Journey of the Mind

The next morning the companions said goodbye to Kodik and set out after the ogres. The sky was clear, the trail was easy to follow, and they made good time.

"Explain to me why we're doing this again?" asked Brighton.

Silar grinned. "Because it is the right thing to do. We must discover the mastermind behind the dastardly assaults by the ogres. When we have learned where they are hiding, we return to Chimney Rock and lead the cavalry there. They smite the wicked creatures, and restore peace to the area." The t'skrang's tail swept dramatically through the air.

Mica smiled. "It sounds like our kind of mission." He had taken an instant liking to the exuberant Archer.

"We're climbing a mountain," said Brighton, "chasing a dozen ogres to their lair, where Passions know how many more are waiting to spit and roast us over an open fire. It sounds like a mission for a group of suicidal fools with delusions of grandeur."

"Like Mica said," said Tomas, "our kind of mission."

There was a snort from Bearclaw. Brighton looked over at him, unsure whether it was laugh or not. He could never tell with the stoic, hide-clad tracker.

Brighton sighed and mumbled, "We aren't even getting paid for this."

"Paid?" Silar looked shocked. "Heroes do not get paid." The Archer said the word like a curse.

"Heroes don't need to eat, either," said Brighton, "which reminds me." He dug into his pack and pulled out a small hunk of cheese. As he chewed, be added, "The only heroes I know are dead heroes. Not something I want to end up, thank you very much."

"Then why did you come with us?" asked Bearclaw.

"Because if I didn't go with you, I'm sure Kodik would have dragged me along to Cliffside. I have no desire to see that creepy place ever again." He shuddered. "Those twisted things that attacked us aren't the worst of it, I'm sure."

Silar rolled his eyes and glanced at Mica. "Why on earth did he ever take up the adventuring life?"

"He wanted to strike it rich," replied the dwarf.

The t'skrang shrugged. "I'll never understand humans," he sighed.

Hours later, the quiet of the rocky peaks was shattered by a high-pitched, wavering cry that echoed off the rock faces around them.

"What was that?" asked Brighton.

"Probably just some wild animal that is more frightened of you than you are of it," scoffed Silar.

"I don't know if that's possible," replied the Troubadour, looking around nervously. "I don't like this at all."

The call repeated, louder.

"Does that sound familiar to anybody else or is it just me?" asked Tomas.

Mica glanced at him. "Skittish, Tomas?"

"He's right," said Brighton. "It sounds like those things we fought in Cliffside."

"You're jumping at shadows," said Silar. "It's daylight, so it obviously isn't those creatures you described. That's the call of the male frillback, seeking a mate. You'd think none of you had been in the mountains before."

"Frillbacks don't live in these mountains," said Bearclaw quietly.

"What?" Silar stopped and looked at the tracker. "That's absurd. I know a frillback when I hear one."

The call echoed again, even closer this time.

"I don't know what a frillback is," said Brighton, "but if it makes a noise like that, I'm not sure I want to meet one."

"Bah! Frillbacks are harmless insect eaters," scoffed the t'skrang. "Is this any way for heroes to behave?"

"I would like to remind you that I never claimed to be a hero," said Brighton.

Sighing, Silar turned back to the trail, his tail twitching.

A figure appeared on the trail before them. It appeared to be a Name-giver, twisted into a warped parody of its former self. Bent limbs jutted at odd angles from its hips and shoulders. Its head was cocked to one side as it regarded the band of travelers, and it was covered in rust-brown, matted patches of fur. Its eyes were soulless pools of solid black.

"What in the Passions' grace is that?" whispered Mica.

"Whatever it is," murmured Brighton, "I doubt it's friendly."

Snorting, Silar raised his crossbow. "You're acting like a bunch of frightened hatchlings." He carefully took aim.

The creature threw its head back and let out a blood-curdling howl. Silar nearly dropped his crossbow.

"I don't think that's a frillback," said Tomas.

Over the rocky ridge that bordered the left-hand side of the trail swarmed another half-dozen of the twisted creatures. They skittered, spider-like, on all fours towards the company, hissing.

The creature that blocked the trail leapt at Silar, who managed to fire his crossbow into its chest. The two went down, the creature trying to bite through the armor protecting Silar's shoulder.

Mica and Bearclaw closed the distance to the other creatures as Tomas threw Mind Daggers. Brighton drew his sword and rushed to Silar's aid.

As one of the beasts reared up to slash at Mica, he slashed across its belly. A powdery, light brown substance poured from the deep cut. The Swordmaster barely had time to notice before he was struck by another of the creatures, the needle-like claws piercing his armor and drawing blood.

Bearclaw faced three more of the creatures, keeping himself between them and Tomas, who readied another spell. There was a brief shimmer in the air as the dart of astral energy struck home, drawing a shriek from the creature.

Silar, with Brighton's aid, had thrown off his opponent and reloaded his crossbow. He fired as Brighton parried attacks from the dislodged beast. One of its blows got past the Troubadour's defenses, drawing a cry of pain from Brighton.

Pressed hard by three attackers, Bearclaw withdrew a few steps, drawing one of the creatures out of position, and then struck, his claws raking across the creature's back. The claws came away coated with the same brown powder that now covered the ground around Mica, who had dropped one foe and was finishing off another.

Tomas continued to throw Mind Daggers at any target of opportunity. Brighton was being pushed back, finding it hard to deal with the quick strikes of the creature. Silar readied his crossbow for another shot, looking for the best target.

Mica, bleeding from several strikes that had pierced his armor, finished off the last of his opponents and moved to help Brighton. Catching the creature off guard, he drove his blade through its back and out its chest. As the creature howled in pain, it arched its back, throwing a spray of brown powder at Brighton. The troubadour, caught by surprise, attempted to back away and lost his balance on the now slick ground, falling.

With support from Silar and Tomas, Bearclaw, who was also bleeding from several minor wounds, finished off the last of the creatures.

"Is everybody all right?" asked Tomas.

"Just a few scratches is all," said Mica, pulling his sword free from the creature's body.

"I am not seriously hurt," said Bearclaw.

Brighton, still on the ground, examined the brown powder that covered him. "What on earth..."

"What is it, Brighton?" asked Tomas.

"Sawdust? The things bleed sawdust!" cried Brighton.

"Surely you jest," said Silar.

"I'm not! Take a look for yourself. It's sawdust!"

Bearclaw knelt and examined one of the fallen creatures. "There are no organs. These creatures are unlike anything I have ever encountered."

"Animated skins with sawdust filling them?" asked Tomas.

"So it seems."

Tomas fell silent, a concerned look on his face.

"I don't even want to know what you're thinking, Wizard," said Brighton. "I just want to get away from these things."

"I agree with you," said Tomas. "I have no idea what these things are, or what magic created them. If there is one thing I don't like, it is unknown magic. I only hope the answers can be found up there." He looked up the trail.

"Wait a minute," said Brighton. "After that, you want to keep going? We encounter a bunch of living dolls - and nasty ones at that - and we're chasing a band of ogres into Passions know what kind of trap. Add to that an unknown magic that created the damned things, and you want to press on?"

"There are secrets of some sort in those peaks," said Silar. "Secrets that threaten the safety of all who dwell here. It is our duty to push forward, regardless of personal risk, and expose whatever foul plot is afoot!"

Brighton rolled his eyes. "I'm surrounded by crazy people."

Mica smiled. "Then you must be crazy, too." He knocked the last bits of sawdust off his blade and sheathed it. "Well, we're not doing anything but wasting time here. Let's go!"

Brighton sighed, clambered to his feet, and dusted himself off as the group continued up into the mountains.

Hours later, the group found themselves overlooking a deep gorge. The ogre's trail clearly continued on the other side, after a natural stone bridge that arched across the gorge.

"Looks like there's only one way to go," said Mica. He walked up to the edge and looked over. Grey clouds obscured the bottom of the chasm. "Make that two. I wouldn't recommend the second, though."

"We're going to cross that?" asked Brighton.

"Why not? A troop of ogres crossed it. It should be perfectly safe."

Brighton sighed. "All right, fine. But I'm not going first."

"Rabbit," said Mica. "I'll show you." So saying, the Swordmaster stepped out onto the bridge. He made his way cautiously across, the wind blowing his long hair about. He paused in the middle and looked back at the group, a huge smile on his face.

"Nothing to it. Wind's a bit cold, though."

Turning back, Mica finished crossing the bridge. Brighton found he had been holding his breath, expecting some disaster, and slowly released it.

"All right, here I come."

He stepped out onto the bridge, one hand holding onto his hat, the other stretched out for balance. Stepping carefully, he made his way across. Mica gave a cheer when he reached the other side.

"We'll make a hero of you yet, Brighton."

The Troubadour smiled weakly and sat down, his back pressed against a slab of rock.

Bearclaw looked at Tomas. "You go ahead."

The wizard nodded, and started across. About two-thirds of the way across, Tomas cried out and fell to his knees. Mica and Bearclaw moved to help, but Tomas waved them off. "I'm all right," he called. "The wind just caught me by surprise." He began crawling, and soon made it to the far side.

"After you, Bearclaw," said Silar.

Bearclaw nodded, and started across, half crouched to better maintain his balance. Silar took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Nearly all t'skrang, save the legendary k'stuulami, suffered from extreme vertigo. This was not going to be easy.

The Archer opened his eyes and saw Bearclaw reach the other side without incident. Slinging his crossbow across his back, Silar took another deep breath and started across the bridge.

Don't look down, he thought. Focus on the other side. Don't think about how high you are. You're a hero. You can do this.

The wind gusted a little bit, and Silar wobbled. Regaining his balance, he happened to glance down and see the clouds boiling below. He snapped his eyes shut and straightened up. It's no worse than running the rail of a riverboat, he thought, adding, The landing's just a bit harder.

On the far side, the others watched Silar freeze in the middle of the bridge. "What's the matter with him?" asked Mica.

Tomas groaned. "T'skrang generally suffer from vertigo."

There was silence, save for Brighton's murmured "Oh no."

"I'll get him," said Bearclaw. But before the tracker could start out after Silar, another strong gust of wind blew down the chasm, and Silar teetered. With a cry that echoed off the cliffs, the t'skrang fell off the stone arch, vanishing into the clouds below.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Mica muttered, "Damn."

Silar fell. The wind had felt like a hand that swept him off the bridge and hurled him into the rolling mist. As he entered it, darkness enveloped him. Were it not for the wind roaring past his ears, he could believe he was in the gentle embrace of his beloved Serpent River.

But even the sound of the wind faded, and Silar felt like he was floating. In the darkness, points of light began to appear, and what looked like the night sky materialized before his eyes. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Floating in space, surrounded by nothing but the twinkling lights of the heavens.

Silar suddenly felt a presence, and knew he was not alone. There was something else in the darkness with him.

Am I dead? he thought.

No, came an echoing reply. But you may soon wish you were.

Who are you?

There was an evil, echoing laugh and a pair of red stars appeared. The stars grew larger, rushing towards the t'skrang who began to feel a knot twist his gut. Silar soon realized that the stars were actually a pair of eyes, glowing red with the fires of Death's Sea.

Silar felt himself falling again, and screamed as the flaming red eyes swallowed him.

Silar snapped awake in a cold sweat, the laughter of the thing in the stars still echoing in his mind. After a few moments it faded, and he heard the breathing of his new companions. Sitting up and looking around, Silar found he was still in the village of Chimney Rock. The pale, thin moon hung low in the sky. Dawn was still a long way off.

Trying to get the nightmare out of his head, Silar took his crossbow out and began cleaning it. He sleep any more tonight.

Around the dim embers of the fire, the other four slept on, continuing their journey.

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