T Lain: The Sundered Arms

“It was horrible,” said the elder of the girls. She had freckles on her nose and shy eyes the color of cornflowers. “It was riding one of the monstrous bugs. At first I could only hear its voice, cackling at the slaughter as it flew its mount closer and closer to the flames. That’s when I saw the rider appear out of nowhere. It was smaller than a child, but horrible, with oozing green skin and these wretched horns.”

“There, there,” said Devis, taking Mayla’s hand and sitting close by her side.

Tordek wanted to kick the bard in the seat of his tight pants, and from the look on her face he surmised that Lidda was entertaining similar thoughts. Tordek said, “Let her finish.”

The girl seemed brave enough despite the recent trauma, but she welcomed the consoling shoulder Devis offered. She gave him a sad, grateful smile and continued. “It clung to the saddle with its feet and beat the insect with a little stick, driving it down closer to the flames until its wings caught fire. It had its own wings and hovered there in the flames after the bug fell. It was hooting and cheering, telling the goblins what to do, ordering them to…kill everyone.”

“I gathered those that I could,” said Kerel, putting her arm around the young girl who had supported her earlier. “Jaylee was helping me get them down to the cellar when we saw Mayla staring at the monster in the flames. When it looked at her, we could almost see the hairs standing up all over her body. There was something of the abyss in that thing’s eyes.”

“I don’t know what happened to me then,” said Mayla. “I was so frightened that I ran. I think I must have screamed.”

“That you did, my dear,” said Kerel, “but so did every last, living soul within thirty paces of the wicked little creature, even the goblins. Luckily, you ran right past us, and we were able to bring you down into the cellar before it thought to come looking for you.”

“What was it?” asked Lidda, her eyes wide in thrilling horror. “A demon?”

Kerel shrugged. “Don’t know what else, if not that. Anyway, we saw no more of it that night, though we heard far more than we’d have wished. We barred the door and tried covering our ears while we prayed for deliverance. Eventually, Pholtus sent us the dawn.”

“Then you came,” said Mayla, looking up at Devis. He smiled back at her.

Lidda coughed violently.

“You say they used most of the spider-eaters to carry the cage with the smiths?” said Tordek.

“That’s how it looked to me,” said Kerel. “The rest of the goblins were preparing to drive the captives out of town on foot.”

Overhead, a hawk screamed as it wheeled over the village, slowly descending toward them.

“She’s back,” said Tordek.

The villagers looked on in wonder as the hawk glided to a graceful landing atop a nearby fence. The creature folded its vast wings then ruffled them briefly as if shaking off a wet rain cloak. Afterward, the bird appeared strangely altered, with longer legs and a much bigger body. Its feathers shrank and turned to a long, white mane along its head and neck. It shook its wings again, and what looked like feathers earlier were now the ragged edges of a fur cloak, its talons transformed into fine white hands. After one final shake of her shoulders, Vadania sat upon the fence where the hawk had just perched.

Devis made a gallant exchange of introductions, cut short by dirty looks from Tordek and Lidda. Tordek summarized what they had learned from the survivors.

“I spied the raiders with their hostages on my flight,” said Vadania. “They are trudging across the fens.”

“Which way?” asked Tordek.

“To the northwest, toward Jorgund Peak. They move slowly. We could overtake them by midday.”

“Oh no,” said Mayla, clutching Devis’s arm. “You mustn’t follow there.”

“Why?” said Tordek before the half-elf could answer. “What lives there?”

“Troglodytes,” said Kerel, “and worse. That must be why they chose to travel by daylight. Sandrine comes out only at night.”

“Sandrine?” said Devis, dropping Mayla’s hand and leaning eagerly toward Kerel. “Cold Sandrine, the poisoner’s daughter?”

“You’ve heard the tale?” said Kerel.

Mayla pouted at the sudden loss of the bard’s attention.

“Heard it? Why, I must have sung it a hundred towns, and twice before princes.”

“Is it a long song?” asked Lidda, making no effort to disguise her satisfaction at Mayla’s sudden abandonment.

“There is a long version, yes,” said Devis.

“We’ll hear the other one,” said Tordek.

“Just the salient points, please,” added Vadania.

The bard opened his mouth to protest, but when he saw both the dwarf and the elf staring pointedly at him, he acquiesced with a defeated huff. “Very well. Scorned woman wants revenge on the man who jilted her for another. Sends the fellow a poisoned mince pie, supposedly from his intended. The man dies horribly. Gurg. Gah. The whole town knows it’s Sandrine to blame, so they chase her out into the fens. It’s winter, so she freezes to death, but just before she dies, she prays to Nerull the Reaper for revenge on the villagers. Nerull grants her life after death so she can prey on fickle men by luring them into the swamp and drinking their blood.

“There,” he concluded with a disgusted glance at Tordek and Vadania. “Short enough for you?”

“Perhaps a little too short,” suggested Vadania. “What manner of creature is she? A vampire?”

Devis shrugged, adopting an offended air. “I thought you didn’t want to be troubled with such trivial—”

“He doesn’t know,” said Tordek. “Do you?”

“Sounds like a vampire to me,” said Devis. His indignant expression crumbled under Tordek’s glare, and he added, “but no one knows.”

“She is deathless,” said Kerel. “That much is sure. Whether by sorcery or some unholy bargain, no one knows. Those who might have learned did not return to tell their tales, thank Pelor.” She drew the circle of the sun god over her heart to ward off evil.

Tordek turned to the old woman. “This Sandrine—whatever foul thing she has become—she lives in this swamp?”

Kerel nodded. “I knew her sister. She was an old woman when I was Jaylee’s age.”

“Then it’s true about the luring and the drinking?” asked Lidda.

Kerel shrugged. “Every few years, hunters find the bloodless body of a young man out near Sandrine’s cottage. There are warning totems, for even the trogs know how dangerous she is. Despite the warning, some young fools from the village still go there on dares and stories of buried treasure.”

“Not anymore,” said Bandar, gazing out at the smoking ruins and the black remains of the pyres.

The young dwarf’s words cast a pall over the gathering, and no one had anything more to say before Tordek and his companions gathered their packs to set off once more.

Tordek swept his war axe completely through the first defender and let the powerful momentum carry the blade past to cut off another of the wretches at the thigh. Four big, bloody pieces of goblin splashed to the marshy ground.

Tordek glanced up to see Lidda’s green-fletched arrows fairly streaming at the main body of guards. The goblins screamed impotently as the swamp grass clutched their legs and held them to the ground. Her spell completed, Vadania joined the halfling in picking off the trapped goblins one by one with keen sling bullets that wounded where they did not cripple and crippled where they did not slay.

Behind the fierce women, the captives from Croaker Norge scrambled for cover. Most of them were still bound with leather shackles and collars, but they wasted no time getting away from their entangled captors.