Lords of Murder (Reyden and Shandril)

[Shandril]

She couldn’t see, at least not at first.

The young woman ran blindly, barely feeling the undergrowth catch her face and rend her forearms. The rain which had been light at first now fell in a steady downpour, but the woman hardly registered it beyond the splash of her booted feet in random puddles and the hair which stuck to her face. She ran, her lungs burning, a pain in her side far worse than the accidental cuts she received in training, but nothing to the mixture of fear and grief that tore at her heart.

Then a brilliant flash illuminated the landscape, just enough for Vassia to see rough moorland, clumps of trees and about half a mile in the distance, the pale snake of the west road, heading back to Candlekeep. Vassia paused long enough to look behind her. There was nothing. No torches flickering in the darkness, no gleam of armour or weapons. She wouldn’t have heard anything, not above the rain or thud of her heart in her ears, but her attackers didn’t seem to be in pursuit.

For a moment she wondered about going back, maybe Gorion had driven off the hostile figures and was not looking for her. Vassia still held the shortsword she’d drawn when the heavily armoured figure emerged from the darkness. She choked back a sob as a knife-sharp pang of guilt stabbed into her gut. If she’d stayed, if only she hadn’t run away. She turned and took a few steps back the way she’d came before a rumble of thunder and all kind of imagined fears lurking in the dark drove her back, and she slid down a narrow bank heading for the road.

The wind blew harder as she exited the sparse thicket of hazel and brambles, chilling her rain-damp clothing and making her shiver. The last scuds of rain blew across the sky, revealing patches of clear black, peppered with brilliant stars and the soft glow of a gibbous moon. Vassia had no eye for the beauty, but the light grey cobbles of the west road gleamed in the pale light and she walked towards them before exhaustion overtook her and she slumped by a huddle of boulders.

 

[Reydan]

It was an especially cruel dawn that morning, Raston thought, as he knelt beside the bodies. Charred. Possibly a fireball or a lightning bolt. Either way some powerful magic. He pushed the body over with a callous boot. Bandits. Although probably better armed and armoured than he had previously encountered. The Sword Coast was becoming more and more dangerous, a hot bed of intrigue and random attacks. All for the pale glint of coin. Not for the first time the thought of being back in Icewind Dale bubbled to the surface of his mind and he shoved the unbidden memory back into the mists of his mind.

He straightened up, his six foot frame aching from the cold air of the morning, and he groaned a little at the effort. He ran a hand through his stubbly beard, black hair against pale skin, and scrubbed the close cropped hair on his head. What a bloody mess. He'd managed to extract a few coins, maybe thirty gold, from the pouches of the bandits. The hulking ogres, laid low by the same powerful magic, had had nothing of value. Beyond an awful stink.

The wizard he had left alone. Clearly run through with a blade. He had starred down at him, for a moment or two, before deciding against rifling through his pockets. Wizards, in Raston's experience, had powerful friends. And this was obviously a powerful wizard. Best to leave him alone rather than be discovered by his friends turning his still warm body over.

He spat. He had bigger fish to fry. Across the whole of the Sword Coast, every stinking tavern and den of thieves, was looking for a girl. The descriptions were vague. "Traveling from Candlekeep". "Human - maybe" "Young - probably". But the reward was already growing. 200 gold. Raston rolled his shoulders. A man could get a long way from the chaos that the Sword Coast was becoming with that. Get very drunk, very relaxed and, if you knew the right places, very fucked. He grinned.

He slipped his shield back onto his back and holstered his axe in his belt. Some men thought the axe was beneath them. A savage weapon for skill-less monsters. But there was nothing so good in a pinch. Why bother learning a weapon that took ages to master, Raston had always thought, when after a couple of practice swings one was capable enough with an axe. It was a fine example of the desire to do as little as possible for as much gain that ruled Raston's life as a guiding star.

He had only managed a few minutes of traveling before, his step careful on the rain-slicked cobbles of the Sword Way, he spotted something hunkered down amidst some boulders. It was small, shivering, but alive. He stepped closer, leaning in. It was a young woman and, as her eyes fluttered open from sleep, they went wide in panic.

"Why hello there little raven" he smiled.