"I'm sure there's quite a mass of ruins remaining," mused the king. "After all, most of the place was made out of stone."
"Fall-Ion," grunted the firbolg again, pointing at himself.
"Firbolg." The bard pointed at the giant.
"Fall-Ion. Firr-bowlgg." The creature was obviously pleased with himself.
"Human," offered the bard, pointing to herself, then Tristan and Robyn.
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"Hu-mann! Firr-bowlgg!"
"He's smarter than I thought!" lavish began to enjoy the lesson. She taught him more words, and he absorbed lute, sword, hand, head, and fist in rapid succession, "lavish," she offered, pointing to herself.
"Hu-mann?"
"No ... I mean, yes, but humans, that's all of us. Me, I'm lavish!"
"Taff-ish?" The giant blinked, and then his face brightened. "Taff-ish," he said, pointing at her and then at himself. "Yak!"
"You're Yak? That's wonderful!" She proceeded to teach him the names of the others, and soon "Triss-tun," "Robb-inn," "Pawll-doo," and "Noot" had been formally introduced to their new companion. The firbolg stumbled on "Yaz-lick ... Yoos-oo-Iuk, Yizz-ill," and finally settled on "Yuz," much to Newt's amusement and the sprite's discomfiture.
They chatted idly for a time, trying to avoid the pain lurking very near the surface of their awareness. All of them keenly felt the loss of Daryth. Tristan's own guilt tore ruthlessly at him though he tried, quite unsuccessfully, to bury it. The Calishite was dead, in large part because of Tristan's own stupidity in sending him out of their camp. It was an act performed in anger, resulting in tragedy.
All he could offer, and it was very little solace, was a prayer for Daryth's soul and a silent plea for his forgiveness. And he had his own determination to succeed and, by doing so, atone for his mistake.
Tavish once again pulled one of her wineskins from her pack, though the king declined the proffered drink. The others took small sips, but the sack remained mostly full.
The bard offered to take the first watch and continue the language lesson, so the others retired, each taking a shift in turn. The night, like the previous eve, was pitch black. At least the high walls of the grotto kept the worst of the wind from their camp, but even so, the temperature fell below freezing.
None of them slept well. Tristan and Robyn spent the night in lonely grief, each mourning the loss of their close
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friend. For the others, too, the combination of death among them and the universal death around them made for miserable rest.
Even so, dawn found them ready to move on again, if only to alleviate the stiffness and chills of a night spent sleeping on a bed of stones. They wasted little energy in conversation as they wrapped their meager bedrolls and started to load the horses. Tristan, looking nervously around the chill grotto, wondered what new horrors the day could offer.
Once again it was Canthus who saw the first sign of attack. With a sharp bark, the hound called their attention to the sky.
"Look out!" cried the king. "Look to the sky!" His sword came instantly to his hand, as if moved by a will of its own, and he raised it to meet the diving winged creatures above them.
A flock of birdlike forms swirled downward from the clouds, numbering two score or more. Many veered away from the narrow hollow, but several continued to dive right toward the party. They made no sound as they swooped in to the attack.
"What are those things?" wondered Pawldo aloud, swiftly nocking and drawing an arrow.
One of the creatures swished over Tristan's head, and he thrust at its belly but missed. He stared, amazed, at the staglike head of the creature and its black, cold eye sockets. Its pointed, misshapen antlers appeared deadly, as did the sharp claws on the monster's feet.
Pawldo loosed an arrow that darted through the wing of one of the creatures. The thing made no sound but settled awkwardly to earth, where Canthus set upon it with a growl and a flash of white fangs. The two creatures rolled across the ground in a blur of feathers, fur, antlers, claws, and teeth, until finally the moorhound stood with the monster's neck in its mouth. With one final shake, the dog cast the corpse aside.
Many of the winged creatures landed at the lip of the little grotto, perching like vultures waiting for the kill. Others swooped in aggressively to the attack. Yazilliclick and
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Pawldo sent arrows after these intruders, but the missiles whizzed harmlessly past their intended victims. Finally, in order to conserve arrows, they held their fire.
Tristan ducked as one monstrous bird flew over his head. Then he slashed savagely upward and sliced off its wing, killing the beast with one quick thrust as it flopped to the ground. Once again the Sword of Cymrych Hugh sang joyously in his hand.
"Rock!" Yak grunted from somewhere nearby.
"Yes, rock," Tristan panted, too distracted by the fight to pay attention to the firbolg.
"Rock .. . kill!"
Suddenly the giant pitched a stone the size of a man's head at one of the monsters perched on the rim of the grotto. The missile struck the creature in the chest, and it disappeared in a cloud of feathers.
Newt buzzed into the air and sank his teeth into the tail-feathers of one of the creatures, but the monster twisted and raked at him with its claws. Several more of the bird-things swarmed around the little dragon, and Newt disappeared with a shriek. He did not become visible again until he was safely on the ground, watching the battle from a vantage point between Robyn's ankles.
A shrill whinny of terror jerked Tristan's attention to the horses. Horrified, he saw Pawldo's pony pitching and rearing while three of the bird-things clung to its back. Their talons tore through the pony's skin, and then another of the monsters landed and drove its ghastly antlers into the poor steed's chest. With a squeal, the little horse fell heavily to the ground, where the beasts attacked with their sharp teeth.
The king raced toward the scene, with an inarticulate cry of rage. Before he reached the dying pony, he saw one of the creatures tear through the animal's breast with its razorlike teeth. It pulled forth a pulsing, bloody chunk of flesh, the pony's heart.
Immediately the other horses whinnied in terror, rearing and kicking frantically. Avalon sprang high, and a sharp kick of his forelegs knocked one of the monsters from the air. The stallion leaped upon the thing and pounded it to a
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pulp with his hooves. At the same time, half a dozen of the beasts swarmed around the chestnut mare. In seconds, she joined the pony on the ground, screaming as cruel teeth, claws, and antlers tore into her body.
Tristan reached the steeds and drove the monsters away with sharp swipes of his sword, but the mare kicked weakly and could not rise. All four of her legs were ripped badly, and one of her eyes had been poked out. Crying in pain, she lay upon the rocks, breathing quickly and heavily. With a sob, Robyn stepped forward and cut the mortally wounded horse's throat with a swift strike of her scimitar.
They looked around and saw that the entire flock had finally settled to the ground around the rim of their little shelter. Perched in sinister silence, the creatures chose vantage points beyond the range of Yak's rocks or the arrows of the halfling and the sprite. Now they resembled vultures more than hawks, with the hunched and patient appearance of carrion eaters. Their skeletal heads and sharp antlers added a surreal touch to the scene.
"Why don't they make some noise?" groused Pawldo. "At least they could screech or something!"
"And why did they stop attacking? Not that I'm complaining, of course!" The bard looked up in puzzlement.
"I suspect because they can't maneuver well in here," suggested the king. "The hollow is too small for them to attack from all directions."
"Wh-what are they梐re they?"
"Corruption!" Robyn's voice was bitter but certain. "They are a living, breathing desecration of life itself, like that bear with the head of an owl. The god that is killing the vale is not content with the mere destruction of life. He must twist and pervert it to his own ends." And then her voice rose to a scream.
"He must be destroyed!"
The flock shifted nervously, several monsters flapping their wings or stepping awkwardly to a new perch. But they quickly settled back to their vigil.
"So they can't maneuver in here. That makes me wonder how we're going to get out," Pawldo reflected.
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"That gully you mentioned last night," Hobyn said to Tris-tan. "Could we get down it? And is it narrow and deep enough to keep these deathbirds from following us?"
"It's possible, but the horses could never make it. Even Canthus might have a hard time."
"What about waiting right here until they go away?" asked lavish.
"Thai won't work," Robyn answered quickly, then told them about her experience with the deathbird that had waited three days for her to emerge.
"Can we cross the open ground out the front and fight our way to the woods?" the king wondered aloud. The answer was obvious to all of them. Although the confines of the grotto provided them temporary shelter, they would be torn to bits if they gave the flock ample room to attack. The gully began to look like the only solution.
"Mayhaps we can try the descent and get the things to follow us. One of us can wait behind and spook the horses. The steeds might have a chance to get away, at least." lavish offered the only real possibility.
"Let's try it," agreed the king, trying to ignore the ache in his heart. "I'll stay back with the horses."
"No! Let me do that. You lead the way down the gully!" Pawldo argued hastily, albeit reluctantly. They all knew that the last one down would be in grave danger.
"Thanks, old friend. But, no, I will do this myself. Now get ready to go!" Tristan felt some small measure of pride in his role. Perhaps this was a way for him to begin his atonement.
The white stallion stood silently, watching them, and Tristan had the eerie feeling that Avalon had understood. He went to his steadfast mount and wrapped his arms around the horse's solid neck, leaning sadly into his broad flank. "Run for me, boy. Run like you've never run before! You can make it!"
They unsaddled the mounts and loaded food, water, tin-derboxes, and an assortment of supplies into their own packs. Tristan and Tavish each took a length of sturdy rope, after they tried and failed to convince Yak to coil the strands around himself. The giant snarled and backed away, and
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only the soothing strains of Tavish's lute kept the firbolg from bolting from the camp. After he saw the companions lifting their backpacks, he tried to mimic them, however, and eventually they succeeded in loading a heavy saddlebag onto the firbolg.
"The gully is back here. It's more of a narrow chute, actually." Tristan led them through a crack in the rock walls to the head of the gully. They saw a narrow, rock-filled slide dropping steeply for several hundred feet. Far below them, the black waters and gaunt trees of the Fens of the Fallon stretched into the distance. 1b the far north, they could barely see Myrloch, covered with a thin haze and lying flat and lifeless in the valley.
The one consolation of the route was the steep, high sides of the chute. Its twisting floor would make attack by the flying predators very difficult.
"I'll lead," Pawldo offered. "My king, stay back until all of us have gotten a good start. Then scatter the horses and come after us. Good luck, sire!"
"And to you."
Tristan stood as Pawldo started down the chute, followed by Tavish. The hefty bard immediately lost her footing and started to slide toward Pawldo, but Yak reached down with one brawny paw and grabbed her by the collar. Thus steadied, the bard worked her way carefully over the loose rubble with the surefooted firbolg beside her. Newt and Yazilliclick used their wings, flying slowly down the chute and staying near the ground. Finally Robyn came to the edge of the gully.
She looked back at the horses. "Do you think they have a chance?"
"Yes ... a chance. No more than that."
She reached forward as if to embrace him but hesitated and then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now, go, and good luck to you!" she whispered, then started down the chute.
Already he could hear Pawldo and Tavish shouting, trying to attract the deathbirds. Several of the creatures soared like vultures overhead, observing the party's progress, as Tristan stole back to the horses. He waited while several
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more of the creatures took to the air. Finally the whole flock, still silent, took off and circled toward the chute. If the horses had a chance to escape, this was it, now while the deathbirds couldn't see them!
"Go!" he hissed, slapping the gelding on the rump. The black horse bolted toward the wide entrance to the grotto. "You, too! Off with you!" He stared at Avalon but did not strike him. The stallion looked at him quizzically, then suddenly turned. With a kick of his hooves, the great white steed blazed after the gelding.
The king raced through the cut and started down the chute, slipping and sliding on the stones in his haste. He ignored the cuts on his hands, desperate to join his companions and lead the deathbirds away from the horses.
Then he looked up and jerked to a horrified stop. The creatures, as a flock, soared over his head back toward the hollow! In moments, they drifted out of sight behind the rocky shoulder of the hill, back toward the camp and the courageous steeds.
The screaming of the horses followed the companions all the way to the bottom.
The fabric of the myriad planes of existence is a material of many parts. When a single panel grows weak, the whole grows weak as well. When a portion tears away, a void is created and chaos reigns.
The stuff of the fabric is the stuff of the gods. And now a tear in the fabric began to open in the Forgotten Realms, where the Moonshae Islands served as a tiny portion of the whole.
The death of the goddess sent a soft ripple through the ether that connects the myriad planes. The gods of chaos greeted the news with delight, the gods of law with concern. The former would try to rip the fabric asunder, the latter to patch it. The gods of neutrality cared little about the opening of the void. They would seek to prevent it from growing but would not strive to close it.
