The Killing Field
“Mustafi, range on ahead.” The order was received without argument, or without explanation. Belari expected nothing less from his tribal brother. And after three days of traveling with them, Belen’kar, elven warrior, was glad to have hired these Kututu as his guides.
He looked around the now broken camp to see who needed help, or who was ready. Belari and his people, three in total including Mustafi, were, as usual, ready to move at once. Honed by years living in this rugged and primitive savanna in the south of Meridica, these barbarian tribal men knew very well that hesitation meant death. Belen’kar’s people were slow in packing up by comparison. Least of which was because they brought with them more amenities. This time, however, the travelers from Dabinan, their homeland, had been quicker than usual. So much so that they’d be able to set off before Mustafi came back.
Then Belen’kar’s eyes came to rest on the stranger that had forced his way into their company. His name was Thorathor Diorivick, and Belen’kar recognized his name and his looks as an Icelander. Three days ago, at the trading post where Belen’kar hired Belari and his men, Thorathor showed up out of nowhere. The Icelander had overheard Belen’kar’s request for a guide north to the Greyback Mountain range, and decided to journey along with them. As he was quiet and didn’t get in the way, he was tolerated. Indeed, the Kututu found him interesting, as few in the south had ever seen a man with such grey eyes. And then when they were freezing cold in these winter nights, Thorathor actually sweated sometimes.
“Leader elf,” Belari said to Belen’kar, “are your elves ready?”
“Yes,” replied Belen’kar. “Lead on.”
They marched along in a column, single file. Belari, a square faced, broad shouldered man, led the column, always making sure that the company stayed on the designated path. Belari possessed a great deal of experience of living in the savanna, using that knowledge to become a great leader and warrior. Though he lacked the charisma needed to acquire a large following, Belari’s calm and decisiveness gave him quite a deal of loyalty from those under.
Right next to Belari was Kulthutu, a young man one step below becoming a full-fledged medicine man of the Kututu tribe. A medicine man was a surgeon, spiritual advisor and magician to the Kututu. And although Kulthutu’s magical ability was unrefined compared to wizards of more civilized human societies, Belen’kar was grateful for his foresight, as the company managed to avoid a great many hazards because of him.
Belen’kar stayed close to the front so as to quickly converse with Belari should the two need to make an important decision. The elves were traveling home, situated far to the north in an island that they called Dabinan. Belen’kar and his fellows were Ronglang, or Glorious Rangers, whose job it was to be the first line of defense for the Island, constantly patrolling the coast of the Valley, searching for would be invaders. Sometimes that necessitated the Rangers traveling to the far corners of Ubernorden where rumors have said a great evil has arisen. On this occasion, as usual, the locals were able to end the threat before it got out of hand. But Belen’kar was not bitter about it. For nearly six hundred years Belen’kar was an officer of the Rangers, and like most Rangers was a Newling. This was now the seventh time that Belen’kar had led a force far from home, to deal with an evil that may afflict the distance Island. This experience gave him a great appreciation for the skill of humans.
Behind Belen’kar, in no particular order, was Salen’zar. Salen’zar was one of the few Eldar who was adventurous enough to be a Ranger, his wisdom and knowledge was of great benefit to the company in its travels. For almost every situation the company found itself in since they left the Island, it was Salen’zar who either knew the solution or how to arrive at it. It was he who suggested hiring guides to reach the Greyback Mountains, although not Belari particularly.
Behind him was Marack. Marack wasn’t much special amongst the company of Rangers. He was a terrific warrior, as all Rangers had to be, and he was young as an elf reckons. So he still had plenty of time to shine as an exceptional individual. Following behind him was Telemenos. Telemenos was a part of Belen’kar’s company as the botanist. He was there to examine the plant life of the wider world, and tell if it was dangerous, or even unnatural. Though that was his primary task, Telemenos also acted as the company’s second-in-command, a position that came naturally as he and Belen’kar were long-time friends.
Balas’tid followed Telemenos, in his usual quiet self. He was the demonologist for the Ranger’s company. For most of his professional life, Balas’tid has had a morbid fascination for demons, their habits and abilities. This made him a kind of pariah, even amongst his own people. And although the Rangers gave him space, they were glad of his company in the event that they had to face such a foe in their travels.
Demeran followed next, one the best archers in the Island. He was accurate with a bow in even the windiest of conditions. He was Norteda, the Rangers healer. Though he was not one of the best available in the Island, he was skilled enough to be invaluable to the company. The last of the Rangers was Bak’enad. He was a part of the Ranger company because of his interest in what humans call magic. Elves did not practice magic, so could not quite understand the concept. But some, like Bak’enad, could grasp it well enough.
Following after the Rangers, was Thorathor, his long, blond hair flowing down his shoulders. In the position of rearguard, was Pataku of the Kututu. Pataku was not quite exceptional, but he was loyal and friendly all the same. Many of the elves liked him more than the other humans of the group, mostly because he was always talkative and inquisitive. Mustafi, continued to range ahead of the column, looking for obstacles and any signs of trouble ahead. Though he and Pataku would trade positions from time to time, it was usually Mustafi who lead the column, for he was clearly better suited to the task.
There were few if any pack animals in the Meridica Savanna, so the company carried everything themselves, consisting mostly of water, foodstuff, and dried animal dung to use as fuel for campfires. And each member of the company was armed with a bow and many arrows, plus a secondary weapon. The elven bows were of fine craftsmanship. A type of composite bow, each piece of special wood was carefully and lovingly placed next to each other to make the perfect weapon. It was able to launch an arrow for nearly 500 yards and yet, a child could pull it. The Kututu bows by contrast, were of poor make. They were self-bows made from the wood of the trees common to the savanna, and only had a range of 50-70 yards. But, like many tribes of the Savanna, each arrow could be easily covered in a very potent poison the tribesmen carried with them as they traveled on. As a secondary weapon, the elves carried their special blades that they called a doaquan, or the knife-fist, and the Kututu had stone axes. Only Thorathor was armed differently. He possessed a long hafted axe with a long beard to it and a short, double-edged sword at his hip. A shirt of mail completed Thorathor’s status as a man who was not native to the savanna of Meridica.
The company was using a game trail stamped out by hundreds of generations of gazelles. This made the journey easier than trudging through the tall grass would have been. But it was also more dangerous; for predators, both animal and man, knew that prey would use these trails. Fortunately there had been no attacks since the journey began. The Savanna was flat in all possible directions, with small, spacious groves of trees and large buttes of solid rock to break up the monotony. So, even though Mustafi was almost 300 yards away, he could still be seen very clearly
For a long time the company traveled the homogenous plain in silence. And in all that time not a person was seen for miles. In fact, though no one noticed it at the time, there was nothing alive to be seen at all. If the monotony of the journey hadn’t dulled their wits, the men of the company might have taken notice of it. The only interesting feature that they would see for quite some time was the river bed they were traveling to. In winter there wouldn’t be enough rain to fill the river, so it would be dry for a few months still. Belari said that they would have to travel it upstream, to the east, for a ways until the next game trail was spotted.
The two suns were half-way to their apex when Mustafi got to the river-bed. It was at that point that he stopped abruptly and just looked at it. Suddenly, he turned around and started to frantically motion everyone to the riverbed. The company ran as fast as they could to the river-bed, and what they saw took their breath away.
Along the riverbed was strewn all manner of gold jewelry and other valuables. There were diamond and emerald necklaces. Gold plated chalices, some with jewels encrusted and some not, were there, along with silver candlesticks. Belen’kar’s eyes were enraptured with a silver wand with a ruby tip and an ivory handle. Thorathor looked at a hauberk that seemed to be made of no-rust steel interlinked with a diamonds. Out of the corner of both of their eyes they saw a golden statue, probably of some god and most likely unknown to the Kututu. And everywhere there were coins of gold, silver, and iron.
When the company descended into the treasure trove, every man sought to gather as much as they could into their hands. All except one.
“Fools,” yelled Thorathor in Swalilu, a language the Kututu and the travelers knew. “Good stuff be cursed, perhaps!” he continued loudly.
“He is correct,” replied Belen’kar, also speaking Swalilu. “There is only one reason that a treasure trove such as this would be out in the open. It most likely is cursed.”
“There could be another reason,” Salen’zar said. “It could have just washed away from somewhere, carried by the river. It could have been the treasury of some long forgotten sovereignty.”
“Or from the grave of a long ago sovereign,” said Belari. “If so, then the treasure is cursed.”
“Search around, carefully,” suggested Belen’kar. “If it looks like there is nothing wrong, we’ll take what we can.”
And so at Belen’kars’s suggestion, the company searched the treasure. And although it was tempting, not a single person touched anything, lest a demon’s claw reached out and drag the thief to Hell. After a few moments, Kulthutu announced that he had found a dead body. No one even had to see the corpse to know what it meant about the treasure.
“Alright,” claimed Belen’kar, though it needn’t be said, “the treasure’s cursed. Let’s get back on track to…”
But Belen’kar never finished, when Kulthutu screamed in fright. Everyone looked at him and saw that someone else was rising from a seated or lying position. The person moved as if he was healthy, but the blanked, glazed over stare implied something else. With a shock, everyone figured out that it was the dead man.
Then all of a sudden, something rose from a pile of coins next to Belen’kar. This one was also human, but he had a gaping slash across its chest that had scabbed over previously. Soon others rose from either other piles of treasure or form the ground itself. All of them were armed with a differing assortment of weapons in one hand.
Before these walking dead could begin the attack in full, someone shouted to get out of the riverbed. It could have been Belen’kar for all he knew; fear had dulled his senses. It seemed as if everyone naturally chose to escape by the northern bank, so that was where Belen’kar went. As he climbed, out of the corner of his eye, Belen’kar saw Thorathor sweep the leg out from one of the dead men with his axe. Then Thorathor leapt up the side of the bank and joined the others. But out of the riverbed, Belen’kar heard a terrible scream. He turned to look in the riverbed and saw his fellow Ranger Marack held down by the dead things, which were even now stabbing him repeatedly. The other Rangers made to help their comrade, but Belen’kar knew it was hopeless; no one can kill the dead, after all.
“No!” he shouted to his Ranges. “We can do nothing!” And the Rangers stopped.
“Hurry!” yelled Belari. “To that crag,” he said, pointing to a rather large rock jutting out of the grass to the northeast of them. “We can make a stand there.”
And so the remaining company ran as fast as they could. The attacking walking dead, numbering a score at the least, pursued quickly. So a desperate race began, all the more so because the walking dead never tired. His mind focusing now, Belen’kar realized what had happened; the company had stumbled onto one of the infamous ‘dead traps’ of the Lich. In general, the Lich was unable to bring his full power into Ubernorden, thanks to the blessing flowing through the Adune Sea. But that didn’t mean that the Lich couldn’t extend a little of his power into Ubernorden. By concentrating his power, the Lich could pierce through the Adune Barrier and commit mischief all over South Ubernorden. A favored trick, and about the only thing ever done, was to animate some corpses, called zombies, at a certain point, wait for unsuspecting travelers to cross it, and raise the zombies to kill the living. Even so, these dead traps were a rarity, so rare that Belen’kar half-believed them to be rumor and superstition.
It seemed like an eternity had passed while Belen’kar ran to the crag. Used to running through the tall grass, the Kututu were all ahead, followed closely by Thorathor, who despite wearing armor and his pack, was like a gazelle.
Finally they reached the rock. It was at most twenty feet high from the ground. For the most part, the sides where shear, but there was enough jutting out to make hand holds. The Kututu climbed up first with Thorathor right behind. Belen’kar waited briefly to make certain that his Rangers also made it. Looking behind him, Belen’kar saw that the zombies were running all out and were closer than the thought. Belen’kar started to climb to the top of the rock, but before he got six feet up, a cold, iron-like hand closed around his right ankle.
Belen’kar turned and saw a zombie without any eyes grabbed onto his legs. Belen’kar kicked and struggled, but it was no good. The zombie started to pull Belen’kar down. Looking up to the safety of the rock’s height for inspiration, Belen’kar instead saw Thorathor there with his axe raised high above his head. Before Belen’kar could say anything, Thorathor threw down the axe with tremendous force. Belen’kar heard the axe strike stone and felt his leg become free, though his ankle was still being hurt. Belen’kar then accepted Thorathor’s outstretched arm and allowed himself to be pulled up to safety. Immediately, Belen’kar withdrew his knife and pried the severed zombie hand from his ankle.
“Thank you,” Belen’kar said to Thorathor, but Thorathor paid him no attention. His axe notched and useless now, Thorathor had his short sword out and was staring intently at the zombies surrounding the company. The zombies did not immediately climb up to the now trapped victims. These dead things had no thoughts of their own. So for right now, they simply reached up in an attempt to grasp the legs of the company. But no one was stupid enough to be that close to the edge.
“Good, now we can stay up here until the curse is lifted,” stated Mulari.
“No,” replied Telemenos. “Eventually they will climb up, if only due to their persistence at getting closer to us.”
“We need fire,” Belen’kar stated resolutely. “We can’t kill them, as they’re already dead, and we don’t have nearly enough time to chop them to pieces. So we’re going to have to burn them and hope they’re dry enough to light on fire.”
“Why don’t we just drag them up one at a time and cut them up then?” asked Pataku.
“Because they’re already starting to climb up now,” answered Balas’tid. “If we take the time to chop them up individually, we’ll be defenseless as soon as they get their footing.”
At that, the company searched the rock for any dry sticks that might have been blown up onto the rock. But none was found. Luckily, some of the company had brought their supply of arrows to the rock, instead of discarding them for faster running. Useless against the zombies as they were, the company now took small bundles, about 3 to 5, and tied them into makeshift torches. As this was happening, Thorathor told everyone to bring their ‘torches’ to him. Thorathor then cut his left palm with his sword. He then dropped blood onto a flat stone he had found. With the blood, Thorathor drew a strange rune that Belen’kar quickly recognized from his contact with Icelandic tribes.
“You know how to perform fire magic?” Belen’kar asked in an Icelandic language he knew.
“Of course,” Thorathor replied in the same language. “In Iceland, you must learn how to create fire, by magic or by physics, or you won’t survive long.”
Once Thorathor had drawn the rune, he wrapped his hand in a clean cloth he had, and set to work performing the spell. Belen’kar suspected that Thorathor was casting Red Magic and not Black Magic, so it was unlikely that the stone itself would catch fire. But it would become intensely hot. Indeed, after a few tense moments, the stone began to glow red. Everyone quickly put their arrow shaft torches onto the stone, and quickly they lit on fire. And not a moment too soon, the zombies started to climb.
“Let them up, then push off,” yelled Thorathor as the company began to form a circle.
Belen’kar saw one zombie clamor up with another coming up behind. Once the leading zombie had stood up straight, Belen’kar lounged at it with his torch straight in front of him. Belen’kar had set the arrowheads on fire first so the torch sunk into the lifeless flesh. The zombie didn’t wince or cry in pain at the penetration or the fire like a living person would have. Instead, it made to grab at Belen’kar with its hands. Belen’kar ducked under the zombie’s arms and pushed with all his might whilst keeping an iron grip on his torch. The zombie fell onto its back and flipped over backwards off of the rock. As it fell, Belen’kar noticed flames coming from the zombie, it was now on fire.
The other zombie that had climbed up was now on the top of the rock, feet firmly planted. With a strong kick, Belen’kar struck the zombie’s knees, and took its legs right out from under it. However, the zombie fell forward onto the rock. Belen’kar then grabbed the zombie, its flesh eerily cold and dry, and threw it off the rock.
Belen’kar looked down and saw the first zombie, the fire now spread across most of its upper body, trying to climb again. But if it never acquired any more handholds, it would burn to ash soon enough. Belen’kar turned around to see how the rest of the company fared, and saw Thorathor confronting a zombie with a flaming sword in hand. Thorathor lunged at the zombie, piercing it easily. Then Thorathor placed his foot onto the zombie, and pushed it off of his sword and off the rock. Turning to the rest of the company, Belen’kar saw Salen’zar and Kulthutu throwing a burning zombie off of the rock. No more zombies stood on the rock, but so were fewer of the company. One of the elves, Demeran, was dragged down with a zombie he tried to push off. He was killed before he could clamber back up, with no one available to help him. Also, lying on top of the rock in a pool of his own blood was Pataku. Apparently one of the zombies managed to stab Pataku in the throat and heart. He had died instantly. The rest of the surviving company members, minus Thorathor, gathered around Pataku’s body.
“Will he rise?” asked Belari.
“All those who die, serve the Lich,” Kulthutu responded.
But Salen’zar shook his head. “Doubtful,” he said. “The Lich may be able to keep the zombies ‘alive,’ but he is unable to make more. The Adune Barrier is too strong for him.”
“Ready yourselves!” cried Thorathor, who had remained on the edges of the rock to observe the zombie horde. And so the company got back into position. Some of the approaching zombies were now completely on fire, melted flesh and fat actually dripping off of them. Much like the zombie now before Belen’kar. Belen’kar promptly strode towards the zombie, and gave it a good solid kick to its midsection, and the zombie fell off the rock. Looking down from his position, Belen’kar noticed no other zombies climbing up. So he turned to help others of his company.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thorathor swipe at the legs of a zombie. He swung with such force, that he almost severed the entire leg. Clearly he didn’t need Belen’kar’s help. Instead, Belen’kar went over to Bak’enad’s position. Bak’enad had, quite unfortunately, gotten tied up with a zombie, and was in danger of being either strangled to death, or dragged down to his doom. Belen’kar stabbed the zombie in its head with his torch, and tried to pry the zombie off of Bak’enad. With a mighty tug, Belen’kar managed to loosen the zombie’s grip on Bak’enad . Bak’enad then managed to free himself, and the two of them shoved the zombie to the ground. Only when he tried to rotate the torch in his hand was when Belen’kar realized it was still stuck in the zombie’s head.
Belen’kar looked around for any other battles he could help in. But all the zombies were off of the rock again. Yet once again, there was a casualty. Balas’tid had suffered a stab wound to the side of his abdomen. He was even now being attended to by Norteda. Balas’tid’s wound would have been lethal if it was done to a human, but an elf would survive it, though it was still very painful.
“How many zombies’s have been destroyed, so far?” Belen’kar asked slightly out of breath.
“Four over here,” Thorathor answered indicating his and Belen’kar’s area. He too was showing signs of exhaustion and fatigue.
“One here,” answered Mustafi. “But one more is burning pretty well.”
“Three more over here,” said Salen’zar.
When Belen’kar looked over at Salen’zar, he noticed that another Kututu was missing. It was Beleari, and his loss hit Belen’kar hard. Though they had only known each other for a few days, they had become fast friends due to their similar personalities. But he put it out of his mind for the moment as there were still people in mortal danger, as he knew Belari would have wanted him to do. He did some calculations, and figured there might be 11 zombies left. However, there were only eight people left to fight them off.
“Torches remaining?” asked Thorathor, and those with torches raised them. Sadly there were only five torches left and they were already half burnt. However, there were still some arrows left over, so Belen’kar and others made new torches and set them alight with the leftover torches. After 2 more minutes of breathing space, the zombies climbed the rock again.
Three more times the zombies climbed the rock to murder the remaining living. And in that time more zombies were put to the torch, their dried, dead flesh easily burning. Tragically, more defenders fell to the horrors as well. Salen’zar was the first to go, choked to death before anyone could pry the cold hand off. Norteda foolishly tried to kick a zombie off of the rock, before it could climb up all the way. But as his foot came down onto the zombie, it reached up, put Norteda’s ankle in a cold, vice-like grip, and dragged him from the rock. Balas’tid attempted to help out, but it was no good. Norteda fell with the zombie, and was killed immediately. Soon after, Kulthutu was felled by a zombie. This one, despite being stabbed by Kulthutu’s torch threw Kulthutu onto the rock with such force that he died instantly. He was the last casualty.
The suns were well on their way to setting, and Little Brother was just starting to be visible, when the survivors finally won the battle. All of the zombies had burned completely to ash, or just enough to stop being a threat to the survivors. They all then collapsed into a heap near the center of the rock. They were all breathing heavily and were tired from the day’s fight.
“My tribal brothers are all dead,” said Mustafi sorrowfully. “For the sake of their honor, I will take you the rest of the way.”
“Thank you, Mustafi,” replied Belen’kar. “We would like it if you continued to take us home.” At those words, Mustafi’s chest puffed out with pride.
“How is it that humans can take so much pride in fulfilling a dead man’s pledge?” asked Balas’tid in Tongi, the common elf language.
“Because for them, death is not the end,” Bak’enad replied.
“We should set up camp here,” Thorathor said in his Icelandic language. “There is not enough daylight for us to travel in to our immediate destination. It is a good defensible position. And it is unlikely that we will find a better campsite.”
Belen’kar translated for Mustafi, who agreed readily. Still, it took them a few hours to actually get the energy to build their camp. But afterwards, they readied themselves for bed, just as the day was turning to dusk. They did not set a watch as would be usual, since it was unlikely for anything to climb the rock and attack them; not that they cared tonight. Instead, they all fell asleep, dead to the world.
A few days later, the surviving members of the Ranger team, Belen’kar, Telemenos, Balas’tid, and Bak’enad, their one remaining guide, Mustafi, and Thorathor, their traveling companion, arrived at the farming village of Halati at the southern tip of the Empire of Barnatu. Here they were able to find a place to stay and rest before continuing on in their journey. The rest was sorely needed. The morning after their victory over one of the Lich’s dead traps was spent hauling the corpses of their fallen comrades up onto the rock they had mad their stand. Since none of them had any digging tools on them, they could not bury their dead. So they placed them gingerly on the rock in order to keep them away from predators and other defilers. By that afternoon, the company proceeded off in solemn silence. However, due to Balas’tid’s injuries, their going was slower than before. That was why they stopped here in Halati instead of Tomutuk, the Barnatuvian capital city.
Upon entering the village limits, the Rangers were immediately set upon by the excited villagers. Few of them had ever heard of elves, let alone seen one. As such, the Rangers became like celebrities to the poor villagers. Bak’enad was greatly concerned about this, fearful that their presence could lead to them being attacked and possibly lynched. However, Mustafi told the villagers of their experience on the rocks. After that, the villagers were in awe of the elves and their victory at the Battle of Dead Rock, and could no more hurt the Rangers than their own protectors.
For two days, the company stayed in Halati. They were fortunate enough to find a few residents who were willing to provide room, board, and even fresh clothing for them for the duration of their stay. No house in the village was big enough to hold all of the company, so they had to stay in separate places. However, their landlords were kind enough to let them meet each other in their boarding homes. Belen’kar and Mustafi did just that, with the express purpose of discussing the continuing route north. Belen’kar assumed that Mustafi was simply giving him his thoughts on the route, and not actual directions.
“I must take my leave of you here,” Mustafi told Belen’kar close to noontime on the second day of their stay at Halati. The two were sitting in the common space of Belen’kar’s boarding home. Mustafi had come in to talk with Belen’kar, but Belen’kar did not expect this discussion. “I must tell my people what happened to my ‘brothers’ so that proper respect can be paid to them.”
Belen’kar was disappointed with Mustafi’s decision. He wanted to tell him that he couldn’t, that he had to stay with them. But instead, Belen’kar stood up, walked over to Mustafi, and embraced him in a half-hug. “Thank you for taking us this far,” he said, releasing him. “I hope that your journey home is uneventful.”
“I do, too,” Mustafi replied. “I will also tell of the bravery of you and your people. It should be sung from the mountains to the desert.”
“We would like that,” said Belen’kar. And with that, Mustafi left the company of the Rangers with a group of hunters, who had been at the village to trade in furs.
A few hours after Mustafi had left, Belen’kar was sitting just outside on the ground of his host’s home. He was sitting there just staring off into the distance thinking of nothing in particular. Prior to now, he had been visiting Balas’tid, whose injury was still causing him much discomfort. An elf could heal from any non-fatal injury that they sustained, including lost limbs, but it took a great deal of painful time. This one in particular could take anywhere between sixty to eighty years to heal completely.
Telemenos and Bak’enad were busying themselves with preparing for the next leg of their journey. There was still roughly eighty miles left to go until they got to the Greyback Mountains and the Mesogeios Sea beyond them. Then they would sail east into the Adune Sea, and from there they would travel north for almost a thousand miles until they reached Dabinan. A long ways, but for immortals, it wasn’t so bad.
A movement to Belen’kar’s left caught his eye, and he turned his head. It was Thorathor coming towards him. Like the elves, Thorathor was dressed in a multi-colored robe that covered all of his body, the style of dress amongst the Barantuvian. When he got closer, Belen’kar stood up to talk with Thorathor, for it was obvious he wanted to.
“I am going to leave here tomorrow,” he told Belen’kar without preamble. Belen’kar felt a little disappointment, but understood completely. Thorathor’s destiny lay elsewhere, and not with the Rangers.
“Alright,” replied Belen’kar. “Where do you plan on going?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
“I will continue going east,” Thorathor answered. “I’m not too sure what I’ll be doing there, but I will go nonetheless.”
“Then I wish you good luck, Thorathor Diorivick.” Belen’kar said, taking his arm in a gesture of friendship. “Will you have on last meal with us, before you go?”
“Thank you, no. I wish to make a clean break with you. Not that I’ve disliked being with you,” Thorathor quickly added. “But I am not one for long-term relations.”
“Very well,” said Belen’kar, who half-expected that response. “Farewell.”
Later, near the dusk of the day, Belen’kar met with his Rangers in the common space of their half-way house. “Thorathor is leaving us tomorrow,” he told them. “He said he is continuing on east, but with no destination in mind.”
“We will miss him on the road, I fear,” stated Balas’tid. “He was a surprisingly good companion to have while traveling.” The other Rangers agreed.
“I am afraid that he will resort to banditry and reaving,” Telemenos said matter-of-factly.
“Resort?” Bak’enad snorted out. “He is a reaver, I could tell from his demeanor. He would scour this entire countryside if he could.”
“Undoubtedly,” answered Belen’kar. “But he is not our concern, or our responsibility. Right now, our responsibility is to get home.”
“Do you have a plan in that regard?” Bak’enad asked Belen’kar.
“Yes. We will wait and rest here for at most, four more days, then we will make for the Barnatui capital of Tomutuk. And from there, home.” Everyone agreed to that plan, and then they set out to eat supper.
He looked around the now broken camp to see who needed help, or who was ready. Belari and his people, three in total including Mustafi, were, as usual, ready to move at once. Honed by years living in this rugged and primitive savanna in the south of Meridica, these barbarian tribal men knew very well that hesitation meant death. Belen’kar’s people were slow in packing up by comparison. Least of which was because they brought with them more amenities. This time, however, the travelers from Dabinan, their homeland, had been quicker than usual. So much so that they’d be able to set off before Mustafi came back.
Then Belen’kar’s eyes came to rest on the stranger that had forced his way into their company. His name was Thorathor Diorivick, and Belen’kar recognized his name and his looks as an Icelander. Three days ago, at the trading post where Belen’kar hired Belari and his men, Thorathor showed up out of nowhere. The Icelander had overheard Belen’kar’s request for a guide north to the Greyback Mountain range, and decided to journey along with them. As he was quiet and didn’t get in the way, he was tolerated. Indeed, the Kututu found him interesting, as few in the south had ever seen a man with such grey eyes. And then when they were freezing cold in these winter nights, Thorathor actually sweated sometimes.
“Leader elf,” Belari said to Belen’kar, “are your elves ready?”
“Yes,” replied Belen’kar. “Lead on.”
They marched along in a column, single file. Belari, a square faced, broad shouldered man, led the column, always making sure that the company stayed on the designated path. Belari possessed a great deal of experience of living in the savanna, using that knowledge to become a great leader and warrior. Though he lacked the charisma needed to acquire a large following, Belari’s calm and decisiveness gave him quite a deal of loyalty from those under.
Right next to Belari was Kulthutu, a young man one step below becoming a full-fledged medicine man of the Kututu tribe. A medicine man was a surgeon, spiritual advisor and magician to the Kututu. And although Kulthutu’s magical ability was unrefined compared to wizards of more civilized human societies, Belen’kar was grateful for his foresight, as the company managed to avoid a great many hazards because of him.
Belen’kar stayed close to the front so as to quickly converse with Belari should the two need to make an important decision. The elves were traveling home, situated far to the north in an island that they called Dabinan. Belen’kar and his fellows were Ronglang, or Glorious Rangers, whose job it was to be the first line of defense for the Island, constantly patrolling the coast of the Valley, searching for would be invaders. Sometimes that necessitated the Rangers traveling to the far corners of Ubernorden where rumors have said a great evil has arisen. On this occasion, as usual, the locals were able to end the threat before it got out of hand. But Belen’kar was not bitter about it. For nearly six hundred years Belen’kar was an officer of the Rangers, and like most Rangers was a Newling. This was now the seventh time that Belen’kar had led a force far from home, to deal with an evil that may afflict the distance Island. This experience gave him a great appreciation for the skill of humans.
Behind Belen’kar, in no particular order, was Salen’zar. Salen’zar was one of the few Eldar who was adventurous enough to be a Ranger, his wisdom and knowledge was of great benefit to the company in its travels. For almost every situation the company found itself in since they left the Island, it was Salen’zar who either knew the solution or how to arrive at it. It was he who suggested hiring guides to reach the Greyback Mountains, although not Belari particularly.
Behind him was Marack. Marack wasn’t much special amongst the company of Rangers. He was a terrific warrior, as all Rangers had to be, and he was young as an elf reckons. So he still had plenty of time to shine as an exceptional individual. Following behind him was Telemenos. Telemenos was a part of Belen’kar’s company as the botanist. He was there to examine the plant life of the wider world, and tell if it was dangerous, or even unnatural. Though that was his primary task, Telemenos also acted as the company’s second-in-command, a position that came naturally as he and Belen’kar were long-time friends.
Balas’tid followed Telemenos, in his usual quiet self. He was the demonologist for the Ranger’s company. For most of his professional life, Balas’tid has had a morbid fascination for demons, their habits and abilities. This made him a kind of pariah, even amongst his own people. And although the Rangers gave him space, they were glad of his company in the event that they had to face such a foe in their travels.
Demeran followed next, one the best archers in the Island. He was accurate with a bow in even the windiest of conditions. He was Norteda, the Rangers healer. Though he was not one of the best available in the Island, he was skilled enough to be invaluable to the company. The last of the Rangers was Bak’enad. He was a part of the Ranger company because of his interest in what humans call magic. Elves did not practice magic, so could not quite understand the concept. But some, like Bak’enad, could grasp it well enough.
Following after the Rangers, was Thorathor, his long, blond hair flowing down his shoulders. In the position of rearguard, was Pataku of the Kututu. Pataku was not quite exceptional, but he was loyal and friendly all the same. Many of the elves liked him more than the other humans of the group, mostly because he was always talkative and inquisitive. Mustafi, continued to range ahead of the column, looking for obstacles and any signs of trouble ahead. Though he and Pataku would trade positions from time to time, it was usually Mustafi who lead the column, for he was clearly better suited to the task.
There were few if any pack animals in the Meridica Savanna, so the company carried everything themselves, consisting mostly of water, foodstuff, and dried animal dung to use as fuel for campfires. And each member of the company was armed with a bow and many arrows, plus a secondary weapon. The elven bows were of fine craftsmanship. A type of composite bow, each piece of special wood was carefully and lovingly placed next to each other to make the perfect weapon. It was able to launch an arrow for nearly 500 yards and yet, a child could pull it. The Kututu bows by contrast, were of poor make. They were self-bows made from the wood of the trees common to the savanna, and only had a range of 50-70 yards. But, like many tribes of the Savanna, each arrow could be easily covered in a very potent poison the tribesmen carried with them as they traveled on. As a secondary weapon, the elves carried their special blades that they called a doaquan, or the knife-fist, and the Kututu had stone axes. Only Thorathor was armed differently. He possessed a long hafted axe with a long beard to it and a short, double-edged sword at his hip. A shirt of mail completed Thorathor’s status as a man who was not native to the savanna of Meridica.
The company was using a game trail stamped out by hundreds of generations of gazelles. This made the journey easier than trudging through the tall grass would have been. But it was also more dangerous; for predators, both animal and man, knew that prey would use these trails. Fortunately there had been no attacks since the journey began. The Savanna was flat in all possible directions, with small, spacious groves of trees and large buttes of solid rock to break up the monotony. So, even though Mustafi was almost 300 yards away, he could still be seen very clearly
For a long time the company traveled the homogenous plain in silence. And in all that time not a person was seen for miles. In fact, though no one noticed it at the time, there was nothing alive to be seen at all. If the monotony of the journey hadn’t dulled their wits, the men of the company might have taken notice of it. The only interesting feature that they would see for quite some time was the river bed they were traveling to. In winter there wouldn’t be enough rain to fill the river, so it would be dry for a few months still. Belari said that they would have to travel it upstream, to the east, for a ways until the next game trail was spotted.
The two suns were half-way to their apex when Mustafi got to the river-bed. It was at that point that he stopped abruptly and just looked at it. Suddenly, he turned around and started to frantically motion everyone to the riverbed. The company ran as fast as they could to the river-bed, and what they saw took their breath away.
Along the riverbed was strewn all manner of gold jewelry and other valuables. There were diamond and emerald necklaces. Gold plated chalices, some with jewels encrusted and some not, were there, along with silver candlesticks. Belen’kar’s eyes were enraptured with a silver wand with a ruby tip and an ivory handle. Thorathor looked at a hauberk that seemed to be made of no-rust steel interlinked with a diamonds. Out of the corner of both of their eyes they saw a golden statue, probably of some god and most likely unknown to the Kututu. And everywhere there were coins of gold, silver, and iron.
When the company descended into the treasure trove, every man sought to gather as much as they could into their hands. All except one.
“Fools,” yelled Thorathor in Swalilu, a language the Kututu and the travelers knew. “Good stuff be cursed, perhaps!” he continued loudly.
“He is correct,” replied Belen’kar, also speaking Swalilu. “There is only one reason that a treasure trove such as this would be out in the open. It most likely is cursed.”
“There could be another reason,” Salen’zar said. “It could have just washed away from somewhere, carried by the river. It could have been the treasury of some long forgotten sovereignty.”
“Or from the grave of a long ago sovereign,” said Belari. “If so, then the treasure is cursed.”
“Search around, carefully,” suggested Belen’kar. “If it looks like there is nothing wrong, we’ll take what we can.”
And so at Belen’kars’s suggestion, the company searched the treasure. And although it was tempting, not a single person touched anything, lest a demon’s claw reached out and drag the thief to Hell. After a few moments, Kulthutu announced that he had found a dead body. No one even had to see the corpse to know what it meant about the treasure.
“Alright,” claimed Belen’kar, though it needn’t be said, “the treasure’s cursed. Let’s get back on track to…”
But Belen’kar never finished, when Kulthutu screamed in fright. Everyone looked at him and saw that someone else was rising from a seated or lying position. The person moved as if he was healthy, but the blanked, glazed over stare implied something else. With a shock, everyone figured out that it was the dead man.
Then all of a sudden, something rose from a pile of coins next to Belen’kar. This one was also human, but he had a gaping slash across its chest that had scabbed over previously. Soon others rose from either other piles of treasure or form the ground itself. All of them were armed with a differing assortment of weapons in one hand.
Before these walking dead could begin the attack in full, someone shouted to get out of the riverbed. It could have been Belen’kar for all he knew; fear had dulled his senses. It seemed as if everyone naturally chose to escape by the northern bank, so that was where Belen’kar went. As he climbed, out of the corner of his eye, Belen’kar saw Thorathor sweep the leg out from one of the dead men with his axe. Then Thorathor leapt up the side of the bank and joined the others. But out of the riverbed, Belen’kar heard a terrible scream. He turned to look in the riverbed and saw his fellow Ranger Marack held down by the dead things, which were even now stabbing him repeatedly. The other Rangers made to help their comrade, but Belen’kar knew it was hopeless; no one can kill the dead, after all.
“No!” he shouted to his Ranges. “We can do nothing!” And the Rangers stopped.
“Hurry!” yelled Belari. “To that crag,” he said, pointing to a rather large rock jutting out of the grass to the northeast of them. “We can make a stand there.”
And so the remaining company ran as fast as they could. The attacking walking dead, numbering a score at the least, pursued quickly. So a desperate race began, all the more so because the walking dead never tired. His mind focusing now, Belen’kar realized what had happened; the company had stumbled onto one of the infamous ‘dead traps’ of the Lich. In general, the Lich was unable to bring his full power into Ubernorden, thanks to the blessing flowing through the Adune Sea. But that didn’t mean that the Lich couldn’t extend a little of his power into Ubernorden. By concentrating his power, the Lich could pierce through the Adune Barrier and commit mischief all over South Ubernorden. A favored trick, and about the only thing ever done, was to animate some corpses, called zombies, at a certain point, wait for unsuspecting travelers to cross it, and raise the zombies to kill the living. Even so, these dead traps were a rarity, so rare that Belen’kar half-believed them to be rumor and superstition.
It seemed like an eternity had passed while Belen’kar ran to the crag. Used to running through the tall grass, the Kututu were all ahead, followed closely by Thorathor, who despite wearing armor and his pack, was like a gazelle.
Finally they reached the rock. It was at most twenty feet high from the ground. For the most part, the sides where shear, but there was enough jutting out to make hand holds. The Kututu climbed up first with Thorathor right behind. Belen’kar waited briefly to make certain that his Rangers also made it. Looking behind him, Belen’kar saw that the zombies were running all out and were closer than the thought. Belen’kar started to climb to the top of the rock, but before he got six feet up, a cold, iron-like hand closed around his right ankle.
Belen’kar turned and saw a zombie without any eyes grabbed onto his legs. Belen’kar kicked and struggled, but it was no good. The zombie started to pull Belen’kar down. Looking up to the safety of the rock’s height for inspiration, Belen’kar instead saw Thorathor there with his axe raised high above his head. Before Belen’kar could say anything, Thorathor threw down the axe with tremendous force. Belen’kar heard the axe strike stone and felt his leg become free, though his ankle was still being hurt. Belen’kar then accepted Thorathor’s outstretched arm and allowed himself to be pulled up to safety. Immediately, Belen’kar withdrew his knife and pried the severed zombie hand from his ankle.
“Thank you,” Belen’kar said to Thorathor, but Thorathor paid him no attention. His axe notched and useless now, Thorathor had his short sword out and was staring intently at the zombies surrounding the company. The zombies did not immediately climb up to the now trapped victims. These dead things had no thoughts of their own. So for right now, they simply reached up in an attempt to grasp the legs of the company. But no one was stupid enough to be that close to the edge.
“Good, now we can stay up here until the curse is lifted,” stated Mulari.
“No,” replied Telemenos. “Eventually they will climb up, if only due to their persistence at getting closer to us.”
“We need fire,” Belen’kar stated resolutely. “We can’t kill them, as they’re already dead, and we don’t have nearly enough time to chop them to pieces. So we’re going to have to burn them and hope they’re dry enough to light on fire.”
“Why don’t we just drag them up one at a time and cut them up then?” asked Pataku.
“Because they’re already starting to climb up now,” answered Balas’tid. “If we take the time to chop them up individually, we’ll be defenseless as soon as they get their footing.”
At that, the company searched the rock for any dry sticks that might have been blown up onto the rock. But none was found. Luckily, some of the company had brought their supply of arrows to the rock, instead of discarding them for faster running. Useless against the zombies as they were, the company now took small bundles, about 3 to 5, and tied them into makeshift torches. As this was happening, Thorathor told everyone to bring their ‘torches’ to him. Thorathor then cut his left palm with his sword. He then dropped blood onto a flat stone he had found. With the blood, Thorathor drew a strange rune that Belen’kar quickly recognized from his contact with Icelandic tribes.
“You know how to perform fire magic?” Belen’kar asked in an Icelandic language he knew.
“Of course,” Thorathor replied in the same language. “In Iceland, you must learn how to create fire, by magic or by physics, or you won’t survive long.”
Once Thorathor had drawn the rune, he wrapped his hand in a clean cloth he had, and set to work performing the spell. Belen’kar suspected that Thorathor was casting Red Magic and not Black Magic, so it was unlikely that the stone itself would catch fire. But it would become intensely hot. Indeed, after a few tense moments, the stone began to glow red. Everyone quickly put their arrow shaft torches onto the stone, and quickly they lit on fire. And not a moment too soon, the zombies started to climb.
“Let them up, then push off,” yelled Thorathor as the company began to form a circle.
Belen’kar saw one zombie clamor up with another coming up behind. Once the leading zombie had stood up straight, Belen’kar lounged at it with his torch straight in front of him. Belen’kar had set the arrowheads on fire first so the torch sunk into the lifeless flesh. The zombie didn’t wince or cry in pain at the penetration or the fire like a living person would have. Instead, it made to grab at Belen’kar with its hands. Belen’kar ducked under the zombie’s arms and pushed with all his might whilst keeping an iron grip on his torch. The zombie fell onto its back and flipped over backwards off of the rock. As it fell, Belen’kar noticed flames coming from the zombie, it was now on fire.
The other zombie that had climbed up was now on the top of the rock, feet firmly planted. With a strong kick, Belen’kar struck the zombie’s knees, and took its legs right out from under it. However, the zombie fell forward onto the rock. Belen’kar then grabbed the zombie, its flesh eerily cold and dry, and threw it off the rock.
Belen’kar looked down and saw the first zombie, the fire now spread across most of its upper body, trying to climb again. But if it never acquired any more handholds, it would burn to ash soon enough. Belen’kar turned around to see how the rest of the company fared, and saw Thorathor confronting a zombie with a flaming sword in hand. Thorathor lunged at the zombie, piercing it easily. Then Thorathor placed his foot onto the zombie, and pushed it off of his sword and off the rock. Turning to the rest of the company, Belen’kar saw Salen’zar and Kulthutu throwing a burning zombie off of the rock. No more zombies stood on the rock, but so were fewer of the company. One of the elves, Demeran, was dragged down with a zombie he tried to push off. He was killed before he could clamber back up, with no one available to help him. Also, lying on top of the rock in a pool of his own blood was Pataku. Apparently one of the zombies managed to stab Pataku in the throat and heart. He had died instantly. The rest of the surviving company members, minus Thorathor, gathered around Pataku’s body.
“Will he rise?” asked Belari.
“All those who die, serve the Lich,” Kulthutu responded.
But Salen’zar shook his head. “Doubtful,” he said. “The Lich may be able to keep the zombies ‘alive,’ but he is unable to make more. The Adune Barrier is too strong for him.”
“Ready yourselves!” cried Thorathor, who had remained on the edges of the rock to observe the zombie horde. And so the company got back into position. Some of the approaching zombies were now completely on fire, melted flesh and fat actually dripping off of them. Much like the zombie now before Belen’kar. Belen’kar promptly strode towards the zombie, and gave it a good solid kick to its midsection, and the zombie fell off the rock. Looking down from his position, Belen’kar noticed no other zombies climbing up. So he turned to help others of his company.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thorathor swipe at the legs of a zombie. He swung with such force, that he almost severed the entire leg. Clearly he didn’t need Belen’kar’s help. Instead, Belen’kar went over to Bak’enad’s position. Bak’enad had, quite unfortunately, gotten tied up with a zombie, and was in danger of being either strangled to death, or dragged down to his doom. Belen’kar stabbed the zombie in its head with his torch, and tried to pry the zombie off of Bak’enad. With a mighty tug, Belen’kar managed to loosen the zombie’s grip on Bak’enad . Bak’enad then managed to free himself, and the two of them shoved the zombie to the ground. Only when he tried to rotate the torch in his hand was when Belen’kar realized it was still stuck in the zombie’s head.
Belen’kar looked around for any other battles he could help in. But all the zombies were off of the rock again. Yet once again, there was a casualty. Balas’tid had suffered a stab wound to the side of his abdomen. He was even now being attended to by Norteda. Balas’tid’s wound would have been lethal if it was done to a human, but an elf would survive it, though it was still very painful.
“How many zombies’s have been destroyed, so far?” Belen’kar asked slightly out of breath.
“Four over here,” Thorathor answered indicating his and Belen’kar’s area. He too was showing signs of exhaustion and fatigue.
“One here,” answered Mustafi. “But one more is burning pretty well.”
“Three more over here,” said Salen’zar.
When Belen’kar looked over at Salen’zar, he noticed that another Kututu was missing. It was Beleari, and his loss hit Belen’kar hard. Though they had only known each other for a few days, they had become fast friends due to their similar personalities. But he put it out of his mind for the moment as there were still people in mortal danger, as he knew Belari would have wanted him to do. He did some calculations, and figured there might be 11 zombies left. However, there were only eight people left to fight them off.
“Torches remaining?” asked Thorathor, and those with torches raised them. Sadly there were only five torches left and they were already half burnt. However, there were still some arrows left over, so Belen’kar and others made new torches and set them alight with the leftover torches. After 2 more minutes of breathing space, the zombies climbed the rock again.
Three more times the zombies climbed the rock to murder the remaining living. And in that time more zombies were put to the torch, their dried, dead flesh easily burning. Tragically, more defenders fell to the horrors as well. Salen’zar was the first to go, choked to death before anyone could pry the cold hand off. Norteda foolishly tried to kick a zombie off of the rock, before it could climb up all the way. But as his foot came down onto the zombie, it reached up, put Norteda’s ankle in a cold, vice-like grip, and dragged him from the rock. Balas’tid attempted to help out, but it was no good. Norteda fell with the zombie, and was killed immediately. Soon after, Kulthutu was felled by a zombie. This one, despite being stabbed by Kulthutu’s torch threw Kulthutu onto the rock with such force that he died instantly. He was the last casualty.
The suns were well on their way to setting, and Little Brother was just starting to be visible, when the survivors finally won the battle. All of the zombies had burned completely to ash, or just enough to stop being a threat to the survivors. They all then collapsed into a heap near the center of the rock. They were all breathing heavily and were tired from the day’s fight.
“My tribal brothers are all dead,” said Mustafi sorrowfully. “For the sake of their honor, I will take you the rest of the way.”
“Thank you, Mustafi,” replied Belen’kar. “We would like it if you continued to take us home.” At those words, Mustafi’s chest puffed out with pride.
“How is it that humans can take so much pride in fulfilling a dead man’s pledge?” asked Balas’tid in Tongi, the common elf language.
“Because for them, death is not the end,” Bak’enad replied.
“We should set up camp here,” Thorathor said in his Icelandic language. “There is not enough daylight for us to travel in to our immediate destination. It is a good defensible position. And it is unlikely that we will find a better campsite.”
Belen’kar translated for Mustafi, who agreed readily. Still, it took them a few hours to actually get the energy to build their camp. But afterwards, they readied themselves for bed, just as the day was turning to dusk. They did not set a watch as would be usual, since it was unlikely for anything to climb the rock and attack them; not that they cared tonight. Instead, they all fell asleep, dead to the world.
A few days later, the surviving members of the Ranger team, Belen’kar, Telemenos, Balas’tid, and Bak’enad, their one remaining guide, Mustafi, and Thorathor, their traveling companion, arrived at the farming village of Halati at the southern tip of the Empire of Barnatu. Here they were able to find a place to stay and rest before continuing on in their journey. The rest was sorely needed. The morning after their victory over one of the Lich’s dead traps was spent hauling the corpses of their fallen comrades up onto the rock they had mad their stand. Since none of them had any digging tools on them, they could not bury their dead. So they placed them gingerly on the rock in order to keep them away from predators and other defilers. By that afternoon, the company proceeded off in solemn silence. However, due to Balas’tid’s injuries, their going was slower than before. That was why they stopped here in Halati instead of Tomutuk, the Barnatuvian capital city.
Upon entering the village limits, the Rangers were immediately set upon by the excited villagers. Few of them had ever heard of elves, let alone seen one. As such, the Rangers became like celebrities to the poor villagers. Bak’enad was greatly concerned about this, fearful that their presence could lead to them being attacked and possibly lynched. However, Mustafi told the villagers of their experience on the rocks. After that, the villagers were in awe of the elves and their victory at the Battle of Dead Rock, and could no more hurt the Rangers than their own protectors.
For two days, the company stayed in Halati. They were fortunate enough to find a few residents who were willing to provide room, board, and even fresh clothing for them for the duration of their stay. No house in the village was big enough to hold all of the company, so they had to stay in separate places. However, their landlords were kind enough to let them meet each other in their boarding homes. Belen’kar and Mustafi did just that, with the express purpose of discussing the continuing route north. Belen’kar assumed that Mustafi was simply giving him his thoughts on the route, and not actual directions.
“I must take my leave of you here,” Mustafi told Belen’kar close to noontime on the second day of their stay at Halati. The two were sitting in the common space of Belen’kar’s boarding home. Mustafi had come in to talk with Belen’kar, but Belen’kar did not expect this discussion. “I must tell my people what happened to my ‘brothers’ so that proper respect can be paid to them.”
Belen’kar was disappointed with Mustafi’s decision. He wanted to tell him that he couldn’t, that he had to stay with them. But instead, Belen’kar stood up, walked over to Mustafi, and embraced him in a half-hug. “Thank you for taking us this far,” he said, releasing him. “I hope that your journey home is uneventful.”
“I do, too,” Mustafi replied. “I will also tell of the bravery of you and your people. It should be sung from the mountains to the desert.”
“We would like that,” said Belen’kar. And with that, Mustafi left the company of the Rangers with a group of hunters, who had been at the village to trade in furs.
A few hours after Mustafi had left, Belen’kar was sitting just outside on the ground of his host’s home. He was sitting there just staring off into the distance thinking of nothing in particular. Prior to now, he had been visiting Balas’tid, whose injury was still causing him much discomfort. An elf could heal from any non-fatal injury that they sustained, including lost limbs, but it took a great deal of painful time. This one in particular could take anywhere between sixty to eighty years to heal completely.
Telemenos and Bak’enad were busying themselves with preparing for the next leg of their journey. There was still roughly eighty miles left to go until they got to the Greyback Mountains and the Mesogeios Sea beyond them. Then they would sail east into the Adune Sea, and from there they would travel north for almost a thousand miles until they reached Dabinan. A long ways, but for immortals, it wasn’t so bad.
A movement to Belen’kar’s left caught his eye, and he turned his head. It was Thorathor coming towards him. Like the elves, Thorathor was dressed in a multi-colored robe that covered all of his body, the style of dress amongst the Barantuvian. When he got closer, Belen’kar stood up to talk with Thorathor, for it was obvious he wanted to.
“I am going to leave here tomorrow,” he told Belen’kar without preamble. Belen’kar felt a little disappointment, but understood completely. Thorathor’s destiny lay elsewhere, and not with the Rangers.
“Alright,” replied Belen’kar. “Where do you plan on going?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
“I will continue going east,” Thorathor answered. “I’m not too sure what I’ll be doing there, but I will go nonetheless.”
“Then I wish you good luck, Thorathor Diorivick.” Belen’kar said, taking his arm in a gesture of friendship. “Will you have on last meal with us, before you go?”
“Thank you, no. I wish to make a clean break with you. Not that I’ve disliked being with you,” Thorathor quickly added. “But I am not one for long-term relations.”
“Very well,” said Belen’kar, who half-expected that response. “Farewell.”
Later, near the dusk of the day, Belen’kar met with his Rangers in the common space of their half-way house. “Thorathor is leaving us tomorrow,” he told them. “He said he is continuing on east, but with no destination in mind.”
“We will miss him on the road, I fear,” stated Balas’tid. “He was a surprisingly good companion to have while traveling.” The other Rangers agreed.
“I am afraid that he will resort to banditry and reaving,” Telemenos said matter-of-factly.
“Resort?” Bak’enad snorted out. “He is a reaver, I could tell from his demeanor. He would scour this entire countryside if he could.”
“Undoubtedly,” answered Belen’kar. “But he is not our concern, or our responsibility. Right now, our responsibility is to get home.”
“Do you have a plan in that regard?” Bak’enad asked Belen’kar.
“Yes. We will wait and rest here for at most, four more days, then we will make for the Barnatui capital of Tomutuk. And from there, home.” Everyone agreed to that plan, and then they set out to eat supper.