I did not mean to let this sit for so long. Life got in the way for a while, but at long last, the adventures of the Company continue:
Jeremiah’s Tale, part 9
Two days later:
A rotting wooden wagon drawn by two skeletal horses creaked down a bumpy, overgrown road through the dense forests of the Deadlands of Windemer. The wagon’s driver looked ahead at the road through lifeless eyes, and the dead cadaverous flesh of his corpse showed through the tattered rags of his cloak. Flanking him were four more undead riders on equally dead mounts. Apart from the clattering of the wagon wheels, they moved in silence down the ancient road.
They passed a small hunting pack of ghouls, devouring some unfortunate animal by the roadside. The ghouls barely looked up at them as they passed; the ghouls had no interest in hunting other dead things.
Once they were passed, the wagon driver chuckled. “Looks like your disguise is working out right.”
“I told you it would,” answered one of the other undead riders, in the voice of Jeremiah.
“It has turned out to be useful,” another rider said in Idelba’s voice. The leo’s doubtful tone was at odds with her words.
“Well, if it gets us to Old Windemer without having to fight our way through hordes of undead, then Jeremiah’s earned his pay,” Eriksson said.
The members of the Company and their mounts had traveled under the cloak of Jeremiah’s disguise spell since they had entered the Deadlands that morning. The undead denizens of the land had largely ignored them, and the living ones had fled in terror.
“I’m going to scout ahead,” Alexandra announced, spurring her horse to a quicker pace. Idelba fell in behind her. They were the company’s two best riders; Eriksson was competent enough on horseback, but Jeremiah had little experience and was an indifferent rider, while no horse in the land could bear Bruunk’s weight, relegating him to driving the wagon. But Alexandra was a natural on horseback, and the leo, somewhat to Jeremiah’s surprise, rode as if she’d been born in the saddle.
“Don’t think the ladies like you much, mate,” the orc observed.
Jeremiah shrugged. “I’ve had more than my share of trouble with women. I’m not looking for any more just now.”
“So that’s what’s got your mind made up to run off and become a shepherd, is it?”
“It’s what I was before,” Jeremiah said.
Bruunk shook his head. “Suit yourself. But a bloke like you could make a lot of money hunting for treasure with us.”
“Are you in it for the money, then?”
“Well, it’s something to do, isn’t it?” the orc said with a laugh. “I mean, I had to do something after I left my tribe.”
“Why did you leave them, anyway?”
“My mum became the chief.”
“Your mother?” Jeremiah repeated. “Why did that make you leave?”
“Well, think about it. What kind of a warrior follows his mum’s banner into battle? I’d have been a laughingstock. So I had to leave, didn’t I?”
Jeremiah glanced over at Eriksson, who shrugged. “Don’t ask me. It doesn’t make much sense to me either.”
A few minutes later the two scouts came riding back down the trail. “Looks clear ahead,” Alexandra reported. “There’s an old bridge across a river about a quarter mile ahead. It should be passable.”
The bridge was a single stone arch spanning a small river running through a deep, narrow gorge. A weathered inscription carved into a stone at one end announced that the bridge had been built in the third year of the Empress Jacinta.
“More than a thousand years ago,” Idelba said softly, stooping low to read the inscription. “And still standing, despite that this land has been a wilderness for centuries.”
“The Empire built things right,” Eriksson said. “Back in Skyfheim the old Imperial roads were still the best around, even though nobody had maintained them since the Empire fell.”
“And now Skyfheim has fallen into ruin,” the leo said. “And the desert encroaches on my homeland more and more each year. And in the East it is said a new Dark Lord is rising.” She looked around her in distaste. “And Windemer is dead, and we are looting its corpse like common brigands.”
“Would you rather let actual brigands take Old Windemer’s treasures?” Eriksson challenged. “Or worse than brigands?”
“I’m not sure there’s much of a difference,” the leo shot back, a low growl starting deep in her throat.
“You were the one who proposed this whole expedition!” Eriksson shouted. “You came to me because I had the guts to go into the Deadlands when no one else would! If you don’t like the way I run my company, maybe you should never have joined with us!”
“I am regretting joining you more and more with each passing moment. I should have done this on my own, instead of relying on brigands and orcs and dark wizards.”
“Stop it,” Jeremiah shouted in a commanding tone.
The rest of the company turned to stare at him. “You are not yourselves. Get hold of yourselves, and remember why we are here. It’s this place that’s making you argue,” he explained. “It’s the dark mana that runs through the Deadlands. It twists your mind, turns your thoughts dark. You have to guard against it or it will tear us apart. Believe me, I know.”
“Yes, a dark wizard would know,” Idelba said sourly. “Dark magic inevitably turns the minds of those who are exposed to it towards darkness.”
“And light magic doesn’t twist the minds of the weak and unwary?” Jeremiah asked. “Doesn’t it make people judgmental and self-righteous and intolerant?”
“Man’s got a point on you there, Idelba,” the orc said.
Eriksson spat on the ground. “Enough. Jeremiah’s right. We’re wasting time. It’s three more days before we get to Old Windemer, and if we don’t keep ourselves focused we’re never going to make it. So no more bickering. Let’s go.”
“Three days,” Alexandra muttered. “And then the real challenge begins.”
Three days later:
The Tower of Swords occupied a prominent place on Old Windemer’s main square. Once it had been the headquarters of the Imperial viceroy, and later the first palace of the kings of Windemer, before King Oswald II had built a new palace across the square and gifted his old one to the Brotherhood of Swords.
The Brotherhood had long since disbanded and the kingdom of Windemer was no more, but the tower still rose high above the city. It was seemingly untouched by time, its marble walls still intact and shining in the afternoon sun. Only the tower’s main doors, huge masses of oak bound with iron, betrayed the fact that the tower was long abandoned; the doors had been pried off their hinges and now lay to either side of the shadowy entrance.
“That’s not right,” Jeremiah said.
The Company stood before the tower, surveying it carefully. The past few days had been hard on all of them, and they were now barely speaking to each other. But with the goal near at hand, they were ready to discuss business.
“What do you mean?” Eriksson asked.
“Those doors were intact the last time I was in the city,” Jeremiah answered. “Magically sealed. Something has breached them, and recently.”
“How recently?”
“Some time in the past few months. No way to tell closer than that – whoever or whatever it was, they could be long gone.” The wizard peered into the dark interior of the tower. “But I think… There’s something still in there.”
“Great,” Alexandra muttered. “Another problem.”
“We need to scout the interior, find out what’s going on,” Eriksson said. “Bruunk, you stay here with the wagon, stand guard.”
“Why do I always have to guard the bloody wagon?” the orc grumbled.
“Because this calls for stealth, and you’re not exactly quiet when you move,” Eriksson snapped. “When we go in, we’ll stick close to the walls, stay in the shadows. Idelba, Jeremiah, you go right. Alexandra and I will go left. If you see anything, head back here. Do not engage until we know what we’re up against.”
The leo gave Jeremiah a sour look, unhappy at being paired with him. Then she motioned for him to follow her, and they headed into the tower.
The main hall had once been lined with marble statues of the Brotherhood’s greatest warriors. They now lay fallen, knocked over and smashed by some unknown force, the banners that once identified them reduced to rags. There was a smell that Jeremiah couldn’t place, and a faint hissing sound coming from ahead.
The hall led to a large courtyard. The center of the building was hollow and open to the sky, lined with columns supporting balconies on dozens of floors rising high overhead. The man and the cat hid in the shadows of the columns and peeked carefully out at what lay in the middle of the courtyard.
It looked as though something had piled all of the Brotherhood’s forgotten treasures in one place. Armor of every description, swords and every other kind of weapon imaginable, jewels, gold coins, and a dizzying assortment of other items lay in a large heap. They did not have to wonder what had done the collecting, because it lounged, apparently asleep, on top of its treasure horde. It was long and sinuous, with wings folded at its sides, and was a shade of purple so dark that it was nearly black.
Idelba’s eyes went wide with fear, her ears flattened back along her skull, and she bared her teeth. Jeremiah made frantic motions with his hands back towards the entrance. She nodded, and they made their way as quietly as they could back out of the tower. Eriksson and Alexandra followed close behind them.
“So, what’s the story?” Bruunk asked when they were all assembled back at the wagon.
“There is,” Alexandra said, “a huge dragon in there.”
“Actually it’s on the small side,” Jeremiah countered. “For a dragon, anyway.”
“A dragon? Thought they were all dead.” The orc eyed them dubiously.
“Well, this one’s not,” Eriksson said.
“Definitely a true dragon, not just an oversized wyvern,” Jeremiah added. “About twenty yards long, probably a wingspan to match. And it’s sitting on top of what we came to get.”
“Oh,” was all the orc had to offer.
Eriksson glanced back towards the tower. “Anyone know how to get it out of there?”
They all turned to look at Jeremiah, who held up his hands. “Sorry, I have no idea how to fight a dragon. But,” he continued, “I may know somebody who does.”