Many Meetings

 

The noose snapped the rat's neck. Slowly, the slim line dragged the small corpse over the gravel toward the scrub brush and down past the roots. A scarred, dirty hand grabbed the rat and drew it up. There was a sharp crunch and blood stained the canyon floor.

The rat was Krusk's first food in five days, and its blood his first drink in nearly two. He hadn't wasted time once he reached the cover of the rocks beyond the desert, but the gnolls pursued him as if Hextor's own flails drove them. He'd moved as only a barbarian could, but he was weak with hunger, thirst, and lack of sleep. The gnolls were still relatively fresh and their leader was a masterful tracker.

Krusk's conscious mind didn't consider any of this as he quickly downed the rat, but he was aware of his danger. His heavy brows twitched constantly as he sought the cavern for enemies, but he saw nothing. Still, he felt them. They were out there.

The canyon was coming to an end. After a week's hard march, Captain Tahrain had told him, the canyon would begin to grow more and more shallow and after another day it would end entirely. Rough scrub would give way to low grasses and he should turn west when he came to the first sign of trees. A village lay there. A village was someplace he could get help.

Krusk touched the packet the captain gave him. Not just help, he knew. He needed help that he could trust.

Standing up and flexing his tired legs, he peered back toward the way he'd come.

A week's hard march, his captain had said. Krusk had made the trip in fewer than five days. The barbarian couldn't figure the math, though, and didn't even try. If Tahrain estimated the village lay a little more than a day away from the edge of the canyon, Krusk would reach it before the next nightfall. He thought of the pursuit and knew he'd have to.

Leaving the rat's broken bones and a few bits of hide under the bush, Krusk started off into the growing night.

 

 

"Grawltak!" The name started out as a rumble in the gnoll's well-muscled throat and ended in a bark. "Captain!" he called out in the common speech.

To a human, it might have sounded like a dog barking, but a gnoll in the center of the canyon looked toward him. Crouching behind a small, scrubby bush, the gnoll waved his paw to attract his leader's attention.

Ten of his gnolls prowled the dark cavern. The darkness of near-midnight didn't trouble them; they sniffed at the ground like dogs and their coal-black, pupil-free eyes made much of the terrain.

The leader, the gnoll with the white patch and the notched ears, sniffed the air and slowly strode over to his subordinate. He approached the small bush warily; he'd had to put down one of his followers already after a trap, set by their prey, broke the fool's leg.

No trap this time, Grawltak thought. He picked at the bones and found the tiny noose. Not for us, anyway.

"The half-orc's hungry," Grawltak pronounced, also in the common tongue.

The younger gnoll seemed to find their quarry's hunger amusing and he cackled. Grawltak cuffed him with the back of his paw but didn't put enough in the slap to make the scout yelp.

"Good work," he growled.

Another, older gnoll joined them. He got down on all fours and sniffed around the bush and the bones.

"No more than four, five hours," he reported.

The old gnoll's speech was almost as clear as any human's, from long practice. The human woman who led them insisted all her servants use the common tongue in her presence, and Grawltak knew the punishments she dealt out to those who disobeyed her. He ordered his pack to speak common all the time so they didn't slip up when she walked among them.

"He's finally slowing down," Grawltak said.

The older gnoll nodded. He reached around his hunched back and drew out a leather bottle. Pouring water from it into a wide cup, he offered it to his chief. Grawltak shook his head and the older gnoll lapped at the water quietly.

"What's out there, Kark?" Grawltak asked.

His voice came harsh as ever, but there was respect there. Most gnolls who reached Kark's age were turned out of the pack, or if they were lucky, killed in a challenge fight. Grawltak saw his old pack leader's value, however, and kept the wise gnoll close.

The younger scout cocked his head and bobbed it obsequiously. The leader growled and the scout stepped back, bowing, then turned to join the others.

"Humans ..." the older gnoll said as he sniffed the air.

"Close enough to scent?"

"No," the scout barked, almost chuckling. "Not for this old nose, anyway. At least another day's run."

"Then we can catch him."

"It'll be close."

Grawltak bared his teeth and snarled, "If it is, I'll tear someone's throat out. Get those pups moving, Kark."

The others knew not to tempt their leader's temper. They'd listened, though, and even before the old gnoll jumped toward them, barking, they returned to pack formation and those on the points started forward.

 

 

Krusk squinted into the dawn light as he rose up out of the end of the canyon. The fire in his legs matched that on the horizon, he thought, but he continued to ignore it. A stream trickled nearby, and after a quick glance around revealed no signs of danger, the half-orc fell on his chest in the dirt and sank his face into the water.

Guzzling the cool, fresh water, Krusk felt the fatigue in his body start to claim him. He hadn't slept for more than a few minutes at a time since leaving Tahrain's killers and somehow the lack of water and food kept him from thinking about his exhaustion. Now, though, with more water than he could drink and its coolness splashing across his face and neck, he felt his eyelids droop. Rising slowly, painfully to his hands and knees, he cupped the cool liquid into his filthy paws and splashed it into his face.

Krusk sagged by the stream on his knees. His arms hung limply by his sides. Shallow breaths of exhaustion turned to deep inhalations of slumber that nearly drowned out the sound of the riders. By the time Krusk awoke, bleary-eyed and struggling, his greataxe was gone and his arms and legs were bound behind him.

 

 

"Are you hurt?"

Naull looked up. The clouds were breaking and she was amazed to see light glinting off the knight's armor.

Dawn already? she thought.

She shook her head and the knight started to dismount.

"No, no," she said, struggling to her feet. "I'm all right."

How long have I been out, she wondered?

Looking around, she judged it couldn't have been long. The ogre's wound still seeped blood and both Early and Ian lay unconscious by the road.

She found herself staring at Regdar, who was staring at their savior—a true "knight in shining armor"—as she stepped away from her horse. The knight was obviously a woman, judging by both her armor and her voice.

As soon as she hit the ground, the knight turned and walked toward Early, who lay by the side of the road. Regdar seemed to snap out of whatever trance he and Naull shared and he hurried after her. The wizard couldn't help but notice how different the two suits of armor seemed—Regdar's was dark, dirty, and dented, while the knight's shone in the sunlight of the new day.

Naull heard Early groan and she followed after the other two. Regdar was in front of the knight and had crouched in front of the big man. Early was sitting up and rubbing his head.

"You all right?" Regdar asked the big man.

"Yeah," Early answered feebly. "What 'bout Ian?"

Early blinked then started, seeing the knight for the first time. His eyes fixed on the knight and didn't leave her as she spun on her heels and strode back across the path toward Ian's unconscious form. Early and Regdar followed slowly but Naull beat them all there. What she saw didn't look good.

The half-elf's shoulder was smashed. His chest rose and fell feebly, but blood from his scalp wound covered his face. Naull bent toward him.

"Don't move him," the knight said from above.

Naull turned back toward the cool, tenor voice. The knight removed her helmet and Naull looked up to see her face for the first time. The woman had black, short hair that stood up at odd angles, as if she cut her own hair with a knife. It should have given her a sloppy appearance, especially since she'd been wearing a full helm only moments before, but somehow it didn't. Her wide, bright eyes met the wizard's briefly, and she crouched by the half-elf's broken body.

"This is bad," the woman said. She opened Ian's light armor and started picking wood splinters from the ranger's wound. The half-elf groaned in pain though he was still unconscious. "He's dying."

It was then Naull noticed something on the woman's breastplate. Inscribed carefully into the silver armor was a small symbol, an outline of a lightning bolt gripped in a firm hand. The wizard nudged her friend and gestured. He saw it and nodded.

The knight placed both her hands on Ian's wound. She muttered something, but if it was a prayer or a spell, neither friend caught the words.

Ian suddenly moved, arching his back, and he let out what sounded like a startled sigh. The wound on his shoulder closed, and the abrasions he'd suffered seemed completely healed. He opened his eyes and started to sit up.

"No, friend," the knight said, "do not move. You are all right, and among friends, but you are still badly injured."

The half-elf's gaze met the woman's and he blinked in silent wonder. But he recovered his composure quickly and it seemed to Naull almost as if a mask had fallen down across Ian's face. He was back.

"Thank you," he said.

The knight smiled warmly. Her teeth, while white, weren't entirely straight, and that somehow surprised Naull, too. Her ears jutted out, her chin was too large—every individual feature of the knight's face seemed slightly off, but taken as a whole, they somehow added to her attractiveness. She looked at Regdar and the fighter's eyes locked on the woman's face for a few moments. Naull suddenly felt a little uncomfortable and made a sound in her throat. They both turned toward her.

"Yes," the wizard said, "thank you."

Ian lay back against the tree as Regdar and the knight rose.

"I was glad to be of service," she said. "Heironeous be praised, but it seems I got here just soon enough."

Regdar shook his head and chuckled slightly. "Some assistance," the fighter said. He sheathed his bastard sword and looked around. The path looked like a small whirlwind had touched down on it. "You saved us."

He pulled off his right gauntlet and held out a hand, and the woman did the same. The two clasped hands. Regdar's was weather-beaten, scarred, and tanned. The knight's was nearly as large, but pale, and the skin, while slightly freckled, appeared almost flawless otherwise.

Naull shifted uneasily and said, "I'm Naull." She stuck her hand out. "This is Regdar. The half-elf is Ian and the big guy everybody calls Early."

Releasing Regdar's grip smoothly, the knight turned toward the wizard. She continued to smile, as if she hadn't noticed the abruptness of Naull's introduction.

"My name is Alhandra," she replied as she took the wizard's hand in her own. Her grip was gentle but firm. "I am a paladin of Heironeous."

"A paladin," Regdar said with some respect. "I thought as much." He gestured at Ian and back at the horse. It stood over the ogre's corpse, shifting only slightly. "Horse's don't like the smell of blood, or the smell of ogres for that matter, but yours seems remarkably well-trained."

Alhandra strode over to her mount, laughing lightly. She raised her bare hand to the horse's mane and stroked it with obvious love.

"Windlass is a fine mare, aren't you, girl?"

The horse leaned into the paladin's hand and enjoyed the short ear-rub.

"So, um, what brings you here?" Naull asked. "I mean, we're happy to see you and all, but aren't you a little out of the way? I mean, for a paladin of Heironeous?"

"Naull!"

Regdar's voice had something of a scold to it, and Naull turned and glared at him. If Alhandra noticed the byplay, she gave no sign.

"Word reached me that there was trouble, away south, so I came."

"Trouble?" Naull asked. "Word reached you about a band of orcs raiding trade caravans?"

Regdar gave Naull another warning glance, but the fighter was curious, too.

"No. I hadn't heard about your trouble until I stopped at the town north of these woods."

Naull nodded.

"I decided then to take the woodland path rather than the caravan road, since it seemed the most likely place for the orcs to be."

She said it matter-of-factly, without any hint of a boast, but Naull felt her jaw drop slightly.

"You went hunting a whole orc band alone?" Naull's voice held both disbelief and criticism.

Alhandra nodded and chuckled wryly. "There wasn't anyone else. Still, I'm glad I didn't run into this big fellow alone."

The trio looked at the fallen ogre.

"He was the leader," Regdar said.

"Unusual."

"How so?" Naull asked.

Alhandra shrugged and said, "Ogres are dangerous, but stupid. They don't plan raids; they simply hunt. Of course, I don't know as much about ogres as you probably do...." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged again.

Without a sound, Ian rose up behind Naull and she jumped as he interjected, "No, he had a pair of nasty lieutenants. They probably did most of the planning. The ogre had the muscle."

Ian winced as he tried to rotate his arm.

"We dealt with them, though," Early said. He walked with a limp and used his battered shield almost like a cane. His eyes were dark and ringed with sorrow. "They won't be plannin' any more raids." He looked back up the path, the way they came and asked, "Can we go back, Regdar? For Trebba?"

The fighter nodded.

"Another member of your party?" Alhandra asked gently.

He nodded again and replied, "She killed one of the lieutenants, but died of her wounds. If she hadn't killed him when she did, we wouldn't have made it out alive. Let's go get her."

The party moved slowly through the wood. Alhandra offered her horse first to Early then to Ian, but neither wanted to ride. The paladin brought up the rear, leading Windlass along the narrow path. Naull walked up front with Regdar, and after a while she heard Early tell Alhandra of the ambush and the raid on the orc lair.

Naull grew uncomfortable as she watched the byplay between Early and the paladin. The woman listened to the tale with rapt attention, asking questions as they walked, but the more Early talked the more Naull realized how stupid—and how fortunate— they'd been.

If Alhandra agreed with Naull's assessment, she didn't say so. Indeed, though she commented on their tactics in some very specific ways, she avoided criticizing their efforts. Naull supposed that was for the best. By the time they reached Trebba's body, even Early looked uncomfortable when he discussed their foray into the orcs' lair.

"I am glad the rest of you survived," Alhandra said after they found Trebba's body and loaded it onto Windlass. "It is sad that this one died." Alhandra met Regdar's eyes when she said that and the fighter returned the look stubbornly; it was the paladin who looked away first. "It was a dangerous thing you did."

"And foolish," Regdar said at last.

Naull looked up at him sharply. She felt heat rise in her face.

Who was this paladin to make Regdar say such a thing, even if it was true? But then she looked at Alhandra and saw nothing but compassion on her face.

"That is not for me to say. Who knows what could have happened, or what might have been? You must learn from today and act tomorrow." Alhandra smiled and added, "And that, my friends, is the extent of my philosophy."

They passed a few moments in silence then, staring at the new dawn.

"And your other companion? The dwarf?" Alhandra asked finally.

Ian waved a hand away to the southwest and said, "He's back on the path, between here and the village. We can collect him on the way."

Alhandra started to turn Windlass in that direction and Early moved to follow, but Regdar and Ian stood still.

"What?" Alhandra asked.

Regdar shifted uneasily but Ian remained firm. Looking from one to the other, Naull knew what they were thinking.

I've got to hand it to them, she thought with a mixture of admiration and horror. They're all business.

Naull glanced from Alhandra to Early. The paladin seemed to understand, but said nothing. Early hadn't a clue.

"The treasure." Ian said matter-of-factly. "The orcs' plunder. It's down there," he waved toward the dell. "Let's go get it."

Alhandra said nothing, but Early started turning red. He lurched forward a step, painfully, and jabbed a thick finger at the half-elf.

"You want treasure? After all this? What about Trebba? And Yurgen?"

Ian didn't back down. In fact, he sneered.

"They're dead. So are the orcs," the half-elf said. "Let's get our reward before it's gone."

"The village is paying us. Our reward's there."

Ian huffed, "That pittance?That and the gold I'm getting from the city merchants barely covers my time. I'm here for the orcs' plunder, and I'm going to get it. You want to go back to the village? Fine—more for me."

Early bunched up his fist and took another step forward. Regdar moved to get between them, but before he could, Alhandra spoke quietly.

"Calm," she said simply.

For a moment, Naull wondered if it was a spell, because all three men stopped. Indeed, Early dropped his fist and Ian even seemed to lose some of his haughtiness. Regdar looked back and forth at the two of them.

"That's enough," he added. His voice was firm, but Naull could hear the uncertainty. "Early, nobody's more upset about Trebba and Yurgen than I am. I planned the ambush, and I made the decision to attack the lair—it's my responsibility. Don't be angry with Ian for wanting to do what we all set out to do."

"Reg—" Early started, but the fighter had already turned to Ian.

"Ian, take it easy. You're hurt, Early's hurt, and we're all upset. I know you came here for the reward and the treasure. So did I, but we don't have to forget our friends."

Ian met Regdar's eyes. He didn't nod or say anything, but there was some unspoken acknowledgement.

"We don't all have to go into the lair again," Redgar continued. "Early, if you don't want to, that's fine. You can go with Alhandra." He waited to see if the paladin was willing to submit to his impromptu plan, and she nodded with understanding. "Pick up Yurgen. Ian, Naull, and I will search the lair. If there's anything nasty down there—which I doubt—we'll head back to the village. If not, we'll carry off what we can and stash the rest. We'll meet you along the road. All right?"

No one had any objection. After a short break for a cold breakfast and a mutual checking of bandages, Alhandra and Early made their way back to the path and headed south. Ian led the way back into the lair.

Naull could tell Regdar wasn't as confident about the lair's emptiness as he sounded. Despite the clanking his armor made, he insisted on going in first, with Naull and Ian a good thirty feet behind. But he'd been right. If anything remained in the lair after the ogre left, it had departed soon after.

If any of the three expected large mounds of gold or jewels, they were disappointed. Most of the caravans from the north carried manufactured goods that the orcs either destroyed at the scene or brought back and broke for their amusement.

The orc lieutenants each had decent weapons and armor and some amount of treasure. The trio also found a few rolls of fine silk that the ogre had used for a giant pallet. They could be salvaged, if the soil and stink could be gotten out, but they were too heavy to carry. Almost by accident, Naull discovered a bag under a stone in the ogre's cave. It held nearly all the gold, silver, and jewelry they found in the lair.

"What do you think?" Regdar asked." About a thousand?"

Naull shrugged and said, "You wish. Some of these stones look pretty rough." She held up one large gem in their torch's light. "I'd say seven, eight hundred. Maybe." She tossed it back onto the pile. "I'm no expert, though."

The fighter sighed.

"How about this?" Ian asked, tossing the wizard a small vial.

She popped the stopper, dipped a pinky in, and tasted it carefully.

"I'm not sure. It's a potion, but I don't know what it does. Sorry."

The half-elf shrugged. There'd be time enough for detailed examinations later. He gathered up all the decent-looking weapons and armor—not a large amount of either—as well as a ring carved in the shape of a snake. All of it lay on a large, filthy blanket.

"All right; stand back," Naull said.

She gestured and looked at the pile. Not surprisingly, only a few items glowed with the hue of magic. She pointed at them, and the other two separated them from the pile. Concentrating, Naull read them as best she could.

"Sorry, Ian," she said with a grin, "no magic ring."

"So," Regdar said, "three arrows, a dagger, and a bead."

He bent over the smaller pile and picked up the spherical shape.

"Careful with that," Naull cautioned." It's the strongest of the bunch."

"Then you better take it," he said, tossing it to her.

Fumbling with momentary panic, Naull caught the small bead and glared, open-mouthed.

"Regdar!"

"Naull!" he mimicked, then smiled.

She smiled back and put the bead into one of her empty spell pouches.

"If you two are through playing," Ian said, "I'd like to get out of this stink."

Naull wrinkled her nose and said, "Hear, hear."

 

 

The party regrouped just outside the edge of the forest. Alhandra's horse was burdened with two corpses, both bundled in old bedrolls and tied carefully on its gray back. Early waved at the trio solemnly as they approached from the woods.

"What is it?" Regdar asked as he jogged toward the road.

Early lifted his arm and pointed south. A thick plume of black smoke rose above the hills.

Regdar cursed. He started to sling the sack he carried over Windlass's saddle, but the horse shied. Alhandra stepped up to him.

"What is it?" the paladin asked. She still had her helmet off, and she squinted toward the smoke.

"The warning fire," Naull said. "Before we went hunting the orcs, we set up a bonfire in the middle of the village. We planted alchemist's fire and some coal dust logs. We told the villagers to light it if there was trouble. Wouldn't help much during the dark, but..."

"Sure shows up good in the mornin' light," Early rumbled. He held his sword in one hand and his chipped shield in the other.

"Let's go," Regdar said. "Alhandra, would you...?"

"I beg you to let me accompany you," she interrupted the fighter.

He nodded.

"Thanks," Naull said.

The party jogged down the road as quickly as they could. The village lay only two miles south of the treeline, but they had to pass over and around several hills. The smoke grew as they ran and they took that as a hopeful sign—it must have been lit recently. The pile was built to burn fast and smoky, not long.

Ian, even with his wounds, started to outdistance the heavier members of the group, and Naull grew worried he would pass beyond their sight. She'd just made up her mind to sprint ahead and tell him to wait when he halted. As she, Regdar, Early, and Alhandra caught up, they saw a pair of figures, a halfling and a young boy, approaching from the south. They reached Ian at the same time as did the rest of the party.

"You're back!" the boy exclaimed.

Naull recognized him as the innkeeper's son. She couldn't remember the youth's name, though. His father, Eoghan, had done much of the talking for the villagers during their hiring. The boy panted, clutching his side, and the halfling looked at him with grim amusement.

"We came looking for you," said the halfling. His voice had the fine timbre common to his race—not high-pitched or thin, but light and strong.

"Why?" Regdar asked. "What happened?"

"We caught one," the boy gasped before the halfling could answer. His face was flushed, but he obviously wanted to be the one to break the news.

The halfling smiled and said, "The outriders—the ones you said we should have circling the village—they found one and brought him in. He was exhausted. It looked like he'd had a helluva bad time." There was no sympathy in the halfling's voice.

Regdar nodded, jerked a thumb back toward Windlass and the horse's burden, and said, "So did we."

The halfling paled slightly as he looked up at the two bedrolls and instantly guessed their contents. He looked from one adventurer to another, his gaze pausing briefly on Alhandra.

"Trebba?" he asked. "And the dwarf...Yurgen?"

Regdar nodded solemnly and the halfling's eyes dropped.

"What's your name, young man?" Alhandra asked gently but firmly.

"E-Eoghan..." he stammered, "but everybody calls me Straw, 'cause Eoghan's my father's name an' I'm in charge of the stable."

"Straw, can you take us to where they have this prisoner?"

"Yes ma'am," he said. "They've got him at ol' Urthar's farm. It's all the way around the village."

"All the way around? To the south?" Naull asked.

"Yeah," the boy answered.

"Why all the way around there?"

"That's where they caught it, I guess," the boy shrugged.

He looked up at Alhandra and she nodded. He started off down the path, with Ian and Early stepping up beside him.

Naull shook her head and yawned. Her head felt like it was full of cotton. Not surprising—they'd all been up for nearly twenty hours. Beneath the dirt and grime, she could see the dark rings under Regdar's eyes and realized she must look pretty ragged herself. She glanced at Alhandra's nearly spotless face and perfect skin, and felt her blood grow a little hot. She turned to the halfling.

"I'm sorry; I don't know you," she said.

"I'm Otto—Otto Farmen." The halfling bowed slightly and added, "I'm a friend of the boy's father. I work with the traders of times, but I've been out of town on business."

"Did you see the prisoner?" Naull asked. "The orc the outriders captured?"

Otto nodded and said, "They sent to the inn right after they caught it. I was just getting up an' Eoghan an' I hustled down to the farm with some others. Eoghan sent me back to light the fire and go looking for you. Straw insisted on coming along."

"Did they really catch it south of the village?" Naull continued.

"Yep. It was down at the edge of the Sandrift, collapsed by one of the springs. Looked like it'd been running all night." He noticed the pair frowning and asked, "Why?"

They told him about their adventures, paying careful attention to their time estimates. Otto took the stories of Yurgan's and Trebba's deaths without comment, but they could see anger smoldering within him.

"So," the halfling said as they concluded their tale, "you don't think this orc is one of the band that's been attacking our traders?"

"Right," Naull answered, and Regdar agreed. "We're certain no others escaped from the ambush, and an orc would not have had time to leave the lair and get all the way around the village before dawn, even if there'd been some reason to do so."

Otto frowned and asked, "So where do you think this orc came from?"

Naull shrugged and Regdar shook his head.

"I guess that's what we'll have to find out," Regdar said. "It bothers me, though."

It bothered Naull, too.

When they reached the village, the square was nearly deserted. One woman stood tending the fire. She waved at them and Straw ran toward her. The party started in her direction then a sound erupted from the south, like a hundred voices all shouting at once. Naull didn't like the sound of it. She turned toward Regdar to say something, but the fighter was already loping across the square. Naull started in surprise to see Alhandra jogging along right beside him.

Another shout reached Naull's ears as they cleared the village square and headed along the south road. The party rounded a corner and headed up a muddy path toward a low ranch house. It looked as if the entire village had walked over the soft earth. A third shout came from behind the barn. They could see parts of the crowd on either side. Some people waved clubs, others torches, and a few had weapons.

"I don't like the look of this," Regdar said.

Naull didn't either, though she didn't know why. If the town truly caught one of the orcs that had been raiding their settlements and trading caravans, they had every right to execute it, though Naull didn't care much for mob rule.

The sight that greeted her when she rounded the corner confirmed her worst fears.

From the hayloft pulley hung a nearly naked body. Streaks of blood ran down the scarred, well-muscled chest and legs. Grayish skin looked almost purple in the morning light. Wounds on the face had closed one eye and the other stared at the crowd dispassionately. As Naull watched, one of the villagers jabbed the hanging figure with a pitchfork. The body twisted and blood seeped out of the wounds as the crowd yelled, but the figure made no sound. It breathed heavily, though, so Naull knew the creature was still alive.

"That's no orc," Ian hissed in her ear.

The wizard gaped. She couldn't imagine how she'd been so blind. The figure twisted back toward her so she could see the face and features clearly. The eyes bulged, the forehead sloped, and one fang protruded from a prominent underbite, but Naull had fought and killed enough orcs to know the difference between those brutal, barbarous humanoids and this poor wretch.

"He's a half-orc," Naull breathed.

"Probably an evil son of a bitch, too," Ian said. Before Naull could object he added, "But he doesn't deserve this. Not just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Are you sure of that?" Regdar asked. "He could've been up to something."

"Everybody's 'up to something'," Ian answered coldly. He glared at Regdar, then shook his head. "Doesn't mean he had anything to do with our orcs."

"Is it any of our business?" Naull asked, but she knew the answer.

Regdar smirked and said, "Hey, it's not as if we have anything else to do—like sleep." His tanned face was lined with fatigue but also grim resignation.

"How do we stop it?" she asked, looking from Ian to Regdar.

The sharp sound of steel being drawn broke the tired wizard out of her thoughts. She started, seeing Alhandra with her weapon in hand, her silver armor gleaming in the sunlight. The paladin stepped forward. Naull had a horrifying flash of her hacking a path through the unarmored villagers and she put out a hand to stop her.

Regdar grabbed Naull by the arm as she moved toward the paladin. She looked back at the fighter but he shook his head slowly. His dark, tired eyes met hers then looked toward the armored figure striding to the edge of the crowd. Her sword was down and the point moved away from the nearest villagers. Naull's tired mind caught up with what little she knew of Alhandra, and paladins in general, and she relaxed slightly.

As Regdar released his grip on her arm, however, he said, "Be ready." He looked over at Ian, who appeared about to collapse, then he scanned the crowd. "Where's Early?"

Naull shrugged.

The fighter let out an exhausted sigh and said, "Well, be ready to back her up."

The sun shown down on the damp ground and the murmuring crowd, but one thing was obvious despite the dawn: Night wasn't over yet.