The priest rose angrily and reached out to grab Escalla by the arm. She whirled, and suddenly a black sword flashed out from the night to hover beneath the priest’s throat. The Justicar loomed in the darkness, his hugeblade gleaming as it quivered just short of the priests jugular.
“No one touches the faerie.”
The ranger pushed the priest away with the tip of his sword, using the same distaste he would use to remove a piece of tainted meat. Stumbling, the priest backed away, gripped his hammer, then turned and marched off into the night.
Escalla coldly watched the priest leave, tucked in her towel, and flicked the spellfire from her fingertips.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” The Justicar sheathed his sword with his usualfluid grace. “You weren’t interested in a bribe?”
“Hey, I’m greedy, but I’m not dumb. As if they’d pay anyonewith anything other than a foot of steel between the shoulder blades!” The girlstooped to pick up her fallen hairbrush. “But, hey, as far as corruption of theinnocent goes, these guys have really got an awful lot to learn.”
13
After long days of travel, the party was leaving the lastvestiges of safety behind. They had slept at one of the northern settlements and had been on the move before dawn. Now at long last they had entered enemy terrain, and the Justicar could forge ahead to the work at hand.
Enemy country was no laughing matter. Walking up the steep northern bank of the Artonsamay River, the Justicar slowly sank down amidst the weeds until he disappeared from view. Slithering forward in utter silence, he stared through the grasses into an alien land.
Years before, these plains had belonged to the Bandit Kingdoms. Petty warlords had lived here as brigands, raiding and reaving into the neighboring lands. Border patrols had fought bitter campaigns to keep the river lines clear, turning the region into a perpetual battlefield. With the coming of the Greyhawk Wars, however, all had changed. The Bandit Kingdoms had disintegrated under the onslaught of Iuz, and what few remained were no more than a sham, slave pits to Iuz and a refuge for the damned.
Wilderness had reclaimed the sparse few settlements. Where villages had stood, now only broken and burned skeletons of the once-proud halls lay stark against the sky. Where wagons had brought merchants and migrants, now there was only skittish wildlife and the occasional desperate bandit.
Near the river where the party waited, there was only the hollow buzz of flies and skeletal black bees.
This near the realm of Iuz, caution and skill divided the living from the dead. Taking no chances, the Justicar lay perfectly still, sensing the shift and stir of a hostile world. Before him, the undulating ground was covered knee deep in autumn grass, which looked gray and withered as if somehow drained of life. The gray stalks washed back and forth like an ocean in the breeze, sending ripples chasing far out toward the hills. Any trees on the land were restricted to scattered copses, but the nearest of these were over a mile away.
The sight would have been beautiful had it not been so dangerous. The motion of the grass could hide scouts and ambushers. The ranger stared toward the north where a distant volcano lifted plumes of thin white steam toward the clouds.
Cinders scanned the terrain with a nose sensitive to magic and eyes sensitive to heat. Tall canine ears lifted, and his tail slowly waved. After five long minutes, the hell hound finally seemed satisfied. His voice drifted ever-cheerful into Jus’ mind.
Bones stood here. Gone now.
“How long ago?”
One sleep old.
The Justicar shifted position, moving almost without disturbing the grass. Soil had been disturbed on the crest of the riverbank beside him, and the footprints had been hazed over with a film of morning dew. Thin foot bones had left their shape across the grass, marking the tread of skeletal feet.
With a pop, Escalla appeared at his side. The little faerie lay flat and quiet in the grass, whispering cautiously into the breeze. “How’s it going?”
“It looks clear.” The Justicar could see nothing, yet itseemed unlikely that the border would be left unguarded for long. “Bring themacross quickly. Tell them to shed anything they can’t carry for eighty miles.We’ll be travelling fast.”
“Should we wait for dark?”
“We can’t see in the dark. Most monsters can.” The rangerturned awkwardly on his elbow to look back across the river. “And tell thosepriests we’re keeping low. I’ll kill any horse that so much as puts a footacross the shore.”
The river made a dull, iron gray barrier between the living kingdoms and the dead. On the far side, blowing their cover with the twinkle of metal armor and silver swords, the rest of the party was trying to catch sight of the Justicar. Escalla looked at the fools as they tried to hide themselves, gave a sniff of professional disdain, then turned invisible and whirred away to deliver her messages.
Wagons had brought the party this far-wagons laden with food,tents, and all the luxuries required by paladins and priests. Encumbered by metal armor, shields, two-handed swords, bows, arrows, and spare bowstrings, the party made each day’s travel into an enormous labor. They shot hurtful looks atthe carefree faerie and the Justicar, who traipsed happily along in each other’scompany and made do with the simplest of gear.
But now that they were across the river, the party came under the Justicar’s command. As the priests were instructed to abandon theirequipment, a chorus of outraged voices drifted across the river. Two priests tried to cling to their horses, feeling that walking would be beneath their dignity. Unfortunately, out here on the plains a mounted man could be seen at twice the distance of a pedestrian. Escalla solved the problem by hosing the area with her favorite stinking cloud spell, instantly throwing horses, mules, servants, and wagons into a stampede away from the waterside.
Much to the Justicar’s annoyance, Polk the teamster was stillvery much in evidence. Polk had skillfully assembled a raft from inflated skins to ferry the party members two by two. Both the Geshtai and the Bleredd priests insisted on being the first to cross, yet neither one deigned to help Polk with paddling the raft.
Rising from the weeds, Jus met the raft as it arrived and used his sword to hold it back from the shore.
“Robes off.”
The priests-one male and one female-both swelled inindignation.
“These are the vestments of our station,” said the Blereddpriest.
“We walk twenty miles each day. I won’t slow my pace to suityour fashion needs.”
Swathed in heavy brocaded robes and hung with collars, mitres, gold, and jewels, the two priests were poorly dressed for hiking. Polk hooted in glee as the two priests cursed and stripped away their vestments, each of them glaring at the Justicar in hate. Finally, they were left stripped down to just armor: suits of mail and plate.
“You pixie has chased away my pack mule,” said the Geshtaipriestess. “What am I to do for a tent?”
“Use a ground sheet,” the Justicar answered tersely. “Yourtents weigh too much.”
The raft returned across the stream to pick up more travelers. As Polk poled away and sang a bawdy song, the Justicar sorted through a pile of equipment left on the shore and made a sour face.
“What’s this?”
“Adventuring equipment.” Bleredd’s priest was short, weedy,and suspicious. He came complete with a suit of plate armor. “I am aprofessional.”