads?"

         "Yeah," he replied, snorting, "the one that reads ‘No prison time'."

         She crinkled her slender, freckled nose. "Yeah, I hate those kinds. But why do it? Why not just leave and not return to Rexon?"

         "Because I don't break my word. We better get moving." Korgash stood up. "We don't want to get caught traveling during the day."

         Arnelda held out her hand, smiling. Korgash looked at her hand, grunted, and walked off.

         The "courtyard road" tapered into a relatively narrow path that led, after an hour's walk, to a half-circle cliff that was too geometrically perfect to be natural. The cliff rose fifteen yards above the ground below, and Korgash spotted the overhanging lip of what appeared to be an alcove or cave jutting from the cliff wall. Arnelda whispered, "They're inside. The troll usually guards the entrance. He's asleep most of the time, but trolls have good ears. They also have this nasty habit of waking up at the worst possible moment."

         Korgash's lips cracked a tiny smile, and he let out a chuckle. "Figured that one out the hard way, eh?"

         He studied the wall. It was smooth and held no cracks or fissures for footholds. He looked at Arnelda and frowned. "How'd you climb up this thing?"

         "I didn't," she said, smiling with her head cocked back. She held her right hand out to display a platinum ring with intricate symbols carved on its surface. "I levitated up."

         The skin between Korgash's brows furrowed. "Why didn't you use that at the crevasse?"

         Her shoulders slouched as she frowned. "It seems I used up the last charge. Guess that's what I get for swindling it off an untalented wizard selling cheap knock-offs."

         "I've got rope and pitons in my pack, but the sound of hammering metal into rock has a bad way of waking things up."

         Arnelda rolled her eyes. "Why worry? The big lug'll probably wake up no matter how silent we are, anyway."

         "Subtlety's not my thing, girl, so if you've an idea, spit it out."

         "Leara be blessed!" she gasped. She pointed down at his leg. "Is that an ëlvasteel dagger tucked in your boot? It must be worth at least—"

         "Don't change the subject," Korgash said, snarling.

         Arnelda sat down, elbows on her knees with her chin rested in her hands. "I only know a way for me to get down, which is really no help to us."

         Korgash squatted, looking over the cliff, feeling the rock with his ungloved hand. The narrow lip was about seven yards down. "I'd hate to use a grapple on an edge this smooth and rounded. Be too risky, might slip off before I made it to the bottom, especially if carrying the weight of us both."

         Arnelda's eyes brightened. "It won't have to carry both of us. I can get down without need of it."

         "Thought you said your ring didn't work anymore."

         She rolled her eyes. "I'm not talking about my ring, silly. I know a few spells."

         "Great," Korgash said, groaning, "a Shaper."

         "What you got against spell-users?" The wind whipped her hair about, momentarily disguising her face.

         "Long story." He slung off his backpack and removed the rope and grapple. "Good a plan as any, I guess. You'll likely get down there before I do, so if the troll wakes up, distract him."

         "Good idea. How?"

         It was Korgash's turn to roll his eyes. "By making yourself the bait, of course. Any more stupid questions?"

         He tied the rope onto the grapple then booted the roll over the side. He then hooked the grapple onto the edge and started rappelling down.

         After closing her eyes and speaking a few phrases in a language known only to users of magic, Arnelda opened her eyes, held out her hands, and, smiling, leapt off the cliff. Her descent slowed and she began to float down, swaying gently with the wind. Her back to the ground, she crossed her legs and placed her hands behind her head. As she floated past Korgash, she gave him a wink and wiggled her fingers in a good-bye gesture.

         "Don't get cocky, girl," he whispered. "Spells have a bad habit of backlashing."

         "Only if one's concentration is broken, which never, ever, happens to—"

         A wind gust blew her against the cliff. Her head struck the hard surface, causing her to yelp. She then plummeted, screaming, amidst a rain of sparkling feathers.

         Korgash snorted. At least she hadn't had too far to fall. The accompanying "Oof!" followed by an "Ow, my butt..." confirmed she still lived. He looked down to see her buried under a pile of feathers, many of which had disbursed back into the air to float away with the wind.

         A deep rumbling voice came from inside the cave. "Hey! Boss! Someone's outside!"

         A gravelly, snarling voice answered from deeper within, "Then go check it out, slug-brain!"

         The troll exited the cave to stand over the pile of feathers. It scratched the bottom of its thick, leathery pot-belly, just above its ripped, dirty breeches. Dust and muck covered its bare upper torso. A crusty tongue licked its snaggle-toothed overbite as it sniffed with its large, green, hooked nose. It brushed a lock of its hair—a putrid matted grey mass—with a massive clawed hand and said, "Come out o' hiding, little lass. Billy can smell you under them feathers."

         Korgash held his breath and hoped the wind didn't change direction. The troll stood too close to the rope to risk further rappelling, and it was still a ten yard drop to the ground. He had no idea how long the grapple would stay set. He was sure it should've slipped by now.

         The troll reached into the knee-high feather pile and plucked out a squirming Arnelda, his massive hands and long fingers wrapped around her arms and waist like she was nothing but a hip-high doll. His orange-red eyes looked her up and down. He smiled at her, revealing cracked yellow sharp teeth with a couple missing at the front. "Billy remember you, little songbird. Aye, he does."

         "Let me down you big ugly lummox!"

         "Aye, Billy remember pretty-voice-lass. She run away while Billy distracted. Boss angry at me all night for that one." The troll shook her about. "But stupid lass come back; stupid, stupid, song-song doll!"

         A big bellowing laugh erupted from the troll. Korgash could smell Billy's bad breath all the way up where he perched. He was sure Arnelda's bones would soon snap from the troll's shaking. He let out a sigh and muttered under his breath, "So much for the subtle way.

         "Hey big, dumb, and ugly!" Korgash shouted. The troll looked up toward Korgash who added, "Yeah, I'm talking to you swamp-breath! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

         Billy bellowed out a deep gurgling laugh that sprayed Arnelda's face with rank saliva. "Like you? Here! Billy help you down, stupid runt!"

         The troll grabbed the dangling rope and tugged, and the grapple came loose from the edge. But it was what Korgash had expected. Boots firmly planted against the wall, Korgash propelled himself toward the troll. Billy's leathery body broke his fall, and the two curved wrist blades of his aarik sank into Billy's left shoulder.

         Billy cried out, dropping Arnelda who landed catlike onto her feet and rolled out of the way of Billy's thrashing claws. Korgash pulled his dagger from his boot and planted it into Billy's chest, sinking it to the hilt. Billy roared in pain as sticky green blood poured over Korgash's arms. He planted his feet firmly against the top of the troll's belly then sprang up and over Billy's head. A massive arm clubbed Korgash across the chest before he landed, knocking his breath out and sending him crashing against a rock wall.

         Arnelda unslung her bow and knocked an arrow as she ran toward a slanted rock outcropping. She could hear the thudding steps of the troll behind her. She scrambled up the rock, pulled the string, spun toward the oncoming troll, and released the arrow. The missile bounced off his leathery hide.

         Billy halted his advance and laughed. "That all you got, song-bird? Why not sing for Billy? Maybe he be merciful.

         "Or better yet," he added snarling, "scream for Billy."

         "Well," said Arnelda, smirking, "if you insist."

         As the troll continued his advance, she inhaled then screamed a high-pitched wail that made the air vibrate and ripple. Billy grabbed his bleeding ears and garbled incoherently through a bleeding mouth. He stumbled away backward until he found himself up against the rock wall adjacent to the outcropping. The wall shook and vibrated. Several pebbles struck Billy's head, followed by still larger stones amidst a cloud of dust. Soon he was completely buried.

         Arnelda fell to her knees, rubbing her throat.

         Half a dozen red-eyed, bat-faced goblins raced out of the cave, swords and axes in hand. They each wore leather pieced together with various forms of chained and plated mail. Amidst the throng of the grey-skinned runts strode a taller meatier version, the hobgoblin named Bloodsoak, carrying a broad battle axe with numerous notches in the blade. He snarled at Arnelda, "You're becoming quite the pest. You shouldn't have come back."

         Korgash moaned and rose to his feet, startling the goblins. He looked at Bloodsoak, then at the goblins, and grinned. "So, which one of you gets to die first?"

         The goblins scattered and fled, leaving Bloodsoak to yell after them, "Cowards! Come back and fight! Traitors!"

         As Korgash advanced and Arnelda knocked an arrow, Bloodsoak's eyes widened and his body trembled. "D-don't do anything stupid! I-I have a dozen more comrades inside the cave ready t-to c-come out!"

         "Anyone ever tell you that you can't bluff a bluffer?" Arnelda said, wincing at how the words sounded together. "Or something like that."

          "It's nighttime, Bloodsoak," said Korgash. "Your whole band's mostly nocturnal. That means they be out raiding. And besides, if there were any left in the cave, they'd be out here by now."

         "I-I surrender!" Bloodsoak pleaded, dropping his axe. "Y-you can't j-just kill me!"

         "Wanna bet?" Korgash said, grinning. "Ain't no heroes here, hob."

         "Please!" Bloodsoak knelt, his hands up waving, eyes pleading. "I-I'll leave these mountains and never return! I swear by Ogritesh, I will!"

         "You got two choices, hob," said Korgash. "You can come with us to Rexon in one piece, or your head can accompany us."

         The hobgoblin hissed and pulled out a dagger that was sheathed behind his back. He prepared to hurl it at Korgash, but an arrow through the neck stopped him. Korgash looked at Arnelda, looked down at Bloodsoak then over to where the troll was buried. "I guess we're even."

         "Not really," said Arnelda, blushing. "My fingers slipped."

         They entered the cave. Inside, a treasure chest lay at the back end, and near the center was a gnome tied up to a rock and gagged. Clumps of white hair stuck to his sweaty face. He sported a black eye, and his long hooked nose looked to have been broken. As Arnelda untied him and removed the gag, Korgash recognized the mischievous glint in the gnome's blue eyes. Korgash and the gnome said in unison, "You!"

         Korgash rolled his eyes and snorted. "Figures. It explains all the coincidences on this trip, at least."

         "You two know each other?" Arnelda asked.

         "Roland and I used to work for the same guild," said Korgash.

         "Praise Shanak that ye an' Arnelda here arrived when ye did," said the gnome. "They was about t' cook an' eat me!"

         "I should be so lucky," muttered Korgash. "I'll be taking my share of the treasure and leaving now."

         "Why?" asked Arnelda. She brushed a lock of flame-red hair from her freckled face. "I mean, we made a pretty good team out there."

         "I don't work well with others," said Korgash. "Besides, people have a bad habit of getting killed around me."

         "Oh, I'm sure my luck blessings can offset that," replied Roland, winking.

         "Don't bet on it," said Korgash, realizing after the fact that the word, "bet", probably shouldn't be used around this gnome. He hoisted the chest up onto one shoulder and walked out of the cave.

         Roland shook his head and muttered, "His share, he says. Some share. He left nothing for us."

         Arnelda ran out of the cave and saw that Korgash was already a quarter of the way down the winding slope. "Hey, you're not even going to say good-bye?"

         Korgash stopped, turned, and said, "You two coming along or are you just gonna' keep babbling all night? We only got a few hours left before sunrise. And bring the hob with you."

         Arnelda and Roland followed Korgash down the slope, dragging Bloodsoak behind them.

         Viewing the scene through a crystal in a darkened room, the Seer smiled.

 

 

Copyright 2006, Scott M. Sandridge

 

Scott M. Sandridge learned how to write through hard work, trial-and-error, and the occasional writers' workshops. His fiction has appeared in Better Fiction Magazine, Dragons, Knights, & Angels, The Sword Review, and the anthology Distant Passages: The Best from Double-Edged Publishing 2005. He also writes reviews for Tangent Online, is a columnist for The Sword Review, and an Assistant Editor for Ray Gun Revival. More information and list of publishing credits can be found at < www.scottmsandridge.com >. 

 

 

Cover: "Discover" 

Copyright 2006, Teresa Tunaley

Originating from the UK but now residing in the Canary Islands, freelance artist Teresa Tunaley finds more time to devote to her love of art and painting. For years she has been doodling traditionally with pencils and dabbling with watercolors. More recently she uses a more modern technique and creates with her electronic tablet and pen in software such as PhotoShop, Corel Draw, and Paint Shop Pro.

Along with published stories and poetry, she can be credited with award winning cover art and illustrations for author stories. Her work can be seen online and in print across the UK, US, Canada, Denmark and Europe.

"I like to think that I am very versatile in my choice of subject matter – my new surroundings provide the inspiration for me to paint on a daily basis and the fact that others may enjoy my work gives me the confidence to continue."