Author: Tristraam
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I
"The banquet is over," Rigodor Broadbelt reflects to himself as he looks out across the barren plains. "All the glory of Atonica has been swept from the table, shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor. And the few scraps and morsels remaining are being picked over by scavengers." He suppresses a shudder, thinking of the small hooded figures behind him. Likening them to bits of food is not the most comforting way of starting the day's journey.
From atop the hill, he can take in the whole of the land before them. He has only been this far west once before, and it was some 40 years ago at that but, dear Tunare, the changes. It reminds him of the old picture-puzzles that Nanna Broadbelt used to make and sell at the Harvest Fete. Rigo had always been fascinated that she would take all that time to create such a lovely painting, and then cut it up into bits. Jiggy-soars, she called them.
"Not e'ryone has time nor skill t' draw'r the'selves, so I helps 'em along," she would say, "Now, even ol' Burgle Ruddershins, who's all the 'magination of a deer-tick, an' hands that shake like'n he's carryin' two bowls of ice in a snowstorm, even he can be makin' hi'self a genuine bit 'o artwork. All it takes is a bit o patience..."
All it takes is a bit of patience, Rigo thinks to himself as he surveys the decimated land. He shakes his head and whispers, "Nay, Nanna. It'll take more'n patience to put the pieces of this jiggy-soar together again. Karana himself will have to fix this land."
"Rigo?" a tiny voice queries from behind him, "I'm 'ungry, me."
"Wilibel Ferncoat!" exclaims another voice reproachingly, "ye've only jest et'n yer breakfast less'n two hour ago. I cannae believe ye're hungry again. Na'er have I see such a belly, yer greedy sod." Gilliflower, being nearly two years older than her brother, feels it is her duty to keep him in line.
"It's alright, Gilli, " Rigo says, turning back to face his charges. "It's been a long walk through the hills, and I'm sure we can all use a snack."
He reaches into his pack and gives them each a handful of dried fruit, "Nae much, I'm afraid, but what we have needs to last us 'til we reach Qeynos, and that's still at least three days away."
"Apparantly breakfast weren't all that recent, eh Gilliflower?" Rigo says. Gilly grins sheepishly as she and her brother both eagerly munch on the dried bits of apple and pear.
II
He'd found them two weeks ago, frightened and alone, trapped in their family's caravan. From what he could gather, they were farmers, making their way to Qeynos and the safety it promised. At some point, they had come under attack by orcs. Of their father, there was no trace. Back-tracking and deduction lead Rigo to believe that the father had lead the orcs off, giving the mother and her children time to escape. He could find no trace of the father, nor his pony. Both had been taken.
Their mother had frantically driven the caravan on towards Qeynos. However, in her panicked haste to save her children, she lost control and they had gone off the road and tumbled down the side of a small ravine; Rigo found her crushed beneath. The children had been cushioned by a motley combination of clothing, food and luck, but were trapped inside the mangled remains of their home.
He managed to free them from the wreck, and helped them bury their mother. He could tell they wanted to search for their missing father, but he knew it was too dangerous. "Your father sent me to find you. He's leading the orcs away, and will meet us in Qeynos. He cannae return here, because the orcs might follow him. In Qeynos you will all be safe. Tis a brave thing he is doing for you, and you should be proud of him." The lie sounded so hollow in Rigo's ears, but it did the trick. After gathering what they could carry from the wreckage of the caravan, they began the long trek to Qeynos.
It had been slow going, but through wood and cave and mountain they had come, thanking The Goddess each night for another day of successfully avoiding those creatures that would do them harm, and praying that the next day be the same.
And now here they were, mere days from salvation, and into perhaps the most perilous part of their journey. For the broken plains of Karana offered little in the way of cover or shelter, and plenty in the way of danger. He new this land was ripe with orcs and gnolls, plus a rich assortment of feral creatures and undead monstrosities. Any one of them would find three halflings a delightful treat. It was up to him to ensure that they were all disappointed.
III
Rigo crouches to the ground, scanning the sparse grassland for tracks and other signs of disturbance. His nose curls as he sniffs the air, catching hints of creatures that have passed by recently: Wolf, bear, lion, urgh! Zombie. "Bleaech!!" he squelches, gagging at the back of his throat. "Gods, they stink like Bertoxxulus' backside, and the scent is at least four hours old!"
Straightening up, he scans the horizon for a moment. Satisfied that there are no immediate threats, he calls to the children and they continue their march across the emaciated plains. His senses are on full alert for danger as they pick their way westward. They have been hill and tree hopping for two days now and, by Tunare's blessing have managed to avoid any major threats. His goals have been two-fold in keeping for vertical landmarks. Not only do they provide visible goals for the children to set (so their journey is broken up into bits, rather that one endless trek) but, should the come into danger, an elevated position would provide for better visibility and a greater defence. Also, a good tree is one of the safest places to sleep in a land where cover is all but nonexistant.
Not that he has been sleeping all that much. With two farmlings in tow, and their protection to worry about, sleep is a liability he can ill afford. The heavy bags under his eyes merely hint at the weariness in his bones.
"Hold it together, Rigo," he mutters. Closing his eyes, he whispers a quick incantation. Blues wisps of light escape from his fingertips and curl about his body like luminous snakes. Immediately he begins to feel alert and refreshed. At the back of his mind however, he knows he can't rely on this feeble spell to keep him alert. His skills are finite, and eventually the strain will be too much.
"Two more days," he silently repeats the litany that has been counting down in his mind since entering these lands, " 48 hours. 80 miles, and we'll be safe."
IV
It is approaching dusk as their final goal for the day peeks into sight over the hills. "There, you see Wil, " Rigo says, gesturing to the twisted figure of an oak tree in the distance. "Not as far as all that. We'll be there in just a few minutes, and then we can rest for the night."
"And eat, aye?" Wilibel visibly brightens. "We 'ent et fer hours, an' I'm starving, me!"
Gilliflower begins to speak, but the weariness of the day's journey, combined with the rumblings in her own stomach hold her tongue. She seems satisfied with an exasperated sigh and a quick roll of her eyes.
"Off we go then, youngs ones. There's a fine feast in my rucksack for'en we reach yon tree, and the ground between won't move itself."
Adjusting his pack, Rigo leads the children down the slope of the hill towards the their destination. Then, as they reach the bottom, a whiff of scent catches his nose and stops the breath in his chest.
"Wolves," he whispers in alarm, his eyes darting about the area.
The word has only just escaped his mouth when, like ice water trickling down his back, the sound he dreads rises into the air, "Roooooo aooo!" The call echos from behind them. It is immediately answered by two more distant howls, their locations obscured by the surrounding hills.
Whether from their animal cunning or his own fatigue, the wolves had somehow gotten the drop on them. There isn't time for anything else. "Children, go! Make for the tree, as fast as your legs will carry you!" crys Rigo without hesitation.
Their tiny legs ablur, the young halflings scurry accross the sparse plain, their breathing harsh with terror. Rigo follows behind them, his head turning left and right, searching for threats in the distance. With a ragged growl, the first wolf appears over the hill behind them, followed closely by another. Steam trails from their jaws as they rush down after their prey. The lead wolf howls an alarm, and from behind a small rise to their left, two more wolves join the chase.
Suddenly Wilibel tumbles forward, his ankles clicking together as he loses his footing. His sister stops and screams to him as he rises to his knees, turning his head to see behind them. A small tuft of grass drops from his bruised forehead as he utters a frightened cry of his own. The wolves are fast closing the distance to them.
Immobilised with fear, the young halfling continues to scream, his cheeks dusty and damp with tears, his head slumped forward and twitching with each sob.
With a surge of adrenaline Rigo lunges forward, scooping Wilibel up as he begins to sprint for the safety of the tree. The boy gives a startled "Whuff!", the air rushing from his tiny lungs as Rigo tosses him over his shoulder. Gilliflower is cut off, mid-scream, as he catches her around the stomach and hauls her onto his other shoulder. Frantically he charges on, his stunted legs searing with the added weight of the children.
He could now hear the quick breath of the wolves as they closed in, their feet padding angrily on the earth as they came ever closer. He new they could smell the childrens' fear. Their frenzy was palpable.
"Blessed Tunare give me strength to protect them," he prays silently as his feet cover the last few yards of ground.
Approaching the tree, Rigo dips his knees and, with a wrenching grunt, pushs off into the air, tossing the children up onto the lowest branches.
"Climb! High as you can!" he shouts, turning to face his foes. He draws his swords, crouching to a defensive position as the wolves close on him. With a grim smile, he mouths an incantation and the twin blades glow red with power. And with that they are upon him.
V
The first wolf barrels towards him, its ravenous eyes fixed upon his throat. It leaps, jaws agape, but Rigo dives to the left. The beast meets the tree like a leather sack filled with butter, utters a whine of agony and falls still to the ground.
Leaving him no time to recover, the second wolf pounces at the halfling, bowling him backwards with a startled "Oof!" Rigo bends forward as he hits the ground. Tucking his knees upwards and kicking out with his legs, he vaults the wolf over his body, sending it sprawling some 20 feet behind him. He kips up to his feet, swinging both his blades round to meet in the centre of his body, neatly beheading a third wolf. Roughly 10 seconds have passed.
The remaining five wolves, their momentum broken, now circle Rigo, probing for weaknesses in his defence. They dart forward, snapping their jaws, then skip back, just out of sword length. The beast that struck the tree, now visibly limping, joins his pack-mates as they continue their deadly orbit. Another wolf nips forward, taking a quick bite at his ankles. The halfling brings his left blade down a heartbeat too late, cleaving the ground where its head was. He turns and swings his right arm out, just missing a second wolf as it hops out of range.
Again and again they test him, diving forward, then ducking back. His arms beginning to throb with fatigue, Rigo's breath comes and goes in rough gasps as he turns to face each new threat. "They're wearin' me down for the kill," he thinks to himself, "I've got t'end this soon."
He drops to one knee, lowering his hands. One wolf takes the bait and rushes for his throat. Rigo brings his right arm up, driving the blade deep into the wolf's exposed chest. In one swift motion he pulls his right arm back, drawing the blade out. With a triumphant cry he swings his other blade round, stabbing it downwards through the beast's skull, pinning it to the earth. The wolf's body gives a final twitch, then collapses.
"Rigo, look out!" squeals a small voice from above. He turns his head upward to see Wil perching on the lowest branch, frantically pointing.
"Wil!" he cries, too late. The old branch groans under the young halfling's movements. With a hollow snap, it collapses, sending the child flailing to the ground below.
The wolves turn their heads in unison, eyes narrowing on the tiny halfling. Rigo hasn't time to react as the injured alpha male, eager to avenge its embarrassing collision with the tree, pounces on his back, driving him down. His remaining sword parts with his hand, clattering out of arm's reach. He twists round, jamming his free hand under its snout, and wrestles to keep its jaws from finding his throat.
Rigo turns his head to see Wil cowering at the base of the tree. The wolves seem torn between grabbing the weaker prey and helping their injured leader with the larger meal. Rigo intends to deprive them of both.
Closing his eyes, he presses his free hand to his chest and focuses his mana. With a word, his eyes glow with emerald light. The attacking wolf yelps in pain as thorny spikes sprout from the halfling's skin, cutting angry welts into the pads of its feet. Taking advantage of this momentary distraction, Rigo kicks out, pushing the wolf from his body and sliding him into reach of his sword. His fingers close around its hilt and the wolf, recovering from its surprise, leaps towards him again.
Giving a strangled cry, he swings with all his strength. The blade connects with the wolf's gaping mouth, severing its lower jaw with a wet crunch and sending it flying into the brush. It stands there a moment, eyes bulging, bloody tongue dangling limply. With a gurgling whine it slumps forward, dead.
Suddenly, a piercing scream cuts through the dusk. The other wolves, losing their courage but still hungry for blood, charge at Wilibel. Rigo turns and scrambles to his feet, but too late. One of the retreating beasts grasps the young halfing's arm in his jaws and drags the shrieking boy away into the dark mist of the evening. Knowing he hasn't the speed to catch them, Rigo moves his hands and utters a spell. Cerulean sparks emit from his fingertips, then flicker out of existance. Desperately, he repeats the motions, but again the spell falls impotent from his weary hands. The magic has gone from him, his mind too drained.
He takes a few steps toward the now distant cries, preparing to give chase regardless, when the pitch of screaming rises far beyond terror, and is abruptly silenced. There is a heartbeat of aching stillness, and then, "Roooooo aooo!" A deathly howl of triumph arises, echoed again and again. The wolves have their blood.
"Rrrrrraaggghhh!" the anguish escapes from Rigo as he falls to his knees, weeping. The boy is gone. He slumps forward, leaning his weight on his sword, his forehead coming to rest on its hilt. He mutters a soft prayer, voice hitching and choking as he speaks. Arms shaking in protest, he rises to his feet and stumbles back to the tree. Despite his anger and sorrow, despite his weariness and despair, depite the anguish of failure hanging on his shoulders like an iron cloak, part of him knows that he still has one more life to protect. He can hear tiny sobs from above as he approaches.
VI
They sit huddled together in the branches of the tree. Rigo holds the child to him, his cloak warming their weary bodies.
"I'm alone now, me," Gilliflower whispers, her voice shaking. "Mam, Dad, Wil, all gone."
"Nay, wee one. Once we reach the city, i'm sure your father will be waiting with open arms." Rigo says, stroking her hair.
She shakes her head, looking up at him, "You can tell me real. I'm nae too young to fig'r the truth. I know dad were taken."
He shifts slightly, but Gilli continues, "He were strong, Dad, but he were earth-strong. He were nay a war'yer. He did what'n he knew would save us, and it worked. It mostly worked, " she looks down to the broken branch below them.
Rigo sighs, "Aye, Gilliflower, he may be gone. Orcs are a viscious breed, and many a one of them were on him. But orcs ent clever, not like a halfling with his wits about him, as I ken your father were. It may well be that he escaped them." he paused a moment. "But whatever his fate, I know two things for true, without ever meeting him. I know he loved ye all ver' much - to sacrifice hi'self without hesitation shows me that."
"And, whether he be on this world or in the planes, whether he be of body, or of spirit, I know Tunare is with him. She'll nae always come when we calls her, but she's still always watching, and when a halfling of worth passes on, she's there to guide him into the next life. I know this in my bones."
"Even if they are all gone, you're nae alone, bonny. Rigodor Broadbelt will be with ye til the last of yon stars winks out from the sky. On my life I promise ye that much. I'm nae your father, nor your brother, but I can still be yer family."
"Aye Rigo," the young halfing looks up at him, eyes glistening in the twilight, "alright." Pressing her head against his chest, she weeps.
Smiles are still long off for the girl, laughter but a faint promise across a cold sea of sorrow. But sorrow shared goes long towards crossing that distance.
40 miles from Qeynos, in the misty twilight, atop an ancient oak tree, the two halfings sleep.
--end--
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