The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2

Amien’s back was now pressed against young Joe’s and Marroh’s in the fight to the death in the messenger tunnel. There was no more room between them—the orcs on one, the drow on the other. They were trapped between furious blades on all sides. So squeezed together were they that there was not even space to thrust, parry, or swing—nay, not even to breathe. If the orcs had put their hands out, and the drow theirs, they’d have touched. The enemy’s voices echoed through the narrow tunnel, a chorus of danger that closed in like a vise. The relentless blades pressed upon them from all sides, a dance of steel orchestrated by a merciless conductor. Their attackers were like a relentless storm, raining blows upon the trio with unyielding fury.

Only then, a bright light, like a lightning bolt, instantly flashed through the tunnel like a celestial javelin, turning the darkness into day.

And then it was gone. Yet so intense had been the flash that even the floor stones had absorbed it, and their gold flecks shone much brighter.

Both the drow and orcs stumbled about, blinded.

“They are dazzled!” cried Marroh. “Quickly! Cut them down before they recover!”

And the dwarf set in on the dazzled drow, felling them left and right before him, and Joe and Amien did the same to the orcs. Drow and orc are dazzled by light for up to an entire day. That was more than enough time for the three to fell every single one of them.

The floor now returned to its original glow when the three met again in the middle, gasping for air and ready to collapse from exhaustion.

“That was close!” breathed young Joe.

“Too close!” agreed Amien, bent over and gasping for air.

“You have no idea how close,” noted Marroh, examining his severed belt buckle.

“What was that light, anyway?” asked Amien out of curiosity.

“I don’t know,” said Marroh, “but it sure came in the nick of time. I think it came from the direction we were heading.”

“Then that’s the direction we should go,” said Joe. “I like the light.”

“As my captain of the guard, I heartily follow your command.” Amien straightened to follow.

“What did the boy make him captain of the guard for?” asked Marroh of Amien as Joe led the way. “It was you and I who did all the fighting!”

Amien paused over the draegloth when he found it.

“Who killed this monster?” he asked.

“Oh! Young Joe,” said the dwarf, dismissing it. “It’s only one but I counted it as two. You and I killed more of them than he.”

“Two? Seems to me he deserves being captain of the guard if he killed that. I killed nothing like it,” said Amien. “I think he counts as more than just two. I'd say that thing counts as an entire army.”

“Fine!” said Marroh of the dead monster. “We’ll compromise and call it three. But you and I still killed more!”

That satisfied young Joe, as three was the biggest number he could imagine.

Amien was not so easily convinced. “How do you know?”

Now young Joe had probably killed three drow for every drow Marroh felled with his axe, for an axe was slow work against good adamantine armor, whereas young Joe simply cut off arms and heads. Yet the dwarf knew Joe’s math.

“Just ask him,” said Marroh to Amien.

So Amien asked him, and young Joe struggled with the arithmetic until he had finally reached his tally.

“Three,” he said.

“See?” stated the dwarf to Amien with the confidence of certainty. “He got three. We got the rest!”

“I think I got more than three,” said an uncertain voice as they started out once again.

They continued on their way until, presently, the messenger tunnel turned back to the main highway. Here, they heard voices ahead, and, to their astonishment, they found Graybeard, the boy, the drider, and Ronthiel with his face painted just awful, waiting for them.

“Is this some sort of magic?” asked the dwarf incredulously.

“If it is magic,” said Amien, “I pray no one lifts the spell.”

They exchanged hugs of greeting.

“It is good to see you again,” said Graybeard, welcoming them. “I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

“A pleasant trip he says!” exclaimed Marroh to Amien. “We fight orcs, drow, and a draegloth, and ‘pleasant trip’ he says! I should hate to see his idea of a bad one!”

“I take it,” Amien said to Graybeard. “It was you that sent that beam of light down that messenger shaft for us?”

“It was,” answered Graybeard. “I hope it came to good use?”

“It did and it was exceedingly well-timed,” admitted Amien. “For we were up to our eyeballs in orcs and drow.”

“And one draegloth,” added Joe.

“I am only too glad to be of help,” Graybeard replied. “For Ronthiel is out of crows for me to send west with news of your deaths.”

Amien smiled and happily nodded.

“Then we simply cannot allow that to happen,” he said. “At least until we find ourselves a crow down here.”

Young Joe, though, was now confused. Not only about where to find a crow down here but how Graybeard had escaped.

“How can you be free so soon? We only just got here!” he demanded.

The dwarf, too, wished to know.

“There were five tens of orcs that had you,” insisted Marroh. “How can you be free?”

“It was these three’s doing,” said Graybeard. “They released me but an hour ago. They freed me even before I had it planned for them to do so.”

“You planned to be rescued?” gasped the boy in amazement.

“Well, certainly!” responded the old keeper. “Who plans defeat? One always plans to escape. Otherwise, being captured should prove rather boring to one who lives as long as me. But you rescued me so quickly I barely had time to learn where the satyrs are.”

“You found out where the satyrs are?” The boy brightened, eager to hear.

“Why, yes! Naturally. That was the purpose of my being captured, you know,” winked Graybeard in reply. “You see, while the enemy was questioning me, I was questioning them.”

“They really told you where the satyrs are?” asked young Joe.

“Why shouldn’t they? They thought it quite safe to tell me. After all, I was their prisoner and not the other way around. I find that’s always the best way to interrogate the enemy.”

“Where are they? Are they near?” asked Ronthiel.

“Not near,” replied Graybeard, “but not far. They are in a place called Ched Nasad. Now we need to leave this highway before any more of the enemy chance by. I shall tell you the rest along the way. Unless I am mistaken, this city here, Orlytlar, is on an underground river. It flows to the city of Abboth which is our destination.”

“If they hold the satyrs in Ched Nasad,” asked the boy, “shouldn’t our destination be to head there? Or is Abboth along the way?”

“My dear boy,” said Graybeard, “it is one thing to march me, a single individual, out of Orlytlar. It is quite another to march two thousand satyrs out of Ched Nasad.”

“But we have Leradien, who can pretend she is Lolth and order them out!”

“To begin with,” responded Graybeard, “Ched Nasad is not ruled by Lolth but by her son, Vhaeraun. So for Leradien to pretend to be Lolth will be of little use to us as Vhaeraun wishes his mother dead. He has already plotted her assassination once. Second, it shall not be long before the orcs here of Orlytlar discover their mistake and your deception. In that case, the orc captain of the city shall spare not a single soldier from tracking us down. As one who knows elves, boy, what is the one thing they cannot track us over?”

“Water,” said the boy.

“That is correct,” agreed Graybeard. “So we shall use the river and lose them—at least for now. Abboth is along the riverway and there we shall seek an ally.”

“An ally amongst drow?” questioned Amien doubtfully.

“The Dark Elves are just as divided in purpose as the Light Elves are united,” said Graybeard. “The opportunities here for plots and counterplots abound! We must put them to our advantage. To lead the satyrs out, we must not only free them but arm them, for freeing them is to no avail if the enemy can just recapture them again.”

“The seven of us can do it,” offered Marroh. “We’ve made short work of the enemy so far!”

Graybeard was not so easily unconvinced. “The drow you encountered today were in a narrow tunnel, unable to attack you from all sides, correct?” he asked. “The next time we encounter them, it will not be in a messenger tunnel but in an open field. How will you fare then?”

“I see your point,” answered Marroh with a frown. “Indeed! But for your blast of light, we three would be roasting over an orc dinner spit now!”

“Then, if the opportunity presents itself for us to raise an army, you will accept?” asked Graybeard.

“Most heartedly, I assure you! I just can’t imagine where we can find such an army,” said the dwarf.

“It will not hurt to try, though, will it, Marroh?”

“I cannot see the harm.”

“Good!” said Graybeard to them all. “Let the drider lead the way.”

So they set out to find the river using Leradien as their guide. Marroh quickly fell in beside Amien to ask.

“So how many orcs do you think you slew?”

“Oh! I don’t know,” he said, “twenty-tens. Why?”

“Twenty-tens?!” repeated Marroh, startled. “You think maybe you might have miscounted?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because young Joe and I, we only killed ten tens,” replied Marroh, disappointed.

“Well! I should think one drow would count as two orcs.”

Marroh brightened.

“Hey! That’s right! That would be true, wouldn’t it?” he said in agreement. “So I got as many as you!”

“Hey!” overheard young Joe. “I killed my share of those drow!”

“You did,” answered Marroh. “You got three. So I got the rest!”

Now Joe plainly wished to disagree but, being unschooled, he stumbled over the math. So at last, he conceded the dwarf the victory. His count was, again, three.

“Shall we call it a draw between us?” asked Marroh, looking at Amien.

“That seems only fair,” agreed Amien.

“I think I got more than three,” young Joe said, still calculating.

“You did,” said Marroh. “The draegloth counts as two.”

That satisfied Joe.

Ronthiel had taken to walking alongside Graybeard, his keeper, with questions of his own.

“You said,” he recalled. “Leradien is no ordinary drider. Why is that?”

“Because she isn’t.”

“In what way?”

“Oh, in many ways,” said the other. “But I think you’re asking how I felt her following us.”

“That’s right. How did you?”

“That could only happen if she was part Light Elf.”

“That is what she claims to be.”

“She is.”

“The other half is drow.”

“You may be right. She does have white hair and red eyes.”

“You described her as being in chaos.”

“I did. All driders exist in chaos. They say their sanity hangs by a single thread.”

“You called it black chaos.”

“That is the spider demon’s black blood that possesses her. It taints her own.”

“Isn’t that bad?”

“It is if her mind snaps. The demon will control her body. I guarantee you won’t like that. None of us will.”

“Will that happen?” asked Ronthiel, showing concern.

“Difficult to say. Eventually, yes. However, she uses the boy for now to keep herself from going mad from loneliness. At least she won’t go mad from that. Though probably from something else. What, or when, I don’t know. How long has she been a drider?”

“Ever since the boy has known her. Why?” Ronthiel said.

“The longer she’s been one, the closer she is to losing her sanity. It could happen any time. Although there is another possibility.”

“What is that?”

“It’s also possible someone trained her drow half to resist the demon. It’s been done before, but such a drow must be trained before being possessed.”

“Who would have trained her?”

“Whoever summoned her demon.”

“Lolth?”

“Lolth would never summon a black widow spider demon,” said Graybeard. “That would only create competition for her. Someone else summoned it.”

“Who?”

“Someone who wants to kill Lolth.”

They found the river, waded downstream in it a way, and then got out and proceeded to camp. There was nothing to burn for their campfire, and so they ate lembas cornbread. They slept and then moved on.

All the while Ronthiel wondered, if Lolth did not summon Leradien’s spider demon, then who did?