Bruce Cordell: Lady of Poison

In the meantime, Gunggari had eradicated a few more attackers. As Marrec moved in once more to help the Oslander, the remaining creatures broke off and fled toward the trees. Marrec launched his spear at the hindmost rot fiend. The shaft arrowed through the air and struck a volodni’s retreating form at a distance of thirty feet. The force of the cast knocked the creature to the ground, pinning the beast where it lay. The volodni moved no more, though it commenced leaking a tainted fluid.

“You like risks,” commented Gunggari, as the Oslander began to stoically clean the sides of his musical instrument-cum-warclub. “What if your throw had merely lodged in the rotting one? He could have retreated with your weapon.”

“The shot was clear, I knew I wouldn’t miss. Besides, perhaps, even after all this time, you don’t know all Justlance’s abilities.”

Gunggari raised one eyebrow. Marrec just smiled without elaborating. He was naturally lighthearted and preferred to focus on the positive, though internally he still cursed the loss of the Sign of Capitulation. He quickly paced the distance to where his spear still stood quivering in the form of the blighted volodni. The stink was unpleasant. Pulling the shaft free released an even stronger whiff of corruption which pushed Marrec back.

“Phew! These things aren’t undead, but they are almost as rot-infested as an animated corpse.”

“If not undead, then what? I assumed they were the work of necromancy,” called Gunggari from where he stood, still cleaning his dizheri. Because it was his sole possession, the tattooed solider was never lax in the instrument’s care.

“Don’t know. Something bad, though,” Lurue’s cleric offered, grinning at his own understatement.

A few villagers, having saved what buildings they could from the fire, eyed Gunggari. It was obvious they didn’t quite know what to make of the southerner. The Oslander pretended not to notice the looks as he finalized the process of returning the dizheri to an unblemished state.

Marrec walked toward two who seemed to have led the fire-extinguishing initiative, an older man and a stern, dark haired woman. As he walked up, the woman eyed him.

She said, “You have the thanks of Fullpoint, but if you’re looking for a reward, I’m afraid the town’s treasury was used earlier this spring to buy seed.”

Marrec shook his head, “Nope. It was a deed done for pure purposes, and with the blessing of Lurue, the queen of goodly peoples and beasts everywhere. My name is Marrec, and I am Lurue’s servant. My friend’s name is Gunggari Ulmarra, and he is a traveler from far lands but a good soul.”

“I’m Tansia; this is Korven,” the woman said, pointing to the older man. “You have our thanks. Though we can’t pay you in coin, we can put you up and feed you and your companion for as long as you wish to stay in Fullpoint.”

“Very kind, Tansia, but perhaps you can answer me a question: I seek one named Hemish, Hemish of Fullpoint. Do you know this man?” Hope pitched Marrec’s voice slightly higher than his normally smooth baritone.

The woman nodded, looking bemused, “Hemish? Of course. He keeps cattle. He lives just east of here on the town’s edge. I can take you there.”

“Please, lead on.”

As they walked, leading a procession of the curious, Tansia asked, “Pardon my curiosity, Marrec, but what brings you to Fullpoint after Hemish? He is a simple man, and he and his daughter keep pretty much to themselves.”

Marrec said simply, “He was revealed to me in a vision.”

Tansia nodded uncertainly but said nothing more. In short order, she led him up to a home little different than many of the other village buildings. It, too, showed signs of the recent conflict. Marrec decided he didn’t like the look of the bashed and ruined door, which hung off its hinges. He rushed up the two steps and looked inside. He had Justlance ready in case of lingering rot fiends.

An older man lay on the floor, bleeding, but alive, and conscious. His wild eyes met Marrec’s. His mouth moved, as he tried to get something out.

Marrec kneeled to tend the fallen man. “If you’re Hemish, I’ve come a long way seeking you. I’ll heal your wounds, don’t worry.”

Still the man, his white hair in disarray and eyes wild, tried to speak.

“What is it? What are you trying to tell me?” wondered Marrec.

Finally, Hemish spoke.

“They’ve taken her!”

Hemish’s pronouncement was unlikely to bode anything but poorly for Marrec’s quest, but first things first. Marrec probed the man’s wounds with an experienced hand. The worst was a head wound The cleric would be able to dress the other gashes and scrapes with gauze and salve he kept for mundane hurts, but the head wound would turn ugly if left untended by anything less than divine cleansing. Marrec sighed. His resolution to conserve his divine spells in case he completely lost contact with Lurue was being tested. There was Hemish, whom he had sought on the goddess’ inspiration. He was there because of a divine vision.

He laid a hand upon the fallen man’s brow and whispered the words of power given him The head wound ceased seeping blood as the puncture closed over as if it had never been. As the pain faded, Hemish blinked in surprise, but his mouth began to work, as if newfound health was the fuel he needed to launch into a yelling fit.

Marrec cut off Hemish before he could begin, “There. The pain should fade,” said Marrec.

He helped the man to his feet. Hemish grew somewhat less wild about the eyes but remained quite agitated.

The man finally managed to yell, “Did you see her? My daughter? One of those tree men ran off with Ash!”

Daughter? Apprehension sent goose bumps stippling down Marrec’s arms. Was this missing girl the Child of Light, stolen from him just as he was about to find her?

Hemish made as if to rush outside, but a pain more spiritual than physical seemed to unsteady the man. He began to pitch forward as if in a faint. Marrec reached out a hand to steady him.

“Easy. Rest a moment. We’ll get her back,” promised Marrec, as he righted a chair and helped Hemish to the seat. “Wait here.”

Marrec ducked his head out the door. He located the tattooed soldier who waited outside, who was fending off the thanks of grateful villagers.

“Gunggarithere’s been a kidnappinga child was taken from Hemish. I think… it might be the child we’re seeking, but I don’t know for certain. I need to speak further with this man. Can you get a bead on the kidnappers, quick?”

The Oslander nodded. Without a word he traced a path of footprints from the door of the home, slinking toward the trees where the volodnis had retreated, stepping quietly but moving with some speed. Experience with his friend’s abilities told Marrec that Gunggari could track most anything, but he would wait for Marrec’s help before launching any sort of counterattack or rescue. Marrec ducked back into the house.

The older man looked into Marrec’s eyes and said, “Thank you. Why are you helping me? I don’t even know you. My name is Hemish.”

“Yes, I know. I’m Marrec, but that’s not important right now. I have a pressing question for you, one I have traveled leagues to ask.” Marrec paused for a breath. “Hemish, have you ever seen or heard of somebody or something called the ‘Child of Light?’”

Thought creased Hemish’s brow. He said, “Well, can’t say that I have. Has it got anything to do with Ash?”

Intuition tickled Marrec, growing stronger. It was exactly the sort of feeling he had learned to trust as subtle guidance from the higher world. Marrec said, “Hemish, I believe that your daughter, Ash, is the Child of Light I seek, the child whom I’ve been seeking these long months.”