A Sartar campaign

From: Pete Newallis <reaper_at_echo.sound.net>
Date: Sun, 22 Jun 1997 12:02:52 -0500 (CDT)


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THE SARTAR CAMPAIGN Part I
The campaign begins in Earth Season in the sixth year after the death of Prince Salinarg and the fall of Boldhome.

Dramatis Personae
Femura - former sheepherder now an aspiring warrior. Skorri - farmer's daughter and healer-to-be, cousin to Femura. Ulf Askison - sometimes called Ulf the Ugly, son of a warrior and cousin to Femura and Skorri.
Kronan - a giant barbarian warrior.
Elmeera - a Varmandi girl-child.
Tyrea Falgorth - a distant relative of the cousin's, she ran away from home to see the world.
Iskalli Silver-tongue - chieftain of the Varmandi Clan. Rastorlanth the Dark - Iskalli's son and heir. Nial - a follower of Rastorlanth.
Ottar - an older warrior and initiate of Humakt. Harald Bjornson - a Varmandi.
Dort - new warrior of Iskalli's.
Torkal - Enomotarch [Lieutenant] of the Lunar Empire. Aradan Windlord - Champion of Clan Varmand and the most famous living Varmandi.
Yakarth - the last of the new warriors sworn in Storm season of 1608. Emrys Lodanson - son of the chief of clan Anmangarn, Iskalli's foster son and nephew.
Shawanii - shaman/priest of the Ithillian-Fane. Kymry - warleader of the Ithillian-Fane. Zarmog - great troll
Komar Kag - a huge dark troll Death Lord of Zorak Zoran.

    3/1608
"A Fateful Meeting"

      The three Varmandi cousins - Femura, Skorri, and Ulf - having finished
      the earth season

harvesting and shearing set out to find their fortune. They head for the Varmandi clan hall so that Femura and Ulf can take service in the chief's guard. While on the way they encounter a giant barbarian warrior defending a young girl against six Orleving raiders. The cousins help drive off the raiders after the warrior kills one and injures several. The giant is called Kronan and is also heading for the clan hall to take service. The girl is a fourteen year old Varmandi named Elmeera. As they flee, the Orlevings swear vengeance for Olaf, the slain raider.

    4/1608

      After several tests of skill, Kronan and the three cousins find places
      in the service of

Iskalli Silver-tongue and they find a distant Varmandi cousin - Tyrea Falgorth who also joins Iskalli's guard. They also discover that not all of their fellow guardsmen are overjoyed to make their acquaintance. A large warrior named Nial, a friend of Iskalli's son Rastorlanth, called the Dark, appears to dislike all the companions on sight and after a heated wrestling match he develops a particular animosity towards Kronan.

  3/5/1608

      The Warriors Oath to the Chief 
      By Truth and Honor, in the hearing of Orlanth Rex and all the gods I
      [name] swear by the power in my soul, by the breath in my body, by my
      feet upon the Earth, and by the sword in my hand that I will give faith
      and fealty to Iskalli, Chieftain of the Varmandi, until released from
      his service or death takes me.


"The Hunt for Bjorn's Bane"
After a too brief thaw, the land is reclaimed by the dark, icy grip of winter. The

companions take the Warrior's Oath and the new warriors are feasted by their chief. But the feast is interrupted by the entrance of Harald Bjornson who brings a woeful tale of the death of his father and most of their family by some fell demon - Bjorn's Bane. The hall is silent until Iskalli stands and swears - "Only cowards and cravens stay home tonight! We hunt Bjorn's Bane!" The warriors split up into hunting parties each led by an experienced warrior.
      The companions are led by Ottar, a quiet, older Humakti.  With them is
      Dort, another

new warrior. Trudging through howling blizzards and tall snow drifts, the companions finally stumble upon Bjorn's Bane inside a ruined farmstead. The slayer of Bjorn is an enormous eight-headed Hydra-dragon-snail. Together they slay it - brave Femura delivers the death blow - but too late for poor Dort. He has taken a mortal wound that not even Skorri's healing can staunch. Saddened by Dort's death, but buoyed up by their victory, the companions return to the hall of Silver-tongued Iskalli. In reward for their valor the warriors each were gifted with a heavy arm-ring of carven bronze.

  6/5/1608
"The Accusation"

      A deputation arrived from the Orleving clan demanding bloodprice for
      Olaf Orleving,

the raider slain by Kronan. The Orleving's claim that they were attacked without provocation by Kronan, Ulf, and Femura. Moreover they maintain it took place on Orlev clan land. As surprise (disguised) supporting witnesses they bring several Lunar soldiers led by their enomotarch, Torkal. The disguise is discovered by Tyrea in time to warn Iskalli. Aradan Windlord departs the hall; but returns at the trial to reveal, beneath his cloak, the girl-child Elmeera; rescued from the brigands that would have silenced her. On her testimony, the charges against the companions are found to be baseless and Iskalli banishes the Orlevings involved from Varmand clan lands. Unfortunately Elmeera is an orphan, the brigands attack has killed both her parents, but Iskalli the great-hearted chief of the Varmandi will see to her fostering.

1/1609
"The Hide of the Ancestor"

      After an early spring planting, a warband is led by Iskalli on a horse
      raid to the

Grazelands. Included in the band are Femura, Ulf, Kronan and Tyrea; as well as Yakarth the warrior and Emrys Lodanson. But the horse herds of the Grazelanders are not left unguarded, during the confusion the aforementioned warriors are separated from the band and harried into Beast Valley, there to encounter the Ithillian-Fane, a centaur-like crossing of lion and man. Rather than the way back to their comrades, the companions stumbled on the site of a small, fierce battle where several lion-men corpses were strewn about a little vale. As they looked for signs of the killers, they noticed thirty or so lion-men approaching led by an elder who introduced himself as Shawanii and announced, "Your fate has led you here. You are a part of what is now to happen. You should return with me to the camp of my clan." Perhaps they saw their fate or perhaps the thirty armed lion-men warriors convinced them of the discretion in following Shawanii's advice; but the companions followed Shawanii to the camp of the Ithillian-Fane.
      The camp consisted of fifty or more hide lean-to shelters.  On a
      nearby hill stood the

remains of a small stone fort or castle; the walls a meter high and overgrown, and only a single story of the keep remained. Shawanii led the party through the crowded camp to his own, quite large, shelter. He offered the companions raw meat and water, Kronan and Yakarth partook of the former but only Kronan seemed to enjoy it. The others made a fire and toasted meat on sticks.
      Shawanii returned at nightfall and invited the companions to the
      funeral for the slain

Ithillian-Fane. He instructed them in the proper actions for the Daka Fal funeral rite. The torchlit procession wove its way to a bare stone gully where many raised wooden platforms stood. Each body was placed on its own newly built platform and various tribe members placed gifts with the bodies. Shawanii performed the Daka Fal rite then, extinguishing their torches, all departed in darkness.
      The next day after a breakfast of more water and toasted meat,
      Shawanii explained the

situation to the companions.
      We are the Spirit Scar clan of the tribe of the Ithillian-Fane;
      custodians of the Hide of the Ancestor, which is a holy relic of great
      magical power.  Our Fated Warriors were returning this artifact to
      the clan; now they are dead and the Hide is lost to us all.  Great is
      the honor debt of the tribe; and as it was you who first found the
      death place of our Fated, this burden is also yours.  But Fate and the
      Ancestor will choose those of the clan who shall redeem our honor. 
      Your situation is not so simple; first you must prove yourself worthy
      of the Test of Fate.  Your champion must meet the champion of the
      tribe to determine your fate.


"Must combat be to the death?" asked Tyrea.
"Only if Fate demands, otherwise till one or the other cannot continue."

"What if we don't wish to fight?" Emrys inquired.
      You do not understand.  You are involved; it is your fate.  Either you
      attempt to prove yourself worthy to be tested or the clan will fall on
      you and slay you all.  This is our way.  You go forward or you die.  You
      have one hour to choose.

      Kronan, Ulf, and Yakarth all volunteered to be the party's champion. 
      They boasted of

their deeds and abilities; Kronan offered to fight the others, the survivor to be champion; but his offer was declined due to the danger that the champion would be too injured to fulfill his role. Thus no decision was reached. Eventually it was decided, since everyone's fate rested on the champion, that all the companions would vote - a black pebble for Kronan a white for Yakarth. But the vote was tied - three to three. Finally, Kronan and Yakarth tested their strength and fitness by arm wrestling. Amazingly, Yakarth won, obviously Stormbull must not have favored the enterprise.
      Yakarth would face the clan's champion and warleader, Kymry, a
      large,powerful lion

man. The combatants could wear no metal armor but any weapons or spells were allowed. No outside aid or intervention would be permitted. Events looked bad for the companions as Yakarth doffed his bronze ringmail armor in preparation for battle. Kymry and Yakarth entered a circle of packed sand bordered with a twisted hide rope. Around them stood the host of the Ithillian-Fane and the remaining companions. Yakarth bore sword and shield, Kymry shield and spear.
      The combatants paused to assess each other while they cast their
      battle magic. 

Yakarth had decided, that without armor, his one chance against a larger and more experienced fighter was to demoralize his foe at the outset. Thus while Kymry cast his magic Yakarth attacked with his spell. The luck of Orlanth was with him, for his spell overcame his foe's power. Kymry became a little more hesitant in his motions. Fortunate for Yakarth, for even bespelled Kymry seemed more than a match for his human opponent. Yakarth was rocked by blow after blow; he barely parried each one. His return strokes seemed weak in contrast. Finally, tired from the rain of blows, his guard slipped and Kymry landed a powerful blow. Yakarth reeled, dizzy with pain he barely managed to stay on his feet. But Kymry was overconfident. In closing in for the finish he left an opening that the human did not miss. He thrust his sword into the lion-man's breast. Kymry fell and Yakarth raised his blade in victory for a moment before crumpling over his fallen foe.
      The companions rushed forward to heal their friend and the lion-man
      did the same for

their warleader. Though grievously wounded in the battle, healing spells helped the two recover swiftly. Shawanii announced, "Rest now. The Test of Fate will be at Yelm's dawning."
      Just before dawn, Shawanii led the companions along with all the
      warriors of the tribe

to the ruins atop the hill. The outside walls of the ground floor of the keep stood the height of a tall man and were roofed by many hides sewn together, making a large low-ceilinged room. Below the smoke hole in the center of the room a large fire blazed; small tendrils of smoke escaped the column of rising air to form a dark haze below the hides. All the members of the tribe present, save only the shaman, formed a great circle around the blaze and then lied down facing the fire. A space was left clear for the companions and Shawanii indicated that they should join the circle. After they had done so, he circled around the outside and handed everyone a small, brown, kobbly root from a leather bag slung at his waist. After everyone had eaten of the tough, fibrous root, Shawanii left the chamber.
      Gradually, one by one, each person present slipped into a more
      relaxed state.  They

stared at the fire, smelled the smoke, heard the flames crackle and burn as the wood was consumed but with no real sense of how much time had past. Each was caught in a unique moment of time. Some people cried out in tongues known and unknown; occasionally someone got up and left. Eventually each of the companions fell asleep and dreamed.

Yakarth's Dream
I stand in a dark forest. I can see by an eerie half-light. There is no sound. The trees are black and seem malevolent. Gradually I become aware that I am on a path, walking. Intermittently I can hear noises: my breathing and the sound of my footsteps, howling, the clatter of weapons on shields, the screams of maimed men and women, the roar of a battle. Before me lie many footprints, ranging in size from very large to very small. An ugly, corrupt human form confronts me upon the path and after a long, hard fight; I slay it. The forest becomes a little brighter and I feel both sad and proud.

Emrys' Dream
Yelm is very hot; he sucks the moisture and strength from me as I walk on an endless plain of scorched grass. Thirst is a fire raging through my body; this is the way it has always been, will always be, I know only this. Far away there is a small blob of darkness. This is new; I begin to run. As I come closer I see it is a black-clad man sitting at a small camp fire, staring into the flames. I call out to him but he does not respond. I see he has a water-skin and I reach down and pick it up, seeking to quench the awful thirst but the water-skin is empty. I drop it and begin to laugh and cry at the same time. Distantly I see the old man reach with both hands into the fire. He scoops up a double handful of flames, they form a pool in his hands like liquid. He offers the fire to me. At once I kneel before him and drink. My thirst is eased and vitality pours through me. I look into the old man's eyes for a moment and he smiles. As I walk away the thought comes to me that I know who the old man is.

Ulf's Dream
I walk in the dark on a paved road. To my right hangs a dead man, strung from the branch of an old tree. A chill wind touches my heart, as I recognize that the man is me, and the thing that kills me stands at my back. Already I know I cannot defeat it. I try to walk faster but my limbs are as ice and the next step is never completed. My will turns to water and I begin to whimper in fear; and though I wish to, I cannot run from that which is behind me in the great darkness, reaching out for me. I feel a hand touch my shoulder; at once I am filled with strength and courage. I turn and face the dark.

Tyrea's Dream
It is dark and silent. Every inch of my body is pressed against firm, moist earth. With growing horror I realize I have been buried alive! I begin to writhe, to claw and scrape at the earth, searching for a way out. Slowly, I painfully crawl upward through the dirt. Eventually I reach the surface. It is night and the red moon burns full above me. Nearby there is a ruined keep and I begin to walk towards it. My unnaturally heightened sense of smell brings me a scent of death and decay which I recognize as that of other ghouls. I throw back my head and howl in despair. Other howls answer from nearby as my new kin rush to greet me. I turn and flee from them, overcome by fear and horror. I run through a graveyard until I come to a low, truncated hill with a great, dark monolith at its summit. Pursued, I climb the hill. I feel the monolith's ancient power - and I am afraid. I come near to it, knowing that to touch it is to be destroyed. The other ghouls call to me to come away, to join them. The choice is clear. I reach out to the monolith and touch ...

Femura's Dream
I stand at the foot of a huge black mountain. Above me rocky crags loom, sharp as knives to rend my flesh. I know I must climb but I don't see how I can hope to succeed. But I begin because I must. Slowly I rise foot by torturous foot. The rocks are brutal and the icy wind burns my skin. As I ascend the rocks are rimed with frost and a hundred times I nearly plummet as my hands slip. My arms and legs ache with effort and my lungs are on fire. I feel that I cannot breathe. Exhaustion takes its toll and at the next patch of ice my hands lose their grip and I fall hurtling down into the darkness at the mountain's feet. I scream, but cannot save myself. I am helpless. But before I reach the ground and die, I feel a hand take mine. It pulls me to safety. And with its touch comes a warm breeze that relieves my pain and exhaustion and I know that I am truly safe. I turn to give thanks, but see no one there. I return to the mountain, alone and yet not alone. For as I climb the warm wind is still with me.

After their dream, each companion rose and left the chamber. Outside each was met by the shaman, who asked to hear their dream. To each he said.

      Your dream contains both dark and light intermixed.  If you are strong
      enough to survive the dark you will live to see the light.  But before
      you can come to the light you must face darkness and hardship upon
      this quest, for your dream tells me that you have been chosen by
      Fate and the Ancestor to strive to regain his Hide.

      Those found acceptable, human and lion-men, were ritually scarred on
      the upper right

arm with the Spirit Rune. The wounds were then bound with leaves to aid healing without inhibiting scarring. To help them, the shaman gave them two items, to Kymry a claw tipped hickory stick adorned with red feathers and to Yakarth a rune engraved gourd rattle. Each would allow the possessor to summon the ghost of one of the tribe's ancestors to aid them.
      That same day the Fated Warriors set out on their quest.  The trail
      was cold but the

Ithillian-Fane are superb trackers. Their skill made light work of traces often too faint for the companions to see even when they were pointed out. Traveling swiftly by forced marches brought the party to the outskirts of a small wood shortly before dusk of the second day. The scouts brought word that there was a troll camp ahead.
      The camp was in a rough clearing and consisted of nine tents of thick,
      heavy hide.  Two

tents were in the center side-by-side with the remaining seven tents fanning out like the spokes of a wheel. The scouts reported that the camp was guarded by trollkin under cover in the trees. The party decided to have the lion-men sneak closer while the less wood-wise humans charged into the camp from the north.
      For a time all went as planned, the trollkin guards were killed or
      scattered and the

companions fought their way to the central tents. Then a dark troll that had lurked within one of the southern tents cast a spell of darkness before the companions. Most of the companions bravely leapt into the blackness, which proved to be some sort of curtain of darkness. Meanwhile, Emrys on his huge warhorse attempted to circle around the fringes of the spell. Past the curtain, the friends moved to the tent on their right but out of it sprang a huge great troll armed with a two-handed sword. He engaged Femura and Kronan while Ulf held off a trio of spear wielding trollkin. Yakarth shook his rattle at the great troll. No sound was heard but between the two a misty golden figure of a lion-man began to form. It surrounded the troll clawing him with pale, ghostly talons. With the ghost's aid the troll soon fell, defeated.
      But he had been just a means to delay the companions.  For from the
      second tent

emerged an enormous dark troll, his bulky figure armored in lead-grey chainmail. His blood red shield was the size of a table and his black mace fairly dripped with fell spells of death. Yakarth and Tyrea retreated through the wall of darkness to circle around behind this fearsome new foe and Ulf, run through by a trollkin's spear, could not reach his friends. Kronan and Femura faced the monster alone. His first blow shattered Kronan's shield and drove him to his knees. The troll's mail and shield turned the humans' lesser blows. His next stroke broke the barbarian's leg leaving him senseless and bleeding. Femura moved to stand over her fallen comrade. Next to the powerful, corpulent mass of the troll she looked like a tiny, frail child. Shrilly shouting a war cry, she swung at her opponent, but again his shield swept aside her blow. Then he raised his black mace; like an avalanche it descended smashing aside her shield and bursting her bronze helm. Brave Femura fell - dead.
      Then it was that Kymry, mighty warleader of the Ithillian-Fane
      pointed his claw tipped

ghost fetish at the troll and again a misty golden figure appeared. Another lion-man appeared, hoary and ancient but with the strength of a warrior. It encircled the troll to attack but a darkness formed between the two shielding the troll from the ghost's attack. It clawed at the intervening blackness shredding it, but it would some time before it could reach the troll. Kymry raced forward, spear in hand, but before the mighty mace of death he too fell to ruin. The troll rose to his full height to finish off the helpless warleader or to seek new foes and it seemed all was lost for who could stand against him when so many others had failed? Then like a thunderbolt Emrys' warhorse crashed full-tilt into the giant troll knocking it to the ground and trampling it underfoot. Thus the Death-Lord was defeated and Emrys' horse earned a new name, "Troll-stomper."
      Tyrea and Yakarth found the Hide in the tent of the Death-Lord troll. 
      The quest was

successful and the party even managed to save Kronan and Kymry and , praise Orlanth!, Femura 's spirit returned from the land of the dead guided by the strong hand of Orlanth. But so too, did the black hand of Zorak Zoran reach out to succor his worshippers. Komar Kag the Death-Lord and his great troll bodyguard were snatched away to an unknown fate.
      The party slowly returned, bearing their wounded,  to the camp of the
      Ithillian-Fane. 

Kronan's leg was broken and like all the wounds made by the troll's enspelled black mace it would only mend by the weeks long process of normal healing. Kronan would have to remain with the lion-men until the bone had reknit. The tattoos begun after the Test of Fate were completed and the companions were told that they were now honorary members of the Spirit Scar Clan of the Ithillian-Fane. In addition, they were gifted with magic spells by Shawanii. They left their friends among the lion-men to return to Iskalli with new found pride in their accomplishments.

Part II

Dramatis Personae
Rastorlanth the Dark - son and heir of Iskalli Chief of Clan Varmand. Nial - a follower of Rastorlanth.
Femura - former sheepherder now a warrior in Iskalli's household. Ulf Askison - sometimes called Ulf the Ugly, son of a warrior and cousin to Femura.
Yakarth - a warrior tested by the Ithillian-Fane's trial by combat. Emrys Lodanson - son of the chief of clan Anmangarn, Iskalli's foster son and nephew.
Evro - another of Iskalli's warriors.
Gundar - a large warrior from another land far to the northwest of the Dragon Pass.
Gringle Goodsell - merchant-priest of Issaries god of trade. Xarban Fiolareen - dragonewt outlaw.
Pinfeather - a duck thief.
Big Laugh Big Club - centaur.
Skorri - Chalana Arroy Healer-to-be and cousin to Femura and Ulf. Biturian Vorash - Priest of Issaries.
Tarl Keensword - a worshipper of the war god from long ago.

    1/1609
"Gringle's Pawnshop"

      Word came to Rath Varmand that warriors from throughout the Dragon
      Pass were

mustering against the foul Tusk Riders. Rastorlanth gathered a force of clan fighters to lead in the campaign against the Cult of the Bloody Tusk. Accompanying him was his right hand, Nial. Meanwhile Ulf, Femura, Emrys, Yakarth, and Evro took some of the captured Grazelander horses to Apple Lane to be trained by the horsemasters. While there they were hired to defend Gringle's Pawnshop from raiding baboons for one night. Also hired with them was Gundar, an outland warrior. They successfully defended the shop from the baboons and their allied nonhuman bandits (a centaur, duck, and three dragonewts), captured the bandits ("Swear on your sword that you won't kill me," said the duck.) but released them in return for a sizeable ransom. Pinfeather the duck persuaded Ulf, as a fellow Humakti, to speak to Skorri about healing Big Laugh the centaur's maimed foreleg.

    2/1609

      After much deliberation, Skorri decided to become a healer of Chalana
      Arroy. 

Accompanied by her cousin Ulf, Kronan the Barbarian, and Emrys Lodanson, she traveled to Apple Lane to take passage to Jonstown with the caravan of Biturian Vorash, a young Priest of Issaries.

"A Message from the Past"

      Meanwhile the other companions, while returning to Iskalli's Hall, were
      caught in an

unseasonably cold downpour. They attempted to take shelter in a small cave but barely escaped before the sodden hillside buried the entrance in a tide of mud. After a wet and uncomfortable night in a damp lean-to, the next morning they discovered the slide had uncovered a second cave, its muddy entrance littered with the skeleton of some large beast. Exploring within they discovered an armored warrior leaning on a great bronze two-handed blade. As Ulf stepped closer he could see that the warrior was long dead, but as if Ulf's presence was a trigger, a hazy, bluish figure began to materialize. Its form was like unto that of the corpse; its sepulchral voice announced, "I am the spirit that in life was known as Tarl Keensword. Hinder my mission at thy peril."
      Emrys drew back in dread and Kronan paused to search for any tell-
      tale odor of chaos,

but Ulf stepped forward and asked, "What was your mission and why do you linger in this place."
      "I was a messenger sworn to the service of my lord and bound by
      mighty oaths to carry
out my duty, but the hill fell and I was trapped within."
      "I am Ulf Askison initiate of Humakt.  Is there some way to aid you in
      your mission? 
Can you tell me of your message?"
      "Swordbrother, I thank you for your courtesy.  To thee I may tell that
      I was bound by

the very mountain paths to reach the new city. There to bring The Varmand's acceptance of the right to rulership of the High Judge."
      "The High Judge?"
      "I think he means King Sartar," said Emrys.  "Before he became Prince
      or King, Sartar

was High Judge in the Dragon Pass. But that was in the time of my father's father's grandfather."
      "Swordbrother, your mission was not a failure.  Clan Varmand has 
      accepted the rule
of Sartar."
      "Then my duty is done and I may rest.  I go now to the Hall of the
      Warriors.  But in

thanks for thy courteous tidings, I will return one time to aid thee swordbrother; my name shall summon me - Tarl Keensword. Farewell!"
      At Ulf's direction, inside the cave the companions constructed a
      stone cairn for the body

of Tarl Keensword marking the ancient warrior's grave with his broken sword. They paused for a time, considering the duty a warrior may owe his lord, then returned to the hall of their chief.

Part III

Dramatis Personae
Ulf Askison - sometimes called Ulf the Ugly, son of a warrior and cousin to Femura.
Emrys Lodanson - son of the chief of clan Anmangarn, Iskalli's foster son and nephew.
Tamlorn Two-Sword - a young Humakt initiate and mercenary soldier. Gwydion One-Eye - mercenary captain and Sword of Humakt.

    2/1609
"Swords Against the Wolf

      With so many of the Clan's warriors away with Rastorlanth in the
      Stinking Forest, Iskalli

decided to call up part of the militia organized into patrols to deter cattle raids against the clan lands. Accompanying each patrol would be one or two seasoned warriors. Ulf and Emrys were sent to lead a group along the northeast border. Their patrol consisted of themselves on horseback and a half-a-dozen local farmers with spears and bows on foot. On the third day of patrolling they spotted a band of six mounted, armored warriors on the opposite rise. Between them was a wooded vale with a small stream running north down the center. Ulf put the patrol in a defensive position at the top of the near slope facing the wood and they waited. The sunlight glinted off helm and spearpoint as the horsemen worked their way deeper into the wood. Then Ulf noticed stealthy movements under the trees next to the stream. An ambush! Whoever the horsemen were, he would not see them set on by an unfair deceit. Besides this close to the border the ambusher's could only be Orlevings. Ulf's call shattered the stillness, "Ambush! Ware, ambush!"
      Within the wood the snapping release of arrows and the cries of the
      fallen were heard

as battle was joined. Then drowning out all was a howling. Like a wolf in torment or the cry of a lost soul, it filled the listener not with pity but with stark, unreasoning terror. Though his limbs were as ice, Ulf tried to rally the militia to advance but it was all he could do to get them to keep their place. Indeed each moment the cry threatened to overmaster him. Suddenly a single horseman on a runaway steed burst out of the eaves of the wood. In close pursuit, the source of the howling terror - an enormous, coal black wolf. It was fully one half the size of the fleeing horse. It quickly reached the foaming steed. Jaws flashed, a stain of red, and the horse went down, hamstrung. The rider leapt clear and rose to place himself between the monster and his wounded mount.
      Before the black beast the horseman stood a blade in either hand to
      bar the way to his

stricken animal. The wolf circled; the man did likewise. Wolf and man struck, countered, separated and a trickle of red appeared on the beast's flank. Some part of Ulf strove to move forward to aid the lone warrior, but it was as if his will was separated from action by a dark mist and shamefully, part of him was glad that it was another that the wolf attacked. But the warrior would not stand alone, drawing together all his courage Emrys spurred his warhorse Troll-stomper towards the monster. "Neither man nor mount shall die if Emrys Lodanson can prevent it!" Though reluctant to close with the wolf, Troll-stomper answered to his master's will.
      Like a thunderbolt, the hooves that felled the huge troll Death-Lord
      struck - tumbling the

black wolf end over end and probably breaking its neck. Emrys urged Troll- stomper forward to finish the beast. But quicker than thought it sprang to its feet and gave voice to a terrible howl. Emrys' mount panicked and for some moments all he could do was struggle to keep control. At last he realized that he was asking too much of his valiant steed. He dismounted and let Troll-stomper gallop away.
      Again the black wolf stalked towards the fallen horse but the two
      warriors moved to

prevent it. It leapt at the stranger who dodged and parried. Emrys dealt a mighty blow as it passed but not a trace of blood could he see and his wrist ached as if he had struck stone and not flesh. Before he could recover the wolf turned and sprang knocking Emrys to the grass. Its slavering jaws snapped scant inches from his face. As suddenly it yelped and leapt aside as the stranger slashed at it. A second trickle of dark blood traced its way down the beast's side.
      During the combat below the wolf had ceased its weird howling; at last
      Ulf's limbs

would obey his will. Not stopping to find his horse, he lurched downhill to young Emrys' aid. He could see that the two warriors were in grave danger. Despite the signs of minor wounds, the black wolf's fury was unabated and it seemed that only the one faintly gleaming sword in the stranger's right hand did it any harm at all. It was only a matter of time until their guard failed and one or both went down before the jaws of the beast.
      Ulf cast his most powerful weapon charm and entered the fray. 
      "Humakt guide my

stroke!" he cried as he sought to hamstring the huge beast. He was rewarded with a faint rill of blood from its rear leg. Stung by wounds and outnumbered three to one the wolf slowly departed. The three warriors rested on their swords a moment, content to let the beast escape, until sounds of continued fighting roused the stranger. "My friends...the ambush." He ran towards the wood. At the same time another chilling howl echoed across the vale. On the eastern rise sat the black beast. Once more it howled. Emrys and the stranger hesitated a moment then continued on. But Ulf was again frozen with supernatural dread. `Besides,' he thought. `If we all leave the Black Beast will return and finish this horse.'
      Beneath the trees it was cool and sounds were somewhat muted.  The
      ground was

dappled golden-green by Yelm's light on the leaves. Faintly the clash of bronze on bronze could be heard. "My thanks for your aid ..." the stranger began.

"I hight Emrys Lodanson a noble of the Anmangarn clan of the Colymar."

"My thanks Emrys Lodanson. I am Tamlorn, sometimes called the Two-Sword.
I serve the god of war in Gwydion's Company. Was it thee that warned us of the ambush?"

      Though well spoken the stranger did not claim noble birth and though
      his speech was in

the tongue of Sartar, to Emrys' trained ear it had a faint, unidentifiable lilt. This Tamlorn was not of the Colymar tribe. And as he took off his helmet it could be seen that he was the near the same age as Emrys, himself.
"Nay, that was not I. Twas my companion Ulf."
      "But twas thee that came with aid unlooked for when Greyling was
      stricken by the Black
Beast."
      Their conversation was cut short as several warriors burst through
      the underbrush

running directly towards the two. Heedless in flight, they were easily cutdown. Behind them came a horseman fully armored but for a helm. He made for Emrys but stopped on hearing that Emrys was one of those who had given warning of the ambush. They continued on with the horseman fighting fleeing ambushers once more. This second time Tamlorn managed to take one prisoner alive and Emrys recognized him as an Orleving clansman. Besides Tamlorn and the helm-less warrior, who turned out to be the patrol leader, only one of the horseman was still alive.
      Emrys and Tamlorn left the prisoner with the other two and walked
      back to the hillside

to see to the horse Greyling. Unfortunately the horse's wound was severe and they were too late to save her. Tamlorn stroked her head until she quieted then quickly cut her throat with a dagger. He rose slowly, his eyes bright with tears. "She was a brave steed, but her fear of the Black Wolf was too great and I could not control her."
      Emrys stood silent in mute sympathy.  He too had not controlled
      Troll-stomper against

the beast, but at least his mount still lived. Meanwhile Ulf had regathered the militia. Now that the Black Wolf had departed the uncanny paralysis that had gripped them had fled like shadows before Yelm at noontide.
      Ulf and Emrys questioned the patrol leader as to his business on
      Varmandi land and he

invited them to discuss the matter with his Captain. Thus they loaded the slain horsemen on the remaining mounts and walked back to the mercenaries camp. The camp was large with over two hundred horsemen. The patrol leader brought Ulf and Emrys to a plain leather tent. Inside on a camp stool, sat a man in half-armor. His hair was dark, shot with grey and his weathered face had a patch over the left eye. And he was Gwydion, Sword of Humakt and Captain of this company. Like their leader most of the company followed the war god. He questioned the trio on the events in the vale and in response to Emrys' and Ulf's questioning the company's business on Varmandi land, Gwydion swore that his company sought no war or plunder there, but did not say what their destination was. He did agree to send emissaries to Iskalli to ask permission to cross the Clan's lands and to act as hostages. He provided horses for all the militia to speed the journey.
      The emissaries turned out to be the survivors of the patrol.  They
      stayed for the day and

a half it took for their company to leave Varmandi land. Before they departed, Tamlorn, who had spent much of his time with Emrys, gave him in token of gratitude for his aid a knife, small but keen and suitable for throwing. The disposition of the prisoner was turned over to the mercenaries who had claim for blood debt. Thus Iskalli avoided further conflict with clan Orlev and the mercenaries, unworried over the possibility of a blood feud, hung him from a tree near the border as an example to other would be ambushers.


End of Glorantha Digest V4 #535


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