He wasn't sure how long it had been, now. Certainly days. Despair held him in a grip as tight as the magick that bound him a slave. He followed the monstrosity as it wandered the edge of the plains, towards the tributary of the great river that snaked through the land.

He didn't know what it sought, but it dragged him onwards, and forced his body to fight for it, as he watched in horror, a helpless prisoner in his own mind. The innocents that had fallen to his hammer cried out to his soul, and tormented him.

He hadn't had food or water since it began, and the wounds inflicted upon him by those he slaughtered for the thing that manipulated him were taking their toll. The stub of an arrow, broken off when he had tripped and fallen as he was forced to run, protruded from his left side, but it no longer pained him much. He knew that wasn't good. As well, the blood had ceased to run red from the slash on his arm, and another colour had taken its place. His torn feet left bloody tracks as he stumbled. He prayed to his god for the blessing of death, that he might kill no more for his fell master.

The thing had stopped, and he stood, waiting where it had left him. It moved off a little, floating almost gracefully, leaving him there, and he prayed again, hoping that it would forget him.

"Excuse me, sir? Could you tell me where... are you alright?" A young elven woman in leather armour had appeared in front of him. She cocked her head, and brushed her long brown hair back from her eyes, a look of concern on her face. She reached out to touch his arm gently. "I can heal you..."

He felt the despair rise in him, and tried to warn her. Tried to scream at her to run, to flee, but it was already too late.

She had begun to cast a spell - probably the healing she had offered him - and his hammer made a sickening crunch as it connected with the side of her head.

He heard the sound of magick, and a rushing like wind, and the blast thrown by the foul thing that had possessed him picked her up like a rag doll, and flung her towards the river. She made no sound as she fell. The water closed around her, and she was gone.

A scream of denial echoed in his ears. For a moment, he thought it was himself who had cried out, but a figure tore past him, and dove into the river, swimming strongly to where the girl had sunk beneath the current.

Another shout, and he was struck hard, feeling the bite of steel grate against his ribs. He felt himself turn to face his foe, hammer rising.

"No! Get the Eye!" cried a voice near him, and his feet sank suddenly into the earth. He struggled to follow his foe, but that one, a behemoth in dark red armour, flung itself upon his slaver. A second attacker joined the fight, weapon flashing. He watched, helplessly, but with rising hope, as their strong blows, coupled with magicks flung from behind him put the monstrous eye-like creature to flight. A short flight. It burst with a disgusting sound, and settled to the ground, dead.

With its death came his freedom. He fell like a stone. He was barely aware of the feet that walked up and paused beside him, before running towards the river, where voices rose in a sudden babble, before being hushed just as quickly.

He lay where he had fallen, unable to get up, or to move. He couldn't even heal himself, the Eye had taken his Gift for itself in the battle before this one. The magick that remained to him... what healing it could do would be unlikely to leave him well enough even to fend off a simple wolf should one pass by.

He hoped death would come swiftly.

The footsteps returned, and a rough hand turned him over.

He gazed upward into the face of a troll. It was only fitting. It could slay him now, enemies as they were. Ice blue eyes stared down at him impassively. The spear it held twitched slightly.

He found the strength to speak, at least.

"The girl... I couldn't help... so sorry..." he managed. The troll merely stared at him. "The Eye... free now...she..." He struggled for breath.

"She is dead," it said, finally, gravelly voice heavily accented. "You killed her."
The sorrow rose in him, and with it, one, small hope...that he could make one thing right, before he died.

"Please," he whispered. "I can help her... take me... just... hurry... not much ...left of me."

The troll stood over him, staring down at him, craggy features still expressionless. He felt the hope draining from him, and sighed.

The troll glanced toward the river, then back down at him, and its eyes flashed. And, just as suddenly as the decision was made, it acted upon it. Strong arms lifted him up, and carried him swiftly towards the water, and the two who knelt beside a huge ogre in red.

One moved aside as the troll approached. It set him down beside the ogre - who was oblivious to anything around him as he wept over the elven woman he cradled gently. She made an incongruous, tiny shape in his arms.

He mustered everything he had left, and reached out, and grasped the elf-woman's ankle, the closest part he could reach. Atonement at last.

The remnants of his magicks flowed out of him, with his whispered prayer, and a golden light played around her. She seemed for a moment to glow from within... and then she began to breathe. He smiled slightly, and darkness whirled up to drag him away.

* * * * *

The troll watched silently as the fingers of the dying froglok slipped from Tiri's ankle, and it collapsed to the sand of the riverbank, a dark stain spreading slowly outwards from it.

The young woman took another breath, moaned slightly, and stirred in Braag's arms.

"Tiri?" the ogre asked, his deep bass voice husky with his grief. "Kor! She's alive!" He half turned towards the troll, and froze in surprise.

The troll's face had twisted, as he stared down at the creature at his feet. It drew a shuddering breath, then there was a silence which seemed to last forever...

And Korgoss bent, placed his hand upon its breast, and healed it.

Ferret blinked at the odd expression on the troll's face, but knew that commentary would be unwelcome. The shaman was one of the most taciturn creatures that the gnome had ever met. The rogue turned away from the silent drama, and scanned the banks of the river for other threats to his friends. Nothing seemed to be nearby, but a structure on the opposite shore caught his eye.

"Guys. There's a barn over there. I think we should get Tiri over there before the blasted rain starts again." He glanced upwards at the lowering clouds. "It'd be a good place to rest up and heal." Murmurs of agreement came from his companions - save for the silent troll - and the ogre, now holding the elven woman as carefully as if she were made of glass, stood up. He glanced at the troll before setting off towards the ancient wooden bridge that spanned the river nearby. The rogue followed him without looking back.

One of the group hung back, glancing between Korgoss and the froglok, and the rest of her companions marching away. Merilee alone saw the sadness that touched the troll's features, and the rage and indecision that flickered in turn through his eyes. With Tiri alive, and in Braag's capable hands, she could stay with the troll she called friend. She fingered the strap of the lute over her shoulder as she watched him stare at the froglok at his feet.

There was a lot of history between the two races. The strange, intelligent amphibians called frogloks – looking for all the world like giant, humanoid frogs – had battled for centuries with the trolls for the right to live in their own swamp. The late-comer trolls had hunted them, and enslaved them, until finally, with the aid of their god, they had arisen, and cast the trolls out of the city they had built, and once more reclaimed their homeland. All this the bard knew from the tales of those who had watched the battle. Although Korgoss had long since left his birth-home behind him, he had not taken the news of Grobb's fall well.

Merilee knew that any decision he made would have to be his alone.. and that she could not change the outcome of his inner battle. But she could watch, and wait. And hope.

The dead Eye caught her attention, and, keeping the troll in view, the graceful blonde woman wandered over to it to see what it carried with it. She avoided the ichor that oozed from the broken sphere of its body, and saw the slight bulge of the fleshy "pouch" in which it stored its treasure. With a slice of her knife, a handful of glistening stones fell into her grasp. She tucked them away, and turned, still crouched beside the corpse, to see Korgoss kneel beside the still form of his hated enemy, gently pick it up in his arms, and turn to follow the rest.

She straightened, pulled the lute from over her shoulder, and began to pick a tune, as she hurried to catch up with him. She avoided Korgoss's gaze, and concentrated on her song as she followed him. He looked down at his burden, then resolutely continued towards the bridge, and the rest of his comrades.

Merilee smiled to herself as she watched him from the corner of her eye, and began to wrap magick into her music, willing healing to her odd friend, and the odder creature he carried.

The rain began moments after they reached the barn. They entered cautiously, unsure if it was used or abandoned. The rain hissed on the thatch over their heads. No beasts were tethered in the stalls, nor was there any fodder, or tack of any kind. The walls were still snug and sound, and kept the weather at bay.

Braag shifted his precious burden carefully, and removed his cloak one handed. He handed it to the rogue, and pointed at a spot on the floor, near a firepit that indicated they were not the first to use the place as a camp.

The gnome laid out the huge bundle of fabric and leather into a pallet, as Tiri's bedroll was still soaked from its dip in the river. When he had finished, he stood back, and Braag gently laid his beloved down on it, then knelt at her side. Pulling a dagger from his belt, he spoke a gruff word and sliced his left hand open with a single stroke. His blood began to pool in his palm, and he watched it as it rose to overflow, and the droplets changed as they fell to a stream of blue magick that poured healing into the unconscious woman. When he sagged from exhaustion, his own life going to the healing of the woman he loved, his hand closed, and the magick of the spell he wove closed the wound, stopping the bleeding. He wiped his hand on his trews, leaving a smear of blood. He touched the wood elf's cheek gently, before wrapping the edges of the cloak around her to keep her warm.

Merilee and Korgoss entered before he had finished, and he turned to see the troll examining the area, looking for a place to put the froglok.

"Here." Braag carefully took the froglok from Kor, and watched as the troll dropped his backpack, and hauled a bundle of furs from its place strapped to the top. Several from the bundle were arranged near the firepit to make a second pallet. Braag carefully laid the froglok upon it, and stepped back.

The troll grunted his thanks, and paused to stare at the creature for a moment more. He looked at the ogre. "Tiri?"

"Sleeping. I healed her." Braag sat down wearily beside her. "She'll be fine."

Merilee indicated the firepit. "I'll fetch some wood," she said, and tucked her lute safely in a corner. Raising the hood on her cloak, she turned and headed back out into the rain

Kor nodded, then knelt down beside the froglok, and began to remove its armour.

Merilee returned before he had managed to remove many pieces of the froglok's plate, and dropped a large armload of wood just inside the door.

"Wood pile outside to the left. We've hit the jackpot here," she said.
She hung her dripping cloak to dry on a hook protruding from the wall, then began to lay a fire in the pit. The wood was wet, and she made no move to light it.

When she was done, she stepped to the barn door and washed her hands in the run-off from the roof. She returned to kneel opposite Kor as he finished unbuckling his patient's breastplate. He set it aside with the other pieces.

The padded gambeson beneath was stiffened with dried blood and fluids. A new spread of red surrounded a gaping hole cut in the right side. Korgoss carefully cut the garment away with a knife, and Merilee blanched as she saw the arrow. Even Kor hissed in sympathy when he saw it, and touched the shaft delicately to get an idea of its depth. He shook his head, and moved on to remove the bracer and sleeves that covered the froglok's sword arm. The shaman hissed again when the wide gash on the forearm was revealed, and he saw the state it was in.

"The poor thing..." Merilee said softly, and touched its forehead gently. "Can I do anything to help?" The troll continued to remove pieces of armour in silence for a minute before he replied. Merilee waited patiently.

"Water," the troll said finally, and reached into the pack beside him and brought out a pot and a large bowl. "Hot. Cold." He handed her the containers, and she nodded.

"Would you light the fire?" she asked, as she stepped to the door to catch the rain run-off in the bowl.

Korgoss merely grunted in reply, but he stood up, made a gesture at the firepit, and spoke a word in his guttural tongue. The wood instantly burst into flame.

"I'm going to need your spit, too, to hang this off of," the bard continued. Kor shoved his pack towards her, and took the bowl of cold water from her.
Using a piece of soft cloth, he began to wash the blood and grime from his charge.

Ferret and Braag took themselves to the far side of the fire, out of the way of the pair, but they watched curiously. The gnome began to sharpen one of his many knives, looking up after every few strokes to ensure he didn't miss anything. The ogre - still caught between the grief of losing the wood elf who had won his heart, and the joy and disbelief of her restoration - was quiet, and turned his own eyes frequently to gaze on her. He eyed the froglok with speculation, but the curiosity that awoke as he watched the troll shaman at work on the creature could wait.

When the water was boiling, Merilee brought it to the shaman, and set it carefully beside him. He threw a handful of dried leaves into it, and watched as the water darkened as they steeped.

Taking another cloth from a small pouch full of them, he dipped it into the still scalding liquid, and fished it out with his knife. He held the dripping cloth over the pot until the liquid had run off of it, and it had cooled enough to touch.

Using the cloth, he cleaned the deep cut the ogre had given the possessed froglok when it had attacked them. The creature stirred slightly under his ministrations, the first time it had done so since he began. When he finished the cleaning, he touched the wound gently, and spoke a word, and it closed beneath his hand.

Kor again touched the arrow shaft that jutted from the froglok's torso. Taking his knife, he dipped it into the pot of liquid and stirred it around.

"No. Here." The little rogue stepped forward suddenly, and produced a knife which he handed to the troll. "Use this one."

Kor took the blade, and noted the keenness of the edge, and the fine point. He nodded his thanks to the gnome, who settled back down in his place to watch. The cleansing process was repeated with the new blade.

"Hold him." The shaman washed the area around the arrow with the cleansing liquid as well. The frog stirred weakly again, and Merilee leaned forward and placed her hands upon its shoulders. Kor moved the arrow slightly, experimentally. Merilee leaned some weight down, and the froglok's movements were curtailed.

Decisively, Korgoss cut down into the flesh and muscle to the arrowhead, and removed the barbed shaft with a quick jerk. A gush of dark blood and matter followed it, and the froglok arched its back, writhing in agony. A strange keening noise escaped it.

"Hold him!" the troll commanded, and Merilee flung herself across the froglok to keep it in its place. A measure of the cleansing tea was poured directly into the wound, causing more thrashing, but the froglok's struggles were weakening rapidly. Careful pressure expelled the liquid, and more putrid matter from the wound. More of the tea was poured into it, bringing out another gout of foul smelling matter.

A third application of the liquid brought no new corruption to the surface, and Kor grunted in satisfaction. The froglok had ceased to struggle. The shaman noted it still breathed, although its shallow breaths were coming rapidly. He set his hand above the arrow wound, and released his magick. When he was pleased with the result, he leaned back, chose the next of the creature's many injuries, and began again.

* * * * *

Waves of burning agony. Endless hands doing unspeakable torturous things tormented him. Whenever the release of death drew near, the warmth of healing would fill him, then the torture would begin anew. And always there was the stink of troll.

* * * * *

It was the water that brought him to his senses.

Cool, sweet water that eased his parched throat trickled into his mouth in a measured stream. He swallowed convulsively. The trickle began again, and the drops paused so that he could again swallow. He fought for the strength to open his eyes.

He was half-sitting, leaning against a broad chest. A strong arm supported him. The glow of a low fire barely lit the scene, showing several people sleeping around it. From somewhere nearby came the sound of music, a gentle air that resonated within, easing the pain that wracked him.

The water stopped flowing, and something else took its place. A warm, rich broth was fed to him slowly, in the same measured trickle. It, too, ceased after a time, and he managed a whispered word of thanks to his caregiver. He tried to lift his head, but that feat was beyond him.

"Drink." The word rumbled in the chest he was leaning against, and a foul, bitter liquid filled his mouth. He forced himself to swallow it. A last mouthful of water followed it, presumably to wash the taste away. He felt a strange lethargy fill him, and his eyelids sagged closed again.

"Sleep," the voice rumbled, and he was laid back down onto something soft. He was asleep before the cover was tucked around him.

* * * * *

He awoke again, slowly, disoriented. Above him, wooden beams held a roof of some sort of plant material, and he could hear the sounds of rain falling, and of conversation. A fire crackled beside him, and the clatter of pot and spoon told him that someone was cooking. The scent was enticing.

He moved carefully, feeling the pain from his side. He touched it, to find a thickly padded bandage encircling his torso. Another bound his right arm.

He tried to sit up, levering himself with his left arm when he found the right bandaged, but his attempt was unsuccessful. He heard an exclamation from behind him, and a familiar voice said "No." A hand pressed him back down onto the furs he had been lying on. He turned his head to see the owner of the voice, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was a troll. A wave of fear washed over him, and he reached automatically for his weapon....which, of course, wasn't there. He was lying naked, save for the bandages, beneath the pelt of what seemed to be a lion, and there was no weapon within his reach.

Common sense reasserted itself, and his fear turned to puzzlement. The troll had picked up a large piece of firewood, and wrapped it inside yet another fur. It approached him with this, and with deft hands it propped him carefully upright with the bundle as a backrest.

It returned to the fire, and ladled a portion of food into a crude clay bowl. It thrust a spoon into the bowl, and placed it on the floor beside him, in easy reach. A cup of water was set beside it. "Frog, eat," the troll said to him flatly.

He raised his eyes to those of the hideous green-skinned being that towered over him, and swallowed. A jolt of recognition shot through him. Ice blue eyes stared down at him impassively. "You killed her," it told him.

The troll turned away, back to the fire, and the pot it had been stirring. Another bowl was filled, and extended to a dark-clad gnome, who sat down nearby to eat it.

His eyes tracked around the fire, and more puzzlement filled him, as he saw the strange mix of people who sat around it. They watched him, as curiously as he stared at them.

Closest to him was the gnome, whose eyes twinkled out of a face that was all angles. Sharply pointed nose and chin framed a mouth that wore a slight smile, as if he were laughing at something only he saw.

The combination of the gnome and the troll together was strange enough. But across the fire sat an ogre and a human woman, making the mix all the more bizarre. He eyed the rough-hewn features of the ogre with some trepidation, as it dwarfed even the troll with its massive frame. However, it merely inspected him in turn with an expression of mild amusement. When the slight figure of a wood elf hurried inside from the rain, shaking the wet from her hair, he shook his head in confusion, and looked down at the food the troll had left him.

The froglok picked up the bowl, and found it held some sort of stew. He stirred it a little, to find all of the lumps in it small, and easily manageable. He couldn't tell what any of it was.

He tasted it with some caution, but it was savoury, and well seasoned with herbs.

The gnome leaned forward. Tufts of greying hair stuck out from his head, giving him a look of surprise.

"Don't let the big guy fool you," the gnome told him. "Kor's the best damned cook you'll meet."

A snort came from the troll.

"We have a cardinal rule, though." The lovely blonde woman smiled at the frog from her seat near the troll the gnome had named ‘Kor'. A sprinkle of laughter from the group greeted her words.

"Never ask the troll what's in the food," several voices chimed in together. The troll in question snorted again.

The gnome sighed, and prodded one of the small lumps in his bowl with a look of suspicion. "And yet, it's never the thought of ‘what' that worries me." He fished out the lump, and ate it reflectively. "It's the possibility of ‘who.'"

More laughter followed this complaint, which went ignored by the cook.

"Keep it up, Ferret. You may find yourself in the pot." The wood elf, her long brown hair loose and flowing down her shoulders, tapped the gnome on the head as she walked by him, and sat down beside the fur pallet. The froglok's eyes widened as he suddenly recognised the elven woman he had killed.

"No." The troll threw a handful of leaves into a pot of water beside him. "Too stringy," he said with a sniff.

"Gods, I hope that's general knowledge. It'd be kinda nasty to have it found out after the fact," the gnome muttered as he collected the empty bowls from those who had finished. He moved away, and became busy on the other side of the fire.

The elven woman shook her head, and turned her eyes to the froglok, studying him. He was shorter than she, but much more sturdily built. His well muscled arms and shoulders hinted at his strength. His light brown mottled skin bore more than a few scars, some from injuries that must have been nearly as horrible as those Merilee had described to her.

"I'm glad to see you looking so well," she told him, finally. "I'm Tiri." She offered him her hand, and he reached out gingerly to take it. His hand was cool to the touch, though not moist, as she had feared.

"Arrek," he replied. "I... I am sorry we had to meet in such a way." He lowered his eyes in embarrassment. She squeezed his hand, and he looked up to see the kind smile on her face.

"It's behind us," she said. "I prefer to look forward." She released him, and pointed at the bowl in his lap. "You'd best eat that. Kor gets annoyed if you waste food." He made a strange grimace, and began to eat again. She watched him, seeing the shadows of pain in his leaf-green eyes.

"So, you are a priest, Arrek?" she asked, when he had finished his stew. She took the bowl and spoon from him, and passed him the cup of water. He took a sip, and shook his head.

"No, I'm a Sword of The Truthbringer," he said. "One of his Shin knights."
Her eyes widened. "A paladin?" she asked with a mixture of worry and surprise in her voice.

"Some call us that, yes." He wondered at the hint of fear in her eyes. "Is this something that will cause you danger?" He lowered the cup to his lap, and glanced at the people around the fire.

"Not me, but ...perhaps you. Or him... you must swear to me you will do no harm to Braag." Her eyes held his, and her hand clutched his knee.

He looked at her in puzzlement. "Why would I wish harm to you or your companions? You have given me aid, unlooked for."

"Swear it." He stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her insistence. Then he nodded. He was in debt to her, and to the rest of them. It was the least he could do.

"I swear it, then. I will do no harm to Braag, even should he harm me. I swear this on my Oath to Marr." He watched as she relaxed, and the fear faded from her eyes. "Now…Who is Braag?" he asked wryly.

"My husband." She pointed at the ogre who sat across the fire. "Him." He looked over at the ogre, and blinked, and saw for a moment the riverbank, and the ogre cradling the wood elf woman in his arms, as he wept.

He raised his cup back up to take a sip, covering his astonishment. "That...ah...that must be an interesting story..." he said, when he felt he could trust his voice.

She laughed. "You could say that. Let's just say our families don't approve." Her eyes found the ogre again, and he saw the love shining in them.

"My cousin, Merilee, is the only one who is willing to be seen with me," she pointed out the woman with her golden hair pulled back into a sensible ponytail. She was trading insults with the gnome.

"Cousin?" he looked at the woman with surprise. She didn't look at all like an elf. He had thought her human.

"She's only half-blood," Tiri explained, "but her mother and mine are sisters. She takes after her father, more. She's a travelling minstrel, and it suits her to travel with us."

Arrek nodded. "And your other companions?" he asked.

She smiled. "You've met Ferret. He's our scout." She nodded at the sharp-featured gnome. "And Korgoss." She indicated the troll. "Kor is the one who healed you." She eyed him curiously, watching his reaction.

He nodded slowly. "I had come to that conclusion," he said quietly. "Although it isn't what I expected." He looked down at the cup in his hands, then made the strange grimace again. "I never thought to find myself beholden to a troll. My teachers would be horrified."

She laughed, and saw his expression deepen, and she realised he was smiling. She patted his knee, and stood up.

"Well, you should rest some more. We've got to finish the healing a little later. I should get Kor to make up one of his nasty little drinks, so you can sleep through it."

He considered, and felt within him for the presence of his Gift. It was there. "I don't think you'll need to," he said. "I can probably finish the healing myself, now."

"Perhaps, but that's a very bad infection. You're lucky to be alive. It took everything Kor had to keep you that way." She looked down at him with a hint of a frown. "That's why I was going to be helping this time. I'm a druid, a follower of the Mother of All, and I heal as well as he does."

"Can you help me up?" he asked. She blinked.

"Kor? Could you come here for a moment?" she looked over at the troll. "It would be better if you did this, I think. You're a lot stronger than I am."
The shaman stepped around the fire, and looked down at the froglok, and the wood elf. "He needs to get up. He's going to finish healing himself," the druid told him.

The troll grunted, and looked down at the paladin speculatively. "Not stand."

"Kneeling should do," Arrek said, and braced himself. The troll bent over him, and with surprisingly gentle hands, picked him up, and set him back down on his knees. The hands remained, steadying him, as he caught his breath, his vision greying with the pain of the movement. He pressed his hand to his side, and whispered his prayer.

A clear blue light surrounded him as he released his Gift, the power of his god channelled into a concentrated burst of holy magick. The cessation of pain was almost as much a shock as its intensification had been, and he gasped in relief.

He settled back slowly, breathing deeply. He reached down, and began to unwrap the bandage. The arrow wound beneath was gone, with a pale scar in its place. The gash on his arm was likewise fully closed, leaving only a thin line to show where it had been. Tiri leaned forward, and ran her fingers along his ribs, and the scar. A trickle of blue shone around her hand, but she looked up at the shaman, and smiled. "He did it. It's gone," she said. The troll grunted, and released him carefully.

The froglok stood up, and faced the shaman. "Thank you, sir," he said simply. "Thank you for my life." He bowed deeply.

Korgoss studied him for a moment. "Frog," he said in acknowledgment, and nodded curtly before returning to his interrupted work.

Arrek's armour and equipment had been set to one side, and the froglok was dismayed to see how little he had left. He picked up the gambeson, and looked at it with revulsion. He took it outside, and hung it in the rain to see if it could be salvaged when somewhat cleaner. He fingered the long rent where it had been cut from him, and doubted it could be saved. His breechclout was serviceable, though also in need of cleaning. He took that outside as well.

The rest of his armour was whole, although some of the pieces showed the ill-use of his enslavement. He was pleased to see that he had managed to keep hold of his shoulder-bag, which held some few of his possessions. He emptied it out to see what his resources were.

A shadow loomed over him, and he looked up to see the ogre looking down on him with curiosity. He nodded politely. The huge creature squatted beside him, and looked at his armour. Its eyebrows drew together in a slight frown. The planes of its face were rough, as if a carving had been left unfinished.

"A little worse for wear," it said, in a voice so deep it was almost felt more than heard. "You'll need this." A small flask sat in its extended hand. "Oil for the straps."

"Thank you." Arrek took the oil gratefully. "I was just seeing what I had left. I don't know when I lost my sword, but it's probably out rusting on the plains somewhere."

"Sword?" The ogre's eyebrows raised. "You're not a priest, then?"

Arrek recalled the druid's fear, and the promise she extracted from him. He steeled himself, then answered. "No, I'm a Sword of the Truthbringer."

The ogre's black eyes narrowed, and it gazed at him flatly. A curious stillness held it as it stared at him, and he awaited the attack that seemed to be building. Then, suddenly, it shook its head, and a strange expression passed across its face. It rubbed a hand over its bald head.

"Well. That would explain Tiri," it said. "She just made me promise not to hurt you."

"She made me promise the same," the paladin said, relaxing. He cocked his head as he looked at the ogre. "I swore on my Oath."

"And I on mine." The ogre smiled slightly, showing sharp tusk-like fangs. "I am Braag, Sword of The Faceless." The froglok stared at him in sudden comprehension. The shadowknight of the god of Fear extended a hand. "A truce, it seems."

The paladin slowly took the hand. "I am Arrek. We don't have much choice. Honour has us caught."

"Not honour. Tiri." The ogre sniffed. "She's got us trapped fairly. And not for the first time for me. I should know better." He laughed, real humour transforming his face, and softening his eyes as he contemplated his wife.

"Best watch it. You'll find yourself wrapped around her finger before you know it."

"We'll have to think of some way to suitably thank her." Arrek smiled at the shadowknight, struck as well by the humour in their situation.

"Oh, I have a few ideas on that already." The ogre grinned back, and stood up. He looked out at the rain, still falling steadily. "And I had another purpose in coming here, besides the oil, and seeing what Tiri had set me up for this time." He gestured outside. "I saw your gambeson. I have a spare, but I doubt you'll want to wear it. But Merilee also wears plate, and she is far closer to your size. I think she has an under-tunic she isn't using. I'll ask her for you. It's not as good as a gambeson, but better than armour bites."

Arrek looked up with grateful surprise. "That is very kind of you," he said. "Thank you. I would not have asked…"

"I know." The ogre nodded at him. "But if you will be staying with us, it is better to have you well armoured, and able to fight." He blinked at the froglok's expression. "Ah. Tiri didn't actually ask you, did she?" He laughed again. "See? I warned you. Well. She likes you. You're welcome to stay for a while, see how it goes. Unless you have pressing business elsewhere?"

"No, nothing pressing. I do have things I was intending to do, but they're not urgent."

Braag nodded. "We're simply hunting for furs right now. Kor needs them, so we've decided to go and get some for him. Think about it, anyway."

Merilee was happy to lend her under-tunic to the froglok. Although it was large on him, it fit well enough to be functional when he belted it. The extra mass of fabric caused him to loosen some of his buckles to accommodate it, but his armour sat comfortably on top of it, and he was happy to have it. His old gambeson, even washed first by the rain, and next in the river, was no longer wearable. Stained with his blood, and fraying where it had been cut, it was good only for rags. He balled it up, and stuffed it into his bag. Rags were still of use, and the gambeson had been a gift, long ago. He found it hard to part with.

His sword, too, had been a gift, and he missed the feel of it in his hand. But the hammer formed of his magicks, summoned with his will, worked well enough as a weapon, and he was skilled in its use. He would find a new blade eventually. He put away his empty scabbard.

Finally, his armour and equipment were as ready as he could make them, and he spent the remainder of the day chatting amiably with the group, and pitching in with their work.

By the time nightfall came, he had come to a decision. He would remain, for a while, at least.

* * * * *

When they moved on from the barn the next day, Arrek went with them.

They wandered erratically across the plains, hunting for the big cats that dwelled there. The big cats, for their part, were equally happy to hunt the hunters. The plains abounded with dangerous game that would turn the hunt against the comrades before they could blink, but they managed to avoid the more fearsome of the predators.

Arrek fell into the rhythm of the group easily, taking up some of the chores, and working beside them with a cheerful demeanour. They, in turn, warmed to him, enjoying his freely offered companionship, and finding his sense of humour in tune with theirs. The strange collection of people intrigued him, and he wondered at their camaraderie.

Braag was a fascination, the first of his opposites he had met without bloodshed. That this was due to the druid's machinations didn't matter, it was a chance to learn how the other side thought, and he relished their discussions. The ogre was unlike anything he'd expected. When he cautiously breached the subject, the ogre merely raised an eyebrow.

"You expected me to be an idiot, I presume? I can read and write, as well, or better than you. I have been trained in magicks as you have, although mine come from Cazic Thule, and are different than yours. I have met many humans and elves who are less able than I... but people listen to them rather than to me." He smiled wryly. "It does give one a certain freedom... I'm not assumed to ‘know better.'"

Korgoss, however, remained distant. It was one thing to have a fallen enemy at your feet, and pity it, and another to have that same enemy walking around, and becoming friends with your companions. He avoided the froglok, who, sensing the troll's displeasure, mostly tried to keep out of the way.

Mindful of the debt he owed, however, the paladin did continue to assist the troll with chores. Korgoss tolerated his presence when he was being of use. Arrek learned more about the tanning of hides than he thought he would ever want to know.

The tanning agent was an herbal concoction of the troll's own invention. It was liberally painted onto the fresh pelts, and left to soak. The result was finely tanned leather after several days of treatment. That there was some magickal element involved was obvious, even to the untrained eyes of the paladin. The worst part of it was the cleaning of the substance off of the hides when the tanning was completed. This was the job that the troll took some glee in giving to the froglok when he came to offer his aid.

He watched as Korgoss crafted the leather he tanned into fine leather armour, reinforced with metal studs, or metal boning to add strength and aid in the defence of the wearer, or finely tooled quivers with graceful designs etched upon them. When he had accumulated enough of the completed pieces, Merilee would take them to barter for more staples for the group, or more of the needed supplies for the shaman's continued progression in skill at his craft.

She was well-liked, offering music and tales to those who would buy and sell to her, and receiving, in turn, their best prices.

It was almost inevitable, with the tension between the froglok and the troll, that bitterness and old enmity would come to the surface. There was too much history between their races for easy understanding or acceptance. It came from such a small thing when it finally struck, that both parties were blindsided into reacting, with conscious thought taking the back seat to pent emotions.

The reaction to his friendly teasing was so far beyond what Arrek could have imagined from the shaman, that the apology he tried to stammer went only half-voiced. If Korgoss had noticed it at all, it did not matter to him. Anger suffused the troll's face, and he spat out a condemnation of the froglok's race as not even making fit slaves.

Arrek's voice took on a hint of steel as he defended himself and his people, but this only further inflamed Korgoss. Beneath the shaman's rancour, the paladin's temper finally frayed, and he snapped back with animosity.

The explosion of anger between the two came as a shock to the others. They retreated from the scene of the argument, although the heated words carried in the evening air. It was more than they had ever heard the dour shaman say in the years they had shared company.

The silence returned just as suddenly as it had been shattered. Korgoss, in a rage, turned his back on the froglok, and stalked out of the camp.

The paladin, equally angry, and embarrassed at his loss of control, slowly sat down, and watched the shaman leave. He felt a step beside him, and looked up to see Braag, frowning after the troll.

"Sometimes," the ogre said, "I think he needs a good, swift kick." He shook his head. Arrek, calming himself, forced himself to replay the scene. He lowered his head in shame.

"I think he's been kicked enough already," the paladin replied softly. The shadowknight looked down at him in surprise, then his eyes narrowed as he studied the froglok, and considered the thought.

"You may have a point," he conceded finally. "He had a hard time of it back in Grobb." The ogre sighed. "Sort of familiar, that. Tiri has this thing about bringing home strays." He smiled in self-depreciation. "What set him off, anyway?"

"I teased him. It was my fault. I told him, what with the cooking and sewing, that he might make someone a good wife someday," the froglok admitted glumly. "I let him get to me." The shadowknight whistled.

"Oh, that hit a nerve, alright." He shook his head again. "When we found him, he'd been left for dead on one of the islands in the swamp. We figured at first that he'd run into some of your kind, and that he was a victim of your little war, but he'd been beaten up by his own." The paladin looked at him sharply.

"Other trolls?"

"Yes. Kor doesn't fight, not unless he has to. He doesn't like it. They don't like that very much," the ogre said sourly. "Makes him pariah in their culture. ‘Worse than a woman'." Braag shook his head, and there was a hint of anger in his voice. "We think he managed okay for a while, but he must have finally ticked someone off. He doesn't talk about it. He doesn't talk much about anything, for that matter. Anyway, they beat him nearly to death, and left him for the fro... stuff in the swamp to find. But Tiri found him first. She and Meri patched him back up. He's been with us since."

The silence hung in the camp as Arrek digested this. "I don't want to cause any more trouble for you. I'm sorry to have opened old wounds," he said eventually. "I'll go, and leave you be."

"He'll cool down. Don't worry about it." The ogre gave him a friendly clout on the shoulder. "Wait for it."

Kor didn't cool down.

Arrek tried to apologise, but the troll just glared at him and walked away.

Overtures of assistance with camp chores, even the tanning, were likewise rebuffed. Neither were the others spared the shaman's temper. Even Merilee stopped sitting with him at meals, although her misery at her friend's behaviour was plain.

The situation finally came to a head when the paladin - who always was somewhat awkward in moving about on land - tripped in returning with a load of wood for a fire as they were setting up camp about a week later. One of the falling pieces of wood bounced, and shattered the shaman's only mixing bowl. That it was an obvious accident made no matter to the troll. In a cold fury, the shaman levelled his spear at the paladin.

Arrek made no move to escape him, or to defend himself. He stepped forward, until the spear point touched his throat. "I will not fight you, Korgoss. I owe you my life. If you want it, take it." For a long moment the shaman stared at the froglok, who looked back at him calmly. The troll withdrew the spear abruptly.

"I am healer, not murderer," he spat coldly, and stalked away. "You owe nothing," he flung backwards over his shoulder. The others stared after him in mute astonishment at the violence of his reaction.

Arrek lowered his head, and began to gather his meagre belongings. "I'm sorry," he said to them, as they watched him sling his shoulder-bag over his head, and strap his shield in place. "But it's best that I go. Hopefully he'll calm down when I'm no longer here."

"Where will you go?" Tiri asked him.

"High Keep. That's where I was heading before the Eye took me." He checked to see that his belt knife was in place. "I do owe him. And all of you. I'll not forget it."

"We'll come with you, part of the way." Braag stood up. He frowned as he looked over at the troll, who glared at him from the edge of the camp. "Back east as far as the wooden bridge, at least. It's not that far away, and we've got some hours of light yet. And we may get some hunting done." He picked up his own pack, and slung it back over his shoulders. "And a walk might do us some good." They set off again, following the road. Behind them, the shaman, with black looks at his companions, scooped up his own gear, and followed.

They could see the bridge for a good distance, before they reached it. The sun, low in the western sky, painted it with gold. Dark water, heavy with silt from the rains, rolled beneath it. They walked out onto the massive timbers, and Arrek turned to say goodbye.

Tiri smiled sadly at him.

"I wish it could have turned out better," she told him. He took her hand, and bowed gallantly over it.

"I, too," he said, simply.

"High Keep is to the east," the ogre said, as he stepped forward, and shook the paladin's hand. "Safe journey." Arrek returned the grasp warmly.

"Marr's blessing on you." He glanced at the troll, who glowered at him. "On all of you." He nodded at them solemnly.

"Hey! Watch it!" Ferret complained, as a stranger pelted past them, knocking the gnome into the paladin, who caught him before he went sprawling, and set him back on his feet.

"You'd better run, you moron!" The rogue shook his fist after the figure.

"Run," Arrek said, staring back the way the man had come, raising his hand against the sun.

"Oh, he is," the rogue said, muttering dire consequences if he ever ran into the fellow again.

"No! Run!" the froglok cried, and leapt forward to knock Merilee off her feet.

A huge beak snapped closed where she had been. The griffon shrieked its rage as it was cheated of its prey. Seemingly made from the combination of eagle and lion, it was all predator, and the one who fled it had brought it directly to them.

It whirled on Arrek, who had thwarted it, and he smashed the beast hard with his shield. It reeled back, giving him time to scramble to his feet. He raised his hammer, prepared to hold it off as long as he could before fleeing himself. He stood no chance of defeating the powerful animal alone.

But before he could fully form a plan of action, Braag was at his side. Together, they struck at the fierce creature, grimly determined to defend the ones behind them.

Magicks swirled about them both, then, armouring them against the griffon's blows, and filling them with supernal energy, speeding their attacks. Merilee's soprano voice rose behind them, and new strength and energy flowed into them, carried by the magick of her music.

Magicks born of fire and ice lashed the beast, but these it shrugged off, turning away from the two who desperately fought it. The griffon vented its rage at those who inflicted the indignities with buffets of its huge wings, and strikes with its claws. Shadowknight and paladin fought side by side, and brought its attention back to them, away from those they cared about.

A flicker of movement behind it showed Ferret had joined the fray, as he drove a blade deep into the griffon's haunches. It screamed, and spun to face the new threat. But both knights had been waiting for this, and they unleashed their magicks upon the beast. It whirled again, to land a final blow upon the ogre, before it fled them.

Unwilling to let it escape to attack others, they pursued it, until it fell from the sky, and was still.

The ogre and the froglok looked at each other, and grinned at their triumph. Arrek's healing magicks bathed the ogre in warmth, and the shadowknight, surprised at the gesture, thanked him.

"We work well together," Braag said, as they walked back to the others on the bridge. "It's a shame you and Kor......" He looked around. "Kor?"

Tiri spun around suddenly, looking at the group. "He was right here, beside me!" she said, surprised. "He couldn't have left again?"

"Here!" Ferret's keen eyes drew him to the support pillar, where he touched a spot on it, and held up his finger. "Blood..." He peered over the edge of the bridge into the murky water. "I don't see..." He looked back up in time to watch Arrek dive cleanly into the river, with barely a splash.

They gathered at the edge of the bridge, watching the dark waters, and unconsciously holding their breaths.

It seemed far too long a time before the paladin reappeared, but he had the shaman with him. With powerful strokes, he towed the other swiftly to the bank, and dragged him up on it.

Wasting no time, the froglok flipped the troll onto his stomach, and folded his arms to place his hands beneath his head.

The others rushed down to the bank, to watch the paladin with dismay.

"Kor!" Merilee took a step towards them, reaching out for the troll, but Braag caught her and held her back.

"Wait," he said, with a frown, watching as Arrek alternately pressed down hard upon the troll's back, and lifted him partly off the ground by his elbows in a smooth, continuous, measured motion.

Telling the others to keep back, and not interfere, he knelt down at Kor's head, out of the way of the froglok's movements. Arrek looked up at him, but neither slowed, nor stopped.

"Does it work?" The ogre asked softly.

"Sometimes." The paladin timed his words with his movements. "It may take a while."

"How long?" The ogre reached out to take the shaman's wrist.

"Until he breathes, or dies," Arrek replied shortly, saving his breath for his work. The shaman, over twice his size, was heavy, and the effort of lifting him repeatedly was draining. He was glad the troll wore flexible chain, and not solid plate armor. There would have been no chance if he had.

Braag felt the thread of the troll's life throbbing weakly, but steadily. The minutes stretched long, as the paladin continued the movements smoothly, and the pulse strengthened under the shadowknight's fingers.

Then Korgoss retched suddenly, and the froglok immediately rolled him to the side. Arrek cleared the effluvia from the troll's mouth, and Kor drew a ragged breath.

Only when he had assured himself that the shaman was breathing regularly did Arrek sit back, exhausted.

"Get him warm. Keep him warm. Watch him." The paladin climbed slowly to his feet, and turned back towards the bridge.

"Arrek?" Tiri caught the froglok's arm, and stopped him. "Please. Stay? At least the night? It will be dark soon, and you're in no shape to head out into the mountains alone."

The paladin considered her words, and the wisdom in them, then nodded slowly. He turned back to the group, and his eyes fell upon the shaman again. He slowly waded back into the river, ignoring their questions, and disappeared beneath the surface.

Braag watched him go, then shrugged. He grunted as he raised the troll up from the ground, and got him over his shoulders.

"The barn?" Ferret asked, pointing at the same structure they had used some weeks before, and Braag nodded.

A splash heralded the return of the froglok, who came bearing the shaman's spear, lost in the river when he fell. He climbed the bank, and joined the rest of the group as they began moving.

* * * * *

"Where did you learn that little trick?" Braag asked curiously, later, as they sat by the fire, drowsily listening to Merilee playing her lute. "I've never seen anything like it. Does it work on anyone?" The froglok shoved his shoulder-bag behind him for a cushion, and shifted to get comfortable.

"We live in a swamp," he said. "People get lost, and bogged down all the time. Those of us who patrol learn how to save those who are drowning." The paladin leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. "As far as I know, it's the same for everyone. There's another way, too, but we can't do it. Our faces aren't shaped like yours are."

"Must be nice t' be able to breathe underwater," the rogue commented from his place near the froglok's feet. He was sprawled out on his stomach, head resting on his hands, watching the fire.

Arrek gave a soft chirring laugh. "It would be... but we can't. We drown the same way you do." The gnome looked at him in surprise.

"But the frogloks in Guk...." he said, then flushed suddenly, as Arrek shook his head.

"Marr changed us, Ferret. We're not like them anymore." He stretched his leg, and set his foot in front of the rogue. "Touch me." The rogue ran his hand along the froglok's ankle, and shrugged.

"I don't get it."

"It's dry. We don't need as much water anymore. We can travel away from the swamp, and survive. But it means we have to drink now." He drew his foot back again. "And we can't stay underwater as long as our cousins... who also have to breathe, by the way." He spread out his toes, stretching the webbing between them. "We still swim as well, though." Shrugging, the froglok closed his eyes again. He smiled slightly as he felt the ogre beside him run a curious finger along his arm.

"How long can you stay under?" the ogre asked.

"Only a couple of hours, I'm afraid." The froglok smiled at Braag's stifled exclamation.

Tiri and Merilee came to join them, then. Braag raised an eyebrow, as the druid sat down beside him. "I healed him, but he's still out of it," she said.

"Looks like he got a good crack when the griffon smacked him. Bounced him off the post, probably." She smiled wryly. "Good thing he's got a hard head."

"That's an understatement." Ferret grinned impishly.

"He'll be okay, though?" the shadowknight looked across the fire at the troll, who stirred in his sleep, then rolled to his side. The shaman had been stripped of his wet gear, and dried before being wrapped warmly in Braag's cloak.

"Yes, he's fine now, just..." she shrugged. "I was tempted to leave him with a headache when he wakes up, for being a stubborn fool."

"He's not," the froglok said, without opening his eyes. "It's my fault, as well as his." The paladin was silent for a moment. "It's hard sometimes to see beyond what you expect people to be." Arrek sighed softly. "And that goes for me equally. To say otherwise would not be Truth. I hurt him. I didn't mean to do it. But it happened. I saw only ‘troll', not ‘Korgoss.'"

"Well. You've certainly made it up....." Ferret began, but was taken aback when the froglok shook his head. "What do you mean ‘no'?"

"I mean that the two aren't connected, Ferret. He still has every right to be angry with me. He took it a little far, perhaps, but I was the one who started it."

"But you just saved his life!"

"And he saved mine. Do the acts cancel each other out? Or, perhaps, do we both now have obligations?" the froglok opened his eyes, and considered. "I still don't know why he helped me. He didn't have to. I had been praying for death for some time." They stared at him in surprise.

"He did tell you," Merilee said suddenly. The paladin sat forward, and looked at her in puzzlement. "Today." She met the froglok's eyes. "I am healer, not murderer," she quoted.

"So he did," Arrek murmured, half to himself. "So he did." He sat in thoughtful silence, watching the flames flicker. The exhaustion caught up with him, then, and he excused himself, and collected his own cloak from where it had been hung to dry. He curled up in it, and was instantly asleep.

"He was just going to walk away...." Tiri said in wonder.

"He is going to walk away. Tomorrow." Braag reminded them. "It's a shame. We make a good team."

"I like him," Ferret said. "I think he likes us, too."

"He even cares about Kor," Merilee said softly. "Despite everything that's happened. Did you see? He went back and found Kor's spear."

The ogre nodded slowly, then sighed. "Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

The fire made the only sound as sleep claimed them, one by one.

Korgoss stared at the dancing shadows on the wall. It was a long time before he slept again.

* * * * *

Tiri awoke early, half-expecting to find the froglok gone. But Arrek had not yet awakened, the depth of his sleep testifying to his utter exhaustion.

Kor's place, however, was empty. Tiri looked around in concern, but it quickly became apparent that the shaman hadn't gone far. The fire had been rebuilt, and his largest pot sat in its centre, half-buried in the coals. From it came the scent of baking bread.

She stepped outside. The morning was breaking, and the sunrise over the river was glorious.

Kor was sitting, watching the sunrise, a spread of soft leather in his lap, and his needle forgotten in his hand. Tiri held her breath, for the troll, thinking himself alone, had lowered his guard.

A deep melancholy shadowed the troll's face, a bitter sadness and loneliness that Kor had kept hidden beneath his gruff exterior. She had only a heartbeat to see it, before he became aware of her presence. She watched the coldly impassive expression slide on like a mask. He bent his head back to his work, his precise stitches following one another with surprising speed.

Two things suddenly became clear to Tiri. The first was that she, too, was guilty of the offence of not seeing beyond what she expected to see in others. And the second was that Merilee had also, at some time or other, seen the troll unguarded. Her cousin's tolerance for the shaman's ill humour and dour silences had puzzled her for quite a while, but the bard's clarity of vision was now revealed.

She walked over to stand beside him, turning her eyes back to the painted sky. The colours were fading, as the sun broke free of the light fringe of cloud at the horizon..

"Looks like no rain today," she said lightly. "Maybe the mud will dry out some."

He glanced up at her, and she saw the ghost of the hidden sadness in his eyes. And the wariness. She knew she wouldn't be fooled again.

"How long is the bread supposed to bake?" she asked after a minute, and stifled a smile as he dropped his sewing and hurried back into the barn. She picked up his leather, and was startled to find a nearly finished gambeson.

She carried it in for him, and found him turning out a large round loaf. She folded the garment neatly, careful not to lose his needle, and put it beside him.

He nodded his thanks to her, and set the pot in a safe place to cool off. He took the gambeson back up, and continued stitching the unfinished seam. He held it up when it was finished, and grunted in satisfaction. He threaded the rings that would lace it closed with a strong silken cord, and folded it carefully.

To Tiri's surprise, he set it on top of the paladin's breastplate, and stole away the borrowed under-tunic. He didn't look at her, and went back outside after tucking the tunic into Merilee's pack.

She stayed by the fire, although the desire to follow him was overwhelming. He needed the space, and she needed to think.

Arrek was the last to awaken, and he sat up slowly, muscles stiff and complaining. He staggered to his feet, and shook his cloak out. Carefully stretching, easing the aches, he became aware of the tension in the barn. The group was quiet, and he found it hard to meet their eyes. The paladin wished he'd woken earlier. He had never liked saying good-bye, and this was now more difficult than ever.

"Arrek? Would you like some breakfast?" Merilee asked. The "before you go" was unvoiced, but he heard it. "We have fresh bread this morning, and tea."

"Thank you, but no." He smiled his thanks at her. "I don't do very well with bread, I'm afraid. It's hard for me to swallow." He found his cup in his shoulder-bag, and came and squatted beside the fire. "A cup of the tea would be nice, though, please."

She dipped him a cup from the pot, and he held the vessel in his hands, drawing warmth from it.

He drank it slowly, as he looked around the fire, and he noticed the missing face. None of them would meet his eyes, save the druid, who watched him with an odd expression.

He nodded to her, and finished his cup.

"Thank you. Tea is one of the things I miss most. It's rare to find outside of the cities." He stood up, and went to put on his armour.

He paused, seeing the unfamiliar gambeson, and picked it up slowly. He noted the fine stitching, and the soft suede on the inside, where it would touch skin. He looked over at the group, and saw his surprise mirrored there, save on the face of Tiri.

He held it up for measure, and found it a good fit. Again he looked at the group, a question in his eyes. Tiri pointed to the barn door, silently. Her eyes held a strange mixture of worry and hope.

And, suddenly, he understood.

He nodded at Tiri, and put the gambeson on, lacing it up. It fit well, indeed. The belt that supported his legplates was next, and the rest of his armour followed. He tightened the buckles that he had loosened to wear the oversized under-tunic Merilee had lent him. He set his bag and his cloak down on top of his shield, and went outside.

The shaman was sitting under a tree, watching the river in silent meditation. Arrek sat down nearby, and turned his own eyes to the hypnotic play of light on water.

He felt the shaman's attention on him, although the troll's eyes had not turned to him. He searched for words to offer, but found none that were worthy. It came as a surprise when it was Korgoss that broke the silence.

"Why?" the troll asked gruffly.

"Why?" Arrek shrugged. "Why did you help me?"

The troll turned to face the froglok, studying him. "I am healer," he said quietly, after a long minute. "You needed."

"And I helped you because you needed." Arrek met the shaman's eyes, and saw the shadow in them. "I hurt you. I'm sorry. I didn't know what my words would mean to you."

The troll shifted uneasily, and looked away. "I know," he said, finally.

The paladin ran his fingers along the fine leather of the gambeson, where it reached below his breastplate. "Thank you for this. It's beautiful. I could never make something like this, and you measured it by eye."

The troll flushed slightly. "No," he admitted. "By old one." He shrugged when the froglok looked at him.

Arrek's face twisted into his strange smile. "Cheater," he said. Kor snorted.

The silence resumed, and finally the paladin got to his feet.

"Take care of them, Korgoss," he said quietly, and began to walk towards the barn, to collect his things.

"Frog." Arrek paused, and turned back. "Why get spear?" The shaman's eyes held him.

"Where would you get another one out here?" The froglok shrugged. "You were going to need it when you woke up. And maybe it was my way of trying to say I was sorry." He smiled slightly, but there was an odd cast to it. "Like fresh bread." The troll blinked with surprise. Arrek nodded at him, and took another few steps, his hand reaching for the barn door.

"Frog." The paladin paused again, and he heard the shaman get to his feet behind him. "They want you to stay." The silence within the barn told the froglok that those inside were listening to the exchange.

Arrek closed his eyes. "I know," he said quietly. He looked back up as the troll brushed past him, entering the building.

"So stay." Korgoss blocked the door, and their eyes met again. The troll grunted with a touch of humour. "If you want."

* * * * *

No other words were spoken, but once again the group opened, and the paladin filled the hole they had not recognised was there until his coming.
The tensions that had marked the exchanges between the froglok and the troll eased, as both acknowledged that a person now stood in place of what before had merely been ‘an enemy.' And that, perhaps, the person that they had discovered might be worth getting to know.

Braag, too, looked on his companions differently, for he had seen them mesh together in a way that transcended any prior teamwork they had shared. He wished to repeat the experience. So, amidst the pelt hunting, they began to take on more difficult opponents, hunting the griffons that they had earlier avoided, and learning a lot about each other and their skills in the process.

Korgoss's workmanship improved immensely, as they collected for him the pelts he needed to practice his skills. He showed that he appreciated their efforts on his behalf by ensuring that they received the best of his work for themselves.

He also took the time to work at the special magicks unique to those who walked his path, blending herbs and mystic knowledge to create elixirs of power. The knowledge was hard won, his studies long and arduous, but his skill was great. That the group enjoyed his creations was an understatement. They gladly collected and purchased the odd ingredients he required to craft them.

Thus it was that Korgoss sat awake one night, grinding an herb by moonlight, and chanting softly over it as he worked. Some herbs were finicky about the light that touched them, and some magicks were stronger when made at night. It was not often he required the darkness for his work, but he enjoyed the peace and calm of the night when those times came.

The camp was quiet, all of his comrades lay sleeping soundly. He finished the grinding, and with some muttered words, stirred the powdered herb into the brew he had simmering on the coals.

He looked up suddenly, as something changed in the night around him. He listened carefully, certain he had heard a cry. His hand fell to his spear, and he arose, to make a quick patrol around the immediate area. All was still.

He returned, and poked the fire back into life, adding a piece of wood to the coals, careful not to overheat his brew.

The noise came again, a soft keening cry, that ended with a gasp. The shaman turned towards the sound of distress, and took a cautious step.

And realised that Arrek was in the grip of a nightmare.

The froglok moved restlessly, struggling with some opponent. He uttered another faint cry, and spoke several words in his own tongue. His face wore an expression of despair.

Despite misgivings, the troll reached out to touch the paladin's shoulder. To his surprise, Arrek flinched away from the touch, as if it were a blow.

Kor frowned as the paladin cried out again, as he battled in his dream. The troll took the froglok's shoulder firmly, and shook him. The paladin's eyes flew open, and he stared upward in confusion.

"You dream," the shaman told him, as he sat up, to look around. Arrek raised a shaking hand to his face.

"I...I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry," the froglok said quietly.

"You did not." The troll frowned again, seeing the shadow of horror in Arrek's eyes. "I work," the shaman added, gesturing to the fire. He got up, and returned to his task, glancing back at the paladin. Arrek held his face in his hands, and he was trembling.

After a time, Korgoss heard the footsteps of the froglok, who drew near the fire, and seated himself. The shaman watched the paladin from the corner of his eye, but Arrek seemed to have composed himself, the only sign of his distress a haunted look in his eyes.

The troll stirred the slowly thickening potion, wondering if the paladin would interrupt him with questions, but the froglok seemed content to sit and observe in silence. Oddly, he found the froglok's quiet company not unwelcome.

The shaman finally removed the potion from the heat, and added a last ingredient. Another low chant, and a final stir, and the liquid shimmered slightly as the magick completed. The troll pulled a small bottle from his pack, and began to decant a measure of the viscous liquid into it. He sealed it carefully. Another, larger, bottle followed, and a third. When the third bottle was full, the small pot was empty.

"Frog." Arrek looked up to see the troll extending one of the small bottles to him. He took it carefully, and held it up to the firelight to look at the murky contents.

"Thank you. What does it do?" The paladin turned the bottle slowly, watching the thick potion clinging to the glass.

"Makes strong. Makes quick. Good for battle." The troll marked a symbol on the remaining two bottles, and set them aside. He filled the small pot with water again, and added several handfuls of ashes from the fire. He set it back on the coals to heat. He studied the froglok again while he waited for the water to boil. "Frog, you should sleep," he said finally.

Arrek shook his head. "It will be a while yet." The shaman grunted, but made no other comment. They sat quietly together, watching the flames dance.

The water boiled, and the troll stirred it vigorously, then took it from the fire, and poured the results into the bushes. He threw several more handfuls of ashes into the pot, and added a little water to make a paste. With this, he scrubbed the pot carefully. He rinsed it out when he was done, and put it away. The coals were carefully banked so that he would not have to relight the fire in the morning.

"I am done," the shaman said, tucking away the potions he had made. "Go rest, frog." He pointed at the froglok's pallet, and rose to go to his own. "Sleep will come." The troll carefully stepped around his sleeping companions, and lay down. He listened, and after a time heard Arrek seek out his own place. Relaxing, though he had not realised he had tensed with the waiting, he drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

The group moved on again in the morning, wending southwest, following the spoor of a pride of the huge lions that yielded the finest of pelts.

Arrek, if he suffered from the loss of sleep the night before, hid it well, and joined in the friendly banter, giving as good as he got from the quick tongues of the bard and the rogue.

It was a fine day of hunting. The sun shone down on them, their prey fell before them, and the griffons they found gave them the challenge that Braag so deeply desired.

With a tired contentment, they found a likely-looking spot in a copse, and began to set up camp as the sun sank beneath the horizon.

It was Ferret who saw him, fortunately still far enough away that he hadn't noticed them yet.

"Braag. Kor. Hide. Now!" he said urgently.

They didn't need to be told twice. Each gestured, and faded away into nothingness. And then the guard was there, pausing in their camp to look at them. He sniffed, and frowned.

"Camping?" he asked them, a trace of suspicion in his voice. Arrek, who had been laying a fire, stood up, and brushed off his hands.

"Yes. Is there something we can help you with?" He approached the guard, who eyed him with surprise.

"You're one of those that kicked the trolls out of Grobb, aren't you? We don't see your kind much around here." The guard stared at him with curiosity.

Arrek ignored the question. "We are still few in number, and don't often travel," he offered instead. He looked around the camp, noticing that while Kor had been close enough to his backpack to be able to scoop it up, Braag's pack stood in the centre of the camp, unattended. He moved over to it, and retied one of the closures.

The guard sniffed again, and looked around the camp with narrowed eyes.

"I swear I smell a troll. Once you smell one, you never forget it. We've had reports of sightings in the last week or so. A troll and an ogre... probably hooked up with that bandit group that's been raiding farms." He fingered the hilt of his sword, and looked at the froglok again. "You haven't seen them around, have you?"

Braag cursed to himself, and made ready to draw his sword. He knew what was about to come. When he heard the paladin say calmly "No, sir, I'm sorry. I haven't." he froze in stunned amazement.

The guard stared at the frog for a moment longer, then grunted. "I guess I'm losing my touch," he complained. "I still swear I smell a troll. You should move your camp, at any rate. There's a hill giant in the area, and those bandits I mentioned." He pointed to the south. "I'd try down by the Serpent River."

Arrek tightened the straps on Braag's pack, and swung it to his shoulders, glad he had so little of his own to carry. He winced inwardly at the weight, but it was within his ability to carry, for a while at least. "Thank you for the advice," he said. "We'll head that way now." He nodded courteously to the guardsman, who nodded back and set off to continue his patrol. The group, both visible and invisible, moved off in the suggested direction. The gathering night closed around them.

When it was safe, Braag reappeared, and took his pack from the unresisting paladin. Arrek said nothing, but waited until the ogre had readjusted the straps, before turning back to the south, and resuming his pace. When they reached the river, and found a good place to set up, Braag watched the froglok with a trace of worry. The paladin went about his share of the camp chores in silence, utterly expressionless. Once the camp was set up, he walked out of the circle of firelight, and disappeared.

Ferret watched after him, puzzlement in his eyes.

"What's gotten into him?" he asked. "He's never done that before..."

"He lied for us, Ferret." Braag said quietly. "I doubt he's ever deliberately lied in his life."

Merilee, who had watched the froglok with growing concern, stared at the ogre with a frown. "But he had to, to get rid of the guard," she protested.

Braag shook his head slowly. "Who does he worship?" the ogre asked her.

"Mithaniel Marr, of course. They all do. He made them," she said. Then her eyes widened, as realisation came to her. "Mithaniel Marr....the Truthbringer."

The group grew still as they comprehended the enormity of what the paladin had done.

Braag nodded. "He protected both of us. The two of us from the guard, and the guard from us," the ogre said, "And to do so, he had to lie. I didn't think he could, or that he would. I was wrong."

Korgoss squatted in the darker shadow of a tree, watching the froglok. When Arrek had not returned after the evening meal had been served, the troll had wordlessly gone to find him. And find him he did.

The paladin knelt beside a large stone, in silent prayer. He had been thus for hours now, and the troll had shared his vigil.

The shaman's patience was rewarded at last, when Arrek climbed to his feet, and sat down upon the stone.

Korgoss stood up abruptly, and took a step forward, into the moonlight.

Arrek raised his head at the footstep, and turned. He looked away again when he recognised the other.

The shaman came up close beside him. He hesitantly reached out and placed his hand on the froglok's shoulder. "Arrek." The paladin looked up, as surprised by the sound of his name on the troll's lips as by the touch. "Come. They worry."

Slowly, the froglok got to his feet, and followed the shaman back to the camp.

The relief of the group when the two walked back into the circle of firelight was a palpable thing, which only added to Arrek's burden of guilt. That it was late at night, and none of them had gone to sleep did not escape his notice.

Their eyes watched him with concern, and he sat down awkwardly near the fire.

"Arrek?" Merilee approached him with a bowl. "You should eat something." She offered it to him, but he shook his head.

"We can always force-feed you." Braag's eyes narrowed. "I think Tiri wouldn't count sitting on you as ‘hurting', if it worked."

"Braag!" Merilee glared at the ogre, who smiled. "Ignore him," she told the froglok. "Here." She put the bowl into his hands, and he reluctantly accepted it. Mechanically, he began to eat the contents without tasting them. She took the bowl from him when he finished.

"Good." Braag came, and seated himself beside the paladin, looking down at him with a slight frown. "Arrek. You acted with honour. Do not allow yourself to believe otherwise. I may not follow his ways, but your god is also a being of honour. If he is unable to accept what you gave up for us, then he doesn't deserve to have you." The ogre smiled slightly. "In which case I have a couple of suggestions for a replacement."

"Braag!" The bard smacked the ogre hard in the arm.

The paladin stared up at the shadowknight with amazement, and, unable to help himself, began to laugh weakly. The pair exchanged a glance of triumph over his head.

"Enough." The shaman filled a cup with water, and brought it to the froglok. He removed a well sealed vial from his belt pouch, and let a single drop fall from it into the water. He studied the paladin a moment, then added a second drop, and swirled the liquid in the cup to mix it together. "Drink." He placed the cup in the paladin's hand.

Arrek looked at it dubiously. "What is it?" he asked, as the troll replaced the vial in his pouch.

"It is sleep. You need. Drink." Korgoss crossed his arms, and watched the froglok with a frown.

The paladin looked up at the shaman, and held his gaze for a moment. Then he raised the cup to his lips, and gulped down the bitter contents. He handed the vessel back. "I'm not certain sleep will come easily, Kor," he said softly.

An odd expression passed across the troll's face. Kor watched as Braag reached out to catch the froglok as his eyes rolled up, and he pitched forward. "Yes," the shaman said. "It will."

* * * * *

The sun was high when Arrek awoke from the deep, dreamless sleep induced by the potion the shaman had fed him. He sat up slowly, feeling as though he were trying to move through neck-deep quicksand. He managed to focus his eyes enough to see a hand holding a cup in front of his face.

"Haven't I slept enough?" he asked plaintively.

"Silly. This is the antidote." The bard's voice held laughter. "You might want to hold your nose when you drink it, though. It's worse than the first one."

He reached for the cup, and swallowed the foul-tasting liquid it contained quickly. He nearly gagged, but got it down. Almost immediately, his head began to clear.

The paladin looked around. He was lying once again on a pallet of pelts, with his cloak wrapped about him, just far enough from the fire to be out of the way, but close enough to be warmed by it. He had been stripped down to his breechclout, and his armour was neatly piled beside him.

The camp was empty save for Merilee and himself. He looked at her questioningly.

"The rest are out hunting." She grinned at him. "Someone had to stay to make sure you didn't get eaten by a bear or something."

He smiled slightly. "Thank you. I'm certain that I'd make poor bear-food."

"The bear, alas, wouldn't know that until far too late," the half-elf pointed out. She took the empty cup from him. "But we can make you a better meal for them, by fattening you up a bit." The bard stood up, and walked back to the fire. "Get dressed, and I'll get you some breakfast."

"Thank you." the paladin said, as he reached for his gambeson. "I am certain the bears will also be hugely appreciative." He didn't see her look at him, and frown, as he dressed.

She was ready, with a bowl of small cubes of some sort of roast, when he sat down by the fire. "Kor says that this is what you need," she said, and handed it to him. "There aren't any bones in it. I made sure."

"Small bones won't hurt me," Arrek said, taking the bowl and thanking her for it. "But larger ones could be a problem." He swallowed one of the cubes as she watched him. "Some roughage is good for me. " He continued to work his way through the meat, piece by piece. He set the bowl down when he was finished, and smiled at her.

He was surprised when she reached out to grasp his chin, and looked into his light green eyes measuringly. She looked through him as if he were made of clear water, and she shook her head slowly.

"Arrek, hiding it won't make it go away," she said to him softly. "And you can't fool me with the jokes." She watched him, and saw his thin facade fade away. "I don't know the ways of your god, but I'm certain that any transgression you have made can be made right with penance. Perhaps you should ask for guidance, that Marr show you what he wants you to do to repair your standing." She smiled slightly at the light that came into his face. "Of course, I'm with Braag on this one, and I don't think you have anything to atone for. But you do. And that's what matters."

She left him to sit, and think, while she washed his bowl and cup and set them with the others. When she returned, she looked at him carefully again. There was still pain in his eyes, but hope had been rekindled there as well. She nodded.

"If you have recovered from your little nap, perhaps you would find it in your heart to chop some wood for us. " She pointed at an axe, and a log. "We didn't want to do it while you were sleeping, just in case. " He stood up, and bowed deeply to her, before beginning the chore.

She, in turn, made ready for the tanning that would begin when the others returned. The pot of water for the troll's tanning agent, and the frames to hold the furs as they soaked it in and softened were set in their places. When she was done, she sat down, and began to tune her lute. She was still fiddling with the pegs when he finished stacking the wood beside the fire, and came to sit with her.

She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"How did you know, Meri?" he asked quietly. She smiled kindly at him.

"Arrek, my livelihood depends on my knowing what people are feeling. It's hard to fool a bard who's paying attention." She tried a chord, and shook her head. "And you aren't very good at deception." She twisted the peg a hair, and strummed again, sharing her smile at the result with him. He smiled back, and she was pleased to see that it touched his eyes this time.

When the hunting party returned to camp, they wore bleak expressions. Tiri's eyes flamed with anger, and her face bore the signs of tears.

Merilee rose to meet them, her eyes taking in the group's grim countenances. She ran her eyes over them, relief rising as she accounted for them all.

"What is it?" she asked. "Are you all okay? Did something happen?"

"We're fine." Braag steered Tiri to the fire, and sat her down. He sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her protectively.

"Those poor people! We've got to do something!" Tiri exclaimed. "Meri, they were slaughtered!"

"Who was?" The bard knelt down in front of her cousin, and took her hands. "What happened, Tiri?"

It was Braag who answered. "We came on a farm that had been ransacked, probably by the bandit raiders that guard was talking about. They took everything, and butchered the people. We only stayed long enough to look for survivors... it wouldn't do for Kor and I to be found there." He stroked the wood-elf's dark hair, and she leaned against him. "There weren't any."

"They even killed the children," the druid whispered. She blinked back a resurgence of her tears. "We have to find them, and stop them."

* * * * *

They struck camp quickly, and, at the urging of both the paladin and the druid, returned to the farm. The ogre and troll took the precaution of rendering themselves invisible, should another come across them as they investigated.

Arrek wasted no time in seeking out the fallen. He bent over the first, and placed his hand on the cold cheek, taking one of their hands, and holding it. He stayed that way for a moment, then slowly lowered the hand back down. He got up, and searched for the next, and did the same. And the next.

"It's been too long," he said sadly, as he found the last one. "They're beyond my reach."

He arose, and felt a hand touch his shoulder. He turned, but saw no one.

"Arrek?" He looked over at the druid, who beckoned him, and made his way to her. A strange trail in the dirt led towards the trees. "It looks like there may have been a survivor, after all," she said. "We missed this the first time." They followed the trail cautiously.

It led them to a hollow log, and the paladin bent down to look inside. There was something there, but he could not tell what it was. The bundle was out of the reach of his arms, and he was too large to fit inside the log himself.

"Ferret!" he called, urgently. "Come here!"

The gnome - touchy about his stature - gave the froglok a look of barely concealed disgust, but crawled into the log without comment. They heard him make a muffled exclamation, and he backed out, drawing something after him.
"She's alive!" The gnome held a little girl gently in his arms. Tiri and Arrek bent together, to heal the child. "Poor kid," the rogue said, brushing the girl's hair from her face. "What's gonna happen to her now?"

"I'll take her to the druids," Tiri said, taking the child from Ferret, and standing. "They know the people in the area, and will find her kin. If she has none, they will raise her." She looked back towards the farmstead. "We should bury them. We can give them that, at least."

The paladin nodded. "I'll see if I can find a shovel," he said, and walked back to the farm buildings.

A single grave was dug to hold the family, and covered with rocks to prevent scavengers from unearthing them. Arrek spoke a prayer over them in his own tongue before following the others towards the ring of standing stones erected by the druids.

Once again, the ogre and troll kept their distance, and Arrek and Ferret chose to remain with them, while the cousins took the child - who had not yet awakened - to the Elder of the circle. They returned with expressions more sombre than those they wore when they had left.

"That was the third family slaughtered, and the first survivor," Tiri said softly. "I want these monsters. I want to rip out their beating hearts with my hands!" She shook with barely contained anger.

Braag knelt slowly, taking her into his arms, his black eyes grim as he held her. This was an anger he understood.

"You shall have that, then." The ogre told her. "I swear it."

They swept the area around the farm for a trail, and the Stormgod smiled on them, for the rain that gave the Plains of Karana their name held off.

"Here." The druid bent, to touch the faint mark of a boot. "We came from the west. These came from the south." She searched, but the trail was cold, and no other trace could be found. "Perhaps they returned the way they came?"

"It's more than we had before," Braag said. "But the river is to the south."

"The river is a quick escape," Arrek pointed out. "Flee across it. And while you are beside it, you don't need to search for drinking water."

The ogre nodded slowly. "Lets see if we can find them before we try to make any plans. To the south." The sun was touching the horizon, but none felt the need for rest. The desire to avenge was far stronger.

They lay on the side of the hill, looking down on the camp beside the river. A fire blazed by the riverbank, and a motley group of mixed races revelled in their ill-gotten wealth. None of the group doubted that these were the bandits they sought, for the boastful shouts of their deeds were clearly audible. Any mercy that might have come from the paladin was quenched when he heard one relate his actions in the last raid, the results of which they had found.

Arrek felt his gorge rise, and swallowed deliberately.

The shadowknight frowned as he watched the raiders' movements. "They have so few sentries...," he muttered. "How can they be so confident?"

Ferret replied sourly. "Most of the guardsmen know about them, and are on the take. They couldn't care less what these scumbags do, so long as they get their cut."

Arrek stared at the rogue in disbelief. Ferret nodded at him. "I'm not making this up. Not all of them are bad, but enough are. That lieutenant that spotted us the other day, he's one of the good ones. So are....damn, I can't remember their names, but they man the big stone bridge by the towers wizards use to teleport. They're okay. But the rest...."

"We'll just have to do their job," the paladin said quietly. "These will not be raiding again come morning. I swear it."

Braag looked over at the froglok. "Are you ready to go swimming tonight? I have an idea...."

The sentries posted by the raiders were settled in their routines. They would watch for the advance of any guards not on their payroll, or unhappy locals who might stumble on their camp, and be ready to cry a warning should some dangerous predator approach. In their complacency, they did not keep a good watch on the broad expanse of flowing water that was the Serpent River.

The froglok skimmed just above the bottom, his powerful legs propelling him easily against the lazy current. The changes in the river-bottom and the eddies told him he was nearing his goal. He positioned himself carefully and rose slowly to the surface, until just his eyes emerged above the water. He eyed the sentry who stood with his back to the water, looking up the hill towards where his friends were hidden, and he waited, sinking again just below the surface.

The shaman opened his eyes. "He is there," Korgoss said. He blinked to focus through his own eyes again, undoing the subtle magick that had linked his vision with Arrek's. The froglok's strange sense of colour, and the clarity of his vision under the water was disorienting.

Braag grunted acknowledgement. The ogre squinted towards the camp, and the shimmering shape of the rogue who crouched invisibly behind the other sentry. He rubbed his itching eyes, cursing the side effect of the magick that permitted him to see what was hidden.

"I hate this spell," the shadowknight muttered. "Ferret's in place too. Are you all ready?" He glanced from one to another, seeing their determination. "Do it, Tiri."

A silent burst of flame illuminated the night, rising from the top of the hill. Both sentries turned to look at it with puzzlement. One opened his mouth, but whether he was about to sound an alarm, or question his comrade did not matter. His breath was knocked out of him by a blow from behind as the froglok rose from the water. A second blow caved in his skull, ensuring he would not rise again. The other sentry fell while he was still looking at the light, with the rogue's dagger in his heart.

Had the half-elven wizard not been such a light sleeper, the group would have been able to walk freely into the camp, and treat the raiders as they had treated the farmers they had slain. But the sounds of the froglok's hammer-blows, and the impacts of the bodies striking the ground awoke the raider, who sat up, and cried an alarm before either the rogue or the paladin were aware of him.

The camp erupted into chaos.

The wizard arose, and seeing the paladin, dealt with him summarily by rooting him into place with a hastily spat out spell. Around him, the other raiders scrambled for weapons, and flung themselves at the pair.

Halfway up the hill, Braag cursed as he watched the camp boil to life. But he frowned, as he watched the bandits turn on the pair below him, and reached out to stop the others from rushing down to join the fray.

"Wait for it," he said, seeing that the bandits, in the confusion and fury of their sudden awakening, did not consider that there might be other attackers besides the two that were struggling in the uneven battle. A moment, then two, and all of the raiders had turned to engage the pair who had dared attack them.

"Now!" Braag cried, and charged to the attack.

The sudden rush of the shadowknight and the bard, coupled with the strikes of offensive magicks from the druid and shaman sowed fear and confusion amongst the raiders, who did not know which way to turn.

Arrek struck strongly, the name of his god on his lips. His hammer blows shattered bone when they connected, and those raiders that survived his strikes got themselves quickly out of his reach. He soon ran out of opponents, and found himself with no foes within range, the wizard's magicks still binding him in place. He watched as one of the raiders burst into flame, and collapsed slowly, shrieking in agony. He tried hard to ignore its cries, recalling the boasts of the atrocities he had overheard, and was relieved when it died. He wished he had not lost his bow.

Forced to watch the battle, he picked out his friends, and used his magicks to aid them. Braag needed no assistance. The ogre was a juggernaut, that plowed through his enemies, leaving the paladin in awe of his sheer offensive power.

He sent healing to the rogue, who, like him, had borne the blows of many opponents. Merilee was given a burst of strength, and her sword's blows bit more deeply into her foe. The raider that appeared behind her, ready to bury a dagger into her unguarded back, was sent flying with a blast of force.

Before the raider could recover from the magickal blow, it was dead, twitching on the end of a spear driven through its throat. Korgoss stepped back again, to resume his own magickal assistance of his companions, but his eyes returned often to the bard as she fought.

The spell holding the paladin in place finally wore off, and he sprang back into the battle. The raiders that were still among the living were fleeing into the night, and they were followed and relentlessly cut down.

The companions regrouped in the centre of the bandits' encampment, and looked at the carnage that surrounded them.

"Well done," Braag said, surveying the group. "Is everyone all right?" The nods and mutters of affirmation pleased him. He watched as the druid and the shaman healed the relatively minor wounds that had been received in the battle. Only Ferret and Arrek had suffered more than minor cuts and bruises, and the paladin had already healed the worst of the gnome's injuries. The froglok felt the druid's hand on his face, as she healed a sword-cut he didn't know he had taken to his cheek. The warmth flowed through him, and he felt it closing other wounds he had not been aware of in the heat of battle. She smiled at him.

"Feeling better?" he asked her.

She nodded. "You?" she asked in return. He nodded as well, and looked up as the bard came to join them. Merilee looked at the two, and smiled slightly.

"Good," she said. "Retribution and penance in one." She raised an eyebrow as the paladin shook his head.

"Not quite," Arrek told her. "There's still something needed." He hunted among the bodies for the one whose words had galvanised him, and searched it carefully. He stood up, holding a pair of rings in his hand. "These may help the druids find the child's kin," he said, handing them to Tiri. The simple copper bands bore inscriptions, but the wood-elf's eyes had blurred too much for her to read them. She nodded, and slipped them into her belt pouch. The three stood together, watching the others collect the weapons and goods that the raiders had accumulated. When they had finished, the paladin picked up a rusty sword left as refuse, and went about his own collection.

Lieutenant Midraim paused in his patrol, seeing the figure of the froglok approach him. He nodded at the paladin, who bowed.

"This is for you, sir," Arrek said. "I think you'll appreciate it." The froglok removed a large bulging sack from over his shoulder, and handed it to the guardsman, who took it slowly, frowning as he noted the seepage at the bottom. "You'll find them no more trouble." He bowed again, and walked back the way he had come.

The guardsman watched him go, then set the sack down, and untied the mouth. He bit back a startled oath, and reached in gingerly to withdraw the head of the leader of the raiders. Another look into the sack told him that ‘no more trouble' was an understatement.

Tiri handed the pouch to Briana Treewhisper, who took it with a grave expression. He bounced it in his hand, and raised his eyebrows in surprise at the weight.

"For the child's care, should you not find family," she told him. "And for her if you do. It's the worth of all that we took from the raiders." She smiled slightly, recalling the faces of her friends as they watched Arrek hand over his share of the money to her. "They won't be any more of a problem."

The Elder of the Circle nodded. "We'll see that she makes the best use of it," he told her. He again raised his eyebrows as she extended her hand, and took the two copper rings she offered him. He turned them in his fingers, and read the names upon them with a frown.

"Her parents' wedding bands," she said, and bowed to him, before heading for the stand of trees where her companions awaited her.

* * * * *

The bard leaned over the froglok, watching him smooth the staff into the shape of a bow.

"Arrek? I'm heading off to sell Kor's stuff. Were you needing anything from the village?"

The group had returned to their normal hunting pattern, and had meandered eastwards, until they re-crossed the river to hunt in the region where the plains met the foothills of the vast mountain range called the Serpent's Spine.

The paladin smiled up at her. "Actually, I'd love some arrow shafts. I have the other pieces I need, but no shafts at all. I have some money for you." Arrek found his purse in the bottom of his belt pouch, and counted out a few gleaming coins. "This should be enough. I don't need anything fancy."

"Don't be silly. Put that away." Merilee smiled. "You've been working your butt off beside us, you get a share of this too, you know. And I'm pretty sure that Braag will want you to make him some arrows, once he knows you've got the skill."

The froglok stared at her, dumbfounded. "But I don't need you to spend your money on me," he protested.

"We're not. It's your money too, silly. I just told you that." She laughed at his expression. "Just put that away before you get Ferret excited." She patted him on the shoulder, and moved off towards the shadowknight, to see if he had any requirements from the small village's merchants. The ogre's eyes lit up as he spoke to her, and he came over to join the paladin when she left him.

Braag watched the froglok's careful shaping of the bow with interest. "I didn't know you were a bowyer. And Meri says you fletch, too?"

Arrek smiled. "I fletch a lot better than I make bows, actually. I'm just tired of not having one. My bow was one of the things I seem to have lost." He shaved off a thin curl, and ran his fingers along the wing. "This isn't the best staff, but it's all I could find." Figuring that the wings were balanced enough, he decided to string the weapon, and see how it drew. "Kor made the string for me." He expertly tied the necessary knot into the ends of the silken bow string, and slipped it over one end of the bow. Standing, and bracing the bow between his legs, he slowly bent it until he could slip the string over the other end. It sat in the notch cut for it, and he eased off the tension until the string was taut. He raised the bow up, and examined it critically.

"Seems to be okay..." he said, and drew it. "It's not as strong as I like, but it should do." He relaxed the bowstring, and unstrung the bow. "And you wanted arrows, then? Meri is bringing me some shafts. I can make them for you. I have some of everything else I need in my bag."

"I told her to get the full range of supplies you would need." Arrek looked up at the ogre with surprise. "You'll be busy for the next while, I think. " The ogre's eyes crinkled with amusement. "I've been without arrows for some time now. I don't have the skill to make them myself."

They looked up, as Merilee waved to them, and took off at an incredible speed, running like the wind across the plains toward the distant village.

It was a slow-paced day, as they awaited the bard's return with the needed supplies. Korgoss made some oddly-coloured potions, which he bottled, and one which he regarded with disgust, and poured into the bushes with a frown. The bush withered soon after. Tiri and Braag, meanwhile, stalked and killed a number of the huge spiders that crawled about their camping spot, collecting their poison for the rogue, who was overjoyed to get it, and their silk, which they gathered delicately for the troll, who spun it into fine thread for the weaving of cloth. Tiri also brought a gift of tea leaves for Arrek, as she had found a bush growing nearby.

It wasn't until the sun was high, and Tiri and Braag had returned for the midday meal, that they began to wonder what was keeping Merilee.

"She's probably found some old goat with a head full of stories, and is pumping him for all she can get." Tiri shook her head. "Like that time in Freeport, when she cornered that old sailor...."

"Or she's found a merchant with something interesting." Braag smiled. "She does like to shop."

As the day progressed, and there was no sign of her cousin, Tiri grew more and more worried. "She's never been this late," the druid said, beginning to pace.

"Tiri." Braag reached out, and caught her to stop her. "Let's go take a look around, see if we can find her." He turned his eyes to the rest of them. "You stay here, so that if she comes back, she won't find an empty camp and wonder where we've gone. Tiri and I will head off towards the village."

"I'll be able to find her better this way," Tiri said, and muttered a spell beneath her breath. As she spoke, her form shimmered, until a large grey wolf stood before them. Tiri-the-wolf sniffed her cousin's bedroll, and turned to look at her husband. Braag nodded, and the two headed off.

Arrek sat, watching the troll. Korgoss had gone back to making potions. Or, perhaps, not making potions would be a better description, for only one of the batches the shaman had made had been fit to bottle. The rest had gone to the same bush he had killed earlier. Arrek was unsure if anything would ever grow there again.

"Kor." The paladin stood up, and caught the troll by the wrist, removing the pot from his hand as he returned from dumping his latest failure. "Come sit down. You can wash this tomorrow." He refrained from mentioning that the shaman had forgotten to wash the pot between the last two attempts. The shaman resisted for a moment, before relenting, and allowed himself to be led to a log by the fire.

"You and Meri have been friends for a long time. You must be pretty worried about her," Arrek said quietly, sitting down on the log beside him. The troll's face was unreadable, but after a moment's pause, he gave a single nod. The froglok reached up, and took the shaman's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Please, Kor. Trust Tiri and Braag. They will find her." The paladin's voice held the certainty of his conviction. He met the troll's eyes as Korgoss turned to look at him. "You know Tiri will never rest until she does." He held the shaman's gaze, and again Kor nodded. The reassurance Arrek projected reached him, and the froglok could feel some of the tension flow from him. He slid his arm around the troll's shoulders, and gave him a rough hug, releasing him almost before Korgoss realised what he had done. "So, show me how to turn spider silk into something useful," Arrek said, "I've never seen it done."

When darkness came, and neither Braag, Tiri, nor Merilee had returned, the fragile calm that the paladin had spun in the troll broke again, and he began to pace restlessly around the camp. Arrek frowned as he watched him, filled with the foreboding knowledge that Korgoss would go alone into the night to find the others, unless he could again calm him down. The troll's physical strength was far greater than his own, and even with Ferret's help, he would be unlikely to be able to restrain the shaman without hurting him.

The paladin sighed, and found a clean pot to boil water, to make the tea that Tiri had given him. He had always found tea calming, and perhaps Korgoss did as well. It certainly couldn't hurt.

He removed the tea from the heat to steep, still watching the shaman, and wracking his brain for the words that would again ease the troll's anxiety. He dipped a cup of the tea, and sipped it, letting the pleasant bitterness of the green leaves clear his palate, and his thoughts.

An idea struck, and he nearly choked on the tea. He stared at his cup, turning the thought that had occurred to him over in his mind. As if he had materialised from the froglok's thoughts, the rogue, who had been doing some sort of work with the spider venom, came over to join him.

"He's gonna do something stupid." The gnome seated himself beside the froglok, and crossed his arms in agitation. "I know he is."

"I know. But I've also thought of a way to stop him." Arrek watched the troll pace, and lowered his voice slightly. "I need you to pick his pocket for me."

The rogue blinked, and stared at the froglok. "You're kidding me?" The rogue's lips quirked upwards, and his eyes brightened.

"No, I'm serious. Here's what I need..."

The rogue was as good as he thought he was, and the troll too distracted to pay much attention to anything. Before very long at all, Ferret placed the sealed vial into the paladin's hand.

"Good. I'm going to go get some more tea. I think that this will work."

Arrek carefully measured two drops from the vial into the cup of tea. He was unsure of how the troll measured the dosage, and decided to err on the side of caution. Even if the dose that was more than enough to knock him out instantly wasn't enough to fell the troll, it would surely make him more manageable. He mixed the potion into the tea, and touched a single drop of the resulting liquid to his tongue. As he'd suspected, the bitter tea hid the bitterness of the potion.

"Kor?" The paladin approached the troll with the doctored tea. "Come and sit down. I've made some tea." He caught the troll's arm, as before, and drew him back towards the fire. "Please, Kor? You need to relax." He handed the cup to the troll, who slowly lowered himself to the log. "Here." He sat down beside him, watching him closely.

The shaman took the cup, and sipped it slowly. About three-quarters of the way through it, Korgoss suddenly focussed on it, and raised his head slowly to stare at the froglok, a look of betrayal in his eyes. The cup slipped from his fingers as the potion took effect, and he slid sideways. The troll struggled to right himself, but it was a losing battle.

The paladin caught him, and eased him down.

"Sorry, Kor," Arrek said softly, as the shaman stared up at him in helpless anger. "They'll be back soon enough. Worrying yourself into sickness, or going off and getting yourself killed won't help either them, or her." Korgoss felt the froglok's fingers brush his face gently.

The paladin arranged the troll's limbs for comfort, and covered him warmly. Arrek leaned back over him, seeing him still awake. "You need this. Don't fight it. Go to sleep." Again the cool fingers stroked his head. "I'll be here with you." The froglok's voice held worry and compassion in equal measure.

"Sleep, my friend."

Korgoss slept.

Korgoss awoke, his anger at the paladin's actions of the night before burning off the residual effects of the sleeping potion. The shaman sat up, finding himself wrapped in his bedding. The froglok's cloak had cushioned his head, and his own cloak was spread beneath him. Korgoss looked around. Arrek sat leaning against the log beside him, head down on his chest, asleep. The troll glared at him, and stood up. But his anger changed to a cold fear that roiled inside him, as he saw the figure that lay beyond the froglok.

Merilee was wrapped, as he had been, in her bedroll, and a smear of blood marked her face.

He bent over her, afraid to breathe, and touched her cheek gently. She murmured something sleepily, and turned her face into the caress.

"Don't wake her." The shaman looked up, to see Braag watching him from half-closed eyes. "She needs the rest." The ogre sat leaning against a rock, his hand resting on the head of the wolf that lay curled beside him.

Korgoss slowly straightened, with a last look at the half-elf, and sat down beside the shadowknight. His eyes mutely asked the questions his tongue could not voice.

"Tiri and I ran into a giant near the village." Braag stroked the head of the wolf. "We think Meri did too. We killed it, found her, and brought her back. Arrek healed us all. He's worn out. And so are we." The ogre's eyes moved from the troll to the bard, and back, but he dismissed the idea as it occurred to him. "I think today we'll do pretty much nothing but rest." He wearily closed his eyes.

"You rest. I watch." The troll stood up slowly, and surveyed the camp. His eye fell again on the froglok, and the heat he had felt on waking resurfaced, only to fade, leaving a warmth that felt somehow different from the anger.

Without knowing precisely why he did so, but with care, and smoothness so as not to awaken him, he moved the paladin to his outspread cloak.

Tiri watched him through slitted eyes, and smiled inwardly. The troll was drawing closer to the froglok than she could have imagined possible, considering their rocky beginning. She thought about the deep loneliness she had seen in his unguarded moment, and suddenly understood that the paladin had come from completely outside their circle, and had accepted Korgoss nonetheless. Such a powerful thing acceptance could be, she thought, and her inward smile deepened. She sighed in contentment, and lay her head on Braag's lap, letting sleep claim her.

* * * * *

Following Merilee's disastrous run to the village, it was decided that the whole group would go together, to stave off any further mishaps falling to one of them alone. The bard sped them all on their way, with a rhythmic drumbeat that wove its magick around them as they travelled.

They paused along the way, when a bandit mistook them for easy marks, but he soon learned the error of his ways, and the remainder of their travel was uneventful.

They drew near the small village, nestled in the foothills of the mountains, and gathered just outside of town.

"It's best that Kor and I stay here," Braag said flatly. "We don't need to be riling the locals." He picked a likely looking tree, and sat down beneath it. "We'll wait for you."

Tiri nodded, and planted a kiss on the top of his bald head. "We'll be back before too long," she told him.

The four proceeded into the village, where they split up to do their shopping. Arrek, mindful of the ogre's needs, purchased enough supplies to make arrows for the both of them. Merilee did Kor's shopping, getting the basic supplies for the meals that would feed them for the next couple of weeks, and selling the goods that she still bore from her previous run.

The villagers gathered in the commons to hear the bard play for them, hear the news she brought, and share their own with her. They heard the news from the gypsies to the west, and of the raiders and their fall, made into a stirring tale. That sparked much discussion among them, and an argument broke out over which menace was worse, the raiders to the west, or the gnolls to the south and east. Merilee had heard this before, and made sure she was far enough back from the friendly brawl that would likely begin before long.

But the brawl did not happen this time. Bryan Fletcher, having finished his business with the froglok and joined the group to hear the bard's news, stepped forward. The elderly merchant crossed his arms, glaring at the two who fought. "Be happy that the gnolls aren't organised," he told them. "We could end up like the little folk to the north."

Mutters of agreement met his pronouncement, and one woman clutched her son close. "And they could come this way, too! We're not that far away from them!" she exclaimed.

"Julie, don't be foolish." A man, evidently her husband, put his arm around her. "There is no way the goblins will come through the gorge to get us. We're safe here. From them at least."

The bard listened with some puzzlement. "What happened up north?" she asked, when the villagers calmed down a little. Bryan looked at her, then beckoned her to follow him. He led her, and the others away from the knot of villagers.

"We don't need to get them stirred up again," he told her. "But I'll tell you." He looked at her measuringly. "Some four or five days ago, the goblins out of Runnyeye went on a rampage. They managed to get themselves organised, and attacked the halfling village in Misty Thicket. They didn't do a whole lot of damage, but they did drag as many villagers back with them to their hole as they could. The city of Rivervale has put out a reward for anyone willing to go into Runnyeye and rescue them. I gather they've had no luck of their own. Those goblins can be mean."

"How did you hear about this?" Merilee asked him.

"Had a traveller come down from High Keep, he'd been in Rivervale when it happened. He was moving pretty quickly, and didn't stay here long. Stopped to exchange news like you did." The merchant studied the four. "I figure the folks who took out those raiders could handle themselves well enough to deal with the goblins. If you see them around, you should let them know."

"You can be sure of that," Tiri told him, her outrage at the plight of the halflings plain in her voice.

"Figured so," Bryan said, with a slight smile. "I'd go myself, but it's been a long time since I was able to do much more than target practice. I'm not what I used to be." He nodded at them, and headed back to his shop, pausing to talk with one of the other villagers that called to him.

"We have to help those poor people," Tiri stated. Ferret rolled his eyes, and looked up at the bard with a beseeching expression.

"Tiri...." Merilee began, but the froglok interrupted her.

"She's right. We are close enough to get there quickly, and have the skills to get in, and free them." Arrek examined his companions. "It's the right thing to do."

"Arrek," the bard said quietly, "the problem is that Braag and Kor have no reason to want to help the halflings. There's no love lost between them. The halflings would kill them before they even got a chance to say ‘I'm here to help'."

"Braag wants a challenge. Well, here's a challenge for him." The paladin frowned slightly. "I think I can get him to see that it would be worthwhile. And we don't actually need to go to Rivervale, we could go directly to Runnyeye."

"No," the druid said, "I'll talk to Braag. You and Meri have to deal with Kor."

"Me?" Arrek looked at her with surprise. "Meri, yes, but me?"

"You." Tiri leaned down, to look into his eyes. "He cares about you more than he lets on, Arrek." She tilted her head as she watched his face. "What will you do if they refuse to go, and will not be persuaded?"

The paladin's eyes held hers. "I will go alone, and offer my aid to the city," he admitted. "I cannot turn my back on those in need." She nodded, hearing the answer she'd expected.

"And that is what will turn them," the druid said, straightening. She looked at her cousin, who nodded slowly. "They will not be shamed by you."

* * * * *

The canyon carved ages past by wind and water was a winding maze of narrow passages. The sun rarely touched the deepest of these, only at midday did it reach its beams down to pierce the twilight of the canyon floor.

Through this gorge the group edged slowly, listening to the strange echoes that reverberated off the barren stone.

They heard the scrape of movement, and watched in amazement as a cloud of whirling pebbles meandered its way between the gorge walls. If it had any awareness at all, it did not indicate it by noticing them, and it soon rounded a corner and was lost to their sight.

"This place gives me the creeps," Ferret said, in a lowered voice. "You can't see anything around you."

"I know," Braag said, "but we don't have a whole lot of choice. This is the way to the goblins." He looked around with a frown, and pointed out one of the canyon mouths. "We need to go east."

They turned in the indicated direction, and followed the wall, skirting the strange inhabitants of the gorge as they saw them. Creatures that seemed to be formed of piled clay and mud wandered the canyon floor, and these would stop to stare at the group malevolently as they passed, although they did not attack.

The minotaurs did.

The first one they saw bellowed at them, and charged, but it was not much of a match for either of the two knights. It was dead before it landed a blow of its own.

"Stupid." Braag nudged the corpse with his foot. "You'd think they'd know better." He shrugged. "Let's get moving."

The seemingly suicidal minotaurs proved more of an aggravation than a hurdle, and the group was not much slowed in their travel by the attacks. They moved eastwards through the maze of canyons.

A cross-passage came into view ahead of them, and they approached it cautiously. But before they reached it, the ogre sighed in exasperation as yet another bestial bellow echoed from behind them. He turned to meet the minotaur.

The others turned to watch Braag, knowing their aid was not required, and Arrek stifled a smile as he heard the imprecations the shadowknight heaped on the semi-intelligent beast and its ancestry.

The blow that took the paladin from behind was unexpected both in its timing and origin.

He staggered, but his armour had taken the force, and he spun on his attacker, hammer rising, and a cry of warning on his lips. He froze in shock when he saw his assailant.

Korgoss levelled his spear, and again attacked the paladin, who ducked beneath the thrust at the last second, and tried to get out of the shaman's reach.

"Kor! What are you doing?" the froglok exclaimed, but his question was answered by the sight of the creature that hung in the air where it had drifted around the corner of the cross-passage. "Braag! Eye!" the paladin cried in horror.

The shadowknight slew the minotaur with a final slash of his great sword, cleaving ribs and internal organs with the powerful blow. He whirled to see the froglok dodge another blow from the shaman. Korgoss's face was blank, his eyes in a fixed stare. The ogre turned his attention to the huge spherical creature, and charged it, with a roar of rage.

Arrek again tried to dodge the shaman's blows, but Korgoss's skill with the spear was not inconsequential, and the Eye made full use of its victim's abilities. The spear head sunk into the froglok's thigh, and his leg buckled. He rolled clear, and managed to get back to his feet, clenching his jaw against the pain.

"I'm sorry, Kor. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't let you kill me, either," he said, and spoke the words of a spell. The troll flew backwards, struck by the force of the magickal blow, stunned. Before he could recover, Arrek mouthed another spell, remembering how he had been neutralised in the battle in which he was the attacker. Korgoss's feet sank into the earth, and the shaman struggled to reach him.

"Go help Braag," Ferret said, and the paladin looked down to see the rogue pointing at the battle between the Eye and the shadowknight. "I'll deal with Kor. Don't worry, I won't hurt him if I can help it." He stepped in, and dealt the shaman a stinging blow that sent his spear flying from his hand. "But I owe him a smack or two." The rogue grinned.

Arrek did not reply, but turned towards the ogre. For a moment he hesitated, but he thrust aside his fear, and flung himself at the Eye. The sooner it was dead, the sooner Kor would be freed from its influence. Tiri followed to heal them, and make use of her magicks.

Merilee slung her lute over her back, and dug frantically in her belt pouch for her flute. Not finding it to hand, she began to sing a sweet song that drew the shaman's attention to her. Slowly, she walked towards him, singing her beguilement, hoping to take the troll's mind back from the spell that gripped it.

It almost worked. But the Eye did not want to lose its servant. It took its attention from the two who fought it desperately to send a blast of force that picked the bard up and flung her against the gorge wall, then reestablished its grasp on the shaman. Merilee tumbled down to lie still against the stones, the lute over her shoulder smashed by the impact.

Korgoss fixed his blank eyes on the nearest of his companions, and his hands began to glow as the guttural words of a spell were forced from his lips.

Arrek became aware that his spell rooting the troll in place had worn off when he saw Braag reel from the blow from behind. Magicks swirled about the shaman as he was forced to defend the creature that had enslaved him. Arrek turned once more to his friend, and struck him hard with his shield. Korgoss staggered backwards, and the paladin again spoke the words of the spell that would stun the troll. Again Kor was blasted by the magickal blow, and again the froglok followed, waiting until the shaman was beginning a spell, before bashing him with his shield, disrupting his magicks. Behind him, he heard the sound of an explosion of fire, and the sickening squish that heralded the death of the Eye. Braag and Tiri had finally slain it.

"Got to get him on the ground," Braag growled, as he turned to help the paladin. "He can't cast then." The shadowknight tackled the troll.

The shaman struggled wildly, trying to break free, striking out with his fists and elbows. Braag grunted as Kor connected another blow, this one to his face. The ogre pinned the troll, but the shaman's fists still swung, battering him.

"Blast it! Arrek, help me!"

The paladin flung himself on the troll, grasping his hands, and holding them pinned beneath him on the shaman's chest. Kor's movements slowed, and Braag leaned back, keeping his weight on Kor's hips and shoulders, ready to again throw himself across the troll, but this proved unneeded.

Arrek held the shaman's wrists tightly, preventing him from striking out. He knew intimately what the troll was going through. "It's okay, Kor." He knew the shaman could hear him, and understand. "It's dead. You should be free soon." He worked one of his own hands free, and laid it on his friend's brow, smoothing it gently. He glanced around him, to see the group picking itself up from the battle.

Tiri was helping her cousin sit up, removing the mangled lute that entangled her. Merilee clutched her ribs and grimaced. A trickle of blood ran down her forehead.

He looked back at Kor, watching his blank face, and saw the control spell wear off, and awareness enter the troll's eyes. Awareness, and horror.

Korgoss's eyes rose to meet those of the paladin, who still gripped his hands. Sympathy and understanding awaited him there. "Merilee is fine. She's a little bruised, it looks like, but fine," Arrek told him, leaning back so Korgoss could move, and releasing his wrists. "Looks like you gave Braag a good shiner, though."

"Ferret!" the shaman said in desperation. He struggled to get up. Arrek looked around suddenly for the little thief.

"Braag!" He turned urgently. "Where's Ferret?" The ogre also looked around, a worried expression on his face.

"There!" The shaman pointed. "Go! Hurry!" He sank back, and covered his face with his hand. Arrek gave the troll's hand a squeeze, then limped quickly off in the indicated direction. He almost missed the gnome lying in the deepening shadows.

"Ferret?" he reached out and touched the still form. A bitter cold emanated from it, and Arrek realised the shaman had succeeded in at least one magickal attack against his companions. With utmost care, he moved the rogue, turning him face up. A rime of frost covered him, and Arrek could not be certain if he breathed. He touched the pulse point on the gnome's throat, and held his breath. He waited a long moment, but was rewarded by a tremble. The paladin set his hand on Ferret's breast, closed his eyes, and released his Gift.

Beneath his hand, the rogue warmed, colour coming into his face. Healing flowed through him, repairing the damage caused by the troll's wintry blasts.

Arrek removed his hand, and leaned back. The gnome's eyes opened, and he blinked up at the paladin.

"Arrek? What's going on?" The rogue sat up, looking at the froglok suspiciously. He looked down at himself. "Why am I wet?"

The froglok's eyes twinkled. "I hear the weather here can be very situational," he remarked. "Come on. People will be worrying about us." Arrek tried to stand, but he had mistreated his injured leg enough, and it refused to hold him.

He straightened it slowly, and spoke the words of a healing spell, watching the spear wound close beneath his fingers. He looked back up, to see the rogue offering him a hand. He took it, and was hauled to his feet. His head spun, and he again healed himself as the rogue steadied him.

They walked back to the others. Ferret frowned when he saw them gathered around Korgoss. He looked at the paladin again, then stopped as memory and realisation struck together. He opened his mouth, but Arrek put a hand on his shoulder before he could speak.

"Go and talk to him, Ferret. He thinks he's killed you. Don't tell him how close it was. Let him see you're well. He's hurting enough."

"He froze me!" The rogue stared at him. Arrek nodded. "You healed me?" Arrek nodded again. "And you made some kind of bad joke about weather. You're terrible." The gnome shook his head, but he grinned. "I'd better go talk to him, then." He took a few steps more in the direction of the group, then turned again. "Thank you," he said, his face serious for once. "I owe you."

"No. You don't. Just try to duck faster next time." The paladin grinned back at the rogue, as they rejoined their comrades. "And give me my belt knife back."

Korgoss found it hard to sleep that night. They would be entering the goblin domain in the morning, and he knew that he should be resting. But he found himself awake, gazing up at the stars that lit the small portion of sky visible between the gorge walls. They had made a cold camp, high on a ledge, and he sat against the vertical wall, watching the others sleep, out of view of whatever might pass below, and safely away from the edge.

He heard the sounds immediately as they began. Standing, he picked his way between his sleeping companions to the paladin's side.

Arrek was once more in the throes of a nightmare. How many nights had the froglok suffered them, saying nothing? The troll was certain it was more than the single time he had seen. Kor shook him awake, concern in his eyes.

"You dream again," the shaman said quietly. As before, he saw the froglok was shaking. He thought for a minute, then reached out and took the paladin's hand. "Come." He drew Arrek to his feet, and led him away from the group. "Sit." He pointed at a rock, and chose one of his own to seat himself facing the other. The froglok obeyed. "Tell the dream," the shaman ordered.

"I relive being the slave of the Eye," the paladin said softly. "I kill for it. I kill innocent people I do not know, who have done me no harm." He drew his knees up, and hid his face in his hands, tormented by the faces of those he slew.

"Arrek." The troll reached out and gripped the froglok's shoulders, and again paused in thought. "You hate me for fighting you?" he asked quietly after a moment. The paladin shook his head.

"No. Of course not."

"Then why hate yourself?" The shaman shook the froglok gently. "You did not kill. The Eye killed." He released the paladin, and held out his hands before him. "These hands hit you. But you do not blame them." He took the froglok's hands, and held them, palm up, between them. "Do not blame these."

Arrek stared at his hands for long minutes, the pain and despair fading a little, as the shaman's words reached through to him. Though it was not yet banished, the troll's wisdom eased the gnawing guilt that had tortured him. He lowered his hands slowly, and raised his eyes to those of the troll.

"Kor...." He offered his hand to the shaman. "Thank you.

Korgoss grunted, but he took the hand, and gave it a quick squeeze. Then he hauled the froglok off of his rock, and gave him a push towards his pallet.

"Go. Sleep." He rose, and found his own bed. He slept soundly until Braag awoke them.

* * * * *

Morning was a time of silence in the depths of the canyon. Goblin sentries dozed on their watches. Little ever troubled them from the west, despite their feud with the denizens of the gorge. That war had been stalemated so long, that an uneasy truce was the result, although both sides kept watch on their enemies, and the unwary often disappeared. And the sentries proved unwary indeed. But the blame could not, this time, fall upon the mud-people and their minotaur allies.

Ferret approached the now unguarded tunnel with care, slipping inside briefly. He stepped back out, and beckoned the others to join him.

The ogre nearly filled the narrow passageway, and he moved forward slowly until the tunnel opened out, branching off in several directions.

"Which way?" he asked over his shoulder. A goblin came around the corner, and saw him. It shrieked and turned to run. The ogre made a gesture, and a red mist surrounded it. The goblin withered, and fell to a slash from Braag's sword.

The gnome ducked around the ogre, and peered down the hallways.

"No clue. I'll go look around…you stay here. Try to be inconspicuous." The gnome disappeared around a corner. Braag took a step after him, but the gnome had already secreted himself, and was gone. Arrek moved forward, to stand beside the ogre, and they awaited the return of the rogue.

He was gone long enough for several more goblins to have found them, but Arrek and Braag had slain them swiftly, and no alarm had been raised.

The gnome appeared before them suddenly. "That way leads to outside. Probably the halfling's valley." The rogue indicated one of the passageways. "We need to go this way, I think." The ogre nodded, and led them onward.

More goblins met them as they progressed, but the twisting tunnels seemed strangely empty. They left the fallen where they lay, and continued onwards.
They reached a downward leading ramp, and heard echoing shouts coming from below.

Cautiously, they descended, following the voices, which alternately shrieked and shouted words in an incomprehensible tongue.

They reached an intersection, and Braag peered around it. He rapidly pulled back, as he was spotted by the goblins in the room. They flung themselves on the trespassers instantly, screaming and leaping in rage.

Well prepared to fight, the ogre and the froglok took the rush, and held firm. They felt the magicks of their companions bolstering them, granting them speed and strength.

But the goblins had magicks of their own, and Braag roared in pain as the air around him burst into flame.

Arrek searched for the wizard as he fought, and caught a glimpse of the tell-tale glow that surrounded one of his opponents, as it began to weave its spell again. He unleashed his own power against it, sending it reeling, and dissipating its uncast spell harmlessly back into the æther.

Merilee had also spotted the goblin wizard, and sharpened the focus of her will, ceasing her chants, and beginning a sweet air that spun a dream around the stunned spellcaster. It fell into a trance, standing motionless, lost in the web of music.

Gruff words from Korgoss brought Braag relief from the burning, as a well of cool, moist air bubbled up around him, protecting him from the heat. The gentle warmth of healing followed, as both shaman and druid worked to repair the damage he had taken.

In a remarkably short time, there were no more goblins before them. The entranced wizard was drained to a husk by the shadowknight, who used its life-force to heal himself of the remnants of his wounds.

"Right. Stay here again. Try not to get into trouble." The rogue slipped off down the passageway, to investigate the different directions.

"Try not to get into trouble," Merilee repeated, and shook her head.

"Sometimes I wonder what goes through his head."

"I suspect wind," the ogre rumbled, as he investigated the body of the dead goblin wizard with interest. He bent down, and removed a necklace from it. "Well well well....what do we have here?" he muttered, as he examined it. He passed it to the bard, who also examined it closely.

"I think," she said, "That it will give the one who wears it more magickal energy." She handed it to the druid. Tiri looked at it, and offered it to the shaman, who shook his head.

Kor had spoken several words, and sliced his palm. He held it out, and watched it fill, but the hand did not overflow . Misty swirling shapes seemed to coalesce around him, gathering to sip from it. Arrek watched wide eyed as the newly visible spirits, drawn by the power of Kor's magick, drank the shaman's offered lifeblood, and gifted him in return with mana.

Tiri waited until he had finished, and closed his bleeding palm, before she offered him the necklace again. Again he refused it, and she shrugged, and slipped it over her head, tucking it under her tunic. She too, watched the shaman, as he opened his still bleeding hand again, and offered it to one of the spirits that yet moved about him. It shimmered into the shape of a wolf, and licked the blood from his hand, leaving it whole. The rest of the spirits faded again as mysteriously as they had appeared, but the shimmering spirit wolf remained, and Kor grunted in satisfaction.

"It will fight for us," he said.

Ferret returned quickly this time, and his face wore a dark expression. "This way."

He led them swiftly down a passageway to a door.

"Three," he whispered. "And do it fast." There was no humour in the rogue's voice.

The three goblins looked up in surprise as the door flew open and the two knights charged in. The creatures took the interruption badly, and sprang at their attackers with angry cries.

But their anger soon became fear, as the pair they faced were joined by the others. They turned to run in terror, but found their flight curtailed as winding roots sprang from the ground and twined about their legs, trapping them.

They fought in desperation, but were cut down where they stood.

Braag turned to find Tiri already freeing the halfling in the bizarre costume of a Rivervale guardsman. He crouched down beside them, to loosen the gag as the wood elf sawed at its bonds with her belt knife.

The halfling stared at him with horror, flinching away as he uncovered its mouth.

"Don't be an idiot," the shadowknight told it with disgust. "We're here to get you out. Do we look like friends of the goblins?"

"No…no," the halfling said shakily, looking at the dead goblins, and the group with wide eyes that lingered long on the ogre and troll.

"Do you know where the rest of your people are being held?" Braag asked as Tiri finally got through the rope, and he helped her remove the bonds from the little warrior. The guardsman shook his head.

"No, I came in here to find them. The goblins found me, instead," he replied.

"You came in alone?" Arrek asked in surprise.

"No. I had my partner with me. They killed him." The guard fell silent, and rubbed his wrists. "But his death won't be wasted if we can warn the city in time!" He raised his head with new purpose.

"Warn the city?" Tiri asked. "But I thought they knew that the goblins captured the villagers?"

The guard stared at her. "Of course they know that. But that's not what we have to tell them…the goblins are going to invade! Ferdie and I found that out before they caught us. We have to warn Rivervale!"

"That must be what they're doing now," Arrek said, listening to the screeching that still rang through the labyrinthine tunnels. "Working themselves up to it."

"Then we don't have much time!" The guard got to his feet.

"Here. Take this." Arrek took a sword from the hand of one of the dead goblins, and handed it to the guard. "We've killed most of what's behind us, you should be able to get out if you go quickly." The halfling took the weapon and hefted it, then nodded.

"You'll go on, then, and find the others?" The halfling looked at their faces.

"Yes," he nodded. "You will. I'll go as fast as I can. If I can get you help, I will. The goblins don't normally keep prisoners…the villagers will be the first to be slaughtered."

Arrek opened the door, and looked up and down the passageway. "It's clear."

The guard paused in the doorway. "Thank you," he said to them. "Remember Daffin Fitwick owes you. Karana go with you." He turned, and sped away up the narrow hall.

They continued deeper into the warren of tunnels, wondering that they had not yet roused the goblins to action against them. Ferret scouted ahead, and led them onwards, at times luring the vicious creatures to ambush. They left behind them nothing but the dead.

"I'm starting to hate this place." Braag slumped against a wall, his hand staunching the blood from a wound on his thigh. He winced as the paladin pulled his hand away from it, and applied pressure of his own, while whispering a word. The ogre felt the healing spreading its warmth through his leg, closing the wound, and several others he hadn't been aware of. He nodded his thanks to the froglok. "It's a maze. We're never going to find them."

"We will." Arrek's voice was full of confidence. "We'll find them, and get them out," he vowed. He met the eyes of each of the group, and they took heart at his belief in them. "Let's get moving," he said, and turned towards Ferret.

And a goblin carrying a pair of buckets walked around the corner, and froze, staring at them.

Braag was on it in a flash, raising his sword for the blow that would kill it before it could flee. Terror filled its face, and it dropped the buckets and cowered beneath outstretched arms, and cried out in desperation, "No kill! Please no kill!"

And Braag's sword came down, to be blocked by Arrek's shield.

"Are you out of your mind?!" the ogre exclaimed in anger, as the paladin, who had been driven to his knees by the force of the blow he had stopped, shakily got back to his feet. "I could have killed you! It's a goblin!"

"Yes," the froglok said, "It is. And you are an ogre. And Korgoss is a troll. And this goblin speaks the Common Tongue....and begged for its life." Braag was taken aback, his mouth working soundlessly as Arrek hauled the goblin to its feet.

"Arrek, you can't make friends with the damned goblins. If you don't remember, we're down here for a reason." The ogre scowled at the paladin, and gestured at the goblin. "What are you going to do with it now? Feed it dinner?"

"No." There was a hint of amusement in the froglok's voice. "I'm going to ask it where the halflings are."

The door the goblin led them to was well guarded, but the increasing volume of the shrieks from the corridor that lead deeper into the caverns hid the sounds of the approach of the group. The guards fell swiftly, as the urgency of their quest became all the greater. Ferret picked the door lock before Braag managed to find the key on a dead guard.

The ogre entered the room first. He schooled his expression as the quiet sounds of weeping became wails of terror as the imprisoned halflings saw him. As much as he wished to spread fear, this was not the best time.
"No guards inside," he told the others, and ducked to one side as the rest entered behind him.

The halflings were chained in two long rows along the walls. Needing no urging, Ferret and Merilee went straight to work on the chains, opening the locks and freeing the farmers and villagers from their captivity. The druid, and the paladin healed what they could of the mistreatment the captives had borne, and Korgoss confined his attentions to his companions, as the frightened halflings would not let him approach them.

Arrek locked their guide into a vacated set of chains, and gagged it. "Good luck," he whispered to it. It stared at him with wide eyes.

From below them, the shrieks had become a rhythmic chant, and cold fear ran fingers down their spines.

"Go! Quickly. We've cleared the way," Braag told those still able to walk. "Run!" Several started up the tunnel. "Follow the bodies." The ogre told them when they paused to look back.

The halflings needed no further encouragement, and took off up the passageway.

Two of the prisoners, a woman, and an old man, were unable to stand, despite the healing magicks that had been used on them.

"You'll have to take us out, Tiri, " Braag said, bending over the man, who shrank back from him in fear. He ignored the reaction, and scooped him up easily.

"I can't take all of you," she protested, looking at the group around her. "I can only carry five with me."

The rhythmic chants ceased, and the shrieking began again, louder than before.

"They're gearing up for the rush." Arrek squared his shoulders, then picked up the halfling woman, and thrust her into Merilee's arms. "Kor, you gate yourself out. Tiri, take the rest. I'll see if I can buy some time for the villagers to reach the surface, and you to get to town to warn them."

"But, how will you get out?" she asked.

"The same way the halflings are getting out. Don't worry about me." He made the odd grimace they had come to recognise as his smile. "Just come back as quickly as you can." The paladin made a gesture, and his great hammer reappeared in his hand.

Arrek nodded at his comrades, and turned and bounded down the tunnel in the direction of the raised goblin voices. Behind him, he heard the druid and the shaman begin their magicks.

He slowed as he approached the entrance to a huge chamber, and edged up to it cautiously. Sidling up to a great wooden support pillar, he leaned around and looked out at the goblin horde.

He could not count the number in the room, but there were more than needed to overwhelm the halflings. The well-protected city would survive, but all the outlying village farmsteads and homes would be destroyed. There was no way their ‘Wall' would stop this. Most of the goblins clustered around a raised platform, from which several - leaders perhaps - exhorted them with shouts and gestures. The mob would respond with the shrieks that echoed throughout the tunnel system.

It was suicide. There was no way he would be able to keep them from charging up the tunnels to the village, much less killing his friends along the way. He leaned up against the pillar in defeat.

And felt it tremble.

He struck it with his hand, and felt the age of the wood. Rot had bitten deep into it, here in this damp and lightless place. He looked up, and followed the tracery of beams that supported the ceiling of the chamber. And he knew what he had to do.

No longer attempting to hide, he shouted aloud the name of his god, and felt the strength flow into him. He swung his hammer with all of his might at the base of the pillar. Once. Twice. A tremendous crack echoed through the cavern, and the pillar toppled inwards, crashing down amidst the goblins, who stood staring at him in stunned amazement. As one, they looked up at the ceiling.

It held.

A shriek of laughter erupted from the horde, and an order from the dais detached a handful of the creatures to deal with the foolish interloper.

Heart sinking, Arrek made ready to meet them.

Dust filtered down, loosened by the pillar's fall, coating the combatants in ghostly grey. Any one of the goblins would have found itself in a losing battle with the paladin, but a half-dozen were foes indeed.

The main part of the horde went back to their business of working themselves up to invasion, ignoring the fight save to call encouragement to their compatriots.

Arrek shouted again, and once more felt the strength of his god fill him, and he laid into his attackers as best he could. He fought with his back to the wall, keeping them in front of him, and made good use of his shield, but he knew it would be a short battle.

Dust continued to fall, and a pebble, loosened by the lack of dust holding it in place, rolled down within a crevice in the ceiling. It struck a larger pebble, and dislodged it. The larger pebble fell some distance, before landing on a protruding stone. Another pebble landed beside it. And another. The weight tipped the balance, and the stone broke free, freeing the one above it.

And suddenly, within the cavern, the fight, and the invasion were forgotten as the goblins fought each other in their scramble to quit the chamber as rocks hailed down around them.

Arrek ran for the exit beside him. He was almost there when a different sound reached his ears. A voice crying for help.

What purpose the dishevelled halfling boy had served to inflame the goblins, Arrek did not know. Nor did he care, but the child was tethered to a post on the raised platform where the goblin leaders had stood.

Arrek didn't even hesitate. He turned and ran for the boy, using his shield to deflect the stones. The boy had already been struck, and was crying, trying to protect himself. Arrek drew his knife, and cut him free, and half-carried, half-dragged him towards the wall, shielding him from the falling rocks with his own body. The frantic goblins ignored them.

They had nearly reached the wall, on the way to the exit that would take them to the surface when the cavern ceiling finally let go with a deafening roar.

* * * * *

"Mister?" A hand touched his shoulder. "Mister?" He coughed, and opened his eyes. He was in a pocket created by one of the great ceiling beams. Various bits of rubble blocked his view beyond what was immediately before him. He turned his head to see the boy crouched beside him.

"I'm here," he replied, and raised his hand to squeeze that of the boy. "Are you hurt?"

"My arm.....I think it's broken," the boy replied.

"Don't worry. My friends will be coming soon to find us," Arrek reassured him, and tried to move. A cold fear touched his heart, as he realised he could neither feel nor move anything below his waist. He released the boy, and slid his hand down the narrow space between his side and the beam to feel why.

When he finished his explorations, he was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.

"My name is Arrek. What's yours?"

"Perin," the boy replied. "Are we going to get out, Arrek?"

"Yes, " the froglok replied with certainty. "But I need to tell you a few things. And this is important. So please listen, Perin."

"Okay." The boy moved a little closer beside him.
"Can you reach my shoulder-bag?" he swallowed against the dizziness that swept over him.

The child twisted, and moved a rock. Arrek felt a tug. "Yes."

"Good. There's food and water in there for you. It may be a little while before they can get to us down here." The growing weakness told him how little time he had, and he pressed on. "Now, my friends will be coming looking for me. They don't know you're here. So listen carefully, and if you hear someone calling my name, or talking about me, you yell." He paused, finding it hard to draw a breath.

"Don't make any noise unless you hear that. It could be goblins moving around."

He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.

"Arrek? Are you hurt?" Perin leaned close, and took the froglok's hand again. He looked down in shock when he felt the sticky wetness that coated it.

"Yes." The paladin chose his words carefully, and took his hand back from the boy. He slid his fingers beneath his gorget. "But there's one last thing...."

* * * * *

Kor was waiting impatiently for them when they emerged from below with the two injured halflings. They stepped out of the caverns together, to blink in astonishment at what greeted them.

Half of the city of Rivervale was waiting for them, armed, and ready to stand against the horde. A cheer went up as they came out, and the injured pair were whisked away from them. The guardsman they had freed had gotten through, and carried the word ahead of him.

Tiri and Braag went to find one of the leaders, to explain what they had found below, and to let the halflings know the rest of their people were coming behind them. Ferret followed them, to likewise report on the areas he had scouted alone.

Kor watched them go, and turned back to the tunnel, expression carefully masked. Merilee joined him there, needing no special gift to see the worry he hid. The minutes stretched long, and the two stood sentinel in the entrance cave, until finally the first few prisoners emerged.

The escaping halflings shied away from the shaman, but the sight of their people gathered to meet them gave them heart, and they hurried out of the tunnel into the arms of their loved ones.

Korgoss remained, waiting silently, until finally the last of the prisoners made it up and out.

The sudden rumble of rock - loud even beyond the entrance to the goblin warren - followed by the blast of air and dust escaping the tunnel caused silence to fall among those gathered outside.

The troll waited no longer. He strode purposefully back into the tunnel.

"Kor!" Merilee ran in beside him. "Wait!"

"No." The shaman continued working his way inside. The bard cursed, and followed him.

They met few goblins, and those they saw ran from them, demoralised by the sudden loss of so many of their number. Cautiously, they worked their way through the maze of tunnels, eventually reaching the room where the prisoners had been. They turned to the passageway the paladin had taken when he left them.

The scene in the great cavern silenced them. They stared in dismay at the rubble that filled it. The tang of blood filled the air.

"By the gods..." The bard stepped forward, and looked up at the ceiling. Timbers still hung from it, but what remained seemed to be holding. For the moment.

"He may have gotten out one of the other openings," Merilee said quietly, as they stared at the devastation. The troll's fist slowly clenched. She took his arm, and pointed at a gap visible part way around the room. "Let's try that one."

They began to pick their way along the wall towards the opening. A sound caught their attention, and they moved forward, peering down into the rubble.

A goblin scrabbled weakly, trapped beneath a slab of stone. Kor mercifully dispatched it with a single blow.

More sounds became audible beneath the rubble, as survivors moaned or struggled to free themselves. Merilee listened for a moment, then called out loudly "Arrek? Can you hear me?"

The troll looked at her in surprise.

"The goblins have troubles enough of their own at the moment. I somehow doubt they'll bother with us," she told him, and began to pick her way along the wall again, pausing every few feet to call. "Arrek?"

"Here!" They both turned suddenly towards the cry. "Oh please, miss! He's here!"

They scrambled over the rubble towards the voice.

"Where are you?" Merilee called, standing on a great beam that had once held up the ceiling. She jumped when the reply came from beneath her feet.

"Down here. Oh please, miss... can you get us out?"

Merilee lay down on the beam, and peered down through a small space in the debris. The face of a frightened halfling boy stared up at her. She craned her neck to see dim shape of the froglok beside him. It wouldn't be easy. Touching the stones above them would likely collapse the pocket, killing them both. She swallowed, then smiled reassuringly.

"We'll get you out. Don't worry. What's your name?"

"Perin, miss."

"Are you hurt, Perin?"

"My arm..."The boy swallowed his tears. "But Arrek... I think he's hurt real bad."

"Just hold on, Perin. Be brave." The boy nodded.

The shaman made a soft sound in his throat, and examined the stones.

"Here." He chose a rock, and heaved it away into the room. A second followed it. She joined in beside him, and they dug down beside the beam, clearing the rocks well away from the area. It was tiring labour, but they did not stop to rest until they had nearly reached floor level. Reaching the pocket without bringing it down was harder. They cleared the beam, then tunnelled beneath it, and finally broke into the space.

Merilee reached in, and hauled out the boy. He blanched as she jogged his arm, but bit his lip and didn't cry out. She passed him to the shaman, and the boy's eyes bulged out in terror.

"He won't hurt you," she told him gravely. "He's one of the good guys." Kor took the boy from her arms, and examined the limb he clutched close. He ran his fingers down it gently, and healed the break and the torn muscle. The boy's eyes bulged again, as he flexed it.

Merilee widened the hole she had made, and crawled into it. They could hear her moving stones, and talking softly, but she soon fell silent. She emerged a few moments later. Tears made tracks in the dust on her cheeks.

"He's pinned by the beam," was all she said.

The troll's face could have been carved from the stones that surrounded them. He handed the boy to her and stepped forward. "Get back," he ordered, and pointed towards the wall. She took his arm, but he shook her off.

"It won't... it's... It's too late." Fresh tears flowed down the tracks left by the ones before them. "He's dead. If you push it, you'll crush..."

The troll's eyes bore into hers. "Get back," he repeated. He crouched beside the beam, placed his feet carefully, and chose a grip on the wood.

For a moment, there was no movement other than the trembling of Kor's limbs as he strained against the weight of the beam. Then the wood shifted slightly, and the troll straightened his legs. With a mighty heave, he lifted the beam straight up, clear of the debris.

Merilee held her breath as he took a shaking step into the clear area where it had been. Then a second step, and he set it down just as carefully as he had lifted it. He held himself for a moment, before he slowly turned and looked down.

The beam that had spared them from the rocks had also been the instrument that killed the paladin. A great splinter ripped from its side had transfixed the froglok just above the belt, nailing him to the ground, and bleeding away his life.

Kor knelt down, and tenderly wrapped the body of the froglok in his cloak, and gathered it into his arms. He stood slowly, for the small bundle was a heavier weight to bear than the wood he had moved to reach it. He turned to face the bard, whose silent tears still fell.

Together, each bearing their burden, the two made their way out of the cavern, back up to the surface.

They met the others at the cavern entrance, but questions were stilled when they caught sight of Korgoss's face, and the load he carried.

"Over here." Tiri took his arm, and led him to a fire, where he laid down his awful burden. He made no move to unwrap his cloak, and sat down wearily, burying his head in his arms.

Merilee spotted a matronly halfling woman in armour, and brought Perin to her. He cried out her name, and she exclaimed in joy as she snatched him from the bard and hugged him close. He immediately began to babble to her in his own tongue, and Merilee smiled sadly at the pair before she turned away to return to her friends.

She reached out for the silent troll, and slipped her arm around his shoulders. He raised his head to look at her, then lowered it again. His face was expressionless, but she saw his heart in his eyes.

One by one, the others came, and joined them. They sat in silence, listening to the distant joyful celebrations of the halflings, and mourning the loss of their friend.

"Please? Which one of you is "Kor?"

Braag looked at the young halfling with surprise. The boy was standing in front of him, holding the hand of an armour-clad halfling woman. Neither seemed to fear him. "That's him, there." The ogre pointed at the motionless troll. The boy's eyes widened.

"Oh! I didn't know!" He released the woman's hand, and looked up at her. She patted him on the shoulder, and urged him forward, before stepping back. "Thank you, sir," he said to Braag, with a polite bow. The ogre blinked, and gravely replied "You're welcome." His eyes followed the boy with curiosity.

"Please. Mr. Kor?" The halfling boy Merilee recognised as Perin stopped in front of the troll. He reached out, and patted him on the knee.

Startled, Korgoss raised his head. He stared at the boy for a moment, then unfolded himself slowly and sat cross-legged on the ground in front of him. He tilted his head, and waited.

"Mr. Kor, I have some things I need to say to you. And an extra one because you're you... I mean..." he flushed, and swallowed, then drew up his courage and continued. "I want to say thank you to you for fixing my arm." The shaman nodded slightly.

"The second thing I have to say is from Arrek." The boy dug in his pocket, and pulled out a medallion on a chain. He took the troll's hand, and placed the medallion in his palm. "He said ‘Tell Kor that I am proud to have known him as a friend,' and to give you this."

Korgoss stared at the holy symbol in his hand. A flaming sword was engraved upon it, the holy symbol of Mithaniel Marr. A line of writing in strange runes ran around the edge.

"My aunt Thekala says that it's important, that it was given to him when he first became a paladin. And that if he wanted you to have it... well..." the boy trailed off.

Kor slowly closed his fingers over the medallion, and his face crumpled. Naked grief and loss were plain in his features, and he lowered his head slowly, his eyes filling.

Perin reacted by throwing his arms around the neck of the troll, and hugging him. He held on for a minute, then kissed the craggy cheek and let go again, standing in front of the shaman.

"I still have things to tell you, and I mustn't forget," he said, waiting for Korgoss to look back up at him. He dug into his pocket again, and took the troll's other hand. This time placed a ring in it. He turned around, and took the ogre's hand, and placed one there as well. "This is for you, and one for you too. Aunt Thekala says I must give them to you, and that they're magick. If you wear them, the people of Rivervale will know you're the ones who stopped the goblins. Then you can come into town without worrying about people hurting you, or running away. But she says to say that the magick will go away if you ever hurt one of us. She made me say it, but I don't think I needed to, because you're both good guys, and you wouldn't do that anyway."

Braag thanked the boy, and slipped his onto a finger. Kor stared at his for a moment, and merely closed his hand.

"Then there's this. This is for everybody, from all the people of Rivervale. They want to thank you for getting us out." Perin held a little bag out to Kor, who made no move to take it. He looked around the group, but even Ferret refused to accept it.

"We didn't do it for money," the gnome told him bitterly. Perin put the bag on the ground at his feet.

"Aunt Thekala says it's yours," he shrugged. "And... well... there's one more thing." Perin stepped sideways, so he could see around the troll, and glanced towards the fire. "Aunt Thekala says that the last thing isn't for you. But she thinks you'll like it anyway. I think so too. She says to say it's from her." He glanced toward the fire again. Braag and Merilee turned to see what he was looking at. Their eyes widened.

Slowly, Merilee reached down and grasped the troll's chin, and turned him around.

The halfling woman - Aunt Thekala, no doubt - had unwrapped the bundle containing the broken body of the froglok paladin. She held one of his hands between hers, and a bright golden glow surrounded them both. As they watched, the glow deepened, and slowly changed to the blue of healing. The woman set his hand back down on his breast when she had done, squeezed it, and murmured a blessing.

She stood up, and smiled kindly at them. "Come, Perin. Time to let them be," she said, and caught up the hand of the boy. She smiled again as he turned and waved, and she led him back towards the sounds of celebration.

They gathered around him, watching the rise and fall of his breathing, and Merilee found herself weeping again. Beside her, Kor's eyes were still bright with his own unshed tears, and the stone mask was gone, shattered beneath the weight of his earlier grief, and ground into dust by the tremulous new emotion that had replaced it.

Arrek stirred, and sighed, and his eyes opened slowly. He gazed up at the circle of faces.

"The boy?" he asked hoarsely, as he found his voice.

"Safe," Kor assured him. The troll reached out and took the froglok's hand, and folded it gently around the medallion. "You will need this." He held the hand for a long moment before releasing it. "Do not..." Kor hesitated, then took a breath and plunged onwards. "Do not do this again."

The paladin smiled. "Do not give away what is mine to give?" he asked softly. "Do not rescue children?"

"No." The troll met his eyes. "Do not die," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Do not leave us."

Murmurs of agreement came from the others, who each leaned forward to speak in turn, before Braag herded them away to give the friends a little space, and to rest.

"Kor?" Arrek asked quietly, when the others had gone.

"You should sleep," came the reply, and the shaman leaned forward again, into his vision.

"I will," the froglok promised. "Please, may I have some water?"

Korgoss opened his water flask, and helped Arrek sit up, passing it to him.

The paladin drank slowly, then sagged, shaking with the effort of holding the flask, not yet recovered from the holy magick that had restored him. Kor held the flask for him, supporting the froglok against his chest, one-handed, until he had drunk his fill.

For a moment, he was overwhelmed with the memory of the first time he had held the other, in just the same way, and how much had changed between that instant and this.

And the troll slowly wrapped his other arm around his friend, and hugged him close, the tears that stood in his eyes falling freely at last. To his surprise, he felt the embrace returned. He released the froglok, carefully laid him back down, and watched over him until he slept

* * * * *

The troll sat up on a rock overlooking the camp, watching the group around the fire below him. Braag was leaning against the base of the rock, with Tiri curled up asleep in his arms. He was discussing weapons with Ferret, who, as always, was sharpening something. The sweet haunting music of a flute swirled around them, and they paused often to listen to the bard, who sat beside Braag, lost in her playing.

Kor looked at them for the first time with new eyes. He cared about these people. They were his friends. His family.

A strange warmth filled him, and he acknowledged the new emotion kindled inside him with a vague surprise. He loved them.

His eyes fell again upon the half-elf, and the wondrous music she was playing crept into his soul, and a second realisation came to him. He clung to it, turning it over in his heart as he examined it, the warmth growing within him.

The flute music trailed off into silence, and there was a pause before he heard the sound of someone climbing the rock he was sitting on.

Merilee jumped when she saw him, startled.

"Kor?" She accepted the hand he held out to her, and used it to pull herself up onto the rock. She sat down beside him. "I thought you were with Arrek."

"He sleeps," the shaman said. He kept hold of her hand. They sat in companionable silence, watching the sparks rising from the fire.

"Merilee," he began, then stopped again, unaccustomed to opening his heart. Words had never come easily to him. He looked down at the hand he still held, and traced the calluses on her fingertips as he worked out what to say.

"Silly troll." The bard leaned forward and kissed him.

His eyes widened, and hesitantly, fearing he misunderstood, he reached for her, and took her into his arms. The warmth blazed inside him, as he bent slowly to return the kiss.

When the need for breath separated them, it was only a handbreadth. She gazed up into his eyes, and she smiled at what she found there. "It's about time," she said softly. "All the time you spend healing others, Kor, and you finally get around to healing yourself." She kissed him again. "I've been waiting for you."

Fin