Chronicle of Cadan Dalmas, Knight
Book II
Book II
Ambush along the Trail
The analogy
is ancient and lost in time: life is a
game of chess and we mortals merely pieces stepping from square to square, from
light of day to dark of night. Often confused, usually uncertain; making the
best play we can with the chance we have. For even the poorest peasant living
can claim a certain riches over every renowned emperor of past Ages. Simply to be breathing is wealth of a kind no
matter how humble our station. And if we are merely pieces on the board of life
at least we each remain the heroes of our own story. Providing we bear that other old adage in
mind: "count no man happy until
he's dead, for at best he's only fortunate."
Within a month we resumed our own journey.
The unforeseen delay had proved most serendipitous. Not only had we gained time
to master further disciplines, my wise Master, ArchonTheramenes, could make his
own next move on the board. The lost Mine of Phandelver went back to the dark
five centuries ago, the Forge of Lazair Glas has been a legend for all our
lifetimes. Few rulers can now boast they
wear a cuirass or wield a blade from Phandelver, the last relics which
still survive are prized over their weight in diamonds. The blades have edges unsullied by the years,
the armour remains whole despite enduring battle time and again. It is little wonder ruined Phandelver has
never been forgotten and no marvel so many brave parties have walked the wild
lands with hope and expectation. Many have sought the lost Mines, few have
returned. I now understand why our own
Quest has waited until this day. Some
meetings are more than mere accident.
We were now approached by a Dwarven adventurer
claiming to have found the very place we sought! This Gundren Stonefoot showed signed
and sealed letters from my Order otherwise I would have suspected some trap. Even
so, neither his story nor his manner filled me with confidence, Gundren spoke
of a map but would not show it; he swore lost Phandelver had been located but
would not say just where. Not even Dain Rocksmiter could encourage him to trust
us more fully.
For this Dwarven stranger sought
more than mere wealth. Descendents of
the original miners, Gundren Stonefoot and his two brothers were determined to
reclaim their rightful heritage. After many years of searching, Gundren would
not be more precise, he swore they had stumbled across an entrance to abandoned
Phandelver, once ancestral home of their proud clan, now a forbidding cave
hidden by a cloak of trees where the forest grew thickest and the air is dark
even at midday. Their great grandfathers' legacy lay before them, but Gundren knew
they lacked the strength to reclaim those winding tunnels and galleries alone. The dwarves had wisely not yet entered the mine
but his younger brothers waited hidden in the wilderness for Gundren to return
with supplies and aid. They could not
wait for long.
2
Many honourable Dwarven clans have
suffered a calamity, many are now scattered and dispersed, scratching a living
from their skill with metal and stone.
It would take too long to assemble a purely Dwarven expedition, so Gundren
Stonefoot approached my Order for assistance. The wealth and power of
Phandelver was at stake, these dwarves wanted aid they could trust. Fellow adventurers are easy enough to find in
any tavern but not all chance-met comrades can be relied upon especially when
the fabled wealth of Phandelver lies for the claiming. The Paladins of Athene have earned their
honourable name through toil and service, blood and grief; whether in victory
or defeat; we have no Oathbreakers here!
Our High Council clearly saw the
need for this Quest but there are many whispers of lost Phandelver and the
Order of Athene is not wealthy enough to despatch whole troops of lances and
men-at-arms to every rumour. Our venture might still prove nothing more than a
chase for wild swans. Better instead to send one young Knight to investigate
and report, a novice still to swear his final Oath of Devotion, a warrior who
does not draw attention, a man expendable if necessary. Theramenes weighed all,
considered carefully, and set his new piece upon the playing board. I had
my orders. The weight of this venture rests heavy as plated mail upon my
shoulders. I only ask I may prove worthy
when my Testing comes.
So now
a laden ox cart only awaited an escort.
Gundren was more than happy to entrust these precious supplies of
provisions, lamp oil, ale and mining gear to our party while he rode ahead with
his body guard, a swordsman of mature age and obvious experience a man who bore
his armour lightly despite his years. This
Sildar Hallwinter shared our own
misgivings, suggesting instead we travel as one party but Gundren could not abide
any further delay. His brothers remained
out in the wilds, exposed to obvious dangers without support. We had our
instructions; we would rendezvous in the town of Phandalin in six days time. I tried again to reason with him, both Dain
and Sildar offered sound arguments too, but stiff necked Gundren Stonefoot remained
as adamant as dragon's scales. He dismissed every doubt we raised, every alternative we offered. Our two new allies began down the Triboar trail
at a brisk canter. Our own transport
waited before the inn.
The
two wheeled cart had seen hard service but we were satisfied the wheels and
axle were sound and the harness seemed in fair condition. The black ox in the
traces appeared less enthusiastic at being dragged from his peaceful pen. I can
fairly call myself a fair horseman, but I have little if any experience with
draft animals. I wondered whether we should hire a carter to actually drive the
ox but I was forgetting two of my companions have this ability to speak with
beasts both tame and wild. I was grateful
when Buddynock assured me Flëck the Ox was
in good health and ready for the road, but as our Gnome was finishing his third
flask of mead already that morning, I felt glad wise Dain Rocksmiter could give
me the same confirmation. (*)
3
Dain
had used his share of our spoils to exchange his scale mail for a stout chain
hauberk and buy a powerful crossbow. I was content simply to purchase three
javelins and two vials of Holy Water while Buddynock replaced his ruined hide
armour with a cured leather aketon set with ironwood studs. A sound choice that no one could fault, but that
was not Buddynock's only decision. This village blacksmith is most definitely a
man of skill and ingenuity able to satisfy the wishes of even demanding
customers. Alas! (*)
Our Druid has now fitted his wooden
bucket with three swivelling iron wheels.
In reality, I suppose there is simply nothing I can think to say.
"He
has a name you know!" Buddynock
Rubyrubb said with some feeling. "If I can remember it I don't see why no
one else can!"
"You
needed the wheels?" asked Dain,
whose expression could most kindly be described as 'thoughtful.' "You really needed them?"
"I
have plans!" beamed Buddnock, rubbing a fleck of rust from his bucket's
iron bands.
"Really?" I heard myself say, trying hard not to catch
Dain's eye.
"Just
you wait and see." Our Druid spoke
with such pride. "I have all the
plans somewhere. All sketched out
neatly. Just wait a moment, they were
here in my pack under the ...".
"Oh
is that someone waving at us?" I said with speed. "That elf over by the door?"
Wheeled
buckets aside, though probably not far enough for Dain Rocksmiter, there had
been one unforeseen change to our marching order. Despite our hopes young Neave
Gemstone was still detained with her tutor. She agreed to meet us in Phandalin
as soon as chance permitted, travelling with one of the regular logging convoys
down the Triboar trail. Neave would be
safer in their company and any group of travellers welcomes a wizard's
assistance out in the Wilds. We simply looked forward to the day brave Neave could
rejoin us for her absence left a grievous gap in our ranks. No adventurers ever forget a trusted comrade
who fought at their side come what may.
4
Little
in life ever stands still. To our relief another young Elf was able to join our
Party. At first glance Celmar seemed little different to our dear Wizard Neave,
even to her pale purple robes, curved short bow and heavy staff, yes at first
glance I could not mark anything out of the ordinary but then Dain Rocksmiter
whispered close to my ear: "look,
no spell book!" (*) Now I
looked again and far more closely than before. I tried in all politeness not to
stare, but even so...
I had
never met a Sorceress before, a magic
user who follows no School of Wizardry, but a spell-caster channelling the raw
forces of existence itself! Strange
unfamiliar powers which care nothing for order and system, untamed magic fierce
and wild, an arcane skill few try to wield and fewer still ever master. I was surely not the only person uneasy at
welcoming a Sorcerer within our ranks, for without law we are nothing and
sorcery is chaos in its wildest form. Yet young Celmar presented us with papers
of proof; she had the backing of both Archon Theramenes and the High Cleric of
Dain's own Order. The Quest was urgent, the odds against us were great, the
decision had already been made. Celmar the Elven Sorceress was expected. This was a strange day indeed.
Yet on
careful reflection, surely my doubts did young Celmar an injustice. Any force
can be used for Good or Evil: that fatal potential rests within all of us. Not every Paladin cleaves to their Oaths;
nobody under the Moon or Sun can assume they are perfection. I sensed a wild, wilful spirit in Celmar but
no cruelty or malice. Our road would be long, the perils many and we would need
all the aid we could find. Despite our natural concerns I trust we made this Celmar welcome. (**)
Now at
last we could retrace our journey along the winding Triboar trail, ever
conscious of the dense forests pressing closely upon the road on either side.
We took turns driving the heavily laden wagon but there was still space for one
of us to ride inside while Sisyphos the mule trotted behind on his rein.
Considering the ceaseless jolting of the iron wheel rims and the shrill
squealing of the axle it proved more restful to trust to our own feet and march,
but at least at night we felt better protected, sleeping with the wooden wagon bed
against our backs. We passed the deserted way station we had defended so
desperately against the Grimlocks and poor Hrove's lonely grave, I am glad we
paused a moment to remember our lost comrades, and then that point we first
encountered those fleeing foresters, brave Hlin and Thoradin. From then the
trail was new to us. Maybe a skilled ranger could have picked out the hoof
prints left by Gundren Stonefoot and Sildar Hallwinter along the path, but we
saw no sign they had ever passed this way, indeed, save for the small woodland
beasts and birds sometimes staring from the forest we could have been the last
creatures alive in all the world. Yes, we were glad to sleep with our backs
against that wagon.
5
It was
now an hour before noon on the fourth day.
The road ahead ran between marshland on either side then curved out of
sight to the east. Steep sided knolls thick with trees hid the view. Anyone seeking to waylay travellers could
scarcely wish for a better site and we were clearly not the first travellers to
try this route. One day, after I at last have money to afford a fine set of plate armour
and a visored helm, I will finally buy myself a spyglass. We could see two dark shapes blocking the
bend of the road but only when we had walked within bowshot could we be certain
they were the still bodies of horses.
We paused to confer; the poor beasts were obviously dead, their twisted
hides feathered with black fletched arrows. A sudden movement caught our
eye, an arm appeared from behind a
fallen horse, it waved weakly then fell back spent.
My
duty was plain. As my companions readied
their bows. I stepped forward briskly, shield up, a javelin poised in my
hand. I was within twenty feet of the
dead horses when a flurry of arrows fell around me, I staggered as two sprang
back from my shoulders but my mail was sound. Eight goblin archers appeared on the
wooden knolls flanking the road, loosing arrows with great speed then darting back into the undergrowth. The fight
was brisk but my javelins felled two, lithe Buddynock's careful darts also
claimed victims and Dain's new heavy crossbow proved a slower but devastating
weapon. Only Celmar struggled to find a mark but she returned shots bravely,
despite the two arrows soon quivering in the wagon next to her. Seven goblins fell,
the last, sporting a jaunty red leather cap bolted into the forest.
Now
we recognised the horses of Gundren Stonefoot and Sildar Hallwinter. The poor
beasts had clearly been dead some days, the bodies were starting to bloat and
small predators had already been busy. It was all too clear what had occurred. Our enemies must have struggled to shift the
carcasses and the waving sleeve was simply a ruse, a man's jacket crudely
filled with bracken and yanked on a hidden rope to entice would be rescuers
into range. The pack saddles had all been
looted and we also found the cylindrical map case belonging to Gundren, the
worn leather inscribed with Dwarven runes and lettering. The round lid swung
back on its thong. The case was empty.
"I'm
saying a prayer for the horses,"
our Druid spoke with absolute firmness. "Before anything
else."
"No
one is arguing," I replied gently.
Even
a cursory search showed tracks leading away to the north west
and from the broken bushes it was clear heavy items were being
carried. "And more than once,"
said Celmar, "look where the branches have been snapped before and started
growing back. This has not just happened."
"If
they had been killed outright we would have found the bodies close by." I
said. "Gundren Stonefoot is either
being held for ransom or-"
"Someone
wants him to talk," interrupted Buddynock. "And we know what
about!"
"The
place is near perfect for
ambushes," growled Dain. "Poor
Gundren was probably not the first."
"It
begs one question," I added. "Was this a chance encounter or were
they waiting for him?"
"And
they pinched his map!" piped up Buddynock.
"That has to mean something. Surely."
"We're
not the only ones looking for lost Phandelver, " I nodded.
We
had to investigate further. After collecting my javelins and every spent bolt,
arrow and dart still fit for use, we explained matters to my Sisyphos and Flëck
the Ox as we dragged our wagon into the
trees. A scatter of branches and leaves
concealed them as best we could, then I led our party deeper into the forest.
A
few hundred yards along this trail I had the good fortune to notice a hidden
snare, a tethered rope noose stretched across the path, designed to suspend any
unwitting victim upside down from the nearest tree. I will admit to a moment of quiet pride: I am
no ranger and I still managed to save my party from the trap. Such fine feelings faded a half hour later when
I almost blundered headlong into a hidden pit at least ten feet deep, concealed
by leaf strewn branches across the trail.
Only by frantically waving both arms backwards like a windmill spun by
a Storm Giant, did I keep myself from falling; that and the swift hands of
Buddynock seizing the hem of my cloak.
(*)
"Well
you'd hardly want him grabbing anywhere higher," smiled Celmar once I was
safe. "Especially not with a twist
and a shake!" (**)
(** ) I had thought High Elves to be austere
otherworldly creatures. Maybe the nature
of Sorcery has affects upon manners but Celmar's ribald jokes and carefree
merriment were a constant surprise to me. Especially concerning the unexpected
uses for a bucket out in the Wilds where well kept privies are only a fond
memory. Still I must be tolerant. My order accepts all deemed worthy by their
nature and their actions, the Order of Athene makes no distinction for race or
social status, the most honourable among us can easily be humble by birth.
(***)
(***) Dain
Rocksmiter still promises to explain the jokes to me one day. (****)
(****) When
he has stopped laughing as well. (*****)
(*****) Finally.
6
After five miles, proceeding with less quiet pride and all due caution, the path began climbing and we reached the foot of a good-sized hill, crowned with scrub and brushwood. The winding trail led to a low cave; alongside burbbled a stream, two feet in depth and icy cold to the touch. A narrow rock ledge at the right side of the stream disappeared into total darkness. Not even my comrades could see far into the cave and the right flank of the entrance was screened by a thick tangle of briars impenetrable to even a small Gnome. Even without knowing goblins lurked close by only a moonstruck fool would have walked straight up to that cave mouth. We needed a plan.
To
my surprise it was Celmar who instantly saw a solution. Please accept I mean no
disrespect by this comment. I simply had not deemed any Sorcerer a student of
tactics, but her strategy was both ingenious and effective, original and
daring; a scheme we instantly decided to adopt. Our new comrade had quickly
proved her worth to the Quest and I remember all my initial doubts with shame. Clever
Celmar only grew more welcome with each day.
"Buddynock
could pass through all those brambles," suggested our Elven Sorceress. "One way at least. If you transform into a weasel!"
I
always remember those words of noble Sokrates: "if I am truly wise it is
only because I realise I know nothing." As we live we learn, with time
comes skill and during these last ten days, Buddynock Rubyrubb had begun to
master a new discipline incredible to any outside his order. Our valiant Druid was learning to take animal
form! For one solar hour, Buddynock was
able to hold the shape of any beast he had ever seen in the flesh.
"Only
a creature which walks or burrows for now!" grinned Buddynock, "but
give me time, give me time and one day you will see me fly!"
I
shared a sudden glance with Dain. I fear
we both had the same disturbing thought. Unworthy yes, but inevitable and distinctly
disturbing. Careless pigeons can be nuisance enough but a mischievous Gnome
Druid with an unfettered sense of humour ... ?
"We
will discuss this further Good Rubyrubb," I replied with brisk and careful
heartiness.
"B
ut later,"added Dain, "much later."
"It's
not fair!" pouted Buddynock, "Anything I suggest gets twisted!"
"Anything
you suggest?" I added with some feeling.
"Just be glad whenever I turn back to Gnome that all my clothes and kit reappear," sniffed Buddynock. "Just you consider the alternative. My beard's not that long! Especially if the wind's up and I'm running free!"
"Let's
get at those goblins!" shuddered
Dain Rocksmiter. "Please!"
I am quite aware of the popular opinion of
Paladins. At least when desperate folk
are not begging for our aid. A Paladin
thinks only of charging home with
couched lance or raised sword against anything deemed evil. A Paladin is
either stiff necked with pride or so ostentatious in his humility a starving
dog would turn up his dinner. A Paladin cares for his own good name above the
common good. A Paladin is only concerned with ... Enough! Yes there is some small truth in these
assertions but some truth is not the complete picture.
The crudest assertions of envious and poisoned minds become unchallenged
"truth" if they are only repeated often enough.
Yes I have known of Paladins who could fit such a
description but my Order prizes more than mere sanctity and skill with
arms. We serve Pallas Athene, Grey-Eyed
Lady of Wisdom; she who fights only for a righteous cause. A Paladin of our Order must be a man or woman of rational
thought, of calm logic and learning, a soldier who holds firm to their Sacred
Oath but a warrior who relies on wit as much as swordplay.
Alongside doctrine and debate and all those hours of
practice with sword and axe, lance, javelin and bow, my Order insists on the
study of History and the Political Arts. Of these one field we make very much
our own: the study of strategy and tactics.
Many rulers are pleased to call upon a trained Paladin to command their
forces. Warfare is never simply the
headlong charge of armoured knights, each vying for glory above their fellows, a Paladin must know the correct
deployment of horse and foot together, the proper placing of spearmen to hold
contested ground or to cover a retreat, the best ordering of archers or a
skirmish screen; when to feign flight and draw foes into a trap, how to refuse
a flank or commit a reserve, force a river crossing, assault or defend a
rampart; the proper maintenance of a marching camp in the field, the ordering
of a pack train or siege equipment, all the myriad logistics which form the
sinews of cruel war. And then and only
then, the leading of heavy cavalry riding knee to knee in squadron order, helms
pulled down, banners flying, charging home with couched lances, then reforming
to the sound of trumpets before riding on the enemy yet again. Disciplined, measured and deadly: lawful
order for good. A Paladin must be familiar with the battles and campaigns of
the past, know the reasons for signal
successes and doleful defeats. Courage
is never enough: without wisdom and thought a Knight is nothing.
In all modesty I can claim a knowledge of many past
battles and some awareness of why events fell into play. Yet today I found a woeful deficiency in all
my education, I have never before considered the tactical advantages of setting
forest rodents to savage an enemy's testicles!
7
We gave Buddynock the Weasel encouraging signs as he
prepared to slip through the briars. He
stood up on his hind legs, gave us a long measured stare, chattered something which made Dain
Rocksmiter cough and wound his sinuous way between the brambles.
“I could explain his last comment if you really want,”
Dain said in an offhand fashion.
“Why? Do we need to know?” asked Celmar with concern.
“Almost certainly not.” I sighed. “Everybody ready? We’ve no real idea what is going to happen.”
“Screaming goblins!” exclaimed Dain.
“Is that a Dwarvish curse?” asked Celmar.
“No a description,” muttered Dain, testing the edge of
his axe. “Well one goblin screaming, several others doubled up laughing by the
sound. There! Look there!”
I am reasonably content no tactician anywhere has ever
before used such phrases to describe an engagement. Suddenly a red weasel burst around the corner
of the briar patch, a bare forty yards away. It appeared to be spitting as it
ran, its long body undulating through the grass as it hurtled toward us. Now four goblins appeared, three with
scimitars drawn, the fourth still frantically patting his legs as he sped after
the fleeing weasel, twice trying to stamp on the little animal’s head.
Before any goblin could utter a word we were on them.
Celmar’s swift arrow slew one, Dain and I quickly killed two more; the
surviving goblin opened his mouth to shout a warning then gave a wordless
scream of dismay as Buddynock the Weasel slipped back up the leg of his
tattered breeches. The ensuing struggle
can best be called 'brief'. I doubt it
was simply the sight of our weapons which made this last goblin surrender so
quickly and, in all honesty, I have rarely seen any prisoner ever lie quite so rigid.
Buddynock regained his Gnomish form still spitting.
“No you can’t have a pull on my flask,” said Dain
sternly. “Those spirits are for medicinal use only.”
“This is a medical emergency,” insisted
Buddynock with plaintive dignity. “I’ve
just had a goblin’s knack-“
“That’s enough!” I said.
“One or both?” asked Celmar, raising an elegant
eyebrow.
“There’s a stream just there to rinse your mouth,”
suggested Dain Rocksmiter.
“It’s not fair!”
sniffed Buddynock.
"Spitting I can
live with, " murmured Celmar.
"As long as you are not spitting out..."
"Why is our
Paladin holding his head in both hands," asked Buddynock Rubyrubb.
The cave mouth yawned open before us. Yet first we
stood back as Celmar faced our goblin prisoner.
She held her delicate hands high shaping mystic signs from the air as
she spoke the words of her spell. The goblin's
scared eyes glazed, his breathing relaxed.
When our Sorcerer told him to rise, our prisoner obeyed without a
murmur, standing with utter obedience before her gaze. It was fortunate Dain Rocksmiter spoke his
tongue, we could put our questions clearly without stumbling to find any
familiar Common words between us.
It is never edifying to speak with a goblin. They are pitiful I suppose, the lackey of any
evil creature larger than themselves, but goblins are also treacherous, venal,
vicious and quick to seize any chance to inflict pain. Our charmed prisoner was eager to answer our
questions, but could not refrain from boasting even so. He admitted the ambush on the trail, two
prisoners taken, a man and a dwarf, the man remained within, the dwarf was
taken to the Leader. They enjoyed some fun with the man, but he was not
speaking much now. The dwarf never spoke at all. No he did not know who The Leader was, or
where he could find him: the Leader was All Powerful, the Leader was All
Mighty, the Leader scattered his enemies like leaves on the wind, the Leader
would reward the faithful and bring destruction in blood on all who dared
resist him.
"Not one for a quick jar, a slap and a giggle
then?" asked Buddynock.
Our prisoner stated twenty or so fellow goblins lurked
within the Cragmaw Cavern, together with a wolf pack they were training and
their captain. Even under Celmar's
spell, I saw a flicker of fear in the goblin's eye: this Captain appeared to be
a creature of fierce temper and ruthless will.
It is so sadly typical of a goblin, they will praise the brutal leader a
safe distance away if their renown enhances the goblins' own standing and
resent the minor commander actually present for enforcing his will over their
own crude desires.
8
It is not a pleasant thing to rob any sentient
creature's Will even for one short hour, yet our need was great and time was
pressing. Any rescue would have to
succeed on the first attempt for we all knew how goblins treat hostages who no
longer have their uses. A Paladin is honour bound not to maltreat captives, but
it was hard to maintain any sympathy for our own prisoner once this goblin revealed
the cruel treatment meted out to Sildar Hallwinter or when he smiled so happily
describing the "training" those wolves were receiving.
"I will watch him," Dain volunteered, "he will not get past me, or my
axe."
"Be careful," warned Celmar, "we both
must watch for my charm spell wearing off."
Dain nodded: "You said he will start to twitch
and his eyes will blink. I will be ready. I promise."
So at last we made our way to the noisome cave mouth,
pausing to peer inside. There was no
sign of life within, only the icy cold stream gushing out from the heart of the
hill. A narrow stone ledge hugged the
rough right side of the cave, it raised us a few feet above the fast flowing water,
leading us deeper into darkness and the unknown.
Our lantern revealed little ahead. When asked if any traps lay in our path, the goblin
answered "he would have no problem." Now our still obedient prisoner
led the way , but even so, we inched our way forward, testing each foothold
with my javelin; the stone ledge was slippery and required care, but we made
good progress. After twenty feet a
chamber opened on the right with a small flight of steps leading down to a
lower pit. At the lowest point of this
chamber five emaciated grey wolves their fur matted and filthy, their bodies
covered in sores, were chained to rock pillars. The small cavern stank from
their droppings, these poor beasts were clearly starving and half mad with
thirst, a torture so especially cruel within close earshot of that running
stream. The anger in Buddynock's eyes
was very plain to see; and young Celmar was particularly moved at their plight.
(c) Wizards of the Coast
9
Both Dain and our Druid spoke soothing words to the
wolves but these poor creatures were too distressed to respond. At least throwing dried meat from our iron
rations did eventually calm them for the wolves fell upon this scant meal with
desperate haste.
"Yes I would also like to release them immediately
Buddynock," I said, "but please have patience, we need to scout the
entire cavern before we unchain them.
They could still turn on us if they panic."
At least now we could pass between the tethered wolves
and walk towards the high fissure at the rear of this small cavern. We clambered over a sloping mound of loose
stone to peer up through a narrow natural chimney, canting at a steep angle and
worn water smooth long ago. Thirty foot above was another opening and we saw
the faint flicker of firelight. Our charmed
prisoner nodded.
"It will not be any easy climb," said
Buddynock, "even for me."
"And near impossible in armour," added Dain.
"Look at the prisoner," Celmar said
quietly. "You saw him twitch just
then? My Charm spell is wearing
off."
"How long do we have ?" I asked.
"A little under a half hour," our Sorcerer
suggested.
"Long enough," growled Dain, "give him
the rope and grapple."
Our goblin prisoner slowly began his ascent, the
grappling hook slung over his shoulder, the slim silken rope paying out behind
him. Twice he slipped, but his agility was unaffected by our magic, and we saw
the goblin reach the high opening above us, saw him firmly fixing the grappling
iron over the rock lip.
"What if he calls out?" Celmar asked.
"It will be the last call he ever makes,"
said Dain sighting his heavy crossbow up the chimney.
Our goblin followed our instructions to the last
detail and once the rope was securely attached he began his descent. Whether he was careless or just unlucky I
cannot say, maybe he simply moved too quickly, but we saw his hands fumble on
the rope, he slipped, his mouth opened but he was falling too fast already. We
heard his head crack against the side of the chimney, the goblin fell twenty
feet without a sound.
He lay sprawled at our feet, face bloodied, head at an
unnatural angle. Dain examined him and
stepped back helpless. "Neck broken" was all he could say.
Now Buddynock Rubyrubb took a last deep breath and grasped
the silken rope with both small hands. "Wish me luck! Seriously wish me
luck."
"If only you could turn into a bird or bat,"
I heard myself saying the very obvious out loud.
Our Gnome gave me a very level look; "You know
that honestly never occurred to me!"
"Just leave your buc-," Dain sighed, "leave Wilson
behind. Please."
10
Our hearts were in our mouths as we saw Buddynock make
the same ascent. With his natural
agility uncompromised by his light armour and with that firm line already in
place, our Druid was soon safely at the upper opening. We saw him inch his head
over the lip of rock. Buddynock paused
to survey the scene, waved, and climbed down the chimney to rejoin us.
His news was worrying. "Five or so goblins at least, it's a
larger cave and there are many barrels and bales piled in the centre, there
could be even more I could not see. The
chimney opens out about five feet above the floor. Easy enough to jump down once you are up
there."
"Any sign of a prisoner," Celmar asked. "Sildar?"
"Not a whisker," replied Buddynock,
"but I think I saw their Captain. A
bloody big Buggebear with a spiked club a dragon could pick his teeth
with."
"A Buggebear?" asked Celmar.
"We call them Uruk-hai," I replied. "Large, strong, vicious and very
dangerous."
"We could probably surprise them if we all
leap down from the chimney," said
Buddynock, "but..."
"Yes?" sighed Dain Rocksmiter.
"There is only space for a pair of us at the
opening at a time," said Buddynock and there was no hint of humour in his
manner.
"So two of us would be fighting alone in the
chamber waiting for the others to climb the rope and join them?" I asked.
"Asking for trouble." Dain growled. I was glad he agreed with me, glad Celmar and
Buddynock were also nodding.
"There must be another way in," I said. "Let's return to the ledge and follow
the stream."
"The goblins will be changing those sentries
outside at some point," Dain suggested, "we can't have much time left."
"At least these wolves are not so hungry
now," Buddynock's smile was grim. "Look." It was only then we realised the famished wolves had
fallen on the corpse of our late prisoner, tearing the body to pieces in their
hunger. More than ever I was glad we had
not released them from their chains just yet.
So once more we inched our way forward along the narrow
ledge at the side of the stream. After twenty feet the passage began curving to
the right. Another tunnel opened on the
left hand wall, the running water was between us, I raised our lantern but we
could only see a rough hewn passage disappearing into the rock. Ahead of us the tunnel roof was far higher,
at least fifteen foot I think and a dilapidated wooden bridge stretched from
side to side. We stared into the darkness, we could hear no movement, no sign
of life but Celmar's bright eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "I hear rumbling, it's getting louder!"
Suddenly a wall of water rounded the curving passage and
hurtled towards us, the white crested waves almost reaching the roof of the
tunnel. For a moment we froze in horror
as the roaring torrent bore down upon us, I heard someone shouting as if far
away. We leapt across the stream, leapt desperately for the side tunnel on the
left. I landed jarring my knee, the lantern by some miracle still alight, I
heard the thud as heavy Dain made the jump beside me; graceful Celmar leapt
cleanly without a sound. Three of us only, poor Buddynock still swayed on the
narrow ledge; his eyes wide with horror behind his brass goggles.
"A rope throw him a rope!" Dain shouted.
"Hang on Buddynock! " I bawled.
"Drop low! " Celmar cried.
For a heartbeat our Druid clung desperately to the
ledge, inclining his little body against the flood, but alas, the surging water
swallowed him up and swept him away, we saw his green hood break surface for a
moment, we saw his little arms frantically waving as the cold wave crashed
around him and carried him from our sight. "Goblin Bast a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-s-s-s-s-s-!!!"
11
Before we could even think of helping poor Buddynock we heard pounding feet from the western end of the tunnel as a dozen goblins, eyes blazing, crooked swords raised, charged down the passage towards us. There was no time for talking, brave Dain and I rushed to meet their attack, standing side by side in that narrow tunnel our weapons glinting in our hands. Dain Rocksmiter and I fought desperately as Celmar loosed careful arrows over our heads, for these goblins were shouting loud enough to wake the dead and we knew any other creatures in these caves had surely heard their cries. Good Dain Rocksmiter is a brisk hand with a battle axe and my own swordplay is respectable. These goblins were brave enough lying in ambush or torturing helpless prisoners, but they proved less able to withstand determined foes clad in armour. Their greater numbers counted for little in such a confined space. The stones were soon slippery with their blood.
I was dimly aware of more rushing water from the first
tunnel, but there was no leisure to stand and stare. We heard sudden frantic
footsteps close behind us. His little legs pounding Buddynock Rubyrubb hurtled
round the corner, scimitar clenched in his right hand, iron rimmed bucket still
in his left, a sodden knapsack bouncing against his back, his dark green hood askew,
his bronze goggles shining in our lantern light, more goblin warriors close
behind and gaining with every step. Buddynock ignoring the black fletched arrow
piercing the very tip of his hood, saw us and screeched to a halt, whirling
round to face his pursuers, his eyes gleaming, his scimitar raised in dripping
fury. I do not speak fluent Gnomish but I know a few phrases. Our
Druid uttered a war cry from deep within his soul, a bellow of pure passion and
fury. I could not make out every word and some Gnomish customs are still very
new to me. No one could mistake the anger and defiance in his voice, yet
Buddynock only seemed to be shouting these goblins showed great active affection
to their maternal relatives. (*)
Our good Gnome had been washed clean outside the caves
and left lying face down in the mud, soaked through, blinking in the sunlight and
spitting. When resolute Buddynock, squelching
with every step, attempted to rejoin his party by daring that narrow ledge a
second time, he was greeted by a goblin arrow through his hood and the sight of
a second sudden wall of water rushing towards him, the white waves licking at
the high cavern ceiling. This time, our
Druid leapt successfully into our own side tunnel, but another dozen screaming Goblins
were hard on his heels and closing .
I am horribly conscious my next action exposed young
Celmar to grave risk, yet in these circumstances I truly had no choice.
Dain was living up to his clan name and smiting Goblins with each swing of Grom
as Celmar's arrows flew with deadly precision along that narrow passage.
A dozen goblins had charged us from the west and we had left all but three
stretched in their own blood on the tunnel floor, Dain could surely slay these
remaining foes as I turned to stand side by side with Buddynock to face the
second horde now attacking us from the east.
Or maybe it's just Forest Gnome Druids.
Or possibly just Buddynock Rubyrubb…
12
The tunnel was a sea of snarling faces as Buddynock
and I stood shoulder to waist in defiance. Goblin scimitars clashed
against my shield and his iron banded bucket as our own blades cut deep in
return. Behind us I was dimly conscious of our comrades standing firm and
Celmar dropping her bow as one desperate goblin slipped past busy Dain. She
parried his sweeping sword cut with her staff, our Elven sorceress might lack
armour but Celmar was far too nimble for his blade to bite, next bright sparks
shot from her free hand, the goblin stood helpless and twitching, his bestial
face contorted with pain until Dain ended his woes a heartbeat later.
I slew three goblins in swift succession, brave
Buddynock ending his own opponent, yet to my dismay I saw their tyrannical captain
charging towards me, his long fangs bared, his vicious spiked mace raised
ready. These Uruk-hai, by some named Buggebears are fearsome in combat,
his first blow slammed against my helm and shoulder and but for my fine mail and shield I would have been
killed outright. I reeled back, the wind knocked from my body. The
wavering goblins redoubled their cries, the Uruk-hai raised his mace to finish
me, he swung, I caught his blow on my battered shield, summoning all my
strength and calling on Grey-Eyed Athene to guide me, my cracked voice
bellowing I swung my blade up and out and down, cleaving through his helm and
head, skull and brain pan, the stone dead Uruk-hai fell at my feet.
Still half dazed, I still charged forward. Our
dismayed enemies faltered but the dead Uruk-hai's tame wolf crouched low to
spring at my throat. This was no suffering beast, I dislike the hurting of any
animal yet now there was no time and no choice, I passed my sword swiftly
through the wolf even as Buddynock’s dextrous swordplay slew the next goblin
facing him. Dain Rocksmiter and Celmar had cleared our flank and on seeing
their comrades and leader fall the surviving seven goblins fled headlong in panic, running pell
mell for their lives out and away.
"Cheeky bugger hit me!" exclaimed Buddynock,
pulling the black fletched arrow from the tip of his hood. "Remember the
goblin who legged it after the ambush? Nippy
little sod in a red cap? He was the sentry up on the bridge! Both times!
Soaked me woolly vest and he got me with an arrow!"
"I hate to break this to you," said Dain
Rocksmiter, his face composed very carefully, "but your 'friend' got away
again."
Buddynock's face was composed far more expressively on
hearing this news.
I was conscious again of our great good fortune and
how narrow the margin between victory and defeat, survival and death. If
those waves of water had scattered our Party even more, if our foes had attacked
from both ends of the tunnel simultaneously, if that Buggebear had struck me to
the ground with his first attack, we surely would have all been overwhelmed. That
is not a fate I want to consider in any detail: we all know how goblins treat
their prisoners.
13
Now I called again on the divine majesty of Athene to
speed my recovery. Keeping a wary eye for any renewed attack from behind,
but considering the speed of the goblins' panicked flight this seemed most
unlikely, we carefully moved down the westward tunnel. It opened into a
larger cavern, strewn with filth and the shabby trinkets of our foes.
A second tunnel led away to the north but our eyes
were inevitably drawn to the natural rock shelf at the rear of this chamber, at
least ten feet above the cavern floor, a crude wooden ladder linking the two. A
large goblin stood poised and ready, a long bone knife clutched in one hand, a
bound and clearly injured human resting on the very edge of the shelf. He
screamed a warning, his cracked voice loaded with desperation and fear.
If we attempted any attack he would push his wounded prisoner. The man was
balanced on the very brink, the arrow or spell which slew the goblin would certainly
send the helpless captive falling head first to the cavern floor. With casual
innocence I called out a word of command, hoping our foe would drag the
prisoner back from the edge. The goblin blinked but my spell had no
effect. I swore in dismay under my breath, but at least the foolish creature
did not realise my word of power was an attempt to overcome him. (*)
"It was worth a try," whispered Celmar. "Even so."
For maybe the simple fact of my speaking found us all
a solution. The goblin's red eyes flickered wildly as he licked his dark lips,
one hand still clutching his long knife, the other holding the prisoner's
shoulders. He was terrified, that was
very clear, yet because we had spoken he found his own nerve and replied. The goblin's offer was simple: the hostage's life
in exchange for his liberty. That was
all well and good, but this goblin also insisted we stand with our backs to him
facing the cavern wall, while he slipped down the tunnel and escaped.
"What choice do we have?" I said. "Our priority has to be that hostage."
"No lone goblin would dare attack four foes armed
and ready, " said Dain with careful resolution, "and no goblin has
any mastery of sudden magics. We will be
safe enough."
"You really trust him?" Celmar asked in surprise.
"As long as we still have weapons in our hands,"
Buddynock nodded grimly.
Even so, we stood in silence our senses screaming as
our treacherous enemy slunk down the ladder and raced past us for the tunnel,
his iron shod feet almost striking sparks from the cold rock in his haste.
I suppose we should be thankful this goblin recognised a Paladin’s emblem and
trusted a Paladin’s word. Had we driven him to despair the prisoner would
surely have perished.
14
We found nothing of worth or interest in the cavern
but gave thanks we had rescued noble Sildar Hallwinter, lying bound,
blindfolded and gagged, stripped of mail and sword, cruelly treated for goblins
can be most creative when they have both time and opportunity, but clinging to
life all the same. We made Sildar comfortable and tended the worst of his
wounds, but I saw the black despair in his face whenever he recalled the
nightmare hours of his captivity. Even
the bravest veteran fears death alone in the dark, far from friends and family.
Poor Sildar's body would recover long before his mind.
Time was passing. This was no safe place to rest, for
who could say what else might still be lurking in these caves. Sildar could
still walk, after a fashion, and I leant him my shield and javelins. Within the
hour we set off again down the northern tunnel. I led the way, then came
Buddynock, injured Sildar in the middle, next Celmar, her most potent spells
spent, but her short bow ready in her hands and Dain Rocksmiter guarding our
rear.
This new tunnel climbed steeply, Dain reckoned by ten
to fifteen feet and soon inclined eastward to end in a steep drop spanned by
that slipshod wooden bridge we had seen
earlier. It seemed safest to cross one by one but even so the rotting timbers still
creaked under our weight. As I looked down to our right I could see the narrow
ledge we had first walked and that ice cold shallow stream bubbling down to the
waiting daylight. It seemed a year since we had first entered the cavern.
Ahead the sound of falling water grew ever louder. Our
tunnel led to another larger chamber, damp, empty and even colder but we now
solved one mystery: the source of those sudden floods sweeping through the caves. Our lantern revealed a narrow waterfall dropping
from some crevice high in the eastern wall. These cunning goblins had diverted some
of the water within the two stone pens occupying most of this chamber. Whenever
their sentry on the bridge had signalled, goblins pulled away wooden boards to
let first one, then the second pent up pool of water gush down the central
tunnel to swamp any invaders of their home. The waterfall would refill
those reservoirs in time. A crude defence true, but all too effective all the
same. Dain, Celmar and myself were just enough to withstand that first
goblin attack, if only one or two of us had leapt clear of the sudden flood we
might well have been overwhelmed by that fierce initial onslaught.
It was very clear the entire cavern had united against
us. The lair of the Uruk-hai captain only
held the same tawdry litter strewn across a floor daubed with the droppings of
both goblin and wolf. The embers of a fire pit smouldered fitfully within a
circle of blackened stones but there was no sign of Gundren or his map, nor the
armour and blade of Hallwinter. A small wooden chest had been clearly
used as a bench and we could not miss the half-dozen barrels and crates piled against
the far chamber wall. I investigated with
caution, grateful for the levelled javelin in my hand.
"They are just boxes of provisions:
flour, apples, lamp oil too I think. Each is marked with a lion d'azur rampant
on a field blanc, " I called back to the others.
“What?” said Buddynock. “Is he off again?
Does anybody understand this stuff?”
“A blue lion rampant on a white shield,” I sighed.
" Rampant? Did he say rampant? That's a bit bold for an emblem!"
Celmar raised one elegant eyebrow. "Exactly what sort of supplies
are in those boxes? They certainly don’t sound baby hobbit friendly.”
"Rampant
just means he is standing up," I replied with tactful speed, but a tad too
hastily. "NO! On his hind legs! You ... err ... thought ...
oh dear!"
The thoughtful moment was eventually broken by
Buddynock. " I’ve seen a tavern sign with a black unicorn who was definitely
not just ‘standing’ standing up. Looking back over his shoulder he was.
Very, very bendy. He definitely did
not need anyone else for fun at the end of the week…"
It is not that Buddynock Rubyrubb necessarily ignores
polite convention. Most times he is simply
unaware of it.
"The Improbable Unicorn," our Druid
continued, "Old Happy Horn to his friends. I remember a good time there last
Spring Solstice. There were six of us on
the bar, and two underneath, my cousin Fonkin was doing his special trick and with the whistle too
this time, when..."
Dain quietly nudged me. Sildar Hallwinter was starting to stare into
space again.
"... the duck escaped out the window just before
the Watch crashed in shouting and waving our cabbage and the wooden plunger,"
beamed Buddynock. "No sense of humour some Big People. Or any sense of adventure!"
"Those goods are all looted from the Lionshield
Coster," said Sildar grimly as he resolutely held his gaze above crumpled green
hood height. "The trading company.
You must know them."
"So not just one ambush on the Triboar
trail," Dain nodded. "These
goblins have been busy."
"But no more prisoners?" asked Celmar. "There would have been carters and an
escort. A dozen or more surely?"
"Best not to ask," Buddynock shook his head
sadly. "If no ransom seemed likely they
just would have ... well, I take it you expect me to open that chest?"
15
"There is nothing obviously suspicious,"
said Dain. "I've looked carefully
and it seems just a simple wooden box."
Our Druid's expression could best be described as
'resigned' as he laid out his linen roll of thieves' tools.
"I miss poor Espida," sighed Dain. "But I'm sure he would be glad they were
still being used."
"Maybe," said our Druid, as he gingerly prodded
the wooden chest with a curved steel lock pick, the tip of his tongue
protruding in concentration. "But he really knew how they worked. This is
largely guesswork, jiggle and hope."
After checking most carefully for hidden traps, clever
Buddynock beamed as the lock clicked open. Inside the chest we found 600 copper
pieces, 110 silver coins, two potions of healing, their red contents swirled in
the firelight as we held them aloft and a small jade statuette of a frog with
tiny golden orbs for eye. "Not
exactly Fafnir's hoard but it will keep us fed for a few weeks," said
Buddynock with no small satisfaction.
"I am confident the Lionshield Coster will pay
for the return of all those stolen goods," said Sildar Hallwinter.
"That outpost in Phandalin is nearest.
You still have Stonefoot's wagon?"
"Hopefully still concealed near the trail,"
I said. "We did our best to cover our tracks."
"Let's get out of this stinking cave," pleaded
Buddynock. "I'm wet, I'm cold. I want a proper fire and I want to
change."
"You have spare clothes back at the camp?"
asked Celmar.
"Ah.
There's a thought. My pack is
soaked too. Damn. Unless, "Buddynock grinned up at Dain.
"Someone nearly my size could
loan me. Just for the night you understand! Could loan me a spare set of ...
err .... well everything."
Our stalwart Cleric appeared to be meditating. At
least his eyes were shut, his breathing heavy.
"Charity is a respected virtue good Dain," I
added brightly.
Good Dain considered, groaned, nodded and sighed.
16
The light was failing and poor Sildar Hallwinter
clearly needed to rest, yet none of us were willing to sleep within these
sprawling caverns. We first took pains to free the five starving wolves from
their filthy pen. Dain and Buddynock spoke with the beasts before we slipped
their chains and the cruelly used wolves fled into the forest without showing
any aggression.
Our return journey proved a weary and most unwelcome march,
especially carrying all those looted goods. We were stumbling in utter exhaustion when we finally regained
the main trail and found our wagon, ox, and mule still soundly hidden under the
trees. Our supper was brief and cheerless, but at least we felt a little safer behind
our trusty wagon and a crude barricade of crates and barrels.
Sildar's injuries were more grievous than he had first
admitted; indeed a lesser man would not have survived the goblins'
torments. He still declined any healing potion
despite our earnest entreaties but Sildar Hallwinter eventually agreed to drink
a potion if we were attacked by any overwhelming force during the night. Did he
deny himself from some self-hatred, some bitter shame at being taken
prisoner? We did not really know the
man, we could not say. All I could do
was insist poor Sildar slept while my comrades and myself took turn to stand
sentry.
Lacking the keen darkvision of my comrades it made
sense for me to take the last watch when the night is more grey and dawn is
just below the horizon. Despite my weariness I was alert enough to bellow
a warning as four of the Cragmaw Cavern goblins attempted to surprise us.
My shouted word of command failed again, but three goblins still died quickly on
our blades; the sole survivor fled for
his life back into the forest, our parting arrows cutting through the leaves.
Something about him seemed familiar. "Oh not him again
please!" shouted a furious Buddynock. "Not that wedlock deficient
goat breeder in the damned red cap back for more! Who missed him this time?”
(*)
With daylight we resumed our journey, forging ahead
down the winding Triboar Trail, as the rutted road swung to the east. Sildar
Hallwinter slowly regained his strength, aided by sound rest each night and my
own healing arts together with the prayers of Dain Rocksmiter. Poor Sildar
was a heavy load for my mule but Sisyphos bore his weight without extreme
complaint. The few remaining goblins made no attempt to attack again and towards
evening on the second day the scattered dwellings of Phandalin appeared before
us.
17
NOTE I:
I earnestly
wish this chronicle to stand as an accurate, thorough and honest account of our
endeavours, yet I must confess to omitting certain details all the same.
No adventurer
could wish for finer comrades yet the frequent and helpless merriment of Celmar
and Buddynock still baffles me, not to mention the sight of noble Dain
Rocksmiter, Cleric and Healer near helpless with laughter and stuffing his long
beard into his mouth to still the noise.
What
did I say?
I
simply commented "that Uruk-hai gave me such a powerful blow he left me
staggering, half dazed and breathless, but still on my feet all the same. My
eyes were swimming, he thought I was helpless, he smiled as he raised his
mighty weapon in both hands, he stepped towards me, but I finished him
instead! Did you see him go down, did
you see me take him with just one
single blow!
Do
they think me vulgar for mocking a fallen enemy? I did not meet to sound triumphant in any
way, my jubilation was simple relief at surviving such a dangerous encounter.
Maybe
I will ask them to explain?
Maybe
that will be best.
Perhaps...
18
NOTE I I:
I confess I have troubled
thoughts regarding these goblins. It is true they are treacherous, full of cruel
malice, grasping and venal. Goblins are
vicious if they gather in large numbers, yet cowardly and subservient whenever
they are alone. Their nature is all too plain and all too unpleasant.
Yet what else can they ever be? What else have
they the chance to be? Are their brutal faults
intrinsic to their natures and immutable as stone or merely the product of all the
cruelties they have endured since their earliest days. Squalid joyless lives, an endless succession
of violence and scheming, bullied from above, dragged down from below, their
only birth right contempt and disgust.
Are goblins truly born to commit evil?
Inevitably without choice or forethought, are they simply creatures of darkness
with no chance of redemption? We loathe
and fear the evil around us: the brutal orc and savage troll, the bestial
grimlock and ravening ghoul. We are
right to fear them yet they are far from alone.
Some foul deeds
are surely born of need, of lack of thought or simple insanity, some are born
of pain and despair or desperation. Such deeds are no less foul, such
deeds still cause hideous suffering, but there is some reason for them
happening all the same.
Surely true unmitigated evil is when that evil is freely
chosen without the coercion of circumstance, and surely, if that is our
yardstick then orcs and trolls are indeed far from alone. What of the human mage,
lurking in some dark tower, willingly seeking the power to destroy his
neighbours; what of the human warlords who wantonly seize any and every chance
to hack and slay, rape, steal and burn? They were not born to such a path, they
cannot blame nature and heritage, such humans choose their destiny for
themselves. Surely these are also truly evil?
Maybe even more foul?
I cannot say, I cannot be sure. Not now, perhaps not
ever. I will simply do what I must. I will protect the innocent and serve
justice, come what may, until death claims me or age takes me. And hope for
some better way for us all. Justice is not vengeance. Justice seeks
reparation, a kinder life to come, a desperate hope for change. Justice has a
generous soul. Vengeance seeks nothing but selfish satisfaction, the cold
savouring of pain repaid, of fear exchanged for fear. We all have these
feelings within us, we all have this potential and when we are hurt, when we
feel fury, these feeling rise and surge and threaten to sweep us forward ,
feelings which drown all rational thought and kindly empathy with a dark howl
for blood. But surely if there is any hope at all, there must be hope for some
better way. We must be more than mere cold vengeance. We must be more.
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