The Ogre's Pendant & The Rat in the Pit

The Saint's Plight II

The Saint's Plight II

Arms wheeling, Wurhi threatened to overbalance as Kyembe stared in open-mouthed horror. Catching herself just before she fell, she looked to the pit sharply.

The armoured figure gave no notice. Her song continued.

Kyembe, tensed like a bowstring, visibly relaxed after a few breaths. Be careful! he hissed through gritted teeth.

She winced and nodded apologetically.

Shaking his head, he made to move away.

Cruuuunch!

His foot loudly crushed a fallen birds nest.

They froze.

The song cut off.

Who goes there? the womans voice roared from the hollow. She whirled on them and ripped her sword from the earth in an explosion of dirt. Dropping into an expert stance, she brandished the monstrous blade as though it were a dagger.

I am sorry! Kyembe cried.

No one cares! Run the hell away! Wurhi screamed.

Wait wait wait wait wait! the woman cried behind them. Do not flee!

Wurhi nearly laughed in half-mad panic. Who in all the world would be stupid enough to fall for that?

The little Zabyallan had reached the tree cover when she realized she was alone.

Nonoit couldnt be.

She turned around to find the Sengezian stopped, looking back unsurely.

No. No. No!

Dont stand and look around, fool, do something! Wurhi shrieked at him. Run! Run!

He looked back at Wurhi anxiously. I think she is trapped down there.

Thats why were running! The Zabyallan hopped in frustration. Because it cant chase us!

I call on you, stay for a spell! the woman called to them. I have been snared in this pitfall for three days and have not heard even a rude ogre pass! I pray for your aid!

Pray to someone else! Wurhi snapped. Lets go!

who are you? Kyembe called.

Nooooooo! The Zabyallan wished to scream

There was a pause. I am St. Cristabel Esclanore, knight-errant of Traemea and champion to divine Amitiyah.

Kyembe gasped in something akin to awe. The one called The Solidblade Knight?

Aye, the knights tone swelled with pride. So I was monikered after the Battle of Jortos.

By the stars

Who is that? Wurhi demanded.

A juggernaut of the battlefield, he murmured. A slayer. A wielder of the Tears of Amitiyah, which bring either balm or burn. And if the songs of The Weeping God are to be believed, then one of scant few in this world who have walked across the veil of death and returned.

Thaaaat sounds like a demon!

It is not, he said in reassuring tones that reassured her not at all. He turned back to the hole. How did a saint of Amitiyah find herself in a hole, with a boat, in the Forest of Giants?

May you not approach? she called back. I would look upon your faces and have you look upon mine.

Kyembes eyes hardened. And leave ourselves open to a Traemean longbow or fletched javelin?

You have my word! the knights voice took an urgent note. I will treat with you with no treachery uttered or intended!

The knight appraised Wurhi. Might you grace me with your name? Makkadian words came from her mouth, but her lips clearly moved in another tongue. The inconsistency was chilling.

Im Wurhi of Zabyalla, who folk call The Rat, she raised to her full height. We have each others names. Now, answer the earlier question.

St. Cristabel looked behind Wurhi. And your companion? Might his name be shared?

Any more questions and we leave you down there to eat worms!

The knights face reddened. The Zabyallan thief tensed to spring away, but she was merely subjected to a glare full of wrath. Good. The woman wasnt capable of getting out on her own if all she could do was glower.

The armoured warrior took a breath, and when she exhaled the anger drained from her like water from a slope. A swift wind to glory blew me here, she said steadily.

A what?

A wind of fate, if you will. I seek glory to heap before Amitiyahs throne. She drew herself up. Triumph in both arms and arts, the chronicling thereof, riches tithed, and just deeds dedicated to Amitiyah, to calm his tears. She made a wide, sweeping gesture. I travel where swift winds to glory blow me, seeking challenge in his name.

Wurhi blinked. She blinked again.

This knight was clearly filled with madness. The Zabyallan resisted glancing back at Kyembe, lest the madwoman throw something at her while shed turned.

I joined the great hunt for the dragon that haunts the mountains of Riyen, St. Cristabel continued, either unaware or uncaring of her audiences reaction. A tremendous red-scaled beast that has terrorized the countryside, said to be a holder of burning flame, poisonous fang and wicked intellect.

Wurhi made note to never go to this land.

The saints eyes turned wistful. Its death would have brought much glory to my god. Alas! Like so many others, I failed to find the creatures lair. After a time, I knew I was bested, and took the river toward Laexondael to sing my chronicle at the great temple: the search itself was still a tale worthy to reach the weeping god. Yet the swift wind to glory blew me true. I heard tell of a hulk of an ogress that haunts the ruin of Gergorixs city. She is said to be a titan even among her race, and commands a tribe that may be the largest in all the Forest of Giants.

Wurhi stiffened and she heard Kyembe quietly swear. What sounded like the mother of all ogres lay right in the middle of their destination. Why? Why did this keep getting worse?! She fought to keep the dismay off her face while the knight continued.

Danu the Bottomless they call her, and in her might I thought to find suitable challenge. I rowed until the waters grew shallow then began my portage north. She looked at her surroundings, her jaw tightened in agitation. I was foolish and stepped onto this trap, and the weight of my kit sent me plummeting, though Amitiyah preserved my boat in the fall. The mud walls are devilish slick and I cannot climb free. My food runs short, and I fear a shameful death of starvation awaits me.

St. Cristabel looked up to Wurhi imploringly. I pray, toss the above vine to me. I shall be in your debt.

The Zabyallan mulled her words. If the Traemean was a liar, she may have been the worst in all realms ever walked by mortal, demon or god. A perfect lie was the careful blending of truth and falsehood, with the latter unremarkable so as not to be noticed. The fisherman with a full basket who adds a handspan to the one that broke his line is hardly questioned. The fisherman who claims to have landed a crocodile and let it go is chased off.

Yet, there was a ring of truth to the knights words.

Dragon hunts? Giant ogres? Ironically, her story was so grandiose that what was less believable was that anyone would be foolish enough to utter such falsehoods. It was madness. Yet Kyembe had also told impossible stories when hed crawled from the River of Scales, and hed proven more than capable of accomplishing them. Perhaps this was the same. Much like the Sengezian, if her tale was true, that would make her a fool. A dangerous fool.

If we let you up here, you wont do anything to us?

I would dare not harm my saviours: Lord Amitiyah despises treachery, as it brought his father to unjust end. Her gaze held Wurhis with an uncomfortable intensity. I swear upon my honour and grace that I shall not seek to harm you unless you seek to harm me first.

Wurhi heard the Sengezian move, but didnt bother looking back. Fancy words moved fools, and he would probably be making for the vine if she werent around.

Good. Prove it, she pointed down at the Traemean. Tell us where Gergorixs city is, if you know it. Well finish our business there and if we live, we might let you up on our way back.

St. Cristabels eyes narrowed. Aye, I know where it lies. I ask that you free me before I direct you.

Wurhi shook her head. Not going to happen. You could cut us into dog meat as soon as youve got your feet. Tell us first, then well let you up and go.

A proper lie. A bit of the truth, merely twisted.

The knight shifted, her armour making no sound. Blue balefires blazed in her eyes. Do not insult me. I swore to utter true, and so I have done. It is your party that cloaks themselves in clandestine manner. You offer no word nor courtesy and yet demand them. A fool I might be to trap myself thusly, but twice the fool I would be to give you what you ask with no guarantee. As soon as I told you what you needed, you could leave me to grim fate.

The little Zabyallan grimaced. Maybe the knight was not such a fool.

She steeled herself, preparing to haggle. Well drop the vine, but first you-

Whiiish!

Wurhi! Kyembe leapt forward, his sword drawing a gleaming arc.

Clack!

He struck down an arrow mid-flight. Its stone tip buried itself in the earth, its shaft quivering. A chill went through the Zabyallan; it would have caught her in the neck were it not for the Sengezian.

Savage calls in Garric boiled up from the trees.

Grotesque barking ripped from the east and south.

Shit, shit! Wurhi swore. They found us!