T Lain - The Bloody Eye

Setting up the ploy required but a minute. Then Krusk and Alhandra faded into the trees with only seconds to spare before a group of Hassq’s henchmen appeared on the trail ahead of Qorrg and Jozan.

For a moment, Krusk thought the orc was tempted to throw in with his old team. He caressed the feathers of the nocked arrow’s fletching and drew the bow, ready to drop the orc where he stood. As though he was aware of Krusk’s intention, Qorrg insisted that Jozan was his prize only and that he was determined to take the cleric to Hassq personally.

“Qorrg find strong foe! Bring Hassq!” shouted the orc.

“Bring!” commanded the masked leader of the orcs, little realizing the charade in which he was a participant.

Qorrg quickly obeyed, shoving Jozan forward convincingly. The two followed their escort of four orcs straight back to Hassq’s camp, while Krusk and Alhandra stalked behind unseen.

The impromptu plan worked well enough against the orc guards, but Hassq had obviously not become their leader through luck alone. When he saw the bound priest approaching under guard, he immediately leapt to his feet and shouted for his minions.

“Trick! Fight!” screeched the druid, and confused warriors began converging on both Qorrg and Jozan.

Krusk grinned with satisfaction as his arrow burst from an orc’s chest. He had barely nocked another when, to his surprise, Qorrg sliced into an onrushing orc, giving Jozan the time he needed to invoke a holy membrane of silence over the druid. When Krusk let the arrow fly, it streaked across the clearing and vibrated obscenely in another orc’s neck, it’s bloody tip lodged in the orc’s shoulder armor. He also saw Hassq smirk menacingly at Jozan’s spell as if the druid could merely shrug off the priest’s effort.

By this time, Krusk was vaguely aware of the paladin fighting her way toward Yddith. He watched the paladin thrusting and slashing and deemed it most appropriate to aim his arrows at the main attraction. Just as Hassq reached for his leather bag and started pulling the emerald necklace out of it, Krusk’s arrow pierced the druid’s hand. The druid dropped the necklace in an involuntary spasm of pain, but Krusk cursed to himself as he saw the druid immediately tracing a pattern in the air. The arrow waved strangely from the impaled hand as he did so. Hassq seemed to be conjuring power out of the earth and trees themselves to throw at the barbarian.

With relief, Krusk observed Alhandra win her way to Yddith’s side and slice the barmaid’s bonds. Again, he sighted down the arrow shaft and straight into Hassq’s eyes. He paused for a moment as a rainbow of energy washed over him and was only a half-second away from releasing the arrow when he realized that he didn’t want to do so. After all, this Hassq wasn’t so very different from himself. They both preferred the woods to a comfortable tavern. They both revered nature. Both were misunderstood by civilized humans. Krusk removed his arrow from the bow, wondering how he could possibly have thought about harming Hassq.

Then he realized something that bothered him even more. Jozan, Alhandra, and the traitor, Qorrg, were advancing dangerously against the druid. Krusk saw the cleric strike an orc in the stomach with his mace. As the orc fought for breath, the cleric shoved him aside and raised his mace to strike the druid.

Only one option was open to Krusk. With a bellow, he dropped his bow and rushed forward, axe in hand. Jozan powered past another orc and praised Pelor with a mighty shout. Krusk’s anger rose. Jozan wasn’t thinking clearly, he misunderstood the situation and must be stopped.

Krusk paid little attention to Alhandra, Yddith, or Qorrg as he thundered past. His rush placed him squarely behind Jozan, who only then realized that Krusk was not hurtling toward the druid, but toward him. Jozan whirled to find himself trapped between the berserk half-orc and the druid. He raised his mace uncertainly, not sure which foe to face.

Krusk was oblivious to Alhandra’s startled cry from his right flank. Neither did he pay much heed to Hassq since Jozan had turned away from the druid. Hassq was crouched behind Jozan and was placing the necklace around his own neck. In his red rage, Krusk swung the axe in a great sideways arc toward his misguided cleric companion. He heard bones crunch and a massive release of breath, but he also felt something wrong. For some reason, the rope that had so recently bound Yddith was entangled around the handle of Krusk’s axe, as well as around his neck and torso. It hadn’t stopped the mighty blow from his axe or prevented Jozan from receiving a terrible gash in his side, but it had saved the cleric from being split wide open.

Krusk couldn’t comprehend why Yddith would interfere. For a moment, he considered confronting her but then he heard Qorrg yelling from behind him, “Hassq be bird! Has gem! Fly!”

Realizing that Hassq was still in danger, the barbarian focused on untangling the rope from his weapon. He noticed an eagle flapping to get airborne and thought he saw a flash of green as the eagle cleared Jozan’s shoulder and flew higher through a gap in the trees. A triumphant cry escaped from the druid’s beak as he gained altitude.

The eagle stalled in mid-air. The shaft of an arrow penetrated the bird’s breast. With horror, Krusk recognized the fletching on the arrow as his own before the thrashing eagle plummeted back through the branches.

Krusk turned away from Jozan and glared at Qorrg. The orc had used the barbarian’s own weapon to attack Hassq, and Krusk found that confusing. Hassq had wanted him to attack Jozan, yet, Qorrg had shot the druid and probably killed him. Should he attack Qorrg or Jozan?

While Krusk was torn by indecision, Alhandra shouted at Jozan to run. She ordered the cleric to stay away until the charm spell wore off, but that made no sense. Had everyone gone mad? Why couldn’t they see that Hassq was a worthy person? Krusk turned back to challenge Jozan and saw that the cleric had vanished into the woods. The barbarian knew that he could track the wounded cleric and catch him easily, even if Jozan had a hefty head start. Alhandra was more dangerous. It would be best to deal with her first. Krusk faced the paladin in a fighting stance, but then heard Yddith’s soothing voice calling out that she needed him. The half-orc hesitated.

“Krusk,” the barmaid purred, “please bring me my necklace.”

Krusk strode to the body of the eagle. The bird, or rather, the druid, was dead. Around its neck was looped the emerald on a slender chain. Krusk scooped it up and approached the one-eyed woman cautiously. When he was sure that she didn’t mean to trick him, he poured the necklace into her open hand with undisguised pleasure on his face.

Archprelate Laud stood to greet Calmet as the underling approached his evil mentor.

This is a change, thought Calmet as he bowed respectfully to the fanatical cult leader. He must have been pleased with the progress we’re making through the stone.

Calmet swallowed nervously as he realized that only his fortuitous snatching of the stone shape scrolls was likely to have saved him from becoming Laud’s next atrocity. As the cleric’s nimble mind raced, he realized that referring to Laud’s previous actions as atrocities was a euphemism. The cavern where he found himself could have been called the “Nave of Atrocities.”

The cleric looked around the large chamber chosen by the more powerful priest for his experiments, observing an assemblage of body parts from humans as well as monsters. The cavern’s walls were adorned by considerably more shelves than in Calmet’s sanctum de sanctorum, and these were filled with enough jars of dried herbs, dehydrated bones, desiccated creatures, and flasks of potions and liquids to stock an alchemist’s laboratory. Behind the archprelate’s writing table was an open chest. Calmet’s eyes were lured to its contents like some men’s attention would be diverted by a well-shaped bar wench. Laud’s chest was filled with scroll cases, perhaps four times as many as the huge amount Calmet had collected since first embezzling his order’s gold. In addition, the archprelate’s writing table was covered with nearly as many manuscripts and palimpsests as Calmet’s table, and to this was added a stock of musty, worm-eaten tomes on necromancy and transmutation that seemed more worthy of maggots’ nests than an honored place on a hierarch’s desk.