Richard Baker - Farthest Reach

Duncastle fumed, thunder gathering on his brow, but Sarya intervened. “The plan, Lord Selkirk, is to bring three armies against one, and demonstrate to Seiveril Miritar and the rest of Evermeet’s army that the days of elves dictating terms to human kingdoms are over. Now, do you have the steel for the game, or not?”

Miklos Selkirk’s easy manner froze on his face. He looked back to Sarya, and studied her more closely.

“You are playing with dangerous powers, Lady Senda,” he said in a more serious voice. “I don’t pretend to know what sort of old elven spells might still be sleeping in Cormanthor, or what the heroes who defend the Dalelands might do about a concerted threat such as that we’re offering them now, and so I fear the remedying of my ignorance. But yes, I agree that the stakes are… enticing.”

“I do not know what to tell you about any heroes defending these lands,” Sarya said, “but I can tell you this, Miklos Selkirk: I wield Cormanthor’s magic, and as long as Sembia’s army is moving against my enemies, you need have no fear of old elven spells.”

Jorin Kell Harthan’s prediction proved uncannily accurate. Araevin and his comrades passed a cold and rainy night in the ruins of an old elven tower buried deep in the forest, and when they pressed forward from the place in the morning, the drizzle followed them, soaking the party in a dripping fog that quickly became a bright, steaming bath when the sun burned through the clouds overhead. The normal sounds of the forest died away over the course of the first three miles of walking, replaced with the insistent dripping of water from countless branches and leaves. Soon it seemed they were passing through a world of emerald and silver-gray, a silent world that resented their presence.

They hiked on in single-file, following the Aglarondan along the narrow trail. Araevin fell into the rhythm of the walk, his thoughts drifting. How long will it take Sarya Dlardrageth to detect the approach of Evermeet’s army? he wondered. And what will she do when she does? Sarya might attempt to sabotage the army’s march by striking at the portal nexus in the frozen fortress. He frowned, wondering if he should have advised Seiveril and Starbrow to keep the windswept mountaintop guarded against a sudden demonic assault. Or was there some other way for Sarya to strike at the host of Evermeet? He paused in mid-stride, examining the thought.

“Araevin! Look out!” Ilsevele reached forward and jerked at his arm, dragging him back from his reflections. Something crashed through the dense underbrush not more than a dozen yards from where he stood, a hulking gray mass of hairless flesh that grunted and thrashed furiously through the thorn-studded vines, snapping arm-thick saplings in half as it charged toward the small company.

“Aillesel Seldarie! Where did that come from?” Araevin gasped.

He quickly backstepped, trying to keep out of the thing’s reach while he considered the spells he held ready.

It went on two thick legs, with a hunched-over posture and a blunt snout that held row after row of sharp black teeth. A double row of small, yellow eyes dotted the front of its head, and its forelimbs were long, powerful arms that ended in strong crushing claws. The thing snuffled loudly, and roared in bestial rage.

No one offered an answer to his question, but beside him Ilsevele’s hands blurred as she sent a pair of arrows winging at the monster. The arrows sank into the side of its thick neck, but there was nothing but muscle there-the creature swatted at the arrows like they were insect bites, and bellowed with such anger that the leaves shook overhead.

“It’s a gray render!” Jorin called from up ahead. The monster had broken onto the trail between the Aglarondan and the rest of the small company. “Be careful, it can crush an ogre with those arms!”

The creature hesitated an instant, then turned its back on Jorin and thundered up the trail at Ilsevele and Araevin. The spellarcher fired several more times, trying for its eyes, but the front of the beast’s head held a mass of bone so dense that her arrows simply glanced away. The creature reared up, drawing back one huge taloned hand to crush Ilsevele-and Araevin barked out the words of a simple teleport spell and caught hold of the back of her tunic, whisking them both twenty yards aside.

The render’s claws stripped a foot-wide row of furrows four inches deep through the trunk of a cedar next to the spot Ilsevele had been standing, and the beast screeched in frustration. Ilsevele stumbled, unprepared for the spell, but she looked back at him, eyes wide.

“Good timing,” she managed.

Jorin Kell Harthan sprinted down the trail behind the render, and skidded to a halt behind the monster, slashing at its hamstring with his long sword. The render howled again as its leg buckled beneath it, but it whirled with astonishing speed and batted the Aglarondan ranger into the underbrush with a single off-balance swing of one claw. Then Donnor Kerth, who had been behind Araevin and Ilsevele on the trail, charged the monster from the other side, mail jingling and armor rattling, his face hidden behind his heavy helm. He landed a heavy cut on the back of the monster’s shoulder, grunting with the force of his swing. The gray render wheeled drunkenly back toward the Lathanderian, and clubbed him with its other arm. Kerth caught the blow on his sturdy shield, but the monster was so strong that it drove him to his knees, and began to rain down mighty blows like the pounding of some berserk smith’s hammer.

“Donnor’s in trouble!” Ilsevele snapped. She scrambled to her feet and drew her own long sword, gliding toward the fight with a rapid but balanced advance, ready to dart forward or give ground as she needed.

“I see it!”

Araevin snatched for the zalanthar-wood wand at his belt, and leveled the device at the monster, pausing only long enough to make sure none of his companions were in the way. The wand erupted in a hazy blue bolt of sonic disruption, blasting the render’s flank with a terrible crack! that echoed in the dripping wood. Behind Kerth, Maresa pointed her own wand at the beast over the shoulder of the kneeling human warrior, and scorched the monster with a jet of flame that caught it full in the face.

The gray render hissed and reared back, raising its head and turning its face away from the searing flame-and Donnor uncoiled from beneath his shield and brought his heavy broadsword up under the render’s jaw, sinking the point of the weapon deep into the base of its throat. The Lathanderian warrior surged to his feet and wrenched his blade free, ripping open a terrible wound across the render’s throat.

The render’s hissing rage drowned in a horrible gurgle of dark gore. It wheeled around and bolted back down the trail, away from Kerth and Maresa. Blood splattered the leaves and left a crimson trail in the creature’s wake. Ilsevele quickly backed away, giving the render plenty of room to flee, while Jorin Kell Harthan, who had been circling back in to attack again from behind the monster, literally threw himself into a dense briar bush to avoid being trampled.

The creature went thrashing its way down the trail, burbling its misery, and vanished into the gloom of the forest.

Donnor Kerth climbed to his feet and watched the monster flee. He shucked his helmet, and looked down at his sword, clotted with the render’s gore for a full two feet from its point. He stared in amazement, as the crashing and pained howls of the monster receded into the distance.

“It’s still running,” he muttered. “By the Morninglord, what does it take to kill one of those things?”

Jorin slowly picked himself up and began extricating himself from the briars. “Maybe a big dragon could manage it, but other than that, there isn’t much in the forest that a gray render fears. It’s best to avoid them.”