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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
"Henri! Henri!" Ivo called out. He weaved his way past piles of
rotting muck and carefully watched where he placed his feet, the floor was
slick with filth and studded with half gnawed fragments of bone. The old
gnome easily spotted the tall opening in the wall, it was narrow for a
Hill Giant to use, they had to enter shoulder first and scraped belly and
back against the frame. To Ivo the gap was as great as a castle gate,
rising high above his head, he could swing both arms out and never come
near to either side.
"Henri!" he called again, a little exasperated with the priest.
The room was filled with chests and trunks, a rough cloth sack had
split and poured out a tide of coins, all green with age and welded one
to another with verdigris.
Atop a wooden crate sat the pholtite priest, his eyeless mask of
gold downturned, a pile of coins he held in cupped hands. Ivo did not say
a word, he caught the last hushed phrases that Henri intoned and threw his
arm before his eyes. There came a flash, the old gnomes arm became
translucent red, only the dark mass of bone inside saved his sight from
the blinding flare.
* * *
Harold lifted the ogres blade, it was made for a human hand, a
short sword or a long broad dagger, not what the halfling would choose to
wield, but his own knife was gone. The swords sheath was still on the
ogres belt, now lying down below where the monsters body had landed hard
upon the stones.
He had to keep the blade in his hand or leave it lying on the
ground. He wanted to have both hands free, yet standing alone in the
giants kitchen he felt more secure with the hide wrapped hilt grasped
tightly in his hand.
"Little good you will do me against a giant or even another ogre."
Harold told the blade.
Harold paced the length of the large room, down its south-eastern
arm, beneath the towering tabletops and out to the archway that opened on
a long corridor and looked out across to a huge set of double doors. He
peered down the corridor, looking south then north, but there was nothing
but the tangy smell of smoke, distant noises like the creaking of old
bones, and the dim glow of torchlight, the flames burning from sconces far
off to either side.
Back he went and then to the north and east, more tables, chairs,
sinks and shelves, the room bent sharply to the north, a dead end, the
kitchen larder. There was a doorway to the south, the way that Edouard
went and Derue followed. Harold would not go that way alone, not if he had
any other choice.
From the chute he heard a banging sound, Harold ran to see the
ranger Harald climbing up over the wooden lip.
"Harald! Brandobaris be praised!" the halfling cried. "Now don't
you go running off."
"Harold what has been going on?" the ranger answered. He smiled to
see his friend, but quickly bent and began pulling up the rope. "Gytha!"
he called down the chute. "Just hold on, I will pull you up!"
* * *
(To Be Continued)