Kel'dhos choked down vomit. His boots sucked at the muck caked against the floor. Hand against his mouth, he kept pushing himself forward, Magnus in front, Beltayne behind. The snow-elf wouldn't stop muttering to that sword of his. Magnus kept his hand buried deep within his satchel. At one point, Beltayne murmured something to Winter's Bite—something about ears.
Kel'dhos slowed his pace, letting Beltayne pull even with him. The snow-elf shushed his silvery rapier when he realized how close he was to Kel'dhos.
"Oh, I apologize. I did not mean to poke fun at your abnormally short ears yet again... but Winter's Bite made fun of my ears, saying they went outward too much." Beltayne lowered his head. "I resorted to pointing out your obviously worse flaw... your short ears."
Now that he'd pointed it out, Beltayne's ears did lie a little flatter than they probably should have. Kel'dhos hadn't noticed. Nor did he care. Especially not now.
"Bel." Kel'dhos clapped the paladin on the shoulder. "I really do not care about your ears nor do I care about mine. I just want to get through this sea of foul-smelling muck without losing my stomach." The words landed harder than he'd intended.
Beltayne grabbed Kel'dhos by the arm, saving him from falling. And a face full of orc feces. "Small Ears... I did not mean to offend."
After righting himself, Kel'dhos let out a gentle sigh. He met Beltayne's eyes. Sorrow.
Kel'dhos lowered his head. "I am sorry, Bel. I didn't mean to be so harsh. I just... have a lot on my mind." A gauntleted hand settled on his shoulder. He looked up and found the elf grinning at him.
"I know, Kel'dhos. And if you need a strong shoulder to lean on, mine are the strongest among us." Beltayne patted him on the chest. "And remember to not get the orc feces in your mouth. It will turn your stomach to stone."
Kel'dhos chuckled. "Thanks, Bel. I needed that."
"What's funny?"
"Your jest, Bel," said Kel'dhos, still grinning.
"What jest?"
"About the orc feces..."
"I wasn't jesting, Small Ears," Beltayne said. No hint of a smile even came near his chiseled face.
Unbelievable... Kel'dhos covered his face with a hand, shaking his head. Beltayne's gullibility never ceased to astound him. He'd grown up so far removed from normal civilization that he believed everything he heard. Magnar was no doubt the culprit for this particular piece of misinformation.
The stench was nearly unbearable now, and the river of refuse and feces grew thicker, deeper as the group waded further into the mountain.
"Bel," said Kel'dhos. "I've been meaning to ask you about your homeland and your upbringing. After all this time and these hard-fought battles, I feel like a bad friend for not asking."
Beltayne hesitated, working his mouth. He looked up and met Kel'dhos' eyes. "I haven't discussed personal matters with anyone outside of the Frozen Sea before." He folded his arms behind his back as he walked. "The Winter Court is a magnificent place. You may think it frigid and desolate, but that is far from the truth. My people are teeming in the mountainside city, constantly training."
"But what do you train for? Solely to become knights of your winter deity?"
"Queen of the Falling Snow, Small Ears." Beltayne stopped in front of him. "We train so that we are ready when the prophecy of 'The Seed of Destruction.' This world was conquered by terrible forces, and Frostvale Keep was one of the few freeholds during the reign of the dragons. That is why we train and prepare. We all become knights to stay prepared for whatever threat may arise."
"What of this Seed of Destruction?" asked Kel'dhos. In a rare moment, Beltayne's eyes darkened. He was deathly serious.
He shrugged, a smile returning to his face. "I do not know, Small Ears. I was told the prophecy growing up and have been preparing my whole life."
"But... what might come?"
"Again, I do not know exactly. Something about an ancient seed of evil taking root or some rubbish. It is why we all become knights. So we are prepared for whatever prophesized threat may come," Beltayne replied. "Once I return home, I will learn more. But I must first prove myself."
Kel'dhos raised an eyebrow. "But you've already proven yourself, right? Your Queen already knighted you."
"Aye, she did," Beltayne said. "But the Great Sojourn is much more than just becoming a knight. It is about the whole journey. From squire to knight is merely the beginning, you silly cleric. So attached to your temples and monasteries."
"Yes, well... that's sort of what we... This isn't about me. I was interested in your upbringing," Kel'dhos said.
"That is pretty much all there is to it," said Beltayne. "My mother and father were not present as all children of Frostvale are sent off to martial schooling as soon as they can hold a blade."
Kel'dhos' eyes widened. His hand went to his mouth. "Beltayne... that's horrible."
"Why?"
"You never knew your mother and father?"
"Well, I know they raised me to the proper age and sent me off to martial studies." He shrugged and slapped Kel'dhos on the shoulder. "Enough about pointless topics. We have to keep up with the others! I do not want to be lost in this void of feces!" He left Kel'dhos standing there, mouth agape.
Father... Something gripped his heart—pain, longing. He didn't understand why Sioch would allow his father to be taken from him. From his mother. He doubted he ever would.
A few minutes later, the passage opened into a much a larger room—a circular hole cut out of the ceiling, a massive pile of waste and refuse rising nearly to the opening.
"Well, isn't that a sight to behold," Magnar said. He grumbled all the way around the disgusting mound, examining it as if it were a piece of shoddy art.
The smell was unbearable. Kel'dhos kept to the far wall and watched the others investigate the room.
"Let's find a way out of here and keep moving into the keep." Telerek ran his hands along the stone wall nearest the pile. "There's gotta be a lever or something."
Beltayne had drawn Winter's Bite and begun a conversation with the blasted sword. Of all the times to be consumed with a sentient sword, he chose now. Trapped in a prison of feces.
The wall behind Kel'dhos was slick with gods know what, but he inched his hands along the stones anyway, desperate to get out of this place. Something grimy coated them, sliming up his gauntlets. He gagged. Then he caught on something poking out from between two of the stones.
A tiny metal lever.
He turned to tell the others. But something long rose from the base of the feces mountain behind Beltayne. Kel'dhos raised a hand, pointing, but Beltayne was too enthralled with his rapier to notice.
"Bel!" Kel'dhos' shout was futile.
Beltayne flew across the room when the thing struck him. He managed to hold on tightly to Winter's Bite, though he tumbled through the nasty muck.
"A sholegrad!" roared Magnar, hefting his hammer.
Discovered, the beast exploded from beneath the refuse pile—a hideous brown and green creature with six tentacles spreading from its back. Sludge dripped from its sinewy arms. Its thick legs pushed with ease through the feces as it charged Magnar.
Arrows splintered against the sholegrad's whirling tentacles. Telerek, in disbelief, staggered in the thick slime.
Magnar went toe to toe with the beast, swinging his hammer—each blow stymied by the many tentacles. Heat filled the chamber, a cone of flames rushed toward the sholegrad, but a spray of the muck consumed the flames. A terrible wave of odor swept over the room as the creature had splashed feces, shielding itself from the searing fire.
It was a terrifying sight. Kel'dhos had never seen anything like it. Never heard of anything like it. A thing of nightmares. Six eyes covered its head, each darting in a different direction. All-seeing. Tentacles of black and green always moving. Not a single blow from Magnar's hammer landed on the beast's main body. Nor a single arrow from Telerek. The tentacles were inhumanly quick.
A flash of black, a feral roar—Val was giving it a go. She slashed her front claws into the sholegrad's chest. A direct hit. Her momentum carried her past the creature, landing on both feet. She morphed back into elven form, a flame coalescing in her hands.
A wet chuckle sloshed from the creature. Val's attack had failed. Feces and muck had formed armor around the sholegrad's body. It undulated, vile, alive.
"Blessed Sioch..." Kel'dhos yanked the lever. Stone grinded, a doorway appeared in the wall. Beyond it, only a burnt-out torch and stairway. "Over here! Now!"
The others saw the way out. Magnus reached him first, Telerek a step behind. Val passed through the doorway as a falcon. A feces-covered Beltayne hobbled toward Kel'dhos—then halted.
"Come on, Bel!"
"I... can't move!" He strained, trying to pull his legs up out of the muck.
Magnar was stuck too, swinging his hammer wildly at nothing. The sholegrad was nowhere to be found.
Where did it go? Back in the mountain of filth?
Beltayne stabbed frantically at the hardened slime around his legs to no avail. Magnar smashed at the stone-like muck around his own legs with his hammer, barely cracking it.
Warmth filled the chamber again as flames burst from Magnus' hands. This time, he aimed at the hardened slime. In a matter of seconds, Beltayne and Magnar were free from the muck, running toward Kel'dhos and the others. The sholegrad burst from the feces and slammed into the mound of refuse, disappearing with a howl.
Kel'dhos dove through the doorway. Telerek slammed the stone door shut behind him. Everyone lay on the ground, panting and heaving. Telerek slid down the wall, eyes closed.
Thank you, Sioch...
"What in the great Ice Queen was that abomination?" Beltayne asked. He was the only one standing, trying to wipe the feces from his pants, cloak and boots.
Magnar sat up, still huffing. "It... was a sholegrad..."
"It's a disgusting beast that thrives in swampy, muddy, and apparently, shit-filled environments," Magnus said. He was peering into his satchel. When he looked up, his eyes met Kel'dhos', then slid past. "I've just never encountered one before."
"I have," Magnar said, standing and donning his armor. "Me and the Rising Suns got caught in a swamp west of the Tiuv. Bad business that was..." He trailed off, eyes distant.
"It was horrifying," Kel'dhos said. He rose to his feet, clutching his pendant. "It seemed unkillable."
"It would have been," Magnus said. The party had all gathered at the base of the stairs. "It's rumored to be near immortal in swampy, muddy places. Just didn't know shit was something it could use. Now I do."
After wiping away as much of the muck as they could, Kel'dhos and the party ascended the stairs. They climbed slowly, wary of traps. Telerek led the way, testing each step before committing his weight. Nearly a half-hour later, they reached the landing. A hallway continued ahead to a single door. Torches hung on the walls, flickering softly, casting a weak light through the hall.
Telerek glided to the door and pressed an ear against it. After a few seconds, he waved the others over. "Voices. Just a few."
"You can tell that by listening through a door?" Magnar whispered—though it came out more of a rumble.
"Shh," Telerek hissed. "And yes. I can."
"Seeing as this is the only door, let's get movin'." Magnar shoved Telerek out of the way. He stopped just before his hand touched the door. "Maybe..." Magnar turned, rubbing the back of his head, cheeks rosy. "Maybe we should go about this quieter, eh, Telerek?"
"My thoughts exactly," agreed Telerek. He nocked an arrow and cued Magnar to open the door. Even now, after seeing him in action, Kel'dhos was still amazed at how precise Telerek was while moving so quickly. Four arrows whizzed into the room. Four thuds.
Entering the room, Kel'dhos breathed a sigh of relief. Only four orcs, and no alarms sounded. All dead before they knew what happened. Before they could harm his friends. Behind them, a door with a small, barred window at its center.
"Hello?" A voice called from behind the door. Something moved into the frame.
"You're no orcs," Telerek said, peeking through the window.
"N... no. We are not."
The man on the other side of the door looked haggard. Face dirt-streaked, hair greasy. His thin hands gripped the rusted bars, dirt under his fingernails.
"How long have you been here?" Magnus asked. He'd retrieved a key ring from one of the downed orcs and unlocked the door.
Telerek and Magnar pushed into the room, Kel'dhos and the others followed. It was a terrible sight. The smell hit first—buckets full of piss and feces sat in the dark corners. Hay littered the grimy floor. No light. No windows. Just a dozen or so people crammed into a small dungeon.
"Not sure why you're here or how you got in here, but thank you. Thank you all." The man wasn't old, but his shoulders hunched forward and his face drooped.
"Were you all taken from the Tameless Shore? Ashvale or Ridgeton, possibly?" asked Magnus.
The man's eyebrow lifted. "We are from Olend village in the hills north of Eldrin City."
It cannot be...
"That's close to the Sepulcher," Kel'dhos said. He stepped closer to the man. "How were you taken?"
"It must be a month or so now," said the man. "Me and my wife were waiting for the ferry along the Southern Aonru." He gestured to a human woman just behind him—small, with an old cut snaking down her right arm. "The ferry came as always, but this time there were a bunch of shady-looking men aboard. When they had us safely on the boat, they jumped us, beat us and bound us. Then we ended up going south instead of north to Marsh Haven like we intended."
"I am sorrowful at your plight," Kel'dhos said. Emotion welled within him. The weathered man stood before him, but all he could see was his father's body upon the stones. He shook his head and refocused. "What are your names?"
"Will," said the man. His wife stepped forward. "And this is Mina. She has endured a lot, unfortunately..."
Kel'dhos took her hands in his. She recoiled slightly, watching him carefully. Her eyes flickered to his pendant, then back to his face.
"May Sioch keep you safe, Mina." Closing his eyes, Kel'dhos whispered a prayer for her and the others. A golden glow pulsed from him, filling the room. Warmth radiated through his body as he channeled his healing aura. He could feel what they had suffered—it clawed at his heart like a daemon. He would do what he could to ease their pain. Mina's eyes lit up. Her grip on his hand softened.
"The way we came isn't safe," Telerek said. "You should stay here and wait until we come back."
"We understand," Will said.
"Is there anything you can tell us about this place?" asked Telerek.
Will shook his head. "All we know is this is an orc fortress."
"When we first arrived..." Mina's voice was soft, her eyes flitting between Kel'dhos and the others. "The fort was crawling with those vile creatures. Their eyes always watching the women..."
Will placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She shuddered—then she realized it was him. Tears welled in her eyes before she turned away.
Wringing his hands together, muscle rippling in his arms, Magnar said, "Perfect, more orc blood to spill."
"No. Not perfect, brother," Magnus said. "We cannot just take on an entire orc army. We have to go about this intelligently."
"I don't think you'll have to fight an army, good sirs," said Will. "It was so loud when we first arrived here. So many orcs in a cramped fortress. Their revelry, well... raucous doesn't quite cover it. But as the weeks went on, the noise grew quieter. There is some war going on here. We think whoever occupies this fort is losing, or at least it's been emptied for a battle."
The mention of war didn't sit well with Kel'dhos. War always came at a cost. Humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, orcs, goblins—death didn't care which. And war, in his experience, was rarely fought for a just cause.
"I must also warn you," Will said. "I overheard the guards talking about some shaman in a tower. Said he was dangerous. They feared him."
"Good to know. Thank you," Telerek said.
Magnus scratched his beard. "What were their plans for you? Did they ever tell you?"
"Oh, yes. We were sent to some nearby mine right after we were captured. There were a bunch of people from all over the place. We're just a few of those from the Sepulcher area. Most were from further north in the Arnweyal Plains. But once we arrived here, we were to be shipped off to another mine to actually begin working. I overheard some of the orcs mentioning that the mine was overtaken, though. So, we've been stuck here for a long while now." Will counted, pointing at each slave in the room. "Hmm. Twelve of us left... less than half than what arrived. The orcs would come every so often and take us in pairs. They didn't say where they were taking them, only that those of us who remained would be sent to a mine."
Magnus glanced at Kel'dhos. "I bet the first mine was Praldosta. Has to be. It makes too much sense with all that we've learned."
Kel'dhos nodded at Magnus. People being captured and enslaved so close to his home. It was troubling. How could he not have known? But also, how could he have? He was trapped in the Siochainn temple all his life, learning and reading. Stuck in his own little world, oblivious to the horrors that befell innocent peoples. Something bit at him like an angry gnat, refusing to be swatted away. Always there. He was afraid it would never leave. He put on the softest smile he could muster.
There are more important things at work here than myself... these people need our help.
"The door on the left will take you up to the courtyard," explained Will. "The tower sits in the middle of the fort. Sentries stalked the battlements when we arrived, but who knows if they're still there."
"They won't have left the place completely undefended," Magnar said. He hefted his hammer and walked toward the doorway. "It doesn't take as many soldiers to defend a fort as it does to storm one." He disappeared into the hallway, another door groaned open.
Telerek, Val and Magnus left the room. Kel'dhos put a hand on Will's shoulder. "Stay here. We'll return. May Sioch protect you."
Beltayne cleared his throat and stepped up beside Kel'dhos. "The Icy Maiden of the West will also shield you. She is more experienced than Small-Ears' god." Beltayne then followed the others out of the dungeon.
Will raised an eyebrow, eyes following Beltayne into the hall. He looked back at Kel'dhos. "Small-Ears?"
Kel'dhos grinned half-heartedly and pointed at his ears. "Half-elf." He turned to leave, then looked over his shoulder. "Stay quiet. Keep the door shut until we return." Will nodded and shut the door behind him.
When the party reached the courtyard, they found it empty. Racks that once held armor and weapons lay scattered about. Several smoldering fire pits sat among disheveled cots. Telerek pointed to the battlements—movement. Sentries. The walls reached high. Every so often a guard tower broke up the monotony.
Kel'dhos looked up at the sky. Where had the time gone? The moon was full and bright with life. A stark contrast to where he stood. A dangerous land where death lurked around every corner. Lightning flashed in the distance, a low rumble followed.
Just as Will said, a tall stone tower rose from the courtyard into the night sky. Light flickered in the windows. Someone must still be inside.
"What is that contraption coming out of the top of the tower?" Beltayne asked, pointing with Winter's Bite. Kel'dhos ducked to avoid being smacked by the blade.
Kel'dhos hadn't the slightest clue. It looked made of metal—possibly steel—but Kel'dhos had never seen anything like it. The most likely person to know, Magnus, peered up the tower, head cocked, eyes narrowed at the pole. The sky flashed again. More thunder.
Magnar grumbled and huffed.
"What, brother?"
"I was hoping for more orcs." Magnar pointed to the base of the tower. Two guards stood at the door, unaware of Kel'dhos and the others watching.
"Don't you worry, Magnar," Telerek said. "The slaves mentioned a shaman in that tower. Shall we go see if they're still there?"
Magnar nodded. A wide smile grew across his scarred face as he gripped his war hammer.
"Ooh..." Val said, her hands cradling her grinning face. "I think a stormy is coming to say hi to me! I love playing in the rain."
Telerek rolled his eyes, nocked an arrow and took aim at the guards near the tower door.