The Tale is for the Telling
The Never Ending Quest - Episode 15373
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Lord Frederigo D'Honaire, secretly the Thoabath, crouched over the fire pit
he had dug for the night, opening his tinder box as he arranged the small
pieces of wood he had gathered. The last few days had taxed the hellborne knight's patience almost to its breaking. Though he generally thought himself above earthly concerns at present, some small crevice or crack in his tarnished soul still smouldered at having been denied his father's duchy in life. He had almost forgotten that, until recently. The peasants that had seen him had recognized his face, of that much he was certain. They had looked at him oddly, either through furtive glances or staring outright. He had heard snatches of their whispers, too, questioning why he was not in the caves when the Dragon was still a threat. He could have felled them where they stood. It would have soothed him. His cover, however, was more important if he was to dupe Astra, Aethir, and Simon into slaying Minestus for him. The promise of the power of the slumbering cthonic wyrm Deltumnimos was his cold comfort this night. Simon D'Chretien sat upon a stump near the fire pit, his head bowed in his nightly vigil prayers. Opposite him was his deceptively youthful brother in arms, Aethir MacFionn, sounding a different kind of prayer in the ringing of metal as he ran a sharpening stone along the old sword they had bartered for in the last hamlet. Princess Astra of Aquilaria stood, lighting the lantern as dusk fell, watching them. She had been doubtful as to the utility and practicality of trading much of what they had taken from the bandits for the sword. Now though she wondered if she had been mistaken. They had been armed ever since defeating the petty robbers, but Aethir seemed to prefer the sword they had found in ill repair at the beggar's market. It had once been a fine sword, and as she watched the legendary hero, she began to realize that he might well be capable of restoring it. As they traveled deeper into Anfang, the tatterdemalion heraldry of the Court of Fools was everpresent. While Astra did not doubt her skill in arms, she was wary of having to fight such a mass of desperate and ruthless men. This was not, however, her only worry. For the past week, Astra could have sworn she had noticed a shifting of trees similar to that she had only seen before in the Fey Wood. As the week had worn on, she had realized that it was not so much trees moving as one tree that always seemed present when they made camp. Astra hung the lantern on a branch of a dead tree and decided to have a look at the area they were staying in that night. The warrior woman surveyed the surrounding woods, scrutinizing each tree until she saw the one she was looking for. She was starting to know its details quite well, and sure enough, there it was. Now to test this theory, Astra thought, drawing her knife and throwing it with deadly accuracy at the tree. It met its mark with a meaty thunk... ...and a scream. Lady Rowena D'Honaire was awakened by her family's servants at her customary hour. Splashing rosehip water on her face, she sat down calmly at her basin as they brushed out her flaxen tresses and prepared her clothes. What little sleep she had managed to get after returning that night was troubled by the cryptic words of Aliester Mireaux. She couldn't be sure if the despicable man truly knew nothing more or was being purposefully vague in an effort to get more money from her. How could Frederigo die and yet still walk? It didn't make much sense, even where magic might be involved. Wasn't the fifth formalized precept of magic that it couldn't raise the dead? Many a grieving parent had been turned away from the Wizard Colleges with those words. Rowena donned the dress she was presented with and stood, listening to the rapping at her chamber door she knew to expect at this hour. She nodded to a servant, and a man in riding clothes was let in. "Your news, Edgar?" "Milady, many things are happening. The reports of monsters in Anfang have the King's ear, and this has swayed him in his decision to let the landless son of Lady Constancia bring his Orange Knights into that duchy. Word is just coming in from Collins that Smuggler's Cove is no more, completely razed to the ground. Refugees are pouring into the seaport." "No access to the Chul Suz and Hespan and its allies will likely refuse to trade with us again for harboring them. Grand. What else?" "Well, Milady, the survivors claim something that I believe is of import to you." "And what is that?" "They say that before the fall of Smuggler's Cove, two strangers walked among them, a peasant girl accompanied by a scarred blind man." "But...no, it couldn't be..." "I'm afraid from what they've said, it can only be Jarlath, milady. The rumours from Anfang about him still living are true." Rowena looked to the family servants. "Chloe, fetch my riding clothes. As for you, Edgar, saddle my horse. We have paid the King enough courtesy. We must ride to Collins..." Few have ever heard a tree scream. This is mainly because few trees have the means with which to scream. When giving to screaming, however, trees emit a bellowing noise like warping and cracking wood, and this is the noise our heroes shook at the sound of. To the surprise of almost everyone but Astra, the tree suddenly uprooted itself, gnarling into a crude manlike shape and ripping the dagger from its chest. "So the witch-queen sought to double-cross us," Frederigo was barely heard to mutter as he stood, drawing his sword. Aethir as well rose, bearing his newly-sharpened weapon. "This is Mab's magic," the legendary hero said grimly, "but I've never seen her act so far out of the Rath. This is strange." "Strange, yes," Frederigo remarked as he advanced on the beast, lowering his voice to a murmur "But what Hell has given, Hell can take away." "What?" Aethir said, raising an eyebrow, dumbfounded and unable to hear all of the knight's words. "Nothing," Frederigo said, plunging his sword into the tree-beast. It staggered, and Frederigo removed a glove, pressing his flesh just briefly against the bark before donning the glove again. The magical creature shuddered, though whether at the sword or Frederigo's touch was a matter of contention. His companions watched as evidently the knight's blow was fatal, and the tree-beast began to wither and rot rapidly. Within moments, it looked as if it had been dead for years. Frederigo retrieved his sword. "I...I guess Mab's workings just aren't as strong outside the Rath," Aethir stammered, looking on in amazement at the knight's slaying of the creature. "Or perhaps you just overestimate her power, Aethir," Frederigo responded. Simon, barely able to stand before the encounter was ended, was presently staring intently at the knight. Though he couldn't put his finger on it, he had sensed something inherently wrong when Frederigo had killed the tree-beast. It would definitely bear further investigation, but not at the moment. The companions finished making camp and settled down for the night... Late Morning, an abandoned campsite. The rotted hulk of a seemingly very recently fallen tree began to quiver as green shoots sprang from its decayed roots and sank into the ground. Amazingly, though slowly, the tree was reinvigorated, pulling itself together and righting itself, standing erect once more. It was safe now. Its quarry had left, thinking it dead, the fools. They did not know that it could not die as long as it had contact with fertile soul. Born of Hellsworn magicks it may well be, but its strength came from the earth. The knight was a problem though. He should not have been able to undo it so easily, and it would have to be wary of him in the future. It had to act quickly, too. They would reach the Southern border of the burning sands in two days, and if it did battle with them there, it could not draw upon the strength of the earth to heal itself. Time was of the essence, if it was not to fail its queen...
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The Traveler
2/23/2001 7:33:51 AM
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