Glorm sat in the hidden clearing that Delrin had located with the hawk. The quiet Druid once again had demonstrated his tremendous value to the group, not only with his spells, but with his bow. Glorm had enjoyed the wanton slaughter, but he had gotten a little too excited during the melee, and left himself open to a few too many sucker blows. Oh well, you live an learn, he thought. Delrin was busy with Krinn making dinner, and Fuji was resting comfortably, although he drifted in and out of consciousness. The prisoner still lay bound and gagged, unconscious from Sid’s viscous blow to the head. Glorm figured this was the perfect time to approach his dark companion. He motioned the man to the edge of the clearing, and spoke quietly with him... "I have suggestion that you may find appealing, El Sid. With Dom's disappearance, Krinn’s flight from Kethem and this attack, I fear things are moving fairly quickly against us. I suggest we take the proverbial Halaxi by the horns, and accelerate our plans! Of course we will need to question this ruffian to find out, if they are only bandits. I assume you can duplicate a small portion of Dom's work. However, once the questioning is over, I see no real need to keep the bandit alive. If we were to meet tonight at 2 or 3 am, I am sure we could visit the prisoner with the Blackheart stones tonight, it really would be too bad, if the chap had a heart attack..."
Glorm's voice trailed off, and Sid gave a vicious chuckle. He liked the way this dwarf thought, black and cunning. Was it time, however, to take such a drastic move? He thought about their situation for a moment, with one party member that might be able to move tomorrow but probably could not, with hounds on their tail, and decided it was. He nodded to Glorm, surreptitiously took a small sack on a drawstring from around his head and handed it to the Dwarf, then headed back to the prisoner. He stripped off his armor and most of his clothes. Krinn looked at him quizzically. "Blood." He replied. "It’s a pain to get out of clothes..."
Glorm was on watch, and when it appeared Delrin and Krinn were asleep he touched El Sid lightly on the hand. The man was either a light sleeper or he had been faking, because he rose quickly and silently and without a start.
The prisoner was some distance away, where El Sid had dragged him so the moaning wouldn’t keep the rest of them from sleeping. Glorm was actually a little queasy when his mind flashed back to little gruesome moments from El Sid’s session with the man... well, what had been a man at one point. Cutting a head or limb off in a fight was one thing, but what the Sid had done... he couldn’t watch the entire thing, and had turned away. It wasn’t even so much the physical damage as watching the man’s spirit break. Still, El Sid had gotten the information they wanted, although it wasn’t particularly useful. The attackers were just bandits from Chelto, sent to disrupt trade between Cherifyr and Cidan, disguising themselves as highwaymen. A random encounter.
The other’s reaction to the Sid’s activities had varied. Delrin had been sick, which surprised him since the man took death with a certain fatalism and stoicness that came out of his fundamental religious beliefs. Krinn had turned white, but had watched through the session with a grim determination that seemed unlike her, as if she had something to prove to them, or to herself. Glorm reflected on Krinn, who of all of them had changed the most in the past few months. She and Delrin had both had sheltered lives, and he had to admit the carnage they had seen since that first night in the Copper Kettle back in Salta less than half a year ago was more than the average person saw in their lifetime. Some people, like Delrin, matured under such circumstances. Some people grew hard. Krinn was one of the later.
They reached the prisoner, who was still moaning through the gag they had placed on him. His one remaining eye blinked as the approached, and the fear that poured from it was almost palatable. El Sid smiled and shook his head opening his hands to show he had no dagger or other implement of torture, and the man relaxed a bit, the sharp edge taken off his concern. Glorm took out the gems and held them over the man, who began to squirm again. "These will heal some of the damage" said the Sid. While the man digested that, Glorm concentrated, then slapped his hands together over the man’s chest, one holding the Blackheart sapphire, one holding the Blackheart Emerald. The man stiffened, the gag turned red with blood, and then he went completely limp. Ed Sid checked for a pulse and shook his head negatively.
"Blackheart, we would speak with you" said Glorm, thinking it at the same time with as much focus as he could. He and the Sid waited for a moment. Nothing happened.
"Blackheart, we would like to serve you!" said the Sid. Nothing.
"We are enemies of Veralin" cried Glorm. Nada.
"Disappointing" said El Sid after a moment. "On the other hand, a couple of gems that cast a deathspell like this are not without some intrinsic value. I wonder what the range is, and how many times it works?"
Glorm nodded. "I think we find this out with some experiments. During the rest of the march."
Glorm sat somewhat gloomily pondering the stones. El Sid was grinning lost in some fantasy about assassinating unsuspecting fools using the two perfect crystals. Both were silent for some time before Glorm spoke up. "Sid, I would like to try a few more tests... The stones appear to be linked somehow. Why don't you take one, and go off a distance, and we will see, if we can communicate telepathically, or perhaps visually. It is a shot in the dark, but what do we have to lose. Also Sid remember the poem they found in the library." Glorm recalled the poem from memory and recited:
"but what came forth
was not his desire
but the sword blackheart
made of the rage of his enemies
blackheart, worldkiller, called
and the dead rose
Veralin fought for a year and a day
to no avail
he fell struck through
and blackheart drank his blood"
Two things come to mind 'and the dead rose' it says and 'blackheart drank his blood'. both these phrases are suggestive, no. I say we dip the stones in this fools blood, and them summon him to life; slightly risky, but what do we have to lose. The only thing that worries me is the name 'world killer'...
"But then, my friend, even a world must end some time. Or someone's. And in our cases, I fear *our* worlds will end *much* before their well-deserved and appointed times unless we can change our luck. Chance favors the prepared mind: Let's bathe the stones in the blood. Since this is not Blackheart itself, and this is not Veralin's blood, we should not expect great results. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.
So saying, El Sid proceeded to lance what was left of the bandit under the left kidney with his stiletto. "There is always some pooling in the aorta that remains warm and uncoagulated for a while after death," he lectured clinically. "This can be useful. Helps you adjudge the length of time after a body's demise." Sid held the gems in the fresh stream of blood that flowed from the incision.
They waited for a moment, until it seemed clear that nothing was going to happen.
"Well, it was a long shot. But a shot not taken never hits." The Saltan palmed the sapphire and strolled away into the night's gathering gloom holding it to his mouth. "Ground control to Major Glorm, come in please..."
Glorm stared after him. What an odd duck...Glorm glanced at the remnants of their ambusher. It was deserved, but... he shivered as he contemplated actually being the man's *enemy*. Pity the Bradford's if the Sid ever got his way! These humans were savages!
A half an hour's time passed and suddenly Sid stood in the clearing next to Glorm. "Ack!...don't *do* that!" spit the Dwarf, jumping and grabbing at his ax.
"Er...sorry, Glorm...force of habit. Anything?"
"Not a thing. Unless that thought about mug of brandy was yours?"
"No, I was thinking of a nice claret, actually.
"Oh. Nothing, then."
"Say, why don't you try that peak and valley thing again?"
"You mean like last time when I turned like this? And then did thi-"
"ACK!" squawked the Sid as his hands shot like arrows and pinioned the dwarf's wrists. "Let's leave out the part where you bring your hand's together, shall we?"
"Ah! Right!" exclaimed the Dwarf. He clenched his tongue in his teeth in concentration. "I just close eyes and slowly turn...like so...feeling for... YOWWW!" Glorm moved his hands apart. "Damn, be too close together." He moved his hands about a foot apart. "Better."
El Sid cocked his head. "Glorm, how far apart did you hold the gems the first time you did this? Wasn’t it closer?"
Glorm thought for a moment and nodded. "Yes. I think it was just four, six inches."
"Hmmmm. Interesting. OK, so do the compass thing."
Glorm did a few mysterious circling of one hand around the other, finally settled down with the Sapphire pointing Northeast and the Emerald facing Southwest. "The sapphire be pointing north on road to Heraloon" the Dwarf said.
"Well. Let's let our subconscious' work on this tonight. We'll talk more in the morning. Maybe Krinn or Fuji will have an idea."
"Suits."
El Sid is not really a bad guy (certainly not in his eyes, anyway). His loyalities are typical of the medieval noble mentality: Family (loosely defined as "Me and Mine") took priority over all other affiliations. This might be followed by King, City, then Class, but these would be a distant second (as the concept of Nation and Society were, as yet, not well developed.) A cleric's loyalties were to Church and Family (and not necessarily in that order).
In an Age where Plague, Famine and War were constant companions, and travel (meaning immigration/emmigration) was limited, Life often devolved down to Those Who Lived, and Those Who Died. The idea was to make sure that it was You and Yours that did the Living, and your enemies or nameless neutrals that did the Dying. Hence, what on the surface looks like a callous disregard for human life was, in fact, just a recognition of the *helplessness* of individuals to intervene on behalf of the condition of the faceless masses. This was largely due to the vastness of the task and the total lack of Tools with which to tame a hard Nature. Agriculture was not advanced, Sanitation (because of the lack of the Germ Theory) was rudimentary or nonexistant, Medicine wasn't, etc. So, if some poor, unfortunate wretch died to Your Purpose so that Yours could survive/be furthered in security, well, que es vida: The unfortunate wretch was going to die *anyway*, so why not put him to a good use? The Church tried to impact on this and inject some Christian Civility into things, but as the Church was often one of the worst offenders, this effort was sometimes quite half-hearted: Besides, the immortal souls of the Innocent were not to be rewarded in *this* Life, but the Next. Right??
This is why the feudal bond lasted as long as it did. Having someone with more power to watch out for you was essential. Also having more power to watchout for *your* vassals was essential. This was not an Age of the Body Politic, but an Age of He Died, She Died, They ALL Died.
So as we watch Sid struggle to stay alive and increase his powers/power-base, let's not judge him too harshly. He is only doing what many would/will do to him (and his) were the tables reversed. In an Age of Helplessness, the pursuit of Power (even a little power), becomes all-consuming. El Sid has no other constraining forces to protect His than those he can wrest/manufacture from a hostile world. So if he puts out a few eyes, dashes in a few brains, tortures a nun or two, let's stay our judgement: for Sid, these are just means to an end. Should he begin to take *relish* in his work, well, that's another matter... But for now, Results are how we must judge his actions. So pass the Red Hot Poker and the Bamboo Splints, and without quibbling about who killed whom, let's let the Interrorgations begin...(hee-hee)!
Everything else...just doesn't matter...
The walls around Cidan became apparent in the early morning, but they had expected it with the heavier traffic they had run into in the past day. Even Glorm was reasonably cheerful as the log and mortar barricade came into sight, the last three days having been cool and dry, perfect marching weather.
They moved passed the outlying farms over the course of the next half hour or so. "Flat territory" murmured Glorm in disdain.
"River basin" answered the Sid in a distracted tone. "Foothills behind, foothills ahead. I wonder if the river was much bigger at one time." Now it was good sized, large enough for a Light Merchant near the mouth, but narrowing quickly. He was sizing up the territory, which looked to be moderately safe. The area near the road was empty of any cover, and stone walls were almost non-existent. Probably to prevent intruders from sneaking close to the town for an attack. No sign of unusual activity at the gate. "Glorm?"
"It be looking safe to me" answered the Dwarf, having made his own inspection.
"OK, let’s move in."
They passed under the gate, a couple of sentries watching them pass with little interest, and moved into the town. It was more of the weird Pranan mix of fantastic looking pre-fall buildings and stone and mortar hovels, although stone and mortar definitely outweighed the smooth, alabaster walls of the older buildings. It also stank, and the sight of the poor littering the street was enough to make some in the party gag. Cherifyr had been pretty bad, this was horrible.
The passed by provisions stores, taverns, inns, and a few specialty shops. A magic shop, an armorer, a herbalist. As they passed one decrepid looking stone building, someone darted out at them, and Glorm and El Sid tried to make their instinctive grabs for weapons look casual with little success.
"Alms for the poor" cried a shriveled, misshapen figure, holding up a cup and rattling the few copper pieces sitting inside, subtly pointed at Krinn. Krinn tossed in a silver piece with a clank, and the man... or woman... responded with nauseatingly sincere thanks.
After they passed, El Sid strode next to her and said quietly "Krinn, that wasn’t a good idea. Charity is not a well know characteristic here. You are making us stand out. Next time, cuff them instead."
Krinn frowned but nodded. A short way down the street, another beggar approached. "Alms for the AWWWKKKK...," they ended abruptly as they fell back and sat rather hard on the sidewalk. Krinn, with a tight little smile on her face, resheathed the dagger she had rammed the hilt of into the man’s stomach. The Sid nodded encouragingly and smiled at her. She was definitely shaping up.
They reached the area of the docks. Unlike Cherifyr, they were open to the water, although the walls of the town extended down to the shoreline. A couple of inns with battered, weather beaten signs stood along the line of buildings facing the docks. One, the beaten copper, boasted its low rates. The other, the Granite Hammer, had a large polished granite rock embedded in the ground in front of it with "welcome visitors of all places" chiseled into it.
El Sid watched for a few moments, then stepped in front of a man hauling a cart with a number of kegs on it. He flashed a silver. The man looked nervous for a moment, but the Sid said "All I want is to know when the next ship is headed for Heraloon."
Krinn glared at him a bit, which he ignored.
The man relaxed. "Five days, mi’lord. The Bandy shaffer. To pick up fish, mi’lord."
El Sid frowned slightly. "Looks like we have a few days to kill." He ignored Glorm's chuckle.