T Lain - The Bloody Eye

The enraged orc drew his urgrosh, as did his bodyguards, but his allies had yet to discover that the vile cleric had blinded the warlord. Calmet’s archers fired from the copse of trees on the right. One arrow nicked the shoulder of the rightmost guard and the other sped by his ear. The guard above the tunnel entrance managed to bury his shaft deeply in Narrgh’s chest, and the orc warlord shouted once more in fury.

Despite his blindness, Narrgh charged Calmet, counting on the scent-driven fury of his mount as well as his own ability to hear Calmet’s infernal incantations to bring him to his target. Hearing his leftmost guard charging beside him, Narrgh had no doubt that he would skewer Calmet before the evil cleric could bring him down.

He failed to consider Balor. The hound, black as obsidian, leaped from the cave mouth and interposed itself between the two orcs and their target. The monstrous dog sunk its canines into the boar’s snout. The boar shook its head ferociously as it tried to dislodge Balor’s hold. Unaware of his position, Narrgh whipped his urgrosh around wildly, but he was too far away from Calmet to reach him with the weapon.

With amusement, Calmet watched the rightmost guard charge the copse of trees. As the boar ran uphill, it couldn’t maintain its initial speed and the well-hidden archers had plenty of time to fire and fire again. The finely fletched arrows penetrated the guard’s rusting chain mail and added a crimson spray to the tarnished brown armor. The guard cried out an obscenity in his native tongue and bravely spurred bis dire boar onward. Calmet watched another onslaught of arrows pepper the orc with lethal wounds, then he turned his attention back to Narrgh.

Calmet faced Narrgh, invoked the name of Gruumsh, and flashed his hand in an obscene gesture. Palpable waves pulsed outward from the cleric’s twisting hands and Narrgh’s war boar stood suddenly still. After a moment’s pause, the boar went berserk, forcing Narrgh to hang on fiercely.

Calmet laughed cruelly as he watched the boar react and observed Narrgh’s plight. His spell was designed to enlarge any of the vermin with which the boar might be infested. The lice grew from too small to see to the size of a human hand and glowed with a sickening green aura as though they were empowered by a force siphoned from every foul infection in the universe. The stylets of the lice were as large as arrowheads and each louse thrust them into the skin of orc and boar alike in order to draw blood. The claws and hooks of their legs were like fishhooks, gripping their victims fiercely as they bit, gnawed, and sucked their hosts’ blood. The boar squealed; Narrgh howled; Calmet guffawed.

Narrgh’s guard sinister charged toward Calmet’s right flank, determined to bury his urgrosh in the evil priest’s neck. Calmet reached for his flail just as the charging guard halted unexpectedly, then slowly tilted from the back of the war boar. One of the hidden archers had placed an arrow perfectly in the orc’s left ear, drilling straight through to the brain. As dead weight, the mighty orc warrior toppled in mid-swing and fell beneath the sharp, cloven feet of his own angry boar.

Narrgh’s plight slipped from critical to fatal in a matter of moments. His boar twisted wildly, trying to shake off the giant lice, but it succeeded only in depositing the orc at Calmet’s feet. Blinded, wildly shaking, and screaming from the ferocity of the lice, Narrgh received the only kind of grace Calmet dispensed—a death that ended his pain.

In less than a minute, the three orcs had fallen. Calmet motioned for the archers to loot the bodies and took a moment to cast a healing spell upon Balor. Only then did the cleric realize that Archprelate Laud was observing him without approval from inside the tunnel entrance. Calmet watched his master turn and walk away, realizing that if Hassq didn’t show up with more slaves and the stone of summoning very soon, he was damned as assuredly as the slave he’d petulantly killed earlier in the day.

The woods seemed as quiet as though a blanket of snow was muffling the natural symphony. The only sound to be heard was the harmony of hooves composed by the counterpoint between the disjointed gait of Jozan’s mule and the precise rhythm of the paladin’s stallion.

“Have you noticed how isolated this road is?” asked Alhandra. “We’re really too close to town for it to be this deserted.”

Jozan was worrying about precisely that fact as Alhandra spoke aloud. “And did you notice how quiet it is?” he responded with a question. “It’s almost too quiet.”

In spite of the seriousness of the moment and in spite of the implied danger of which the warriors were wary, Alhandra burst out laughing. Seeing Jozan’s confused expression, she pulled up her horse and offered an explanation for her behavior.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. At least half of the bard’s tales I’ve ever heard began like that. When you said it was too quiet, I found myself starting to look for some unspeakable danger pouncing suddenly out of the trees. I was overreacting. When I realized what I was doing, I couldn’t help but laugh.”

Jozan might have joined the paladin in her laughter except for one thing. As the paladin explained her risibility, he spotted a shadow moving alongside the road near Alhandra. He tried to reach for his light crossbow inconspicuously, but before his hand could close on it, a voice rang out, “Reach for your weapons and you’re dead!”

Alhandra would have laughed again at the cliché phrase if it had not been uttered in all seriousness. Jozan sat up in the saddle without grabbing his crossbow and Alhandra turned her destrier to face the roadside where she thought the speaker might be.

A cowled human stepped into view, garbed in greenery to match the woods. A well-crafted longbow made out of animal horn was pulled taut and a brightly fletched arrow was pointed directly at Alhandra.

“Pergue wants no strangers. Turn back. We’ve had enough trouble.”

Alhandra wished she could spread her arms and detect evil, but she didn’t think she could make any gesture without forcing the archer to let the arrow fly. She also worried that her compatriot might accomplish the same result by charging the woodsman in his verdant garb. Before she could think of what to say, she was surprised by the articulate words uttered by her companion.

“Pelor’s blessings upon you,” intoned the priest. “We have no wish to bring trouble. Indeed, we were sent here by the gods.”

“We’ve had enough supernatural infestations,” grumbled the archer. “We need no more.”

“Perhaps,” responded the cleric, “you don’t know what you need. Pelor’s providence oft exceeds our comprehension. His magnanimous provision oft exceeds our knowledge of our own danger.”

“Tell that to your dead brothers,” asserted the stranger in green.

Alhandra listened with amazement as the young cleric who seemed so tongue-tied in their debates along the trail was suddenly transformed into a font of eloquence.

“I may well do that,” suggested the cleric. “Since death is never the final chapter for one who serves the lord of life, I may well have that opportunity. We have no wish to compound your troubles, but Pelor has chosen me for this quest and my companion has been commissioned by Heironeous. We dare not ignore the will of the gods, even should you riddle us with arrows.” The cleric paused for a moment and apparently decided that a closing word of praise might not be amiss. “Judging from the perfect fletching of that arrow and the straightness of that shaft, I’ve no doubt you rarely miss.”

“Well-spoken,” the archer conceded. “The truth is that I’m just a hunter and I have no real authority in the town, but as Pelor is my witness, I vow that if I find you’ve caused more heartbreak in Pergue than we’ve already faced, I will turn your corpses into porcupines with these arrows.”