Shades of Eire

[Renegade Paladin]

You know, it would be really handy if people would tell me what was causing the side-scrolling. My computer runs on 1280x1024, so I can't see it and have to guess. Did that fix it?

[Renegade Paladin]

Chapter Two

Cairnstone Road, 15th of Kythorn, 1369 DR

Sir Tristram broke camp early the next day and rode on towards the pass, ruefully reflecting on how it may have been unwise to leave so late the previous afternoon. The morning sun was still low in the sky when he saw a pair of his fellow knights riding south on the road, back towards the city. It wasn't long before he recognized the devices of Lord Jocelin and Sir Griflet on the shields of the men approaching.

“Hail, Sir Tristram,” Jocelin shouted as they came within speaking distance. “Where do you go on this fine morning?”
“I know not,” Tristram answered with a smile as the distance closed, pulling up his horse to better speak to his fellows. “I ride errant, and presently make for the Cairnstone Pass. After that, I have no plan.”

Lord Jocelin looked concerned. “Errant? It is a grand and noble thing to ride forth in search of adventure and to help the weak, Sir Tristram, but are there not matters of importance before the court? Sir Griflet and I return to Tirisfal ourselves for precisely that purpose.”

Tristram snorted. “I have no further stomach for the game of the court. I find that I yearn too strongly for the road, and freedom from the backbiting treachery of the courtiers.”

“But my Lord,” Griflet interrupted, “word came to us that the southern barons were pushing to remove the authority of the Royal Orders over their fiefs; surely that is sufficiently important to hold your interest?”

Tristram was about to answer when Lord Jocelin shook his head at Griflet. “Sir Griflet, we have more than enough support to squash this nonsense. If Sir Tristram wishes to ride errant in the knowledge of what is happening, then that is his right.” He turned back towards the knight of the Silver Hand. “Go forth in the name of the right then, Tristram, and may the Triad guide your path through your adventures and back safely home.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Tristram answered, inclining his head towards the master of the Order of the Crown. “May your path homeward be safe and swift. Lord Ewaine will be glad of your swift return. Good day to you.” With shared nods of respect, the three knights parted ways again and Tristram resumed his trek north, his mood somewhat lightened knowing that Lord Jocelin's weight in the council was worth far more than his own, making his absence matter less.

* * *

Tristram took his leave from Hillwatch Keep that afternoon after sitting mess with the commanders of the garrison, resolving to press on and clear Cairnstone Pass by that night. Riding between the standing stones that marked the southern end of the pass, he kept a sharp eye on the surrounding hills. The pass wasn't extremely dangerous, but one never knew.

The sun was sinking in the sky when he caught up with two travelers on foot also traversing the pass northward.

“Hail,” he called out as he rode up behind. “Who goes?”

“Two simple travelers,” one of the two answered as they both turned towards the sound of hoofbeats. “I am Helori Breen, and this is my brother Denzel. We're traveling to Proskur. And may I ask after your name, Sir Knight?”

“You may. I am Sir Tristram of the Order of the Silver Hand. I ride errant, in search of adventure.”

“Well, we would be glad of your company, at least until we're out of the shadow of these hills,” the man introduced as Denzel said. “Would hate for any of us to have to tackle an orc alone when we could've stuck together.”

“I think you're right, goodman,” Tristram answered. “Proskur is as good a direction as any, for my purposes. Very well, I will ride with you.” So saying, he urged his bonded mount to walk next to the men, needing no touch of the reins or even spoken words to communicate his will to the supernaturally intelligent warhorse.

Margh, for that was the stallion's name, sampled the air, nostrils wide, for a moment as he and his rider fell in next to the men. Don't like, Tristram suddenly heard in his mind, if heard was the right word for the wordless communication between the bonded companions. Smells odd.

Tristram's eyes narrowed, but he knew that there are many smells a horse doesn't like that don't indicate danger. What's odd? Don't smell it, he responded, the communication manifesting more as thoughts and impressions rather than words.

Lotus. Very bad to eat. Smelled it on bad men before.

Tristram sat in silence for a moment before turning back to his new companions. “So, what takes you to Proskur, gentlemen?”

“Our father lived there,” Helori answered without a pause in his walk. “We heard that he has died, and travel to Proskur both to honor his grave and to see to family affairs.” He paused for a beat. “And you? Why do you ride north by yourself, seeking adventure?”

“Oh, just a need to escape from the court for a time,” Tristram answered with a small smile. Something in Helori's answer seemed off. The two brothers were seemingly satisfied with Tristram's answer, however, and Helori and Denzel continued walking without asking any more questions. Tristram's eyes narrowed again and, as the two men looked away from him, began to glow a light blue. It only lasted a second before they returned to normal.

You are right, my friend, he thought at his steed. They are bad men indeed. As the black auras his soulsight revealed had clearly shown.

* * *

Still, while evil was clearly in their hearts, that could mean anything from black murder to a surfeit of avarice, and there was no way for him to tell. So the three continued on as before, passing the standing stones at the north end of the pass late in the evening, and making camp in the plains north of the Realmspine at sundown.

“I shall take the first watch,” Tristram said to his companions. “If the inhabitants of those hills are to give us any trouble, they will probably do it soon after the sun has set. They do not like the light, and typically aren't inclined to patience.”

The two travelers assented to this, and Tristram sat looking away from the fire as they slept, Margh dozing on his hooves a few feet away. His hours of watch passed without incident.

* * *

At the appointed time, Tristram shook Helori awake for his watch and, shedding his armor, laid down to sleep, with his sword in easy reach at his side. By this time Margh was once again awake and cropping grass, facing away from the fire and his master.

The man who'd introduced himself as Helori threw a fresh log on the fire and sat watching it burn, idly sharpening a knife on a whetstone.

After about an hour, he stood and stretched. Margh craned his neck to observe the stranger, continuing to chew. Helori shook his brother awake and spared a brief glance over at the dozing knight before pulling a small bottle out of his belt pouch, popping out the cork with his gloved hands. The horse's ears pricked up as the man poured the contents of the container onto his knife and began to stealthily creep towards Tristram as Denzel silently sat up and put his hands on his own weapons.

“His Excellency sends his regards, Lord Tristram,” Helori whispered in an ironic tone as he raised his knife...

...and then went flying backwards into the fire as Margh kicked him with both rear hooves. The warhorse whinnied loudly as Sir Tristram rolled to his feet, sword in hand, clearly fully awake.

Denzel cursed and lunged as Helori screamed and tried to roll his broken body out of the fire, but Tristram parried the rapier out and launched a riposte, which Denzel barely avoided by wildly backpedaling.

Rather than immediately pursue, Tristram stood his ground and took a high, two-handed guard with his sword, raising it straight up above his head. Thinking he saw an opening, Denzel lunged back in, raising his small buckler above his head to avoid a counterstroke from above. But he didn't anticipate what came next.

Rather than strike at Denzel, Tristram parried downward, longsword meeting rapier and forcing it away, and then stepped inward while taking a grip on his blade with his left hand, using it as a fulcrum and smashing the assassin's nose with the quillons of his larger weapon. As the man fell down, blood spouting from his ruined face, the knight pulled his right hand back, leaving the sword point down, and rammed it into his enemy's chest. Denzel's eyes glassed over, a look of shock clear on his face even through the blood.

Pulling his sword free, Tristram stalked over to Helori where he lay, having managed to roll out of the fire, trying to breathe through a smashed ribcage.

“Black lotus extract, wasn't it?” Tristram's voice fairly dripped with contempt as he addressed the dying man. “'His Excellency' was willing to drop a pretty penny on making sure I did not return, then. Oh yes, I know what is on your blade; Margh here knows the smell of the plant it comes from,” he said, jerking his head towards his horse. “A slow and painful death, by all accounts. But I, not being you, will make it quick.” So saying, he raised his sword and thrust its point through the man's throat and spinal column. With one last shudder, his suffering on the mortal plane ended in an instant.