Most of the people had run off after the others, but some remained on the street in front of the Inn, yet no one was paying her the slightest bit of attention! Kaitlyn began to get scared. Why were they not reacting to her? Slowly she started to walk back to the Inn to retrieve her bundle of supplies where they had been left during the fight. She stopped as a bull came charging out of the door to the inn and, though it ignored her, it did go after the nearest humans.
As she walked into the Inn she passed a couple of men standing near the door. They were talking heatedly even angrily about having to "get those villains", but none of them so much as looked up at her. She quickly got her stuff from the floor by the table she had only recently been sitting at, and left the Inn.
Kaitlyn crept along the sides of buildings trying to remain in the shadows and keep from being seen, but there was no real reason. Everyone who passed her acted like she wasn't even there. Once, a whole company of officers even parted around her to let her pass, but no one met her eye or gave any other indication that she was there.
It was all Kaitlyn could do to keep from screaming. Every time she saw some one she would tense up waiting to be discovered, but invariably they walked on past her. She was scared, why was this happening to her? What did it all mean?
Finally she reached the outskirts of town and ran into the woods. She was so scared and confused; she kept running until finally she collapsed sobbing against a rotten tree. What was going on? Where had Stephan gone to? What had happened to her magic? Why did the townspeople attack everyone, but ignore her? She just wanted to be back at Stephan's tower studying the secrets of magic that she loved so much, Secure, happy, and not alone. She continued to cry until she fell asleep, and then slept the sleep of someone who is no longer sure about anything anymore.
She woke three hours after dawn. Her clothes were dirty and torn; her face muddy and tear stained from her ordeal the night before. She gathered her things and walked back to the road. She didn't know what to expect after the night before, but everything seemed to be normal in the light of day. She began to walk toward Elsies' Spire, the questions from the night before still burning in her mind. She hoped that somebody would meet her there and that they would be able to help her - it was her only chance.
Though the lightning bolt had struck, magic tended not to affect him as much as it used to. And the damage was not as bad as he thought.
Hu-Su leapt onto the side of the building and quickly climbed to the roof while the others scattered. The crowd had turned tail in the face of the animal stampede.
Across the roof he ran, toward the south-east, leaping from roof to roof until he came upon a large group of soldiers and townspeople. He did not have the magic armor or spells of the others but he did have something else that might help the rest of the party -- speed.
Judging by the state of the animals, there would be precious few horses available and willing to be ridden. This would give him what he needed, a wide open meadowland.
Hiding in the shadows of their torchlight he jumped off of the roof onto a soldier that had wandered too far from the crowd. The mans' armor made a muted clang as it hit the ground, the now unconscious soldier within it.
As a one the mob turned on Hu-Su, the twang of cross-bows and arrows clearly heard. Fortunately such missile weapons required a clear head to use adequately and there was enough light to see the missiles coming. The monk avoided those that posed a threat.
The chase was on. He kept ahead of the crowd which he estimated to be about two hundred, and contained a good part of the garrison.
Occasionally he had to avoid some animals, however they tended to attack the slower moving crowd. There was obviously no active intelligence coordinating the actions of the people and animals.
When they got discouraged he would circle back to get their attention. The combination of the open meadow, moonlight and his speed making this all but a game. He thought that for little more effort than his usual exercise routine he would help the party escape. He was wrong.
About two hours before dawn Hu-Su decided to end the chase. He had drawn the mob away for the last six hours and they would need at least that amount of time to make their way back. He accelerated to his fast run, putting distance between the crowd and himself. A pace he kept for about half an hour.
Then he heard the hoof beats gaining on him and turned his head back. "There should be at least six miles between myself and anyone else!" he thought. Out of the night came a horse, a dim bluish glow coming from its' horseshoes and the outline of a man on its' back. The monk *should* have heard the hoof beats a long before, not just less than 50 feet behind him.
"Nice try monk". Hu-Su stopped and faced the man. The man jogged his horse a few steps closer and stopped.
It was a huge war horse in full plate barding. The man wore ornate field plate, carried a shield in one hand and a lance which appeared to be a thick, long spear in the other as easily as one might carry a short sword. Any horse carrying such a load should not have been able to keep up with him for the last half hour. Hu-Su suspected magic and again regarded the glowing hooves of the destrier.
The man threw something that sounded like chains at Hu-Sus' feet which hit the ground with a thud. Hu-Su estimated they weighed at least 30 pounds, yet the man had tossed them as though they had been a pillow.
He said: "You and your friends caused some trouble in town, I'm sure they'll want to ask a few questions. You know how to put on shackles monk, do so and you may live." The horse moved forward and back then pawed at the ground, all the while looking at Hu-Su. The man moved as though he were a part of the horse, yet a separate entity. This was a Cavalier. He had known one once. But had never faced one in combat. The horse was liable to be dangerous as well.
Hu-Su said: "Magic seems to have affected the people in the town. Perhaps you too are mistaken and would be well advised to go your own way?"
To which the man replied: "last chance to go back alive monk... MOVE!"
Hu-Su stood there, looking at the man, waiting for him to make the first move. He knew better than to try to hit the horses legs, first the horse had full barding and judging by the intelligence in it's eyes, would be expecting that. Secondly, the cavaliers' lance would impale anyone foolish enough to try, long before the horse arrived to trample them.
The monk was in an open meadow and the horse was obviously faster than he; running was not an option. He would *have* to fight.
The man charged. Hu-Su feinted a dodge to side and leapt up, way up, blocking the lance with his foot, the other foot landing squarely on the man's breast plate with a loud clang. But it was good armor and the blow had little effect other than to match Hu-Sus' speed and direction with that of the horse. The monk hung in front of the man for a brief second.
As Hu-Su tried to hit, the man swiveled and slammed his shield into Hu-Su, hard, sending him flying. The point of the lance grazing the airborne figure as he rode on. Hu-Su rolled as he hit the ground and came up on his feet. His shoulder was almost numb from the blow. They faced each other again.
The man charged, the lance aimed squarely for the monks' heart. Hu-Su parried the lance with his arm, grabbing hold of it and trying to yank it out of the mans' grasp. To his surprise the lance angled out as he held his ground but then he was flying forward holding on to the lance. What strength! The Cavalier was going to throw him at his horses hooves.
With the agility of a cat the monk leveraged himself enough to change his trajectory as he let go and landed on the horse, behind the cavalier. A hard blow to the mans' back resounded loudly but harmlessly off of his armor. In a continuation of that fluid motion the monk grabbed the man around the neck and tried to throw him off of the horse. But the man was holding on to the horse with his legs!.
The shaft of the lance came over the cavalier and landed soundly on Hu-Sus' head, dazing him. Swiveling his body and gaining leverage from the horse, the man hit him with other elbow squarely in the ribs and sent him flying off the horse. On his way down, the horse, even while galloping, reared and kicked the monk in the shoulder. He hit the ground hard. He was badly hurt.
Pulling him from the welcoming blackness, the voice of his master echoed in his head: "FOCUS! you must FOCUS!"
Abruptly he realized he was lying on the ground and the horse was turning around. He leapt to his feet. Although shaky, the monk realized that the next attack might well be his last.
"Learn from your mistakes!, Learn your enemies strengths and avoid them! Fight with your strengths against his weakness!" His masters' voice once again.
The Cavalier had slower reflexes than his. But the effort of avoiding the lance and the horse more than compensated for that. By the time the monk got close enough to hit the man, he was already committed in terms of position and action, and the man was waiting for him and still had all his options open. Hu-Su drew his Katana and stood facing the charging Cavalier.
Just before the mans' lance reached Hu-Su, he side-stepped and swung the Katana, chopping the lance in two. The man rode-on, dropping the useless shaft while reaching for a second lance from its' holder. Hu-Su *could not* give him the chance.
The horse was already slowing down, preparing to turn around, as the monk accelerated toward them. He caught the man by surprise and from mid-air slashed at his side. The man was quick though, and leapt from the horse, avoiding the lethal swing. They were both going to the same side of the horse. The first blow bounced off of the mans' armor and although the monk was able to get another strike before they landed, this was also deflected by the armor. They both landed on their feet.
The monk struck as the man tried to draw a sword from his sheath, once at the hand reaching for the sword which the man parried with his shield and a second slice at the now exposed side, which again the man tried to parry while finally getting his sword free. He did not expect the third strike of the combination -- an elbow to the face. It was one of the best strikes of the sort Hu-Su had made. Down went the man in a heap as his helmet went sailing into the night. Hu-Su had been *very* lucky.
Although the beast made no sound, Hu-Su felt the air from the huge creatures movement and tried to dodge the horses hoof. The glancing blow struck him in the back and knocked him flat. He reacted quickly enough to avoid the second hoof. He could not take another blow like that. In fact he would have a hard enough time just getting somewhere he could rest.
The horse stood between his now unconscious rider and Hu-Su, regarding him and the drawn Katana. There was no question about the intelligence of the animal, it was unnatural! It was defending its' rider and Hu-Su couldn't handle the beast in his present condition. An uncomfortable standoff.
The horse was faster than the monk but the man would be unconscious for another few hours. Hu-Su backed away a few hundred feet and stopped. He called upon his KI, focusing on his most serious wounds. The blood flowing from the serious cuts slowed. He could run now. He sheathed his Katana and started out.
After he was well beyond range of being observed, looking back to make sure, he changed direction and headed north, wondering who or what he would find when he arrived. But first he had to find a place to rest. It would take a while to heal the damage he had sustained...
As was his custom he appraised the town for its' potential to provide him with income. That it had a well manned garrison did not look promising for those that provided services such as he.
Something had happened to the town, but it had not affected him or his horse. They just went plumb crazy, attacking the Inn. He did not want to be associated with the trouble and calmly rode back to the outskirts.
He approached a square that held a large number of angry soldiers and people, they paid him little heed. That's when he saw the man leap on to a soldier and run off into the night. The way man snatched the arrows out of the air and his speed left little doubt as to the fact that he was a monk. Kazoar had made the ocean crossing once and was familiar with the warriors of that culture.
He followed the crowd as it chased the monk. Through the night he kept back and watched what was happening. The mob was definitely out of their mind. They chased him while he led them away from town. Toward morning he decided they would be willing to pay for the monk and he decided to take the man back for a reward. The monk was incredibly quick and provided good sport.
When the man pulled out a Katana he realized this was no ordinary monk. The monk did not want a fight to the death, but had wanted to draw people away from the town. Why? Kazoar sensed profit.
Then the monk caught him with the elbow. A half-hour later he regained consciousness, his horse faithfully nudging him while standing guard. "Once again I owe my life to you old boy" he thought. He had foolishly, over- confidently, taken his eyes off of the monk and almost paid for that mistake with his life. He had forgotten just how quick and agile these monks could be. It would not happen again.
Picking up his helmet, he headed back to town and the rest of his band. Given how fast the monk travelled, he would not be able to find the man now. But he did want to find out what was so important that he would risk his life to protect. Dusting himself off, he pulled a piece of the monks' tunic from his armor and placed it in his pouch. Ransom would locate the monk if need be...
"Which means, of course, that you need to get your pack, doesn't it?," he said softly. Of course, all that required was getting past at least fifty violent villagers, two dozen dogs, numerous miscellaneous cows, sheep, and goats, and a flock of geese. Of course, what they didn't see wouldn't hurt them - or him either.
Raising his hands, Damion spoke the spell of Hidden Passage. He was heading for the inn even as he faded out of sight. He walked calmly through several large search parties, laughing silently as the men pulled their dogs away from his boots. He had just reached the town square when he heard a loud snort from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a very large, confused-looking bull.
"Oh dear..." Damion whispered as the bull began to sniff the ground suspiciously. He started walking faster. He was nearly halfway across the village square when the bull made up its mind and charged him with a bellow.
Damion had no idea how the bull was trailing him by scent. He had a definite idea, however, that this was not the appropriate time to investigate the matter. Breaking into as sprint, he bolted through what was left of the inns front door with the bull right behind him. Damion continued through the common room of the inn to the kitchen.
The bartender was sitting by the window with a cleaver in his hand as the two of them came through the door. He never saw Damion, but when he saw the bull, he dove out the window screaming for help. Damion ran around the kitchen once, with the bull in hot pursuit. Finally he raced up the back steps, confident the bull would never follow him up there.
The bull did, however, and Damion began back-pedaling up the stairs for dear life until he reached the landing, when he turned and ran up to the next landing. Fortunately, the bull failed to turn at the landing. Slamming headfirst into the wall, it drove its horns deep into the plaster and lath of the inn, where they stuck firmly. With a hoarse basso bellow, it tried to free itself, unsuccessfully. Damion elected not to wait for further developments, but continued up the stairs, leaning heavily on his staff as the fear energy seeped away from him. When he finally reached his room, his right side felt like it was on fire, and his left felt like it was about to catch.
Damion's bedroll lay on his bed, where he had left it. He bent down to pick it up and promptly felt his knees give out on him, landing flat on his face in the bed.
"This is not good", he said softly. He was going to need a safe place to rest until his herbs worked. Given the attitude of the management, he doubted that was going to be as simple as renting a room. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He crawled off the bed and lifted the heavy blanket, sneezing at the cloud of dust that billowed into the room. His luck was with him: not only was there enough space under the bed for him; judging from the dust, it wasn't likely to be searched this month. Of course, if it was, he was in trouble, but he was in trouble anyway, so it really didn't matter.
Inching to his feet, he reached into his pack and removed a steel vial and cloth packet. He ripped the packet open and poured the contents, a multicolored powder, into the vial. Then he added water from his water skin and spoke the cantrip of Hearthless Flame. The water slowly began to bubble and steam. Damion took a deep breath and drained the contents of the vial. Then he began his race against the healing sleep.
Damion jammed the vial and empty packet into the top of his satchel, closed it, and shoved it and his bedroll under the under the bed. He slid his staff under next, then crawled under himself, rearranging the blanket to conceal him. Closing his eyes, he offered up a twofold prayer to the Hooded Lady, first to let his spell hold, second, not to let him snore.
... He woke up with a start, rapping his head smartly against the bottom of the bed. Rubbing his scalp gingerly, he listened for any noise. There was none. The inn was apparently closed for repairs. Damion crawled cautiously out from under the bed, blinking in the moonlight. He rose to his feet and stretched. The herbs had done their work well; he could stand and walk. He could also, he realized, see himself in the mirror: his spell of Hidden Passage had unraveled. On the other hand, he had slept for a night, all day, and, as the moon showed, a good part of this night as well. It was hardly surprising the spell had come undone.
Of course, it was hardly opportune, either. He was out of spells, and didn't want to take the time to study new ones, either. That left good ol' mundane sneakiness. Damion examined the charred remains of his coat critically, then decided to leave it. At least he still had his hat. Damion peeked out the window. When he saw no one, he set his hat firmly on his head, took up his satchel, bedroll, and staff, and went out into the hallway. He moved on down the back stairs, and was relieved to see someone had removed the bull. In the kitchen, he paused long enough to grab a loaf of bread, and set off down the road.
Two days walk and three days ferry later, he was at the door to his sanctum, making hasty preparations for a trip north, to do a little curse-breaking. As he sat at his desk studying spells, a pigeon fluttered through his window. The lamp on Damion's desk reflected off a silver tube on the birds wing. Damion gently removed the tube from the bird and pulled the cap off. A thin roll of vellum slid from the tube, onto his desk. Damion read it wordlessly. Then his jaw tightened. Taking a sheet of vellum from his desk drawer, he wrote:
Your Grace,
I well understand your concern in this matter, and will investigate it when my time permits. Unfortunately, I have a pressing concern myself now, and cannot immediately deal with the problem. Rest assured, when this is dealt with, I shall promptly deal with the concerns you mention, Magister Damion Grey
Rolling the vellum into the tube, he strapped it to the pigeons wing and bid it return.
An hour later, Damion stood on his balcony. A long burgundy cloak covered him from head to toe, and his satchel and bedroll were slung comfortably over his shoulders. His staff was firmly clenched in his left hand. Raising his arms, he spoke a single sharp phrase. As the cloak swept up over his shoulders, he began to shimmer. His arms became one with the cloak as he spread it to the wind, then altered to become wings. His head elongated and became covered with dark red scales. Talons sprouted from his feet. A moment later, the transformation was complete. The firedrake stretched its wings and launched itself into the air, circling the sanctum twice before heading north.
Mac knew he had to think fast, the mob would be after him in a minute. The sudden appearance of the animals would add to the confusion, but they would slow him down just as much. Finally, there was the little matter of the crossbow bolt sticking in his shoulder; he definitely was in no condition for a fight.
Already a group of people were coming down the street after him. Muttering to himself Mac began to rummage through his pockets. As the mob closed in Mac pulled what he was looking for out of his pocket, spoke the brief incantation, gestured, and released the energy of the spell at the street between himself and the pursuing mob. Suddenly the street was coated in a slippery, oily, substance. The crowd couldn't stop before the first people hit the grease slipped and fell, as people ran up behind more people were knocked down and Mac ran down an alley laughing to himself.
As he rounded the corner he pulled up the hood on his elven cloak and seemed to melt into the shadows. Mac thought to himself at least now I can get out of town with no one the wiser, the mob out there could walk right up to me and never know I was there. Mac was almost right. Forgetting that, unlike people, animals don't need to see you to find you lead to an interesting moment when he was forced to climb up a pile of trash to get over a wall and away from a pack of mad dogs.
Eventually, however, he made it out of the city and into the surrounding woods. There he picked his way through the night, his elven eyes needing no light to lead him back to his campsite. As he came into camp a hawk gave a screech. "Aye, Leigh" Mac said to the bird, "Quite a night, and I fear it will only get worse."
Mac kept watch until dawn, throughout the night he heard the sounds of both men and animals out hunting their prey. He never saw the others and hoped they escaped OK, but there was nothing he could do for them. When dawn came the hunters, both human and animal, stopped and went home, tired and confused, as if they had been sleep walking the whole night and had only just woken. Strange, thought Mac, but he could not dwell on it now. He was tired and so turned in.
Mac woke up in the afternoon. He ate and broke camp (a task made slightly difficult due to the addition of the sling bound around his left arm). Then he rode- off. The trip to the meeting place would only take three days, and he had four, but he needed to make a little side trip first.
It took a day and a half for Mac to reach his destination. As usual Leigh flew ahead scouting for bandits or the sheriff's patrol, both of which would have made things difficult. Thus he reached the town he was going to without any unusual events.
Mac waited for dark, then walked his horse slowly through the town until he came to a certain house he was looking for. He banged on the door, and waited. After a moment, an old elven man looked out. When he saw Mac his eyes widened in surprise.
"Mac Congline, what are you doing here? You were never supposed to come back to town!" the old man exclaimed.
"I know" said Mac. "Now will you let me in and close the door before you announce my presence to the whole town!"
Once inside and settled around a table eating a hot bowl of stew and drinking a cold mug of ale, Mac related the events of the other night to the old man.
After he had finished he said "I need to know what I'm up against, and how I can break this curse. I came to you because you're the best."
"Yeah and I'm the only Sage stupid enough to give you a hot meal and not charge you for the information either" retorted the old man.
"Well.. there is that too" laughed Mac.
The old man went into another room dusted off some old books and began to read through them. After a few hours he found what he had been looking for and brought the book over to Mac. Mac put down the tankard of ale he had been drinking and read.
When he was finished he looked up at the old man "Are you sure this is it?" he asked. The old man silently nodded. "Well, then I don't have any choice do I?"
"No." the old man said. "They'll try to stop you."
"I know, but it has to be done. I need to stay here for a day or two until my arm heals up." said Mac.
The old man sighed. "Just don't eat all of my food and drink all of my ale this time." Mac laughed.
The next day the old man ran into the house and to the kitchen where Mac lounged eating a chicken and drinking from a keg of ale. "Mac! There are some strangers in town asking around about you." he yelled.
Mac sat up. "Is it them?"
"I don't know, but they're willing to pay a lot for the answers to their questions, and they don't look happy. Have you offended anyone else recently?"
"Not that I can remember. Looks like I'll be leaving tonight after it gets dark. I'll need some fresh supplies, and anything else you can spare."
Later that night Mac slowly crept out of the city with his horse and hawk. After they where a safe distance away from the town, Mac stopped and waited to see if anyone followed. When no one did he mounted and rode to the meeting place at a gallop.
***
... The bat flew away from the window and landed in a nearby tree. The hawk did not have its' maneuverability but, just in case, it waited until there was enough distance between the hawk and itself to give so as to have some warning. While it waited, it congratulated itself for following the old elf back to his house. Old elves in human settlements were rare, rare enough to warrant further investigation. It followed the man long enough to get a good idea of which direction he travelled. It then turned around and headed back for town..
She grinned wryly. She almost *had* been one of them. What had that been? Her grin faded. She disliked and distrusted magic, and she knew that only magic could have been responsible for that blind rage for blood, not to mention the mental image she had received of the party. With a discipline born of years of practice, she turned her thoughts back to the matter of escape. Questions about the nature of the riot could wait for another time.
As she had suspected, Nyx was virtually ignored by the members of the village mob. Already, the little crowd they had been attacking was demanding all of their attention. Almost grudgingly, Nyx admitted that she was impressed. Seasoned adventurers, she'd wager; each and every one of them. The mob was visibly disconcerted, and she couldn't blame them. The band appeared to have disappeared in a matter of seconds. Of course, only time would tell how many of their number would reach their rendez-vous at Elsies' Spire
Their rendez-vous. . . Nyx almost couldn't believe herself. Was she so quickly embracing the adventurers' lot as her own? Of course not! She wouldn't meet with them at the Spire; they could continue very well without her. She had no obligation, personal or professional, to their group *or* to their meeting. So thinking, she slipped into the shadows cast by the mob's torches, and began striding back towards her campsite. More by force of habit than from any real need for stealth, she walked quickly and silently among the shadows, unseen by any as she went.
As she walked, Nyx finally allowed herself to mentally play back the events of the evening. What on *earth* had posessed her to nearly join the mob of rioters? And, on the other hand, *why* had she so quickly decided to help the group from the Inn? Walking and thinking, she became increasingly annoyed with herself. The initial question -- her inexplicable rage for the blood of people she had never met before -- was obviously the result of magical intervention. Her lips tightened with that conclusion, but she forced herself not to dwell on her annoyance. The second question was more complex: why had she shouted those few words of advice? Why hadn't she simply faded away into the night, as she now was doing? The only response she could think of was that it had been a sense of injustice. A whole village, not to mention an unknown wielder of magic, aligned against a few weary (though obviously wiley) travellers. And, of course, there was that old streak of perversity in her nature. *Someone* had tried to manipulate her into attacking the party; very well then. She'd support them instead.
Nyx snorted with disgust with herself. How immature! And yet, how typical of her independent nature.
The only question that still remained was whether or not she would meet the party at Elsies' Spire. She had earlier thought that she had no obligations to them, but did she? She *had* offered them advice without their seeking it. And she *had* been present when the woman named the meeting place and time. And, she supposed, her support had been implied when, instead of drawing a sword and joining the mob in attacking them, she had held that brief exchange of words. Besides, she argued with herself (she had already decided to join them; she just hadn't finished defending the decision to herself yet), business was slow. No one seemed to be in need of her services, and an adventure of some sort would keep her from getting soft.
With Nyx, to decide was to act. By the time she reached her campsite, she had already planned her route to Elsies' Spire. She would leave as soon as she'd had a few hours sleep. It would be well, she reflected, to be among the first to arrive. That way, she could take stock of the others as they arrived, and know better whether or not she wanted to throw her lot in with theirs.
E-mail: ajh@panix.com (A.H.)