The attack happened on the third night. Berad and I had fallen into a routine quickly and that evening had started pleasantly enough. After asking Berad whether we were likely to be seen and watching him scan the area and shake his head, I built a small fire in a small hollow and started toasting the last of our bread which had gone a little stale.
“We’re nearly out.” I told him, gesturing at the empty leather bag.
“We are nearly at the temple.” He replied. “We will not want for food soon.” He looked down at me, his usual smile absent. “We will be where we need to be when the sun is highest tomorrow.”
I shared the last of the food between us and we ate in silence. The mood was more sombre than the previous two days and I wondered what was on the Clerics mind. I realised that I had left nothing for our morning meal, when I mentioned this, Berad nodded and said we should fill our bellies with water and tighten our belts. The shadows lengthened, pooling darkness around the small clearing where we had stopped, and the night air was filled with the sounds of creatures readying themselves for sleep.
Without warning a huge man, dressed in white enamelled armour stepped out of the shadows about 50 feet from us. He was joined by three knights in the same regalia as the others we had seen before. The twitchy thief who had been with them previously was noticeable by his absence.
The man dressed in white took a step forward and presented a symbol that looked like a sun with rays shooting out of it and a small piece of iron. He said something I didn’t understand in a powerful voice and before Berad had any time to react he went rigid, his arms pinned at his side obviously unable to move. His eyes darted to me and I could see real fear in them.
The three Kings Guard stepped around the clearing taking up positions around the clearing with the Cleric at the centre. They moved in unison, their swords held the same way, pointing straight up and to their left. Had it not been so unwelcoming it would have been impressive to watch. I had no idea what to do, run? What about the Cleric? I could see that he was fighting whatever enchantment was holding him. His neck bulged with effort, veins straining against the collar of his tunic. Sweat pouring from his brow. His face had turned a gruesome purple colour and his fists were clenched.
The three knights took a step towards him, their bodies twisted at the same angle carefully placing one foot in front of the other. They were tightening a net as if to catch a dangerous fish when, with an almighty shout, Berad managed to break from his invisible bondage and unsheathe the wicked looking mace that I had seen him use before. He wheeled round to face the Knight to his immediate right and brought the weapon to bear from his left-hand side. It didn’t look like he was using much force, I have seen halflings chopping wood wield their axe more energetically, but as soon as the mace connected with the knight Berad spoke a single word and the knight fell to the ground screaming. I watched with grim fascination as the man on the ground try to tear his armour away. As he did so, I could see bits of plate mail landing on the damp grass and steaming as if they had just come from a hot oven.
The man in white then pulled something from a pouch on his belt and closed his eyes, I was sure he was going to do something else that at any other time would have been amazing to watch, but Berad had wheeled around and smashed the mace into the chest of the knight to his left with such force that the guard flew from his feet and straight into the priest, or wizard or cleric with whom he had arrived. I was started to think that this was not a good place for me to stand and watch, so I carefully started to walk backwards away from the fight that was unfolding before me. I saw the knight crash into the man in white and they both fell to the ground; whatever magic was being prepared was gone and Berad turned to face the last assailant.
Berad’s face was contorted with fury as he bore down on the last Knight. Without waiting to see what the knight was about to do Berad stepped toward his adversary and brought the mace up under his chin, knocking his head back with such violence that I was sure that the man must surely be dead.
Without warning my world was suddenly plunged into darkness and tilted upside down. Not in the same way that happened on the first night, but because, I quickly realised, I had been stuffed into a large sack and was being borne away.
“Berad!” I cried out.
But a violent white light tore through the strands of fabric, telling me that Berad’s battle was far from over.
My undignified journey away from Berad and the battle was made worse by the smell of the sack and the fact that within minutes I recognised the voice of one of my captors. It was of course the snitch thief that had pointed me out the first time we met the Kings Guard. And I think this sack must have been previously used to store his laundry in. It was foul and I was grateful that the only thing that I had eaten in the last few hours was a piece of dry toast.
Initially confused by my capture I soon set to thinking about what Berad had shouted out as I was being bundled away. “Meet me at the Library!” He cried. Obviously to me and obviously in reference to the ‘Temple of Knowledge’ that we had been talking about. The home of the Dragon! But this was a fine pickle I was in and no mistake. I was as helpless as a goblin in a battle of wits, as my brother used to say.
I was being unceremoniously bounced around on the back of one of maybe three or four men. The snitch thief had obviously found friends, and they were taking me somewhere, but I had no clue as to where that might be, or what they wanted with me when we got there. I no longer had the scroll, I had done the Guild Masters bidding, although I hadn’t really received payment. I still didn’t know anything about my Pappa, other than there might be something in a book in this library and a tale told in a Tavern a few days ride from here.
I was sure however that I wasn’t going to hang around for a moment longer than I needed to. But what to do?
After about an hour the one that was carrying me told the snitch thief that I was heavy, and it was his turn to carry me. The snitch thief said something particularly unsavoury in reply. I didn’t catch it all, but it had something to do with calling his parentage into question and then something about sex and travel.
The sack was dropped suddenly (with me still in it,) and an almighty row broke out. The third voice joined in and the three of them went at it like a dwarven blacksmith, shouting, arguing, and telling the snitch thief that they wanted their gold now or he could carry ‘the bastard halfling’ himself. I think they meant me, which was a bit rude. I hadn’t even met them. The snitch thief told them he didn’t have their gold, but they would get what they were after when they made the delivery. (Me again, I think.) The snitch thief told them in a haughty voice that there were bigger things happening, and they didn’t want to let his master down or there would be trouble brought down on them like they couldn’t imagine.
I was lost in thought over that. What bigger things? What was I mixed up in? When one of the three, punctuating one of his points, kicked me. Well, kicked the sack, (still, with me in it,) which knocked the wind right out of me and made me feel a little sick. The top of the sack, now not being held tight by whoever was carrying me was open slightly and I could see the cord woven in and out of the edge was loose. With little fingers, I might be able to work the knot I thought to myself.
The three men decided that this was as good a place as any to stop, so they reluctantly agreed that they would rest overnight and share the burden of carrying me between them the next day as they journeyed to wherever it was these ‘big things’ were going to happen. Soon I could feel the heat of a small fire being made and hear them talk as they shared a wineskin. Within a surprisingly short space of time one of them was snoring, so I carefully teased the fibres of knot until, after what seemed an age, I was able to unravel it and carefully open the sack. With painstaking care and as slowly as I could manage, I positioned myself within the sack so that my eyes were against the opening. Two of them, who I didn’t recognise, were fast asleep, one of them had his arm draped over his companion. I had to stop myself from giggling. They sounded really tough, but still wanted a cuddle at bedtime. The third had his back to me, facing the fire, which would be terrible for seeing in the dark. This had to be the snitch thief.
Still inside the sack, I took some time to look around the camp and spotted a bundle of my things. They had obviously picked them up as they fled the scene of the battle. There was my pack that had been lying on the ground, with my traveling cloak still rolled up in the top flap and there was my short-bow and quiver of arrows. How strange that they had brought those along! Maybe they thought I still had the scroll. Well, they didn’t strike me as the sharpest tool in the smithy.
As carefully as I could and making no sound, I slowly worked my way out of the rough hessian sack. Every time a drop of water fell from a leaf, or a twig cracked in the fire I froze. I kept my eyes locked on the snitch thief the whole time. The two sleeping men grunted and snored, but I think the wine was on my side as neither did anything more than that. Soon enough I was out of the sack and the figure by the fire was none the wiser.
With the stealth that my heritage gave me I was soon able to work my way around to the small bundle of my belongings. But now I was at a loss. I would surely alert my captor by picking them up, I did not want to leave them here and I was desperate to get away. I carefully lifted the bow and retrieved an arrow from the leather quiver that I had found. Standing not 10 feet away from the fire, I notched an arrow pulled back the string and aimed at the thief. He started to slowly turn as if he knew there was someone behind him, and in all honesty, thinking back to that moment, I think I must have closed my eyes, because the next thing I saw was the snitch thief falling forward with the last third of an arrow sticking out of his cloak. He let out a low groan and fell into the fire.
My flight from the thief’s camp was a blur, all I can remember is fragmented images of crashing through trees and sobbing. I had killed a man. I have heard tales in taverns of adventurers slaying men, orcs, and monsters, but never, in my most feverish nightmares would I ever have thought of killing someone. Yes, he had called me a thief, which was rude, and yes, I had been kidnapped and of course, if I hadn’t have done something, they would have chased me down and probably done bad things to me. But that didn’t stop me from feeling sick to my stomach.
I had travelled some considerable distance when common sense worked its way into my brain. I slowed my pace and started listening for signs of pursuit. There were none, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I started off in a completely direction and made sure that I was as quiet and careful as I could be. I carried on like this for another couple of hours until I saw a large tree that I could climb and take myself away from the forest floor.
Dawn was breaking as I scaled the tree and nestled into the crook of a large branch, about 20 feet from the ground. I wrapped my cloak around me and tried to sleep.
What was I going to do? I couldn’t go home. I didn’t really know where I was, although, I could probably find out easily enough. I still didn’t know anything about my Pappa. As I drifted off, I imagined talking to the Dragon and listening to the tales it told of Halfling Lords and Cursed Lands.
