"How did you come to be a knight, milady?" The speaker was comparatively young for an Elf; probably younger than she herself was. His grey eyes were focused upon his sword, which he was sharpening with smooth rhythmic strokes.
Eowenna pondered for a moment, tilting her head slightly to one side and inadvertently causing her pale brown hair to cascade off her shoulder. Thinking back, it seemed that her earliest memory was about a pair of elvish bards singing in perfect harmony of adventures in faraway places. She had been very young, sitting with rapt attention on her Father's knee while her mother rocked a younger sibling. At the time, she had wanted very badly to go see such places and win renown. She had yet to learn the price of "adventures."
That had been so very long ago... Eowenna pushed her hair back, tucking several strands behind her almost-round ear and continued repainting the family device upon her well-worn shield. "Why do you ask?" she said curiously.
"I am told you are exceptionally skilled, especially for a human. I wondered how you began," he replied. Both respect and a mild embarrassment could be detected coloring his voice. His gaze remained focused upon his sword, ignoring the dark tendrils that escaped his tight braid to drift into his face.
"It is a lengthy tale," she warned, "and I am no bard. You may weary of it ere it is all told." She smiled mischievously and asked, "Have you the time and patience to hear of a mere human till near nightfall?"
His hands stilled as he raised his eyes to meet her gaze. "Methinks I am equal to the task," he responded cautiously, though his grey eyes twinkled merrily.
"Then let us hope my son's nap lasts long enough," she quipped through a smile. Seeing his answering smile, she let her thoughts drift back to her own childhood.
"Strangely enough," she began, "I cannot say for certain if my interest in righting wrongs came from my parents or from heeding the tales spun by bards. My father, Valerion Celerdain, was taller than many of the other townsfolk and walked with a pronounced limp. Cruel scars furrowed his skin, most noticeably on his sword hand and his shield arm. I was often told he had been an exceptional warrior in his day. Yet his fighting days had ended ere I was born."
He gestured for her to continue, then bent over his sword again as he listened.
"My mother, Gilraen, had been a Priestess to the Father of Light. He who is also called the Truth Bringer, Mighty Warrior, Captain of the Host, Creator, Preserver, Comforter, as well as many other titles," she said. Her painting slowed as she continued focusing 70 years into the past.
"My father shared the same faith, to the known yet unknown God - some call Him Nameless, since it seems He is more often referenced by title... or that mayhap His true name has been forgotten, or is avoided lest it be uttered in disrespect. In any case, though he expressed his devotion more often in deeds than in words, my father was as deeply committed to the same Faith as was my mother.
"They built an inn of brickwork on the foundation of a burned building, and settled in a bustling port city. I never learned how they met, though I have heard some say that he was crippled saving her life. He had mastered the art of brewing both wines and strong ales; she was a fine cook. I daresay the trade of inn-keeping must have seemed a natural choice for them when they were driven into retirement from his injuries.
"Their inn quickly became known as a haven where travelers were welcomed and their tales not mocked. Both of my parents had seen enough of the world that they never doubted a true tale."
"They must have made rare innkeepers, to thus know truth from myth," he marveled.
"Aye," she replied, "and rare to look upon also. He was so tall and brawny, strong yet gentle. Many mistook him for one of the semi-barbaric Northmen from the frozen wastes. She was tall, slender, graceful, and accounted a great beauty." The lady knight avoided being distracted by her own plain, serviceable-but-not-outstanding face. She had long since overcome vanity; though she occasionally suffered fleeting wistful regrets that she fell so far short of being a beauty.
"My mother always kept her hair brushed to cover her ears. I have oft times wondered if her ears may not have been nearly as pointed as your own. She could sing like a bard, though she focused more upon hymns than entertainment. My mother was also the local lore mistress, and children came from all the surrounding area to learn history from her each fourth-day sennight. It was not at all uncommon for their parents to attend also."
When she paused for breath, he inquired with some surprise, "You think your mother was Elvish?"
"They did not tell you my age?" Eowenna asked, slightly surprised that he might remain uninformed. She knew that Elves viewed age differently from humans. Recently, the Elves seemed inclined to mention that she was aging more like their kind than like the humans among whom she had been raised. She recognized that as the compliment it was intended to be; they were implying that she was Elf-like. That was a rare tribute toward a human from an Elf.
"I was told that you would be accounted nearly an adult by elvish standards," he admitted. "Though I had thought the one who said so may have been misinformed."
"I shall be 74 when next spring comes," she said. "Yet I look and feel less than half that age, as human kind measures time. While I lack your elegant ears, my own are not as round as pure humans and I am slightly more slender than is normal for humans of my height. Since it seems I did not receive this inheritance from my father, I can only guess that it must come from my mother. Though I think it more likely she was half-elven than pureblooded."
He nodded thoughtfully, looking her over and beginning to agree with her assessment. "Is this why you were made a citizen of our capitol, and granted a dispensation to wed with an elf?"
"That is another tale, for another time," she said solemnly. "Though sometimes methinks my poor contributions are over-rated." A slight flush glowed in her cheeks for a moment, and then faded.
"In any case, I grew up surrounded by travelers and tellers-of-tales nearly every even," Eowenna said, returning to the matter of how she came to be a knight. "Not too surprisingly, mayhap, I dreamed of going out into the world and having adventures of my own." She smiled nostalgically. He smiled in return, and she wondered if mayhap his own journeys might not have been partly inspired by similar tales.
"I had a broad stick, carved into the likeness of a sword by my father. I would brandish it about, and some of the travelers would humor me and wage mock duels. I also 'practiced' with my brothers, Valarick and Elarion, and with the children of the baker who lived and worked nearby. At that time, it was always the bards who fascinated me most. Events changed my focus," she said grimly.
"There had been a war," she continued, "which had nearly emptied my home village of its knights. One promising young squire had been appointed to steward those folk left behind, and to function as a sheriff of sorts till such time as our knights could return. He was empowered to hire warriors to serve as a temporary militia. Unfortunately, he grew to love his power too much. He would not relinquish it when the war ended.
"Some of those who had been Militia, before the war, chose to move out of town. Others stayed, hoping they could turn things around. But those honest folk were soon outnumbered by the greedy and ruthless mercenaries the former steward kept hiring.
"The town became divided into sectors, roughly half governed by the Knights and the other half overrun by the militia. Our inn had the misfortune of being near the boundary between the two sections. The 'peace' was uneasy, and there were minor skirmishes, but for the most part a tense truce prevailed. I was mostly ignorant of these things back then, because of my youth and because of my parents' vigilance.
"Awareness did intrude at times, however. My parents would send us upstairs whenever the new militia came in for drinks. They were uncouth, loud and reckless. They liked the convenient location of our inn, so near to their bunkhouse. However, even though we were of yeoman stock, the militia imagined us arrogant. They hated the Knights, with whom we associated fairly closely. The militia's soldiers increasingly resented our ties to such powerful and influential people.
"One night, the steward himself visited our inn. He recognized my mother from his youth, and knew her as a former priestess. He accused her of spying on him for the Knights, and arrested her on the spot. Father tried to defend her, but he was outnumbered; quickly and mercilessly, they cut him down." Eowenna's voice broke, as she again witnessed the murder of her father in her memory.
"I am sorry for your loss," her companion said respectfully. She bit back a harsh reply, knowing that he could not hope to fully understand her pain and that it was unfair to snap at him.
"Thank you," she managed after an awkward pause. "I was always a curious child, so I would watch the soldiers from a shadowed area on the balcony. Their atrocious manners were fodder for my fertile imagination to feed into descriptions of the villains I pretended to defeat with my wooden sword. So I was a shocked witness to my mother's capture and my father's murder.
"My parents had always insisted that I run to the Knights if anything ever happened to them." It had seemed impossible to the young maid that anything ever could happen to her parents, whom she had loved and respected deeply. Yet she saw one taken, and the other killed, all in a few moments. Blinking back tears that came with the memories, she continued, "I was old enough to know my own helplessness to save my mother. I was so shocked and afraid that being still and quiet was almost instinctive.
"I stayed in hiding, weeping softly, till they left the inn. Then, as previously instructed, I gathered up my younger siblings, and Kele'en, and fled with them to the temple. We were immediately welcomed in, and hidden."
"And Keleen?" he questioned.
Eowenna had nearly forgotten that detail, only replaying those old events in her mind had stirred that fading memory. "Kele'en is family," she said. "As far as she knows, she is my youngest and only surviving sister. I had nearly forgotten: it was so long ago ... that does not precisely enter into this tale."
"Unlike your marriage, the tale of Keleen may fit well with this tale of your own youth," he suggested with a smile.
She raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged and offered the information he requested. "It was nearly time for my youngest brother, Frodhyrid, to be weaned. Late on a stormy night, there was a knock on our door." This aside was also difficult, for she wondered how her "youngest sister" would react if she ever learned their blood ties were as cousins instead of as siblings.
"Standing upon our doorstep was the widow of my mother's second cousin, who had been slain in the war. He had been her only known kin. His widow was ill, as was her newborn daughter. My mother said it was partly hunger and exposure to the elements of nature that caused their illness. The widow left tiny Kele'en with us, asking Mother to look after her and pray for her healing while she went to the temple to seek her own healing.
"Kele'en's mother was found dead the next morning, slain. She had never reached the temple, but perished in the part of town controlled by the militia. So Kelejathenne, or Kele'en, joined our family circle as one of us. Frod was upset about being weaned the next day, but he suffered no harm from it. Since then, except that my mother did not give birth to her, Kele'en has been my sister."
"I see," he said. "In truth she is only a foster sister, then?"
"Not in the conventional sense, where there is always a bit of separation. She became my sister in every way except for her actual bloodline. In that way only, we are cousins instead of siblings."
He nodded, and she took that for encouragement to continue the original story. "The next evening - that is, the evening of the day after my father was murdered - the Knights brought my father's remains for burial. They regretfully informed us that they'd been denied their prayers for him to be restored to life.
"At the time we were all devastated, not understanding how such a thing could happen. Now, however, I think I begin to understand. As we all know, if the person being prayed for chooses not to return, the request will be denied. I think my mother was slain even then, and he had no desire to live without her. That is something we had no way to know, but that he may have learned from the realm of spirit.
"We never did learn exactly what befell my mother, or how her final hours were spent. Her body was found outside the gates later that same week. Again, all prayers to resurrect the fallen were unavailing." Once more there were tears welling up in her eyes, and she had to swallow a thick lump of sorrow that seemed caught in her throat.
The rhythmic sharpening of his blade ceased. "Alas, that such a lady should perish at such hands!" he lamented. "If she has not yet been avenged..." he offered.
Eowenna struggled to regain her composure. "I oft times journeyed there and dueled militia when there was naught else to occupy me," she said. "Some said I was being overly vengeful and unforgiving. Yet the militia soldiers always start the battles, as soon as they see me. I partly kept hoping to teach them humility, and the error of their ways. May I be forgiven if I enjoyed seeing them defeated overmuch!"
He nodded, resting both hands on his sword, and waited patiently for her to continue.
"Not content with the slaughter of our parents, they came after us within two fortnights." Like her father's murder, the lady knight still recalled that night in disturbing dreams at times.
"We children had been living in the temple for less than a month. We knew our sleeping-room well. Please recall that I had only seen ten summers, and little Kele'en only four. The others ranged in ages between ours. Kele'en was awakened first, and sneaked away from the sound of the lock being picked toward the hallway where the knights patrolled.
"She nudged each of us as she passed: myself; our brother Elarion, whose devotion to prayer had caused our parents to hope for another Priest in the Family; Janiessa, who ignited the candle on the wall shelf; Valarick, who looked about for a weapon, and Frodhyrid who whispered 'a pox on them!' quite bitterly.
"In the dim light of the candle, I shepherded my siblings toward the hallway. But before I could open the door, the militia warriors were upon us. We were only six children, unarmed, against ten or more of the corrupt Militia.
"Valarick and I, the two eldest, pushed back the younger ones in a futile effort to protect them. Janiessa prayed, and one soldier's sword arm froze; the tunic of another to caught fire. Val and I disarmed each of the wounded militia men, and engaged those two on nearly equal terms.
"I screamed for the Knights, but the Militia had us pressed against the door and our allies were unable to enter. The battle continued, while we were fighting for our lives and the Knights were shouting orders and running around to the other doorway.
"Elarion was praying for our healing while little Kelejathenne and Frodhyrid attacked with their bare fists. Janiessa continued praying to burn and freeze them, but it was inevitable that we could not prevail against such hardened and seasoned warriors." Again her voice broke, and Eowenna was compelled to pause and regain her composure.
The young Elf waited patiently in respectful silence.
"My middle sister, Janiessa, was cut down. Elarion was overcome shortly thereafter. Kelejathenne had been near to Elar when he fell, and one of the soldiers pushed her back at that same time. She fell, and she was so frightened she lay still as death ... covered in our brother's blood. We could hear the knights coming, but they had not yet arrived. One of the militia ran off with two of our siblings' still forms.
"Valarick fell just as the Knights of Truth burst into the room. Frodhyrid was also lying still. One of the remaining militia grabbed Valarick and Frodhyrid, and somehow escaped the vengeance of the Knights. All the other attackers were cut down without mercy.
"I was injured, but ran instantly to Kele'en's side and checked her for injuries. When I found nothing worse than bruises and scrapes, I clung to her and cried.
"A few days later, more bodies appeared outside the gates where my mother's remains had been found. This time, however, they were the bodies of Janiessa, Valarick and Elarion. Frodhyrid was never seen again, dead or alive. I know not what befell him, or where he might be if he somehow escaped death.
"My childhood ended some time during that month of sorrow, though I had only lived ten summers. I abandoned my childhood dreams of adventuring for fun and learning the arts of a minstrel. I still respect bards, but I recognized that their ways were frequently indirect - and I saw in myself the need for more straightforward actions. Even so I was not, at first, certain what I should do.
"Since I was so young, I worked for a few seasons to gain skills in the arts of cooking and pottery. After discovering one of my father's brewing books in a pawn shop, I gained some skill in that art also. But I found that learning tradeskills was not filling the burning need inside of me.
"A little before my twelfth summer, I awoke one day knowing what I must do. I applied to the Knights to become an apprentice." Realizing she still held the paint brush, but had long since ceased painting, Eowenna began cleaning the brush toward putting it away and closed the paint container.
"I'll admit that I was a little defiant when I went to them, since I was half expecting that I would be refused. Eleven winters is younger than they normally admit girls to their ranks. To my astonishment, however, they were actually willing to test me. They did a quiet prayer to the Father of Light, inquiring if this candidate was acceptable in His sight. They requested that, if acceptable, my acceptance would be signified by bestowing the gift of Laying Hands to bring healing.
"I had noticed no change in myself, but I willingly followed the Knights to the infirmary. I was led directly to the most badly wounded knight in the room.
"I did not really know what was expected of me. I prayed quietly to the Holy Father of Truth that, if it pleased Him to do so, He would restore this wounded body through my hands. Then I reached out, not without hesitation, and took the injured knight's hand. A bright, bluish-white light spread from my hands over the knight's body and then expanded to fill the room. After a moment it faded. The knight took a deep breath, and sat up - whole. Most of the others in the room were also improved, and the two nearest were also entirely restored.
"They took this to mean I had been found acceptable, and they began to call me the Paladin of Light. The label remains, though few now recall it was applied while I was still a child." Having finished cleaning the paintbrush, she put it and the paint container away.
The Elf looked at her with a measure of wonder. Ere he could speak, another entered the armory where they had been talking. It was the wood-elf ranger Legolia, carrying in her arms an elvish infant. "He seems unsatisfied with me," the elfess said gently, though not altogether without disappointment.
"I knew he would awaken ere long," Eowenna answered, extending her arms toward her son with a gentle and welcoming smile.
The babe reached his arms toward her. As Legolia placed him into his mother's arms, he immediately snuggled into her embrace even while showing a special interest in her chest. Eowenna looked back toward the youthful Elvish squire who had asked her history. "He will be hungry," she explained, slightly embarrassed, "so I must go. I hope I have not bored you overmuch."
"Nay, indeed not," he said politely.
The lady knight bowed, both to her erstwhile audience and to her friend Legolia. "May you both prosper till we meet again."
Both acknowledged her words, and watched her depart. "Is it true that our King himself presided over her wedding?" he asked.
"Our King attended her wedding," the elfess answered. "Since he is not a priest, his majesty cannot properly perform the joining of two souls into one life."
He flushed. "Even so, that is another tale I would hear," he said encouragingly.
"Though of a wedding, it is a sorrowful tale," Legolia warned. "Only with the birth of her son has she remembered how to smile and laugh. Mayhap 'twould best be saved for another day. Besides, 'tis nearly the hour for even feast; young Kolya is not the only elf with hunger in this house."
The elvish squire threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender as she bowed out of the room.
Though disappointed that he must wait longer for the tale of Eowenna's marriage, he still had much to ponder. It was seldom that one was so clearly chosen, as this human woman had been. Though she retained adequate humility that she did not boast - even to herself - he could not entirely banish his curiosity.
He was determined that he would inquire of Eowenna again, to learn more of her journeys.
A Day of Reckoning
(This tale occurred while Lady Eowenna was in approximately her 35th season.)
Eowenna paused and brushed hair away from her face. It had been a long evening of mending her armor and sharpening her sword, and that work was yet incomplete. She took a long drink from her canteen, and reconsidered the day that had just passed.
It had been a cloudy morning, with a chill wind. That had somehow seemed fitting, as if the clouds almost represented the blanket of misery this vile fiend had imposed upon her beloved home town. Soon, she had vowed, the daylight will shine unhindered.
She had joined her friends and guildmates, Baron Reelin and Truebeliever. They met not far from the Paladin bunkhouse in the northernmost section of town. The swords of her more seasoned brother paladins shone brightly, even in the light of the cloudy day.
They were joined by a half-crazy lizard, a monk according to his kind. To him, it was fun and games to challenge the mercenary militia. The Paladins were uncertain if this strange being could be trusted, but they knew they would need the assistance of another stout fighter else they could well fail in their appointed task.
They were blessed by a passing Cleric, who did not wish to be soiled by contact with the dirty militia. The Paladins understood, and accepted the blessing offered without demur. The lizard thought her a trifle snobbish, or so it seemed from his disrespectful comments.
Eowenna and her brother Paladins said their prayers, and the lizard ran off to challenge militia to combat mortal. The lizard had a very bad reputation with the militia, so they frequently came running after him before he could offer challenge. No matter, these paltry mercenaries were not the goal today.
Today, at long last, Eowenna would avenge her family.
The clash of battle seemed nearly endless. For hours and hours they battled the mercenaries. Some had decent skills and acquitted themselves right well, others did fall so quickly it scarce seemed a battle at all. But always there were more. One foe blurred into the next. Eowenna found the details of each individual battle fading in her memory even now, just a few hours later.
Eowenna had begun to grow concerned as the hours wore on. Would they ever be able to win their way into the stronghold to challenge the faithless steward? But at last the lizard sent warning that he'd seen the villain. Eowenna knew not - nor did she care - what challenge the lizard offered that foul murderer, only that he was soon to die under their blades.
Eowenna had known she could not face him alone. The Baron had encouraged her not to actually fight him at all. "You are the least experienced among us, Eowenna," he had reminded her, "and you cannot bear his blows. Let us fight him who are more nearly his equal; you can help best by praying for the healing of our wounds. Use your gifts of healing upon us that we may not fail."
Eowenna had somewhat reluctantly agreed. She had dreamed of landing the killing blow herself, but recognized the wisdom in the Baron's warning. Little though she liked it, she would obey.
Now the author of her nightmares came, following the lizard. She had not seen his face since the night he slew her parents, and she saw now that his vile sorceries seemed to have kept him from aging. Somehow that only fired her determination to end this fiend whose existence stained her hometown.
Battle was joined, fierce and intense. The enemy rained blows upon her comrades and their current ally. Eowenna was kept busy with prayers for healing, and barely had time to be properly thankful that all her prayers were being answered favorably. She would see one of her group begin to falter, then she would pray, and then she would see their strength restored.
Suddenly, the steward fell! Yet ere she could rejoice, he rose. But his body remained upon the ground - only a skeleton stood before them. Somehow they all knew it was still the same enemy.
Eowenna could no longer concentrate on praying - how many times must this evil one be destroyed? With an inarticulate shout if mingled anger and vengeance, she joined the fray.
Slash, feint, slash, riposte ... then her prayers ignited a heavenly condemnation that struck the vile undead creature, and it fell to its death. Eowenna knelt and removed his scroll of knighthood. Though rumored to be a counterfeit, it was known that the faithless steward had once been a Knight. He no longer deserved any such title. So Eowenna felt no compunction in taking the scroll from the skeleton's grasp.
After healing her comrade's wounds yet again, the three Paladins bid the lizard farewell and returned to the northern sector of town. Once there, they had presented the scroll from the skeleton to the Paladin guild leader. The mighty Knight was pleased, and presented Eowenna with a sword and an errand to deliver the sword, along with other items she had previously gathered, to an imprisoned Priest.
The more seasoned Paladins were still flushed with their victory, and volunteered on the spot to accompany Eowenna to complete the errand. So they took the journey to the lair and delivered all that was required to the imprisoned missionary. He rewarded Eowenna with a holy flaming sword that is a mark of honor among Paladins.
Eowenna reverently pulled the mighty blade from its sheath again, marveling at the way it seemed to re-ignite as she withdrew it. Ah, that sword will aid in many more victories, she thought.
She looked about her, noting with satisfaction how she'd cured the dents in her shield and re-sharpened her great sword. She sighed, realizing it had grown late while she relived the day. Repainting the shield could wait until tomorrow, she decided.
Eowenna blew out her lamp and prepared to sleep. For the first time in many years, she expected to sleep well.
(Unfortunately, she and her comrades failed to notice the rapidity with which their enemy's corpses disappeared. It seems he knew a dark priest, who had gained enough favor with his sovereign to raise the dead ... so the menace is not purged forever, as they had hoped.)
Dragon Alert!
Messengers, bards and criers went throughout the land bringing a summons ... a foul fiery dragon had been seen ravaging the lands near the volcanoes north of a dark elven stronghold.
While a dragon burning dark elves was of little concern to Eowenna in general principal, there was the reality that their stronghold wasn't terribly far from her hometown as the dragon flies.
Though she seldom visited the place since slaying the faithless steward (for all the good it had done, he'd been resurrected shortly thereafter - the fiend!), it still remained her home town. She would not leave a dragon ravaging so near.
Eowenna buckled on her best armor, said her most powerful prayers for protection, checked her blade and her mace, and journeyed to the meeting place in the devastated mountains.
It was a wasteland, such as she had seldom seen. Between the volcano and the dragon, the entire area was a torn and twisted landscape entirely covered with ash.
She found the group of would-be dragon slayers gathering not far from the volcano's crater. She bowed to the leader of this raiding party, and informed him that she was a Cavalier with 51 seasons of experience in battle. He acknowledged the information, and instructed Eowenna to wait.
Wait she did, for hours upon hours while other adventurers also made their way to the assigned meeting place. At long last, the leader called out how the raiders would form smaller groups to take better care of each other as they ventured into the dragon's lair. He called out names belonging to the first group, then the second, and so on until all present had been assigned group mates.
Eowenna found her own group's leader, and bowed to him. He invited her to join the group, which included a bard, a cleric and ... a shadowknight? Eowenna shuddered, but acknowledged that the need was too great. When it came to enemies like a Dragon, all other enmities must be set aside until the greater threat was overcome.
The raid leader gave a call, and all groups moved toward the entrance to the dragon's lair. It was needful to actually venture a small distance inside the Volcano's crater, for the entrance was low on the wall. Stepping just inside, Eowenna saw tunnels curving in three directions.
She hoped that someone knew which one led to the dragon. The idea of getting lost in the tunnels, and never finding that fierce monster, held no appeal at all.
When all had gathered at the entrance, the series of groups began to make their way in. Indeed, there were several who knew the way, and the challenge was to keep up with them. Eowenna sped past a bewildering number of passages, twisting and turning and winding their way ever deeper underground.
She was thoroughly lost, and praying that the leaders knew what they were doing. Suddenly the passageway came to an end at a river of lava. "Swim," the leaders commanded.
Swim?!? Ah ... they did realize this was lava and not water?? She hesitated, but saw others plunge in. Though they cried out in pain, they moved quickly and soon reached a platform where they could salve their burns.
Eowenna jumped as far in the appropriate direction as she could, wanting to avoid getting burned any worse than necessary. Having exceptionally good swimming skills, she made good speed to the ledge where the others were regrouping. But she was burned, and also needed to tend her wounds before continuing.
Then the scout came back, looking a bit nervous. He whispered quickly to the raid leader, who nodded soberly. In a moment, the leader announced that several giants of exceptional strength guarded the dragon's lair. It would be needful for the dragon slayers to fight their way through the giants before they could attack the dragon.
Eowenna gripped her current weapon more tightly, grimly determined to win her way through if humanly possible. A monk was chosen to attempt to bring one giant at a time for the raiders to attack.
The chosen monk was said to be highly skilled in the ability to feign death. Once the giants believed they had slain the monk, they usually went back about their own business. Great in strength, low in wisdom. That was somewhat typical of giants, really.
It was a dangerous task, for the giants might not always be fooled. The monk requested the blessings of all who had joined this adventure. As nearly as Eowenna could tell, all had been glad to bestow the blessings of protection, strength, speed, et cetera, that they had to offer.
The monk rounded the corner, and threw something at the nearest giant. The giant's bellow of outrage attracted his two nearest neighbors, and all three came after the monk with vengeance in their eyes. The monk ran to the corner, and dropped as if slain.
Archers were ready, bows bent. The giants paused over the monk's prone form, but swiftly began to lose interest. The last giant to turn away received an arrow in his shoulder.
The wounded giant came tearing around the corner, seeking the archer who had put the sting in his arm. Nearly 30 individuals, from all walks of life, waited to meet him. The lead warrior engaged him, and turned him away from the lava that was rumored to give him strength. Then the warrior called for the assistance of the other raiders.
"Assist him!" ordered the leader of the small group that included Eowenna. She had heard the warrior's cry, and had already been running for the giant when her group leader gave his command.
Eowenna joined the throng of fighters assaulting the giant, attacking with all the strength she had. While none of them, individually, could have withstood the giant for long ... united, they overcame the giant with relative ease.
The bold monk ventured forth again, to draw another giant to its extinction.
Eowenna lost count of the number of giants slain. Sometimes, as the first time, the raiders were able to draw only a single giant to its death. Other times, 2 or 3 would come at once. When 3 came, there were always raiders slain. Then fighting must pause, while the clerics prayed for the resurrection of the fallen, and those restored fallen recovered.
As the raiders fought giants, they gradually worked their way deeper into the lair and nearer to the dragon. Eventually they reached a large chamber with a huge throne in it. All rested for a little, Eowenna catching her breath and bandaging some minor injuries she'd received.
Then it happened. While none were prepared, the bold (yet impatient) monk had gone ahead to check for more giants. And he made a fatal error: he blundered into a chamber where at least 5 giants were gathered.
The monk fled; apparently, he was unaware that the giants had seen him. Giants do move more slowly than most monks, as monks are fairly agile. The monk reached this throne room, thinking himself fortunate that he'd escaped the giants with a whole skin.
At least, he thought himself fortunate until the pounding footsteps of the giants were heard approaching in the echoing hallway.
"Incoming, I don't know how many!" he shouted, and then collapsed in an effort to fool them. Apparently, those giants were clever enough to realize that the monk would not have perished when they had none of them landed a single blow upon him.
The giants flooded into the throne room, attacking the half-prepared raiders. The giants all looked alike to Eowenna's inexperienced eye: huge, turbaned masculine creatures with reddish skins and sooty loincloths.
"Assist me!" called the lead warrior, and indeed most seemed to be trying. But the giants were lumbering about, stomping and kicking and raining blows with apparent abandon.
Eowenna tried to find the giant that the lead warrior was attacking, but the 5 of them were moving so quickly she could not determine which one was her target. She tried to find the lead warrior, but there were so many raiders, and the giant's legs were thick as tree trunks. Much confusion followed.
Eowenna received a blow to the head, which knocked her off balance. She stumbled backwards, careening off a wall, and stumbled into a corner. Everything went dark, and she felt entirely disconnected from the world of Norrath. No, this wasn't right! Her group mates needed her, as did her fellow raiders.
Eowenna struggled to reconnect, to rejoin her comrades. When she came to herself, she discovered she was wedged in a corner behind a pillar in the throne room. But now, there were no giants storming about raining blows on anyone. All she saw were the bodies of her recent comrades strewn across the floor.
Horrified, she called out, "did no one survive?"
At the sound of her voice, two monks, a shadowknight and a necromancer stood up. They had all been feigning death. There were no other survivors.
"No!" Eowenna said, her word half a sob of anguish. It seemed impossible that all these bold adventurers had thus been slain. She went to the nearest, whose armor proclaimed that he had been a cleric. Eowenna dropped to her knees, praying aloud, "Holy Father of Truth, hear my prayer! Summon back his spirit, and let him live again!"
Light surrounded the priest's body, and suddenly his spirit did stand over it. He knelt, collecting his possessions and gaining substance as he did. When his belongings were all restored to him, the corpse was the insubstantial part that faded when he stood up. Eowenna prayed for his healing, and saw him begin to look healthier. He sat down to rest and recover.
Seeing that her Lord was willing to restore souls at her request, Eowenna went to the other cleric's body she saw lying nearby. She prayed over the second corpse exactly as she had the first, and with the same results.
Feeling somewhat drained, Eowenna sat and meditated a little herself. Then she saw the corpse of another Paladin, and prayed over him. Once he appeared, she prayed for his healing and staggered away, utterly spent.
As it so happened, Eowenna collapsed near the still and silent form of a bard. One thing had not changed since her youth: she still valued bards highly. Gathering her strength, she prayed over the bard also. Again, the spirit was restored and again Eowenna prayed for healing.
Again Eowenna sat, utterly spent. She began to look around, and saw the first Cleric praying over another still form. Praise be, she thought, they can take it from here.
Yet she could not sit still overlong, seeing so many in need. She prayed over others, as she had strength to aid them.
She had seen this before, the reality that Clerics were less severely drained by prayers to raise the dead than she and her fellow Paladins were. Eowenna suspected this came from their greater devotion to prayer. Her time, she realized, was divided between prayer and battle. Her calling was to be a holy warrior, who defended the gentler clerics from the need to battle overmuch.
In time, the entire raid was again assembled. But the heart had gone out of most of them. They were weary from their recent brush with death, and longed only to return to their homes.
There were not enough folks remaining to defeat the dragon. Eowenna and the others made their way back to the entrance of the lair. Eowenna thanked those who had accompanied her, and departed.
The dragon would live this day, but there would be another day when he would not. Eowenna intended to be there, to assist in his demise.
Dark Spellweaver
Over the long centuries, most had forgotten his name. That suited Deorc Y'fel perfectly, for it meant that they had no warning or prepared defense when he walked among them to work his will upon them.
He walked invisible, hidden from view. And waited.
His dark lord had complained that one Paladin of Truth, called by some a "Paladin of Light," had grown overly bold. She dared set foot on the sacred plane of Hatred, his own domain! And worse, she showed no respect for darkness even after repeated defeats.
In fact, if Deorc understood correctly, the Prince of Hate had been attempting to destroy her entire family line for the last several generations. They frequently, over many generations, had followed the Lord of Truth with unswerving devotion. The only way to stop them was to destroy them.
Deorc Y'fel expected to win much honor with the Prince of Hate when he eliminated this member of that troublesome family.
The dark enchanter spied his target. She strode boldly, unconcerned. He found it mildly amusing that Eowenna believed she had nothing to fear. The sunlight of the city shone on her pale brown hair. Though fairer than most blondes, her hair was somehow distinctly brown.
Pale hair, yet having a distinct color? Hmm, possibly elvish blood in this human's history then. He would do a quick test, since some of the more advanced spells affected different races differently.
Still invisible, Deorc followed Eowenna to her room behind the pottery shop. He began to whisper under his breath, forming the powerful slowing spell he learned during his most recent years of study.
The Paladin closed her room's door, walked to a bed, and began to remove her heavy plate armor. When Deorc deemed her sufficiently occupied, he cast the slowing spell upon her. Then he illusioned himself to appear as a high elf.
Had anyone chanced to look in a window at that time, they would have seen a brief ripple, then a form only beginning to coalesce before it shimmered and solidified as a high elf male. This high elf was of astonishing masculine beauty, with alabaster skin and hair of the palest gold ... yet his lithe form was well-muscled, and there was nothing remotely effeminate about his features.
The paladin slowed to approximately 15% of her normal movement speed. Seeing this, and glancing into the mirror to see that his illusion was perfect, he began to weave another spell. This one would muddle her thoughts, so she would be more accepting of his domination.
Deorc had always preferred to play with his victims first, to corrupt them if he could. With a combination of the proper spells and potions, he was nearly always successful. The only one whom he had not yet fully dominated remained in his power, captive within his own home. He did not lack for confidence, so he anticipated yet another satisfying success.
He cast his spell of confusion, and a dark mist formed just over the human paladin's head. It began its slow descent, but ere it landed she moved.
The Paladin straightened, slowly shaking her head as if trying to clear it. She blinked, and with a slow thick voice she prayed aloud, "Lord of Truth, defend me! I feel a dark danger somehow near."
The dark mist hovering over her head wavered, and then dissipated. Muffling a curse, Deorc began again ... this time a sleeping spell. He would deal with her through waking dreams.
She turned her head toward him, as he was forming the last of the spell. Her eyes widened, recognizing an unknown intruder. Without the confusion spell, she could think clearly (if slowly). She could not fail to guess that he was a potential threat.
She began to pray aloud again, still slowly and thickly. "Lord of Truth, defend me from deception and all ... "
Her words were cut off as his sleeping spell landed. But even as she froze momentarily before falling backward onto the bed, a strange phenomenon formed in the small chamber. Appearing as a cloud formed from particles of light, a guardian spirit coalesced around her and knocked Deorc Y`fel backwards.
When the guardian touched Deorc, his illusion dropped. He guessed it was the motion from falling backward that had attracted his attention to the mirror, else he would not have known.
The mirror showed his true form, with uncompromising frankness. His once divinely beautiful face was marred with a jagged scar that extended from the inner corner of his left eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose and his right cheek to end at his jawbone just short of the jugular. The scar pulled the right corner of his mouth up and back, distorting his expression into a perpetual sneer.
His once brightly white hair was now dulled from centuries of existence, and his indigo skin had lost its youthful glow. His dark grey eyes, once so luminous, were now dulled till nearly indistinguishable from black.
Annoyed at this setback, Deorc cast his dark elf illusion upon himself. His form shimmered again, and he appeared as he had in his youth. The scar was gone, his eyes appeared brighter, his skin regained its glow, and his hair shone.
He approached her bed, stepping around the pile of plate armor. She had not had time to remove the underlying chainmail, so she lay with her chainmail still covering the thick leather garments she wore beneath her armor. No matter, his hands and fingers had not forgotten how to remove such things. He reached out to remove her gloves, and his hand contacted the light cloud that still surrounded her supine form.
Again he was knocked back, bereft of his illusion. Repeated attempts all yielded the same result: he could not touch her. He attempted an assortment of spells, but all were deflected by her guardian angel.
Deorc Y`fel had to admit himself thwarted, this time. Seeing the Paladin's hairbrush nearby, he realized that he would still be able perform the test of origins. That may help him choose his arsenal for their next encounter.
Taking one hair from her brush, he muttered another incantation he had learned recently. He closed his eyes, and began to see history marching backward. At first it seemed that he saw only humans, but soon he began to see half-elves and barbarians mixed in. Gradually, the humans appeared less frequently... and instead he saw half elves with the high elves and barbarians. Eventually, the half-elves faded too... and all the progenitors of this individual were high elves and barbarians.
Deorc shook off the trance, surprised at the results. It was extremely unusual for one human in appearance to have progenitors only from barbarians and high elves. Yet, unless the spell had deceived him, that was exactly what he faced.
This one would be a greater challenge than he had originally expected.
He stood near, but enough away that her guardian would not knock him across the room again. His sleep spell had landed, so she would not wake for something in the neighborhood of ten days to two weeks. She could receive and would have limited ability to pass telepathic communications, but she would be stranded here and unable to make any further inroads against the powers of darkness.
Deorc would have to be content with removing her from battle for a short time. He gathered his robes about himself, glared at the guardian "mist" again, then turned and withdrew.
He would deal with this one another time, when that pesky guardian was not in the way.
Awakening
There was a sharp snapping sound, which echoed slightly in the stillness of the small chamber.
Eowenna sat bolt upright, shaken yet abruptly fully awake. She pushed back the quilt that covered her, and swung her feet to the floor. She looked about her, blinking her eyes clear, and discovered that her chainmail had been removed and neatly folded by her armor. There was a small parcel near her pillow, and a note from Keleen.
The note was dated a full week after the evening she had last entered her room.
Eowenna had known that she'd been enchanted. She clearly recalled seeing the unknown high elf man in her room, and the strange slowing of her movements. She recalled her prayer for aid, and the inexplicable yet powerful sense of protection that had answered it.
She remembered sinking to abrupt unconsciousness under a wave of dizziness. She recalled at times being nearly awake, and both hearing and answering the thoughts of friends and guildmates. Eowenna understood that her sleep was unnatural, and that it lasted longer than was usual for a night's repose.
But a full week? She'd expected only 3 or 4 days to have passed. Though mayhap that was a result of the slowing spell, it would cause her awareness of the passage of time to be distorted ...
She recalled hearing the thoughts of friends and guildmates: Tuiren, Acacious, Meditacious, Truebeliever, Aundra, Inyego, Temperance, Hegegroll and others ... but it had never occurred to her that it could mean that so much time had passed.
Kele'en must have removed the last of her plate armor, and her chainmail, so she could sleep more comfortably. Eowenna still wore the heavily padded leather that protected her skin from being bruised from just wearing her heavy armor. It wasn't the most comfortable sleeping attire, but it was preferable to attempting to sleep fully armed.
Since she was hungry, she reached into her packs to withdraw one serving of fish rolls and drink. When she began to eat, she discovered that she was ravenously hungry and almost unable to make herself eat slowly enough for dignity. One serving was not nearly enough. She considered, and then looked again at the date on Keleen's note. Well, after fasting for a week, Eowenna thought, a double helping was not entirely out of reason. So she helped herself to another serving.
Still only partly sated, she turned her attention to the parcel from her sister. She opened the package, to discover a soft leather tunic dyed a deep burgundy. Eowenna smiled, appreciating the gift. She unbound her hair, closed the window covering, slipped out of her remaining garments, and washed up. Once cleaned, she pulled on her favorite blue leggings and added the tunic her sister had provided. She took some time and care in brushing out her waist-length hair, then left it unbound to finish drying.
Feeling somewhat refreshed, she turned her attention again to the complaints her stomach continued offering. Sighing at the extravagance, she ate another double helping of fish rolls and washed it down with two servings of water.
She opened the window coverings again, and considered the view before her. Looking past the kiln, wheel, and the blacksmiths' shop, she could see that it was a fine day. Late in the afternoon. She still felt a little weak, but wanted some fresh air.
After pulling on some soft shoes for city travel, she picked up a nearly empty pack and went to buy herself some more food. She left her room, passed through the sitting room, out the hallway past a pottery shop, and down the stairs to one of the main walkways of the city.
Eowenna drank in the sunshine, almost as if she were half-starved for sunlight even as she had hungered for food. She walked leisurely to the baker's, where she would make or buy more food. Looking over the shopkeeper's wares, Eowenna realized she was tired. Odd, after sleeping for a week ... she glanced at the baker's calendar, and was stunned by what she saw.
"Begging your pardon, sir, is that calendar correct?" she asked respectfully.
"Forget someone's birthday?" he asked, amused. "Yes, my calendar is accurate."
"My thanks, sir," Eowenna replied. She nodded politely, further acknowledging his answer and made her selections. She bought ready-made food, having lost interest in baking for the moment.
When she finished at the baker's, Eowenna carried her pack back toward her room. She was walking more slowly now, lost in thought. The baker's calendar had shown a date a full week after the one marked on Keleen's note. Two weeks, lost? Why would anyone, powerful enough to cast so strong a spell, take an interest in her?
She had no answers, and she was hungry again.
She made her way back to her room, and ate another meal. By this time, the sun was lowering and beginning to shine distinctly golden rays through her window. She'd always loved sunsets.
She folded the quilt back across the foot of the bed, and smoothed the blankets she'd slept on top of for ... two weeks? It was still difficult to believe that so much time had passed. She pondered this as she finished setting her room in order. She checked that her sleeping shift was still folded under the pillow, but chose not to put it on yet. She was still enjoying her sister's gift, and she seldom stayed in town long enough to wear "town clothes."
Eowenna turned toward the window, and half leaned, half sat against her headboard. It was aligned at the edge of her window, and was a good vantage point from which to watch the sunset.
It seemed that in her enchanted stasis, she'd received little rest. She would enjoy the beauty of the sunset, and then sleep again. This time, however, it would be a normal sleep.
Scarcely had these plans formed in her head, when she heard a knock on her door. "Eowenna?" a familiar voice called softly in her mind. An image formed, of the speaker just outside the door of her room.
She smiled. It was like him to check on her, he was always so courteous and considerate toward everyone. He was becoming a good friend. "Come in, I'm just watching the sunset," she responded in kind, without moving from the window.
Eowenna wondered idly if Keleen had asked him to look in on her, since he was currently staying nearby. It seemed likely. He was a guildmate, and one of the more respected and leading members. And, given that she'd not wakened when Keleen undressed her, it was likely that Keleen would have become concerned and asked someone to look in on her.
She heard the door open, and the soft tread of the elven gentleman as he walked to the other side of the window. His tread sounded different, heavier than usual somehow. That prompted her to look at him.
The horizontal rays of the setting sun gilded his face, hair and clothing. His face was entirely devoid of expression, which was unusual for him. She looked into his eyes, and saw mirrored there a soul-deep anguish.
She was so often called upon to be a soldier; many forgot that Eowenna was also a trained healer. And she saw, in her friend, a severely wounded spirit. Her fingers tingled, as they did when the power of prayer channeled healing through her hands.
"What's wrong?" she asked gently, but aloud. Telepathic communication seemed too intrusive at that moment.
He opened his mouth, but no words came and he closed it again. She saw tears forming in his eyes, and her half-extended hand instinctively touched his shoulder.
Then it was fully confirmed what her instructors had guessed and hinted at. Eowenna had a gift for empathy. Waves of grief, sorrow, loss, longing, guilt, and an almost physical pain washed over her. She knew that these feelings, and the traces of anger and self-loathing connected with stronger feelings of helplessness and failure, were not originated in her own spirit. They were overflowing from her friend.
She gasped, as tears sprang to her own eyes. She knew not the cause, beyond that it was flowing from him. She saw the light sparkles forming around her hand, flowing into him. Yet the light was subdued, and seemed only to be trickling. Was he somehow resisting this healing? Did he feel a need to suffer so? Or was the subdued effect because his pain poured from a wounded spirit instead of a wounded body?
Eowenna also knew that she was only feeling "echoes" from him, a lesser degree than what he was actually experiencing. Yet the echoes were nearly overwhelming her.
Her tears overflowed, streaming down her face.
His eyes lost their faraway focus, and he looked toward her and saw her tears glistening in the fading light. In that moment of shared pain, his jaw trembled. Then, abruptly, he crumpled, as if struck in the stomach.
Eowenna caught him in a hug as he lost his balance and staggered toward her. He sobbed against her shoulder, his tears dampening her new tunic.
She patted his back, her fingers brushing against his silky fine elven hair. No human adult had hair so soft or fine. Feeling that hair on her fingertips triggered memories of holding her younger siblings, long ago in her parents' inn. How many times had they come to her, alarmed, when the militia grew too noisy downstairs?
Reflexively, Eowenna began to sing a prayer-song her mother taught her. Her voice was not so lilting and pure as a full elf, nor was did she have the full training of a bard. Yet she had some voice lessons from bards in her youth, and could sing better than average for a human. The melody was gentle and soothing. The words were in elder high elvish, a language Eowenna had never learned.
Tears continued flowing down the Paladin's face as she held her sobbing friend. She held him as she would a child, rocking gently and singing the prayer-song in words she herself did not understand. Yet the power of the prayer worked, and he began to relax. The healing power that worked through her hands continued to flow, in its subdued manner.
Somehow Eowenna recognized the moment when the same phenomenon overtook her friend as had frequently overtaken her siblings when this prayer-song was sung. He was asleep, though he had not yet stopped sobbing.
It was the first moment that she realized the awkwardness of the situation. Oh, if anyone came into the room now, they'd never believe what had truly happened! She blushed at the realization of how easily her effort to heal and comfort a hurting friend might be misunderstood as something vulgar.
It took some effort and careful maneuvering, but eventually she got her friend onto the bed in a fairly natural position. She tucked her pillow under his head, put her sleeping shift back into a backpack, and covered him with the quilt she'd only just folded. Somewhere during that process his sobbing had subsided, and he had slipped into a healing sleep.
He was always so reserved, so correct. She worried he'd be annoyed with her, for seeing him in a vulnerable moment. She respected him no less, having tasted of his anguish and knowing clearly why he was overwhelmed. Yet he may well feel uncomfortable for having been less than strong in her presence. She hoped this situation would not harm their friendship.
Eowenna gently wiped away his remaining tears, brushing back the hair that had fallen into his face when she moved him. In the flickering light of the torch on the wall, it appeared that his hair may have changed. It had been a clear and distinct gold, nearly the same color of the evening or morning sunlight. Now it seemed almost entirely bereft of color, nearly white. Though it was difficult to be certain, the torch was not very bright and very little daylight still came through her window.
"Please forgive me any liberties I may accidentally have taken," she whispered gently.
She took up her prayer book, and extinguished the torch. She walked quietly to the door of her room, guided by the fading light from her window. Eowenna opened her door and stepped through.
Hearing him sigh in his sleep, she looked again at her friend in the light from the sitting room. "May you find peace and healing through this sleep, my friend," she wished softly.
Leaving the door only slightly ajar, Eowenna sat under a light in the sitting room and began studying her prayer book. She would wait there, granting her friend the dignity of privacy, until he awakened of his own accord.
