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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
This is a first draft of a story set in the world of Greyhawk.
It is based on a home campaign so some of the people, places and things
may be different. Any helpful comments or suggestions are very welcome.
Thanks
Jason Zavoda
"Talberth, help me. We must grab Harald and get him out of here."
said Telenstil.
"We will never move him." Talberth said breathlessly. "Wolves!"
he shouted, his eyes flashing toward the smoke-cloud created by Ivo's
spell.
A handful of the beasts jumped from the wafting edges, their
hair lank and greasy with a shiny, yellow oil. More staggered from the
cloud, some dropped and rolled in the dirt, others wiped at their
muzzles with paws bitten by the magic smoke.
"You two get Harald." Ivo told the two wizards. "I'll take care of
these." The old gnome held a white feather in his hand and waved it toward
the wolves. He spoke words of gnomish magic beneath his breath and the
feather disappeared.
What the wolves saw even Ivo did not know. His spell sought out
their greatest fear and made it real. There were growls and whines, one
wolf leapt straight up into the air. None went back into the grey-yellow
cloud, but all turned tail and ran.
Nyradir raced toward the giants. He had no weapon, but that
daunted him not at all. Veering toward the left, he avoided the three
who fought with Ghibelline, Gytha and Derue. Behind them the elemental
skreeched and whirled.
The sacks and bags of the giants lay unattended. Galar lay bound
among the litter. The dwarf was still, but his hands worked at the
rope that tied them. Rough cord bit into his skin and slicked his wrists
with blood. He'd just about freed one hand when Nyradir reached him.
"Galar!" said Nyradir with relief. "You are still alive."
"Undo these knots!" snapped Galar.
"You've almost got this off yourself." Nyradir said, looking
at the gouges in Galar's flesh. "How are the others." He glanced at
the sacks that the giants had not upended.
"Dead." Galar said like a curse. "They put me in last.. owuch!
What are you playing at!"
"Sorry, I've no knife and these knots are pulled tight."
Apologized Nyradir. "They're dead. How do you know?" he asked in
a low voice after a moments pause.
"I was trussed up and put in last." said Galar. "I saw. They
cut their throats and bled them like rabbits."
"Why not us." grunted Nyradir.
"They've other plans for us." said Galar. "There!" he pulled his
arms free and grimaced when he saw the deep cuts on his wrists. "My
pack, my hammer, they are in those sacks of the giants. Your axe as
well, come, help me."
Galar didn't wait for Nyradir's reply. The older dwarf kicked
through the debris surrounding him and threw himself upon one of the
large cloth sacks. He pulled at the cord and it came open in his hand.
There was another sack beside him. Nyradir grabbed at it, but Galar
slapped him on the shoulder.
"Not that one." Galar said and shook his head.
"This one, Annar and Sjar?" Nyradir asked.
Galar nodded to him silently.
The muscles in Nyradir's hand tightened, his fingers went white
with the strain, and the cloth bag tore down its side. When he had
ripped it halfway, a curly head came into sight. Nyradir put his hand
beneath and cradled the neck, as if the dwarf was merely sleeping.
"I have said prayers for them, said them for all of us." Galar
told him. "Our gear is in this bag, say your prayers for them later,
say it with your axe. Carve a prayer in some giant flesh."
The fighting raged around them.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)