Slave to the Empire

Slave to the Empire: Warrior 4

Toril pulled the white canvas cloak tighter about him. The others of the small party seemed to remain in their own little worlds, with only the human rogue and the half-elf ranger conversing in any normal way. The last member of the small band was a human also, and a sorcerer to boot. There was a deep sadness about the human magick user, a great loss hung about him like a shroud. It tugged at his sense of compassion to see one in such pain. The small encampment they had was shielded by the ranger's magick, and kept close in the twilight for warmth. The Ranger kept watch for anything that might be looking for them, and the Rogue and the Sorcerer sat together and spoke in hushed tones.

"Are you alright?" The Ranger spoke.

Toril focused on the warrior and nodded once. He did not want to get close to the others, despite the fact that they would all be soon counting on each other for their very lives.

"We'll wait here for a few hours yet." The Ranger spoke, turning to face the entrance. "Most of the ork patrols will be gone by midnight. It will be the coldest time, but only the undead will be about."

"Great." The Rogue spoke. "Corpse-sickles."

"The undead are not to be taken lightly Kieron." The Ranger spoke. "While those we might face are mere zombies, ghouls, and skeletons, they are on the low end of the scale as it were. The real threats-"

"-are the liches, wraiths, and vampires." Toril finished, looking up. "Those you spoke of can be fooled, but the last; the last would take much more than a mouthful of salt to stop."

The Ranger knelt down on his heels. "Correct." He spoke. "I am Aerick, the thief is Kieron and the mage is Savren."

Toril shook his head. "I remember. The good General introduced us all."

"I take it you have some idea of what we face?"

"Yes. The good Lady Murelle made sure I knew everything of what we might encounter."

"Any special training?"

"Does being a fallen Paladin of Sioban count?"

"Fallen?"

"Somewhere I lost my faith."

"Then we'll just have to help you find it again." Kieron spoke.

"It isn't that simple." Toril replied.

"You'd be surprised." Kieron closed his eyes. "All you have to do is just believe."

Toril settled down and stared at the icy ground.

He hated being a non-entity in the keep. He felt as if he was slowly being pressed into nothingness, like his very being was being torn into small pieces. To the inhabitants of the keep he was lower than dirt, something to be ignored, at best tolerated. Oh, he was fed from the table of the Duchess, and had a good bed to sleep in, but it hurt him inside. The Duchess said nothing of his treatment, only drilled him on his knowledge of warfare and battle. It seemed to her he was nothing but a tool, a living weapon. He began to crave those sessions with her. She became a focus for him, a link of sorts to the world.

It boiled down to an obsession.

The moon crested high in the night sky as the four slowly made their way further into the icy realm. It was a slow march, with Aerick taking the lead, followed by Kieron and Savren. Toril followed up the rear. It would be several days before they reached the Castile, and the pace set by the Ranger meant it would be a while before they breached the ancient fortress's defenses. The Rogue would plan out the penetration as they went, and the Sorcerer would prepare several spells in advance for the assault. Toril's function would be the main assault and gate crasher. The Ranger would provide assistance to who ever needed it.

He fell into a rhythm of walking in the snow, following the tracks made by the others as to maximize effort. Right…Left…Right…Left…it seemed like an endless trek across an unchanging landscape. The white of the north seemed to blind his soul and mirror the confusion he felt. Who was he, really? Was he truly a paladin? Or was he simply as the Duchess had said, a spoiled nobleman who was expendable with delusions of grandeur. The others, they all seemed so sure in their own identities, he mused.

The days seemed to merge one after the other as they slowly marched towards the Castile. It became repetitive, which he did not mind. It gave him time to think and wonder.

"Want to talk about it?" Kieron matched step with him in the darkness.

"How do you do it?" Toril glanced at the young human.

"Do what?"

"Deal with your situation."

Kieron shrugged. "I guess it is how I was raised."

"You weren't raised in the Empire."

"No, but my parents were of the Empire." Kieron shrugged. "What did your parents do?"

"My father is an officer in the City Militia, and my mother is a Temple Healer." Toril stared into the darkness. "My family is of the Nobility, but not of the Great Houses."

"But your parents were a love-match, correct?"

"Yes."

"It makes a difference." Kieron pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head. "Those born of arranged marriages are not as emotionally developed as those born to love-matches."

"Are you saying my problem is emotional in nature?"

"No, your problem is in more dealing with surrender."

"Surrender?"

Kieron sighed. "You are a strong personality, a credit to your upbringing. However, for a male to survive in the Empire requires a great deal of surrender, or in your case, a great deal of surrender to your goddess. You haven't accepted it yet."

Toril shook his head. "It isn't that simple."

"Your right, it isn't. It isn't easy either."

"How do you do it?"

"What, surrender?"

"Yes."

" THAT , is something only you can figure out. We are all different, all individuals in their own way." Kieron blew out his breath. "For me, I fell in love."

Toril pondered the words of the young human. Despite his age, he seemed to be quite wise. He assumed that the short life spans of humans gave them an edge, as opposed to the millennia of life granted to the Sun Elves. His thoughts about the human's words troubled him. Was he in fact resisting his Goddess? Did he really want to be a Paladin after all? In his heart he knew he had to make a decision, and the memory of his beautiful mate slowly tipped the scales.

For three days and nights they traveled the endless white. On the dawn of the third day they ran into a patrol of Orks. Aerick waved them down as he drew his bow. Toril inched his way forward, sword drawn and ready. Behind him Kieron loosened his own blade as Savren tightened his grip on his staff. Six Orks passed their position, muttering amongst themselves in their guttural tongue. The white camouflage they work concealed them perfectly against the broken dawn landscape. And they remained motionless until the patrol passed beyond the ridge of the ice valley.

"We could have taken them." Toril spoke softly to the Ranger.

"Yes, and that would have alerted them to our presence." He scanned the terrain before them. In the distance a black spire rose above the crevasses and ridges of ice. "Our best chance for survival relies solely upon stealth right now. Once we breach the defenses, Kieron takes the lead and we destroy this crystal, then you can make all the noise you want."

"What happens once we destroy the crystal?"

"We run."

The rest of the party gathered close.

"Alright," Aerick spoke. "We are about six leagues to the Castile. I would rather wait here until nightfall and approach the Castile, but we are rather pressed for time. We will move very slowly towards the Castile along the ridgeline. That should provide us with some cover. Kieron, I want you to follow up the rear and watch our backs. I'll lead, followed by Toril then Savren. Any questions."

"And we get in the Castile how?"

"There are some old sewers in the fortress; at least they were when the Castile was built. During the abortive rebellion I was shown the original plans of the Castile, and was asked to plan an assault that way."

"And the rebellion failed?"

Aerick nodded slowly. "Cymra."

The four slowly eased out of their hiding spot and slowly inched their way towards the Castile. It was a torturous trip, with everyone looking about nervously as they came ever so closer to their destination.

The Castile loomed before them, tall and black. There was no outer wall of the Castile, just the fortress itself. It was octagonal in shape, with towers at each of the wall junctures. The center of the fortress was connected to the outer towers via bridges that arced across an inner moat. The central tower of the fortress was large and blocky, built for once singular purpose, defense. Toril followed Aerick through some snow drifts to what looked like a small natural ice cave. Kieron slid forward and checked the opening, his hands lightly touching the ice until he stopped over a small rock. He glanced back and grinned, touching the rock. Three ice spike shot up from the ground at the mouth of the cave. With his boot he broke the ice and inched into the cave. Toril swallowed and followed, his eyes never leaving the Rogue's back. The ice cave appeared to be a natural formation, right up until they reached the black basalt passage measuring only two by two meters. There was a stench to the passage, of old death and putrid decay. A few old bones lay scattered along the passage, to which the party kept to the center. Kieron occasionally waved the party to halt while he scouted ahead for a few meters. They came to a large grate set into the ceiling. Kieron pulled a small leather pouch out of his clothing and produced a small mirror to which he affixed to a rod. He eased the mirror up and checked the surroundings above.

"All clear." He whispered. His hands checked the grate and surroundings, and then smeared oil all along the edge of the grate. "No traps."

Aerick motioned for Toril to assist him as the two gripped the grate and pushed. There was a minimum of noise as the grate gave way, allowing Kieron to slip through and pad silently away. Savren followed, followed by Toril, and finally, Aerick. Toril looked around nervously, his back to the wall as he scanned the surroundings. They were in a blind passage that led up, with this being like a refuse pit of some kind. He made a sour face at the smell as the young human quickly climbed up the pit and looked around. He motioned everyone up as he slipped around a corner.

Toril followed slowly, his sword at the ready. The tunnels seemed to be endless, and it was uncanny that Kieron seemed to know exactly where to go. Another thing that unnerved him was the absolute silence in the tunnels. There was no activity whatsoever, not even the normal vermin that inhabited such places. Literally the place was awash with the rot of ages. Kieron called to a halt as they came to a worn iron bound door.

"We're about to penetrate the dungeons of the Castile." He whispered. "There will most definitely be patrols down here, possibly undead. The object right now is to be stealthy. Should we be detected, well, I won't have to tell everyone what to do."

"We are inside the primary magickal defenses." Savren spoke softly. "I can provide some magickal assistance now."

"Will it be detected?" Toril asked.

"No, there is so much magick permeating this place that a few low power spells will go unnoticed."

"Then by all means." Kieron replied, and then turned to examine the door's lock.

Savren held his staff before him and whispered silently to himself. A faint glow enveloped him and then extended to the rest of the party.

"There." He took a deep breath. "We will pass by any undead unnoticed. Just don't attack or touch them. That will disrupt the spell."

With a soft click the door creaked open.

Toril didn't like it. Everything seemed too easy, too pat. He relaxed his grip on his sword for the moment and rolled his shoulders. The mail armor clinked softly as it resettled on his shoulders, and he followed the young human into the dungeons. He forced himself to slow his breathing as he crossed the threshold, and reminded himself that he had a job to do.

They crept through the dungeons slowly. The cells of the dungeon were all empty, with the smell of old death radiating from every stone. Torches flickered along the walls at uneven intervals, leaving vast pools of shadow and darkness in the ancient stone halls. As they reached the first main passage they ran into a shambling patrol of zombies. The rotting dead made no noise, only the occasional scrape of bone or flesh along the ground as they passed. They made no alarm to the presence of the intruders, but shambled along in their simple patrol. Undead were notoriously unreliable for anything, with the exception of the 'higher' forms of the undead, such as vampires and liches. Toril watched the young human intently. He seemed to shrink inward upon himself for periods of time, as if searching inside himself for something. Kieron blinked and then pointed.

"This way."

"You seem awfully sure." Toril whispered back.

The young human quirked a half smile. "Instinct."

Toril shook his head. There was something about him, something that would bear watching.

The passages of the dungeon seemed endless, with Kieron pausing occasionally to get his bearings before leading the party to a small alcove. His hands moves slowly across the rough stone surface, then stopped. With a grin he pushed an innocent looking stone in to reveal a passage way behind the stone façade. An iron wrought circular stairs led upwards into the darkness above.

"Be careful here." Kieron warned. "There will be more than just zombies above, and our danger will be great."

"Just get us to the crystal." Aerick replied, setting an arrow to his bow.

Toril adjusted his shield's strap and slung it over his shoulder, but kept his sword at ready. His elven allowed him to see in the dimmest of rooms, and he used it to search upwards into the stairwell. The ancient iron stairs seemed to go up forever, to the point where even his low-light vision could not see. It was quiet, and slow going as the party moved in such a fashion to keep all noise to a minimum. Time seemed to stretch as they climbed.

They reached their destination shortly after they begun their climb. A false wall that opened into a larger, better lit corridor. Kieron peeked out and seemed to blend in with his surroundings as he scouted. He returned moments later.

"The way to the crystal is clear."

"Clear?" Aerick asked.

"Yeah, and that bothers me." Kieron replied.

"A trap?" Toril inquired.

"Of course."

"Stealth or brute force?" Toril asked Aerick.

"Stealth for now." Aerick replied. He turned to look at Savren, who seemed distracted.

Kieron nodded and led them out. They inched their way across the fortress through the labyrinthine halls until they reached a massive ornate door. The hall was sparsely lit, with deep shadows along the walls. There was a sense of evil present. Toril frowned as he felt the darkness. He closed his eyes and focuses, his heart yielding up its last bit of resistance as he came to understand, and accept his goddess. In a moment of perfect clarity, he saw what lay behind the door.

"NO!" He surged forward as the door swung open.

Savren gathered his energies and paused at the figure beyond. Dressed in black rags, pale, and quite undead. His spell faltered and died as the figure screeched and tore into them. Toril spun his sword in a power attack, but was intercepted and cast into a wall. He made a loud crash as his armor impacted against the stone, and he landed in a heap, stunned. Aerick leapt back and leveled an arrow. It shot from the bow, only to be intercepted by Savren's staff. Aerick turned to shout something at the young sorcerer, only to be set upon and attacked by the same creature. Savren did nothing, only stared as the undead drew itself up before him, a low growl and set upon him finally, tearing at his throat with jagged fangs. Before Toril blacked out, he swore he could have heard the young man whisper Trelyana …