this?
Although, had he known what lay in store, he might have thought twice, for it soon became apparent just what an ill-matched and contentious lot they actually were. Sober, Kovost remembered the usual dwarf prejudice against elf and half-elf alike. Moanda, like any right-thinking barbarian, distrusted mages and was inclined to scorn all her companions as prime exemplars of everything that ailed effete, decadent civilization. Silbastis vexed the others by shirking his share of the chores, Gybik by pilfering, and Perys by his phlegmatic imperturbability.
The way they bickered, it was a marvel they lasted a week in the Nethers, and in fact, one of them didn’t. While they were still in the foothills, an ogre had slain Bax, the company’s only genuine wizard, with a well thrown rock. But the rest survived by learning to work together, and eventually, they even started to like one another. Prejudices faded, or at least ceased to apply to the fellow tramping along at one’s side, while reprehensible character flaws and odious personal habits softened into endearing foibles.
Finally, weeks after the chilly autumn winds began to whine out of the north, the company found a ruined keep and the crypts beneath. Much to their frustration, they’d nearly run out of time to explore the place. They had to set out for Sundabar before the first blizzards sealed the passes. But on the last afternoon before the morning on which they’d agreed to depart, Gybik discovered a fortune in gems concealed behind a stag-headed bas-relief of some long-forgotten beast.
The adventurers could have lived comfortably on such a prize for the rest of their lives, but as they swaggered, jesting and crowing along the ridges and through the vales, not a one of them had any patience for a tame, timid notion like that. They’d spend the winter roistering like lords, then return for more treasure in the spring. Nobody doubted it was there for the taking, just as no one felt daunted by the prospect of a second expedition.
In the wake of Osher’s death their cockiness had flown. They trudged along silently, dull-eyed or peering nervously into the pines clinging to the steep, rocky slope above the trail. Around midmorning, when the sun finally rose above the lofty peaks at their backs, Perys pushed back his green woolen hood to uncover his tousled chestnut curls and turned to regard his comrades.
“Enough of this moping,” he said. “We’ll miss Osher, but he served Torm well. The god has surely given him a high place at his table. We should be happy for him.”
Striving to cast off their melancholy, the others nodded, smiled wanly, or murmured their agreement. “And whatever killed him,” Kovost said, “it’s far behind us now, and won’t trouble us again.”
Halladon woke to a hard nudging in his ribs. From prior experience, he knew it was the steel toe of Kovost’s boot. “Get up, sluggard,” boomed the dwarf.
“It’s good that a season of living rough hasn’t spoiled those exquisite manners of yours,” Halladon replied. When he pushed his covers aside, the cold pierced him like a blade. He hastily clambered to his feet and wrapped himself in his bearskin mantle, which he’d been employing as an extra blanket. “Evidently we came through the night all right.”
“Of course,” Kovost said. “Didn’t I tell you…”
Someone gasped.
The half-elf turned. His face ashen, Gybik was squatting beside Silbastis. Gybik had no doubt attempted to rouse him, but Silbastis wasn’t moving.
The other adventurers hurriedly gathered around the corpse. This time, the throat wasn’t shredded. There was only a single neat, round puncture.
“Whatever killed Osher,” Gybik said shakily, “it followed us.”
“And this time it apparently slew its victim in his sleep,” said Halladon, queasy with grief and dismay. “Stealthy as it is, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how it usually kills. It was likely only a fluke that Osher awoke.”
“Poor man,” said Moanda, gazing down at the body. “I enjoyed his tales of the sea. Even if I was sure he lied with every other word.”
“Poor him and poor us!” said Gybik. “If the killer came twice, it’ll come again.”
“I’m afraid you may well be correct,” Perys said, crouching. “Hmmm. Once again, the creature didn’t leave any tracks.”
“There isn’t much blood on the ground, either,” Halladon said. “That’s odd, too, don’t you think?”
“Everything about this is ‘odd!’ “ Gybik snapped. “Blessed Tymora, what terrible thing is stalking us?”
“Perhaps we roused something in the catacombs,” Perys said somberly. “Some sort of guardian the mages of Netheril left behind to ward their treasure.”
Halladon shrugged. “We didn’t notice any signs of such a thing while we were there, but you could be right.”
“Whatever it is,” Perys mused, “how can it come, kill, and depart at will? Unseen… without leaving a trace? In my experience, even invisible creatures generally give some sign of their presence. Why did it only slay one of us, when others lay sleeping and thus at its mercy as well? And most importantly, how do we protect ourselves from such a thing?”
“It attacks in the dark,” Kovost said. “We could travel by night and sleep by day.”
The long-legged scout shook his head. “Not in this country. I understand that you and Halladon see better at night than we humans, but there’s still an excellent chance we’d take the wrong path or blunder over the edge of a precipice.”
“Now that we know the killer’s tracking us,” Moanda said, “let’s lie in wait for it.”
“That’s worth a try,” Perys said. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll simply have to try to shake the creature off our trail, set up camps that are more difficult to sneak into, and maintain the double watches with especial wariness.”- he looked at Halladon-”Unless you can do something more with your sorcery.”
Feeling useless, the half-elf shook his head. “As I’ve told you, I’ve only mastered a few spells, and I don’t see how any of them could help.”
Moanda made a spitting sound.
“H,” muttered Kovost, his brow furrowed. “Damn it, what was Osher trying to tell us?”
“I’m afraid that what Perys said still holds,” Halladon said sympathetically. “I don’t see how you can possibly guess it.”
“The Soulforger smite you!” snarled the dwarf. “At least I’m trying to help!” Shocked by his comrade’s outburst, Halladon stepped backward.
“No!” Kovost bellowed.
After burying Silbastis, the adventurers had marched about two leagues, then wasted precious hours lying in ambush for a foe that never came. Afterward, they pushed themselves hard to cover as much ground as possible. Despite the weariness their pace engendered, Halladon had at first been too apprehensive to sleep well. But the next two nights had passed without incident, inspiring the brittle hope that the company had outdistanced its nemesis, and this evening exhaustion had finally dragged him down into a profound slumber.
Still, when Kovost’s shout jolted him awake, he comprehended instantly that someone else was dead. Groggily, he disentangled himself from his covers and stumbled over to where the dwarf and Moanda were standing. Gybik joined them a moment later.
The companions regarded the inert form at their feet. To all appearances, Perys, like Silbastis, had perished without ever waking. Once again, there was little blood on the ground.
His boyish face contorted with anger, Gybik rounded on Kovost and Moanda. “What’s the matter with you? You knew this fiend was skulking about. You were supposed to check on us!”
“We did,” Moanda said. “Again and again. I… I don’t know how it got to him without us spotting it.”
“‘H,’” said Kovost, gazing at his feet. His fist clenched on the haft of his axe as though he thought he could pound the solution into his skull.
Shivering, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to pick up his mantle, Halladon crouched beside the body. As he’d expected, he didn’t find any tracks.
“None of us will reach Sundabar,” said Gybik in a fey voice. “We’re all going to die in these awful mountains. Unless…“ He dashed to his pack, tore it open, scooped out a handful of gems, and brandished them at the night. “Take them back! We don’t want them anymore!”
