Stalking the Beast Page 6
She hesitated only a moment. "I'm in."
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Four
The Expedition
Elyana
Dawn had come to the little village. Light filtering through the trees clustered along the riverbank painted the dusty streets in tawny rose. A cool morning breeze stirred the leaves.
As was normal on such a day, Delgar's people were already up, moving off toward shops or running errands. Normally the children would be running to start their morning chores, but today dozens gathered to stare at the men and women waiting expectantly in the town square south of Delgar's keep.
Elyana watched them from her doorway vantage point. The throngs that had come to apply for the expedition were even more diverse than she'd expected. The majority were a mix of human Riverfolk, seasoned warrior types with sturdy if battered armor and weapons. But there were dwarves too, and halflings, and a mix of other races. She could guess that many were mercenaries, come to hunt the beast and collect the coin. Others, she knew, sought vengeance, for she had overheard talk from Delgar villagers in the last week and saw their grim faces mixed in with those of strangers.
The professionals chatted among themselves with bored disinterest, trading an occasional dark smile if they recognized one another. Those who had lost loved ones or friends to the creature shifted with nervous energy.
"None of them look frightened enough," she said quietly to Drelm, who only grunted.
The two waited just inside the dry goods shop, he in his armor and tabard, she in her weathered brown traveling gear, her hair pinned back.
Lieutenant Demid and two other guardsmen were posted at the crowd's edges. Elyana didn't expect any trouble—not yet—but only a fool took unnecessary risks.
Only two clerics had established homes in Delgar. The matronly priestess of Calistria walked now with her single acolyte along the edge of the gathering, calmly offering a kiss and the touch of her three-pointed holy symbol to any who desired the blessing of her god.
Her competition, the most recent addition to Delgar's priestly population, strode back and forth on the east side of the street in his black robe and iron mask, imploring the crowd to seek protection not from the arms of men, but within the arms of Razmir.
"I'll give him a point for cleverness on that one," Elyana admitted grudgingly.
"We need a priest of Abadar," Drelm said gruffly. He'd been repeating that for at least a year. He'd written multiple letters to the temple to the God of the First Vault in Riverton, but the head priest of the order continued to politely relay that no one could be spared. Likely none of the priesthood wished to leave the larger settlement, whose civilized comforts were meager enough, for this outpost in the wilderness. Last spring the villagers had taken pity upon the half-orc and helped construct a small stone shrine dedicated to the deity Drelm worshiped so devoutly. None of them, however, had joined him in prayer to a deity they privately viewed as a god for rich men and cities.
"How much longer do you want to give them?" Drelm asked her.
"Another few moments." As Elyana spoke, a tall, thick figure in untanned leather strode in from a side street, trailed by what at first seemed a pack of wolves. Elyana smiled at sight of the rawboned powerful woman she knew for Cyrelle the huntress.
"I wasn't sure she'd come," she said to Drelm.
The crowd gave back, warily eyeing the big woman and her pack. Cyrelle halted a few feet from them and brought her hand down crisply, and all seven of her animals dropped instantly to their haunches.
"It will be good to have her with us," Drelm said, which was almost glowing praise from the half-orc.
A native of Riverton, Cyrelle had helped them a few months back when they'd trailed another murderer into the forest depths. Her command of her dogs, and her woodcraft, were remarkable.
"And here's an Oaksteward," Drelm said.
"I wasn't sure they were really coming."
There was no missing the tall figure near the back of the crowd, or the ornately carved staff he leaned against.
"Sevenarches has been having its own trouble with the beast," Drelm remarked. "I'm surprised they didn't send more."
"I hope he passes muster," Elyana said. "It will be good to have a healer. You can go a little easier on him, I suppose, so long as he can defend himself and has the stamina."
"You mean to test even a druid from Sevenarches?"
"Everyone," Elyana said. "Even Cyrelle and Illidian." Her eyes shifted to the crippled figure in the shadows of a tree at the very back of the crowd. Even from a distance he seemed to brood.
"Why test Illidian?" Drelm asked. "You know he can fight. And he's the one who pushed hardest for this."
"The rest of the expedition needs to know he's skilled, even with only one good arm. He insisted."
Drelm grunted. "Is that for their sake, or Illidian's?"
It was a fair question. Sometimes, even after the last few years, Drelm's astuteness surprised her. "Those who come with us must see what we all can do if we're to rely on one another."
Drelm nodded in agreement.
"There, I think that's about it," Elyana said as the final two hurried in from a tavern. These stood out like pups near a wolf den; a young man and woman, scarcely past their fifteenth or sixteenth birthdays. He was fair-haired and gangly and carried a sword a little too big for him. She was dark-haired, her pale face freckled, and wore a beautiful scarlet cloak a little too long for her. Its hem trailed into the street's dust.
"The young ones," she said, "are always in the biggest hurry to die."
Drelm did not answer this, but she could guess his thoughts. Those who were too weak to win had no business fighting, and deserved what they got.
"Let's go meet them."
One by one, the members of the crowd turned toward her as she stepped onto the long porch of the merchant's shop, watching as she moved with long strides, one hand steadying the sword at her hip.
Closing on two centuries, much of it spent fighting, Elyana could assess a man or woman's fighting prowess with minimal scrutiny. She could gauge that the short, dark-haired fellow was more dangerous than the big man beside him in the polished armor. Even after all these years, though, she still couldn't always tell by looking which of the professionals lived for the thrill, which for the love of killing, and which had secret death wishes.
Of course, some were obvious. Her eyes shifted back to Illidian, watching stonily from beside his full cousin, both of them in forest green. She had met his like before: an individual so single-minded he would hazard his life and all those he led to quench his bloodlust.
She planted her feet before setting hand to sword pommel. Drelm stepped out beside her and stood at her right side.
She lifted her chin and raised her voice. "I am Elyana Sadrastis, and this is Captain Drelm. We will lead the expedition." She paused, as though considering the assembly for the first time. "We are the final arbiters of who joins it. We intend to take sixteen of you and no more—eighteen total. It's not enough that you know your weapons or your spells. We will be living wild. The beast we hunt is wily. It's deadly. We'll have to depend upon one another to survive."
"Is it true about the money?" someone shouted from the back.
Elyana found him—one of two red-haired dwarves armored in leather. She paused and stared at him before surveying the crowd once more. "Something else I wish to impress upon you is that the captain and I command. For the duration of this expedition, you will think of yourselves as our army, and us as your officers. You will obey our orders without question." She paused to let that sink in. "This monster's vicious, and some of us are going to die. If you listen to us, we think those numbers will be fewer. As to the money, the governments of the nearest River Kingdoms have pooled their funds. Enough to pay each one of you who signs on five hundred sails. No more, no less."
There were audible groans, even some muttered complaints that th
ey should risk their lives for so little, although others in the crowd chattered excitedly. Most of those watching must already have known this was true, for they showed no change of expression.
"Should you perish," she went on, "whomever you claim as your dependent will still receive that money. The lord mayor has pledged that they will be paid, and he is a man of his word. So. Should we ask you to sign on, be clear about who your next of kin is, and where they can be found." She fell silent for a time. They still watched, expectantly. The young cloaked woman had her hand in the air.
"I'll take questions from any of you who qualify. Now it's time to see what you can do. Drelm?"
The half-orc stepped to her side and spoke succinctly. The applicants were divided into two groups to start with, Drelm studying their melee skills and the ever polite Lieutenant Demid directing the ranged weapon tests.
Elyana observed both groups from the porch, and found few surprises. The dwarves proved deadly with their axes at close range, but they weren't very fast. She had judged them woodsmen, not warriors, and they were swiftly outfought in a mock combat. The young man with the overly large sword proved unskilled beyond a few basic cuts and parries. A huntsman with a bad limp was disqualified despite his excellent bow work, for he would not be able to keep up if they were forced to dismount. He protested loudly that he would come without guarantee of pay, and Demid had to have him ushered off by the guardsmen Gered and Tern.
Then there were the applicants whose testing was only a formality, like Illidian, his cousin Galarias, and the dark-haired Aladel. The elves outshot everyone without breaking a sweat, and parried every strike with ease. She would have expected nothing less from them.
A few had to have special circumstances accounted for, such as the bounty hunter. Elyana had been unimpressed by guns the one time she'd seen them in action, but she quickly saw just how useful Lisette could be, so long as she had the backing of her dwarf assistant to reload weapons for her. She proved more than sufficient with her sword work.
The huntswoman Cyrelle was another for whom she made special allowances. She was only a fair shot and a passable swordswoman, but her command of her hounds was deservedly legendary in the southern River Kingdoms. Each of the hundred-pound killing machines wheeled, lunged, and halted on the instant. But it was not Cyrelle's fighting prowess, or even that of her animals, that Elyana most valued. In all the River Kingdoms, few could equal Cyrelle's pack in their ability to track and find prey, and Elyana knew of none who could surpass her.
After she confirmed Cyrelle's admittance, Elyana moved over to watch Drelm put the Oaksteward through his paces, hoping the half-orc would recall that she'd stressed a healer need only be able to keep up and defend himself.
When the druid pulled down the hood of his brown robe, Elyana saw he was older than she'd imagined, with a bald pate surrounded by a fringe of wispy brown and gray hair. His leathered face was seamed with lines. Yet for all the look of age, his shoulders were broad, if slightly hunched, and the hands clutching his staff were large, knotted, and discolored with scars. Any worries she had as to the man's fitness for travel were put to the test the moment Drelm narrowly sidestepped a vicious whack to his head. The watching applicants gasped, but Drelm let out a harsh bark that was approving laughter.
The druid stepped back, lowered his staff hesitantly, then returned Drelm's laugh with a gap-toothed grin of pleasure.
"Elf," said a gruff voice beside her.
She had to look down to find the speaker, the red-haired dwarf who'd asked her about money. He and his near twin stood frowning. Was it chance that they stood on her left, or were they warriors enough to know it would be harder for her to draw her sword and defend from that side? Unintentional or not, the approach struck her as aggressive, and her eyes narrowed in disapproval. "Elyana will do."
Drelm called for the next applicant, and she glanced over to see the advance of the wiry, dangerous-looking fellow with dark hair she'd noted beside the big man in armor.
"That beast killed our cousins," the dwarf said. The knuckles gripping the haft of the axe slung over his shoulder were white. "Me and Ragnar mean to go on this expedition and take vengeance."
"You didn't pass the test," Elyana said simply.
The other dwarf, presumably Ragnar, spoke up. His nose had been broken, and the long scar through his beard gave him a fierce countenance. Yet he was more deferential than his relative, bowing his head respectfully. "Your pardon. We don't feel we were given a fair trial. We know we're not fast. But we know the woods, and we know how to fight."
"I'm sure you're right," Elyana told him.
"We want another chance," the first speaker insisted.
Elyana nodded slowly. "What are your names?"
"I am Ragnar, Lady," said the more polite one, "and this is my brother, Larak."
Elyana bowed her head respectfully. "I'm pleased to meet you."
"Likewise." Ragnar bowed his head to her, and Larak echoed the gesture less deeply.
She almost hated to do what must come next. She maintained her politely formal tone. "Do you suppose you would perform better, given another chance?"
"I am sure we would." Hope shone now in Ragnar's eyes, which cut sharply. The coming demonstration would be much easier on her conscience if the fellow were an ass.
She tried to warn him. "If I allow you to try again, shouldn't I allow all of those who failed a second chance?"
"This is different," Larak said, almost in a snarl. "We were fighting against an orc-blood. Everyone knows they hate dwarves."
Drelm was above such things, though they were unlikely to believe it. She tried telling them anyway. "Captain Drelm cares only about bringing the monster's head. He doesn't care if you're dwarf, gnome, or halfling, so long as you can fight."
"With due respect, Lady, my brother and I can surely fight."
"Can you move swiftly when the time demands? Can you obey on the instant? Can you be ready for attack at any moment?"
"Yes," Ragnar assured her with another head bow. "I assure you—"
She drew her sword in a flash of steel. Larak, more wary, pulled up his axe, sending his brother stumbling back with his off hand. Had he put both hands to the haft he might have been a threat, but Elyana had already tapped him on the side of his head with the flat of her blade.
"Dead," she said.
Larak raised one hand up to the side of his face. "You cheated—and that blow wouldn't have killed me!"
"It could have," Elyana told him.
Larak scowled. She saw his hand shaking on his axe haft and knew he was tempted to lash out.
It was Ragnar who charged. He came in swinging wildly, foam flecking his lips and beard.
Elyana leapt aside from one blow, then another, and when she struck him in the side of the head with her flat she hit with full strength.
Enraged as he was, Ragnar seemed to feel nothing, and pressed on, swinging again and again. Around her she sensed the testing had halted. She heard the mutters of the crowd and the shouts of Larak for Ragnar to stop.
Elyana had fought beside and against berserkers and knew that Ragnar wouldn't halt until he was stunned or dead. She'd heard the telltale creak of a strung bow being readied. Illidian, probably, readying to loose an arrow.
"He's mine," she shouted. She didn't want the loss of prestige in the moment before she assumed command, and she didn't mean to kill today. There would be deaths soon enough. All she'd really intended was a lesson, partly for the dwarves but mostly for any onlookers.
The metal band she wore about her upper arm enhanced her strength, but even with its magic, she was unlikely to win a battle of might with a dwarven warrior, so she didn't try to parry, a tricky enough technique against an axe in any case. She sidestepped a terrific blow that would have cut halfway through her, then darted in to smack her blade flat against the right hand gripping the axe. Even in his berserk state Ragnar winced, and his grip loosened. She slipped behind him then, kicking hard at the back o
f his right leg as he pivoted to follow.
This set him stumbling, and she sprang forward on his right, slammed her hilt onto the knuckles of his other hand. Eyes burning with hatred, he still tried to cast his weapon. It sailed past her nose and slammed into the ground perhaps a fingernail's breadth from her boot.
She stepped back as Larak and two other dwarves—one of them the markswoman's assistant—rushed Ragnar and forced him down.
She found Drelm beside her, chuckling. "Nicely done."
Elyana said nothing. She'd miscalculated just how fine a warrior Ragnar truly was. It was luck, not skill, that had saved her toes from being cut off by his final assault. Privately, she wondered if Drelm had made a mistake with the fellow. For the sake of discipline, though, the dwarf would have to remain behind.
She sheathed her sword and stepped apart, her demeanor calm. "Get back to it," she instructed Drelm.
The other dwarves wrestled Ragnar into submission and led him away. She knew an inward pang as she realized that deep choking sound was the sound of him weeping.
"That was needlessly brave of you," said a familiar tenor behind her. Illidian, speaking Elven. Elyana turned to face him.
He stood with strung bow braced in the clasp mechanism attached to the stump of his left arm. He looked relaxed now, but she had no doubt he and his companions had stood with arrows knocked through most of the fight. "A berserker's almost as bad as a mother bear," Illidian went on.
"I provoked him."
"I heard the whole thing. You but tested him to prove to him, his brother, and all those who watched that the captain's judgment had not been in error. That I understand. What I don't understand is why you didn't simply step aside. We could have shot to wound, and there are enough healers here that he would have been mended soon enough."
"It was an illustration of command. Some here know me only by reputation. They saw me hold my own."
One of Illidian's high eyebrows cocked. "That's interesting. So they would not follow your orders the instant you take command?"