Yamara - Book 2 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Fizzulthorp and I had planned to return to Elendar by way of the Great Forest, which I had bypassed on my way south since I had gone through Peltarch, which lay several days ride to the east of it. Fizzulthorp insisted upon speaking with the elves of the Great Forest to inform them of his companions deaths. I had no interest in it, but since it was a more direct route, I figured it would save me some time and get me the vengeance I sought a little bit faster.

It seems that fate forever holds different plans for me then what I would have of it. Nearly a week north from the desert we encountered one of the larger trade roads among the free cities of Malatoria. It was heading to the west, and after hailing one of the drivers to inquire as to their destination, we learned it planned to stop at Morovia. Morovia happened to be only three days ride from the Great Forest. I had more then enough gold to buy horses for us when we reached there.

That is how the gnome and I found ourselves in a fight later that night. The wagons had set up camp and invited us to share one of their fires. The food was a welcome change, for in spite of a year of a limited diet, I had not grown the least bit fond of rat. Fizzulthorp had subsisted on foraged nuts, berries, and roots along the way, as well as a coney I had managed to bring down with a thrown dagger two days past. What with sharing the fire and food, my short companion felt somewhat indebted to them. I think that was what kept him around when the first troubles began.

It began with an unnatural chill felt in the bones of even those already sleeping. In mere moments a fey wind had sprung up and swept through the flat area beside the road we had set up. The night had been warm, but now it raised the hair on our arms. From the Cyprus trees on the southern edge of the road dark shapes emerged and moved across the road towards the caravan, seemingly in no hurry. Their movements seemed disjointed and clumsy.

As they neared the light from the fires it became apparent why. It was like a half remembered nightmare from my childhood for me. The dead walked against us. Wearing rotting armor and wielding rusty weapons, they ranged from partially eaten away zombie corpses to the empty grinning skulls of animated skeletons. More continued to emerge from the trees, coming towards us with deliberate purpose.

Had it been my decision, I would have simply slipped away. Matter of fact, I started to do so. It was my knowledge of the gnome that stopped me. I saw him readying himself for battle, setting his sling beside him and concentrating on bringing up his arsenal of spells. I slipped up next to him and lightly put my hand on his shoulder.

"Come, Fizzulthorp, let us away from this. It is not ours to fight," I said, judging how little time we had before the undead would contact the first of the shaken defenders.

He looked at me with surprise in his eyes. Then the look turned hard and he just looked away. "Go if you will, Yamara. I will run no longer."

I sighed and glanced around again quickly. I turned and began walking towards the rising foothills to the north, but stopped before I had walked ten steps. The gnome spoke of his terror laced rout form my traps in the ruins a few days ago. He was fighting this battle for himself as much as for the merchants of the caravan. He had nothing to gain by it save for his sense of self worth. Indeed, by the look of the green caravan guards and the sheer number of undead still emerging from the tree line, it seemed a doomed cause.

What Fizzulthorp had not counted on was his words hitting me. I was running too. I always ran. I ran when Brina had been slain, though I felt it was no fault of mine. I ran again in Barovia. I was even running from my self-imposed exile in the ruins, for fear that much longer would make me begin to face things that I lay hidden and only barely remembered. I ran whenever trouble loomed it seemed. I suddenly felt ashamed. That filled me with rage quick enough. If I meant to exact vengeance on whatever was responsible for killing Brina, I needed to begin to stand up to things. Stealth and avoidance had always been my way of life. Now it was time for me to adopt the way of the warrior.

I turned and walked back towards the road, passing a surprised Fizzulthorp and surprising him with my even and determined stride. I held my short sword and dagger in hand, ready to do battle. I met the lead skeleton before any of the undead had managed to even reach the caravan guards. I left it behind me as a pile of bones with a shattered skull.

The walking corpses turned towards me, converging on my position. I took the fight to them though, refusing to let myself be overwhelmed. Skeletons and zombies are poor adversaries, at best. They have no mind, no skill, and little in the way of defense. Still, they are untiring and unaffected by wounds save for the one that damages them so thoroughly that the magic that sustains their existence can no longer function. That endurance coupled with the vast numbers against me seemed to spell my doom.

Indeed it would have, had it not been for the merchant guards and Fizzulthorp. He let loose some wailing gnomish battle cry, which sounded like the warble from a wounded badger to me, and put his sling to use, flinging rounded lead bullets at the undead. Where his missiles hit, bones were broken but the horde seemed otherwise unaffected. He threw down his sling then, realizing it availed him not, and focused instead on his magic.

The guards charged out from their makeshift bulwarks. The undead had focused on me so with them entertained thusly, several of them were felled before they began to turn their attention back to the small force of men that hacked into their flank. Still, it seemed odd to me that the majority of the undead did not heed this new threat, but instead still lusted for my blood.

Great flames erupted from the ground between me and the woods, roasting the living dead that walked through it with such heat that their putrid skin erupted and their bones burst. The wall of flames roared on, long enough from one end to the other to keep further undead from harassing us. The ones that had crossed the no-mans-land still outnumbered us by a trice, however.

So it was that I continued to lay about with my short sword and dagger, hewing into bony limb after limb. Chips of bones flew from my blades, and rotting flesh was cut asunder. My leathers were in tatters from all the clawing and grasping fingers that came at me, and no limb or large portion of my flesh escaped unscathed from the scrapes and gouges. Yet no weapon found purchase, for I kept them at bay. I seriously doubted any of the rusted and falling apart armaments the undead used would be able to injure me in the first place though.

With a cackle of homicidal glee, Fizzulthorp unleashed another spell. This one sent great sheets of flames out from his diminutive hands, further baking anything unfortunate enough to be caught in its effect. Undead fell and exploded under the heat, no longer a threat to anyone. A few caught at the edges of it pushed on towards the short evoker, their bodies burning as they walked and their bones blackened.

All of this I was only dimly aware of. My blood throbbed in my ears and my face burned hot with my wrath. I only barely avoided slaying a human guard that had gotten to close to me at one point. But watched emotionlessly as bleached white fingers wrapped around his throat from behind and tore deep spurting wounds in it. He fell at my feet, clutching at his throat and gasping for the breath that was his no longer. I growled then, and destroyed the skeleton that had slain him with a fury I did not knew I possessed. I did not care for the guard, but rather in the back of my mind I was reminded of a somewhat similar situation that had happened before. The skeleton was destroyed and eternally lifeless long before my blades stopped hacking at it.

I knew not what fate Fizzulthorp was involved in, and at the moment I did not care. As the unholy mob surrounded me I grinned fiercely. Suicidally. I relished the challenge and the confrontation. Perhaps at last it was a chance for me to find the answers to my questions.

Such was not to be. My fate was delayed for a while it seemed, for a small phalanx of four guards reached me then, and it seemed the worst of the undead horde had been destroyed. A few remained, and those I sought out with a vengeance. Finally I turned to survey the battle scene. The wall of flames was dying down at last, and on the other side no skeleton nor zombie waited. I did see the leader of the force sent against us though, if only for a brief moment. He was tall and mounted upon a steed of pure black, with flaming hooves and fire for eyes. The hellish horse snorted a jet of flames and stomped its fiery hoof on the ground in anger when I stared at it.

Upon its back was a creature wrapped in a cloak of midnight, so dark was it. Red baleful eyes stared out from beneath the hood, meeting my gaze with a hateful fury. The demonic horse stomped once again then turned and was off, riding back into the Cyprus trees and away before any of us could do anything about it. I thought to give chase but realized that, even had I a steed, my horse would be unable to keep up with the dread commander's.

One thing alone had I seen that gave me pause. It was when the beast and its rider turned to leave, I had seen the hands of the rider as they pulled on the reigns. The hands of the captain of the undead force were small. Small and of a very dark color, though with the night so full about us, I could hazard no guess as to any more details.

The remainder of the night was spent in tending the wounded and getting the wagons ready to move out as soon as dawn came. No one seemed of a mood to sleep any longer, and all of us were anxious to be on our way. All of us but me. I spent what time I could scouting the direction our attackers had come from. I was searching for signs or some clue as to what had evoked the attack. For naught it seemed.

We were underway without delay, and reached a small hamlet along the road a few hours past dawn, ere the sun reached its zenith. The usual signs and sounds of life were mysteriously absent, however. It became readily apparent that something was wrong. Gravely wrong.

A quick search started turning up answers. Those answers, in turn, opened more questions. The people were all missing, though by all appearances they had been slain in their homes or whatever place they had chosen to defend. The signs of violence and bloodshed were unmistakable. On a hunch, I wandered to the village's graveyard and found that my guess was true. Here was where some, if not all, of the undead that had besieged us had come from.

"A powerful necromancer caused this," I said after returning to where the nervous merchants and their guards were huddled. "The graveyard is empty, the graves erupted from within."

A few of the more superstitious made signs of protection while others muttered quick prayers. Fizzulthorp frowned mightily. "What makes you suspect a necromancer?" He asked me.

I blinked in surprise at him. "Walking corpses. Empty town. People appear to have died violently before disappearing… call it a hunch."

His frown deepened.

"I like this place not," One of the merchants said, a man named Berigund. "Let us be away, with haste we can make Morovia by nightfall."

The other merchants grumbled agreement, though it strained them to push their wagons and horses as hard as they must. Fizzulthorp motioned for me to follow him before saying, "Yamara and I must take our leave as well, we wish you a safe journey and good profits, friends."

Now it was my turn to frown. For the gnome to take such liberties irritated me greatly. I wondered if perhaps I would make a faster return to Standopolis on my own. Longer legs make for longer strides, after all.

For their part, the merchants expressed regret at our parting. After all, without us to aid them, the attack would probably have been successful. They wasted no time in leaving, in spite of trying to convince us to remain with them. Barely rested, they pulled out again, setting a harsh pace.

Alone with the gnome wizard, I felt it was time for me to confront him. "What was that about?" I demanded.

"I have reason to believe those undead attacked us, not the caravan," He responded, watching fondly as the last of the wagons rolled out of view around a bend in the road.

"And what reason is that?" My voice had dropped back into a colder tone. My hands edged slowly towards my weapons.

"I'm not able to say," Fizzulthorp responded calmly.

I wanted him dead at that point. Clearly he knew more then he was telling me, and where my well being was involved, that was inexcusable. My dagger was in my hand and hovering with its point fractions of an inch from his eye. "You get one chance to try again."

"Is killing me going to make things any better for you?" He asked coldly. He seemed unfazed by the threat to his mortality.

"It will make me feel better."

"The King wants to speak with you," He stated. "James and Brina left Standopolis shortly after you were sent on your mission. I don't know why, but rumor has it that James was acting oddly. Other rumors placed you as an agent of the Dark Lord's."

I cursed. It was neither quiet nor subtle. Fizzulthorp, in spite of being in my company for several days now, flinched visibly at the extent of my vocabulary. All in all, I did not like the way this was turning out. I longed for my peaceful hut back in the ruins to the south surrounded by inhuman monsters. Monsters and carnivorous animals seem such better company then people. There are no animal politicians, after all.

"I was told nothing, save that I am to convey the Kings sincere wishes that you return and that you need fear no harm or betrayal on Elendar's part," Fizzulthorp finally broke his eyes away from my steely gaze; they rested on the tip of the dagger poised a fingers breadth from his right eye.

I favored him with one last scathing glance then sheathed my dirk. Turning sharply, I walked away from him, heading to the east down the road after the wagons.

"Where are you going?" Fizzulthorp called out to me, not moving but clearly bothered by my actions.

"This way," I responded. In truth I was not entirely sure. He had not explained why he had felt the need to separate us from the caravan. I suspected he knew still more then he told me, and secrets of such nature make for poor companions. I intended to find out if the undead truly were after me, and if they were, why? Then, of course, I planned to deal with whoever wanted me dead, if that was indeed the case. So I had a plan and a map to go about it, but my map had no names and no identifiable locations on it.

Fizzulthorp had jogged after me to catch up. I ignored him; I had more then enough of the runt. He, apparently, had not had enough of me. "Yamara wait, you must come to Elendar! Please!"

I stopped and whirled to face him. I bent over and stared right in his face. "Why must I go to Elendar, gnome? Because your King says so? He is no king of mine. I choose to go where I wish. And dissembling and untruthful gnomes shall have no partnership with me!"

I had more on my mind to say to him, but words failed me when all of what he had said to me registered finally. He prepared to defend himself but was likewise silent when he saw that I was suddenly uncertain.

"What's wrong, Yamara?" He asked at length after I turned and sat down on a rock beside the rode rather roughly.

"James and Brina left Standopolis?" I breathed, unable to comprehend the words fully.

"Aye," He said, "I saw it with my own eyes. They left late at night under cover of darkness. James looked pale and not wholly well, Brina I did not see directly, but a woman was in the carriage with him."

I shook my head and closed my eyes. "That's not possible," I whispered, my memories flooding back to me of the fateful night against my wishes. Memories I was not ready to fully relive. I shut my eyes harder and forced them out, growling loudly to distract myself.

"I killed James!" I said, lunging to my feet and glaring at Fizzulthorp. I wanted to kill him too, the lying gnome. I needed to shut him up. Needed to keep him from telling me anything else that I did not want to hear.

"That would explain much," Fizzulthorp muttered, flinching and backing up a step from me defensively.

"It would, would it?" I countered angrily. "What would it explain, gnome?"

My caustic tone meant my questions were rhetoric in nature. I advanced on Fizzulthorp in the hopes of closing the range between us so that I could dispatch of him before he could get any spells off at me.

"It would explain why King Avercrombie wants you to return!" He said hastily. "If you slew James and somehow he still lives yet has left without reason, there must be more at play here then we know. The King needs to know what goes on, and why it is that James has abandoned his position and title."

"Because the murderous bastard betrayed Elendar," I hissed. "As he betrayed Brina and myself."

"What proof have you of this?" He asked, growing bolder since I had stopped advancing on him. "If Brina was betrayed, why does she travel with him?"

I closed my eyes and felt a great knot of tension, rage, and pain welling up within me. I forced it down. "Brina was slain in the same confrontation. It was a wound that could not be healed. The light had gone out of her eyes ere I left them lying on the floor of her chamber."

I opened my eyes to see Fizzulthorp looking at me with an expression on his face that I could not place. It was part disbelief, part sympathy. I think. It was an odd expression, and I was in no condition to be evaluating it reliably.

"Come back with me, Yamara, and this can be resolved. You can be at peace," He said consolingly after a moment while I battled my internal demons.

"The only peace I will have will be with James' head in my hand," I spat out. I turned then and started walking, my fury giving me strength.

"Where will you go?" Fizzulthorp asked, at once racing to fall in step beside me.

"Where has he gone?" I asked.

"James? I, uh… well, we're not sure," He admitted.

"Then I go to Dagrazt's realm."

Fizzulthorp's breath hissed between his teeth. He stopped abruptly and stared after me for a moment before he rushed forward to be at my side again. "Why the dark one? I figured this to be more of a Gneissian plot."

I pondered the possibilities of Fizzulthorp's idea. It had merit, I had to admit, for that would make my aborted mission to Gneiss that much more logical. With allies and friends in Gneiss, he could dispose of me far easier then he could in Elendar. One thing bothered me enough to disprove that option.

"I would agree with you, were it not for the fact that I killed him. Dead, totally. Brina may have merely been hovering on death's door, but James was beyond a doubt slain."

"Why does that make it impossible for Gneiss to be involved?" He asked, not understanding me.

"The only way James could be up and about is if he were undead himself, and as much as I dislike Gneissians, they are not the type to negotiate with the dead."

"A powerful Gneissian priest could have resurrected them."

I laughed scornfully. "Bring them back from the dead to life restored? Ha! A fanciful children's tale."

"Yamara," Fizzulthorp said in grave seriousness, "Gneissian priests have that power. The Gods we know of grant their individual priests more varied powers then Cymbos gives his worshippers, but their high priests have more power then ours, and among them include to ability to restore life to the dead. It is an exhausting and expensive ritual, but they can be done."

Once I accepted the possibility, it made sense to me that Fizzulthorp thought it possible that James had gone to Gneiss. After all, in the sewers he had shown as pure a hatred of orcs attacking Standopolis as any I had seen. Much more then his apparent dislike of Gneissian's. It seemed to neat to me though, and I found that it did not sit right with me. I stopped and glanced about the countryside briefly.

"No," I finally said, staring off at the path ahead of us. "James has switched over to the Dark One's side."

"How do you know this?" He insisted.

I glanced at him, the look of conviction in my features unmistakable. "I dreamed it."

His mouth open, I left him standing on the rode as I continued west again. Fizzulthorp remained standing silently, watching me go. He shook his head and started north, heading towards Morovia and a horse, then stopped and looked at me again. He cursed under his breath and hurried after me, falling silently in beside me as I continued my course.

Continued in Chapter 5

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