Smythe was still on the road to Ashabanford, when he saw the two travelers on one horse. A young elven woman sat behind a half-elven male, Smythe thought he recognized. As the reluctant warrior closed the distance between his mount and theirs, he finally remembered who the half-elven male was.

"Sartorius?" Smythe asked.

"Smythe?" Sartorius asked.

"Why are you on the road?"

"I am going to Shadowdale to meet a friend."

"You do know this is a dangerous road to be on, do you not?"

"I have heard of that said before."

"You were with that performer the other night were you not?"

"You mean Kjellinger?"

"If that is his name."

"He has some company on the road ahead of you."

"What do you mean?" 

"The Zhentarim has a contract out for him, and his companions."

"How do you know this, my friend?"

"I was a part of the group sent to kill them."

"You cannot be serious."

"I have had enough of the mercenary ways. It is time for me to leave the Dalelands, and travel south."

"Well, I wish you luck my friend."

"Thank you, I will need it as will your friends. Khett is up in arms about their surviving the attack the other night.

"Who is Khett?" Sartorius asked.

"He is a half-drow elf mercenary working for the Zhents." Smythe said.

"Could you point these people out?"

"Well, my friend, that is a risky proposition. What is in it for me?"

"Name a price."

"Who will pay me?"

"Are a hundred gold pieces too steep?"

"In advance?"

"That is more than satisfactory."

Sartorius opened his pack tied to the saddle horn, and counted out twenty platinum pieces.

"How do I sign on with the group protecting the elven woman and the baby?" Smythe asked.

"Fight with them." Sartorius said.

"Is that an assurance?'

"Honestly? No. We will just have to see."

"We will see if Rimwold is looking for them, and not me."

"The Lord Rimwold? Of Rimwold Manor at Elven Crossing?"

"The very same."

"Where did you see this Khett person?"

"Lord Rimwold's manor."

" That explains a lot. Multhimmer is in on it as well. Could you point this Khett person out in a crowd? "

"No, but I can point out the others. What you must know is that the system of the Zhentarim is an interwoven web of deceit."

"Excellent information. We can pass it along to the party when we find them."

*****

Rimwold was fuming. Smythe was lost, or he had run away in the night. Now Rimwold had to deal with these mercenary types alone.

"You want us to double back, and find him for ya'" Hastor asked.

Rimwold had declined; knowing time was against them. He had told Hastor to have his men fan out in Shadowdale, and see if they could find one or two of the people in the party protecting the Aumersaire heir.

*****

"I can guide us through the forest to Shadowdale." Dahljanna offered.

"Will we make the haul out before the barge gets there?" Sartorius asked no one in particular.

"We heard them on the river, or the infant to be exact, but we had no idea about their rate of travel upstream." Smythe said.

Sartorius and Dahljanna both nodded their understanding. It was imperative they reached Shadowdale, and find the party before Lord Rimwold, and his band of cutthroats jumped the party.

"All right Dahljanna, you wanted adventure. You have an important mission ahead of you. Which way do we go?" Sartorius asked.

Dahljanna pointed north toward the thickest portion of the Elven forest.

*****

Lord Rimwold watched the River from his blind on the high outcropping above the river. In the distance to the east, a barge could be seen making its way westward as the pole men worked the barge upstream.

*****

Lindisfjarn could not get comfortable. A feeling as though a bug would alight in his left ear kept him uncomfortable. Finally, the ardent ranger lay in the shadow of some boxes, and tried to get some sleep. He favored his left ear because of the buzzing in it. Fatigue was quickly taking its toll. He had not been sleeping since they left High Moon. A cat nap here and there, but the need for a deep sleep was encroaching.

Waves of fatigue welled over him, and he finally let sleep claim him. A dream of discord assaulted him. Men were riding, riding with the intent to slay those about which he cared. Startled from the vividness of the dream, Lindisfjarn opened his eyes, just in time to see a large bee fly in front of his face. With the back of his hand he swatted the insect away from him, but the insistent creature continued to buzz near his face. With a final act of defiance, the ranger vigorously swatted the insect again.

The swat turned out to be more of a strike, and the creature was pinned between the ranger's hand, and a wooden crate. Taking vengeance, the bee in its death throes stung the ranger in the right hand. With a yelp, Lindisfjarn retrieved his injured appendage, and placed it in his mouth. The sting was still pumping poison into his hand, and he used his teeth to extract the poisonous barb.

Using the wounded hand as a shield, he looked up to see if he had removed the sting totally from his hand. It was then that he noticed a face was peering from the high rock outcropping above the river. The idiotic smirk of the face was unforgettable. Without letting on that he had viewed the onlooker, Lindisfjarn lay back, and nursed his wounded hand.

"Are you all right?" Dinnel asked.

"Yes, I am fine. I just swatted a bee, and I was stung. Let me show you." The Ranger said.

"If it were just a bee sting, I am sure you will survive." The warrior priest said.

Dinnel's eyes opened as wide as saucers when Lindisfjarn grabbed him by the collar, and dragged the warrior priest on top of the ranger.

"Quit struggling you idiot. I want to show you something." Lindisfjarn said quietly.

Immediately, the other party members helped separate the two, and Lindisfjarn cursed loudly beyond the expectation of his mild mannerism.

Xarno approached the flustered ranger. "What is the problem my friend?" He asked.

"We are being followed." The elven ranger answered.

"Oh really?" Xarno said as he tried to turn to look at the high riverbank.

Instead, Lindisfjarn stopped the mage from looking in the northerly direction.

"On top of that rock outcropping above us, I saw a smirking face. Possibly a human, but do not look, we do not want them to know we have an idea they are in the area, just ensure you are on guard." The ranger said.

"Kjellinger, bring out your dice. We need to discuss some things in secret." Xarno said.

*****

Hastor pulled Bert away from the ledge. "What do you think yer' doing mate?' Hastor said.

"I was just lookin' at the barge Hastor." Bert said. "See theys' playin' dice on that barge to pass the time."

Hastor carefully poked his head far enough over the outcropping not to be obtrusive. Below him, a group of people near an elven woman who held an infant was kneeling with dice bouncing on a cloth among the six of them.

"It is an honest game. I wished I had the money to play. When we finish, I can play." Hastor said to himself.

*****

"That is right, everybody takes a turn, and gets excited. He can see us, but he cannot hear what is being said. Did you get a good look at him Lindisfjarn?" Xarno asked.

"I got a look at one, but not at the others." The ranger answered.

"Others?" Dinnel asked.

"Yes, he was pulled back by a hand, so at least two. Who knows possibly a whole army above us?" Lindisfjarn said.

"Go on! An army, whose army?" Dinnel said, still peeved for being grabbed.

"We are serious Dinnel. Our ranger friend was just trying to show you something without letting the cat out of the bag." The mage said.

"I think the Zhents know we are here, and they have a clue as to our intentions." Boldar said as he took a turn at the dice.

"We at least have been warned of a 'presence,'" Kjellinger said.

"At least we were not surprised." The elven priest admitted.

"Exactly, now throw some minor coins on the cloth. Dinnel, you pick them up with some vigor." The mage said. "Being forewarned is a good thing."

*****

The three would be adventurers followed game trails to the north until they hit a barely noticeable elven footpath. Dahljanna easily recognized the signs, and led the other two to the north until a barely noticeable fork in the trail gave her a clue as to the direction to take.

Smythe held the rear position of the three, and wondered if the young elven woman knew where she was going. His misgivings were quickly forgotten as they reached a trailhead after taking the eastern fork in the footpath. Sartorius was amazed at how dark it was as they worked their way along the path on foot guiding their horses through the deep elven forest. Dahljanna held her hand out behind her as she reacted to a sound in the distance.

"Are we there yet?" Sartorius asked.

Both Smythe and Dahljanna signaled him to be quiet, and Sartorius quickly became embarrassed for his ignorance while traipsing through the woods.

"I hear something." She said.

The three would be adventurers hunkered down near a large fir tree on the edge of the clearing. A group of six small reptilian dog-like creatures walked into the open on their hind feet.

"Kobolds!" Smythe said in a hoarse whisper.

Sartorius' old horse whinnied as the scent of the goblinoids was driven past his sensitive nose. The kobolds stopped in their tracks, and looked toward the origin of the noise. The three would be adventurers had backed out, and ran on foot to the west.

"We need to find open ground to run away from them!" Smythe said.

"We are in a forest, and no open ground is available." The elven priestess said.

"The three continued to run, knowing they could not escape the threat that was now chasing them as the three adventurers could hear the yips and growls from the dog-like goblinoids.

Dahljanna noticed a clearing to the north. "Follow me!" She hissed.

Her comrades faithfully hastened to her call.

At the edge of the clearing, the three turned to look at their pursuer's progress. The gap was closing.

"I have an idea." Sartorius said.

As their chests heaved from running, Dahljanna and Smythe looked at him with wide eyes.

"Smythe, draw your sword, and wait here. When they come into view, say something to get their attention. Dahljanna, take the horses, and look for cover on the far edge of the clearing." The musician said.

"What do you want me to say?" Smythe asked.

"The first thing that pops into your brain, you fool."

"Oh lucky day. Here I am to be put on the spit in a kobold camp."

"When you get their attention cross the clearing, I will take care of the rest."

Sartorius took a long low lying branch that crossed the trail at knee level into his hands, and walked the bough backwards until he thought it would break. Smythe entered the pathway, and drew his weapon then took a knee. Ahead of him, half a bowshot away, six kobolds ran pell mell in the direction they thought the three intruders had run.

Standing as tall as he could on a fallen tree, Smythe yelled at the top of his lungs. "Your mother is an elf!"

The effect was immediate, the six kobolds snarled at the worse insult someone could hurl at them. The snarling goblinoids turned toward the offending individual, and brandished their short swords.

"Get out of here!" Sartorius said behind the reluctant warrior.

Without any further prompting, Smythe turned on his heel, and made for the clearing. He followed the trampled grass the horses left behind as they followed the lead of Dahljanna. The kobolds followed suit. With their anger sufficiently blinding them of their flanking security, ahead of them, they saw the back of the enemy who flaunted insults about their matriarchal lineage. Their oppressor was running for safety across an open clearing. Snarling enthusiastically, the kobolds snickered about how fun it would be to skewer parts of the offending elf's anatomy over a spit. Before the six kobolds had entered the clearing, Sartorius released the large branch.

With a sweeping arc, the huge limb passed through the party of kobolds. The two lead goblinoids' necks were snapped immediately. The third and fourth were swept to the forest floor, and lay unmoving among the pine needles deposited upon the forest floor for several generations. Kobolds number five and six had time to duck, but raised their heads prematurely as the great bough swept back, and clocked them in the backs of their heads.

Not wasting time, Sartorius removed his knife from its sheath, and walked up to the first two and noticed their necks were twisted at a grizzly angle. The second two were motionless, blood poured from both their ears. With care, Sartorius closed to observe the final two kobolds. As one tried to shake off the blur of a moving pine bough from his vision, Sartorius leaped on it with extreme vigor, and plunged his short bladed working knife into the creature's throat. Blood dripped from his hands as he noticed the sixth creature was beginning to stand.

Without hesitating, Sartorius stepped forward, and kicked the creature in the stomach. The creature, a wily beast, blocked the kick, and sent Sartorius flying off balance. Knowing that his mistake was a fatal error, the musician landed on his back with his arms and legs sprawled outward.

The extremely nimble kobold leaped at Sartorius as it drew steel from its scabbard. A sickening groan came from the throat of Sartorius. Airborne, the goblinoid aimed for Sartorius' mid-section after it leaped upward. Sartorius rolled to his right, only to feel the blade of the kobold's weapon rip into his left arm. The musician came up with a healthy sized stick, and began beating the disoriented goblinoid about the head and shoulders until a sickening crack was heard in the creature's back. It whimpered pitifully before it collapsed. Unsure if the beast were dead or not, Sartorius was relentless in his barrage of clubbing assaults. A gentle hand pulled him back, and the caring caress of Dahljanna stopped him from furthering the mess upon the forest floor.

"You are bleeding." She said as she held the sobbing musician.

"No, it is their blood." Sartorius replied.

Smythe reentered the opening into the forest holding the horses. "You are bleeding like a stuck pig man!" He said.

Sartorius held up the offending limb, and looked as blood poured out of the massive gash caused by the kobold's short sword. "Oh!" The musician said, and immediately passed out falling to the forest floor.

"You did not need to say that." Dahljanna said.

"Did you see how he attacked them?" Smythe said.

"Yes, he was very brave. Help me get him more comfortable."

Smythe did as directed, and the musician was laid out on a small incline with his feet up, and his head at the bottom of the hill. The elven priestess applied pressure to the wound, and performed a spell to get the bleeding to stop. She could heal Sartorius, but she could not replace the blood the musician had lost.

With his bleeding under control, Dahljanna cast a healing spell that mended the large wound on the musician's arm. The reluctant warrior watched the wound close magically. The result was a minor scar.

"He will need water, and meat for better blood production." Dahljanna said.

Smythe steadied his horse, and brought out an old game bag. From it, he removed slices of salted beef.

"I have the meat right here." He said.

"Later silly, he will need water when he awakes. Did you find anything of value on the kobolds?"

"I was so busy paying attention to our friend here. I did not think to look."

Smythe set about stripping the dead kobolds of their weapons, and their purses. He was happy for the weapons, but unhappy for the lack of value in the kobold's purses.

"Only a few coppers, and a couple of silver pieces, but nothing else." Smythe said.

"We must be satisfied with that." The elven woman said.

"We could sell the weapons in Shadowdale, and maybe get a few gold pieces for them."

Dahljanna nodded in agreement. She watched Sartorius as he rested peacefully. In a few moments, the musician had regained consciousness, and was trying to get off his back. Every time he tried to get up, Dahljanna would put her hand into his chest to keep him down.

"Just relax Sartorius. Everything will be just fine. We will be more careful of the trails from now on." Dahljanna said.

Sartorius smiled at her kindness while she watched over him for a hand of time. When he tried to get up, It was too fast, and he had to sit again until he could gather his wits about him. Finally, with some effort, the musician stood.

"I have never had that problem before." Sartorius said.

"You lost much blood." Dahljanna said.

"We need to get moving." Smythe interjected.

The adventurers backtracked to the point where the chase began. Smythe was walking, while he led his horse while Sartorius was in the saddle. The elven priestess had the lead, and would occasionally dismount the older horse to check the trail for markings.

The kobolds had consumed most of the remaining time left in the day. By nightfall, the trail found them very tired. Choosing to keep a cold camp, the three would be adventurers slept sharing the large blanket Dahljanna had in her pack. Sartorius lay between them so he would stay warm.

An owl kept the party company throughout the night as it perched on its high loft of pine boughs, while it listened for small rodents scurrying in the brush. In the spooky night, the adventurers could hear the owl hoot from different trees, but never heard the creature fly. Occasionally, the stars would peak out from under some flat clouds, but the adventurer's view was limited to the space above them because of the forest.

*****

Lindisfjarn did not sleep again that night. He was feigning sleep on the deck of the barge, and listened to the water as it passed underneath the hull. To the north, the forest had become a dark line above the high bank of the river Ashaba. To the south, the bank was as high, but the vegetation was less dense. Occasionally, the ranger would see animals taking a drink of water from the bank on the south side of the river. The trail was quiet, and the silence made the trip that more dangerous. At least with sound, a warrior could hear his way in the field, but in the silence, fear was present.

*****

Lord Rimwold slept away from the five cutthroats. Hastor was becoming too friendly while the mercenary fiddled with a large dirk tucked into his belt. Being in a group did not make Rimwold nervous, but being alone with these ghastly men scared the color out of his hair. The dandy could not get over the way Bert grinned as he sharpened his knife, and then used his arms to test the sharpness of the blade. It was Rimwold's belief a man could easily shave with that knife, and took notice when Bert brought it out. The sound of the blade slipping across the whetstone brought chills to Rimwold's spine. Each man of the mercenary band was a hired killer, and quite capable.

Several rods into the forest, Rimwold stopped the party, and made a hot camp. Hastor and his men gave a quick demonstration of their methods. Each man using another as a model for their skills, Rimwold was convinced he was in danger if the five mercenaries did not find action very soon, which was why Rimwold slept away from the five killers. The cold night crept in through his blanket, and shadows lurked in the darkness from around every tree. Lord Rimwold wished he were back in his huge mansion sitting in front of his fire while he smoked a pipe. He was concerned about his back not being protected by Smythe. The thought of Smythe running out on him infuriated Lord Rimwold. Smythe was going to be made an example when all this was said and done.

*****

The cool crisp morning brought singing birds, and a clear sky. Smythe was the first to wake. He nudged Sartorius, and tapped Dahljanna on the shoulder to wake her. Dahljanna smiled, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked at Sartorius, who was still sleeping. The musician's face was pale, but he breathed regularly. Dahljanna, like any elf of Cormanthyr, admired courage in a person. Sartorius had been ignorant of the ways of the trail, but Dahljanna knew Sartorius would be an asset in a city.

She nudged the sleeping musician, and rose from the blanket. "Smythe, we need to eat before we set out on the trail." Dahljanna said.

The reluctant warrior nodded his ascent, and broke out his meager supplies from his pack. With care he set about putting a meal together for the three of them and that meal consumed what was left of his scanty supplies. The party ate quietly, and Dahljanna passed her flask of elven wine. She made sure Smythe did not consume too much. Humans did not have the tolerance for good elven wine.

With their meal eaten, the three would be adventurers walked westward along the forest path. Light rarely penetrated the thick pine boughs, and dead pine needles crunched under their feet as they walked in a single file column with Dahljanna in the lead. Smythe got Sartorius' attention, and handed him a kobold weapon belt that had a scabbard attached by frogs to the baldric. The frogs were small leather fasteners that held the short sword scabbard in place on the baldric.

Sartorius hung his over the left shoulder as he meandered behind the young elven woman. Both Sartorius and Smythe guided their horses by the reins as they walked before the animals. Dahljanna held up a hand, and the two would be adventurers behind her stopped, and watched the young elven priestess as she crept low to the ground. She surveyed the opening of a clearing a rod away. Several deer were in the meadow feeding on new spring grass. Dahljanna crept back to her companions. Both Smythe and Sartorius looked at her questioningly.

"We cannot go into the meadow yet." She said.

"Why?" Sartorius asked.

"A herd of deer is in the meadow, and if we walk into the meadow they will bolt."

"So, who cares?" Smythe asked.

"Someone watching will see the deer bolt, and know someone is trying to cross the meadow. We need to go around, quietly." Dahljanna said.

The three would be adventurers looked for a route around the fallen trees, and broken limbs deposited on the forest floor. Although the trip was not arduous, back tracking would consume valuable time.

"This way." Dahljanna said.

Sartorius and Smythe both nodded, and waited for the young elven priestess to take the lead in her path around the downed timber. The elven priestess picked her path carefully, ensuring her path was wide enough for man and horse to pass through without stepping on any of the large pieces of detritus.

In time the three members of the party were at the southern end of the clearing, within a rod of the meadow. The deer were still munching on the fresh spring grass, occasionally raising their heads, and sniffing the air for potential threats. Dahljanna looked for a path they could travel on with less effort.

Suddenly, the monarch buck raised his head, and bugled. The herd dashed toward the southern end of the clearing in typical bounding fashion. Spinning in her tracks, Dahljanna walked up to her companions, and pulled them down a path to the south as she held her index finger over lips to signal silence.

Rounding the southern end of the clearing, keeping their horses between the clearing and themselves, Dahljanna took the opportunity to hop on top of a tree stump cut some time ago. She immediately went to ground when she saw the threat.

"Orcs! Only a small band, but none the less still dangerous to us, we need to move. I think they are a hunting party. It would be better if we avoided them instead of engaging them." She said.

"Why not?" Smythe asked.

"They have bows, and we do not."

The orcs had just entered the clearing, and began to follow the tracks of the deer that had just bounded toward the party. Dahljanna knew she had time to find a quick path out of the danger the orcs represented. Picking her way carefully, she found a suitable trail, and followed it southward until she came to another clearing.

More deer were grazing in the distance, and her intention was not to signal the party's presence as they navigated through the dense western arm of the elven forest. Continuously eyeing the open area where the deer were feeding, Dahljanna picked her path carefully. In the distance behind them a commotion could be heard.

"Our trail has been spotted. We must flee, or they will find us." Dahljanna said.

Sartorius, tired from his loss of blood, and knowing he was a risk to the party said, "You two ride ahead, I will only slow you down."

"What in the Nine Hells do you think you are trying to prove?" Smythe asked.

"I will buy you time. You know who Kjellinger is, get word to him about the plot." Sartorius said with a smile.

He knew his life would not be a waste. Dahljanna and Smythe were already mounted, and he swatted the rumps of both horses. The animals bolted. Both riders had to work from being unhorsed by low-lying branches.

Choosing a place near the trail, the musician immediately drew his short sword, and hacked a limb from a branch. With a few strokes he had fashioned a spear, and then another. Taking the second spear, he deposited It in a fall back position, and measured the height of cover hoping the orcs were bad at their aim.

His first place was chosen because of the cover it offered, and knelt behind a huge fallen log with his spear lying across the path the horses had taken. He could see the path under the gap formed by the fallen log. Three orcs were running blindly following the trail, and closing quickly. They were hooting, and braying like wild animals.

Sartorius timed his attack, and raised his spear, tripping the three orcs. The three members of the orc hunting party fell over each other in surprise and disarray. Bows were dropped hands and arms were outstretched in front of them, and arrows sprayed forward out of quivers. Sartorius already had his short sword out, and began hacking with the most strength he could muster.

Surprise not withstanding, the first orc gained his feet, and drew a long sword from its scabbard. All Sartorius could do was keep his sword out, and delay the inevitable. Weakly parrying each blow, Sartorius watched the eyes of his attacker for some potential feint. The sound of hoof beats came from the west, and both turned to view the new interloper. Sartorius took his opportunity, and tried to skewer the orc. The orc was too experienced, and weakly blocked the musician's attack.

Falling back for a better position, Sartorius unlatched the peace knot of his working knife, and pressed home an attack with his short sword. The long sword was nimbly used by the orc to parry the musician's attacks. Sartorius locked the orc's long sword in the quillions of his short sword, and spun clockwise to drive his knife into the abdomen of the orc.

A screech from the vile creature told Sartorius he was successful in his attack. Blood poured down the front of the orc's leather trousers. Still with the intent to fight, the orc pressed home an attack of his own. In the distance, more hoof beats could be heard, and the two combatants looked at the direction of the sound.

The musician took the distraction as an opportunity to attack the orc in a blind-sided attack. In reaction, the orc pressed home another attack, trying to get the musician off balance. Instead, Sartorius kicked at the orc, and made contact with the creature's knee. The orc's kneecap failed, and sent the creature to the forest floor. Sartorius plunged his short sword into the lung of the orc combatant.

Without pausing for a breath to gather his wind, the exhausted Sartorius began collecting bows and quivers. He relieved the orcs of their baldrics, and took possession of their long swords. The orc he fought had a mean dagger strapped to his leg, and Sartorius wondered why the orc had not fought with both weapons.

Sartorius placed the loose arrows as evenly into the three quivers. With some last bit of effort, he searched the creatures for potential wealth, and removed the contents of their packs. Pickings were scarce, flint and steel in one pack, and some moldy bread in another, in the third pack; Sartorius found something totally disgusting. The leg of a demi-human child, either human or an elf was wrapped in a waxed cloth.

Fully loaded, and tired, he picked up his spear, and began walking in the direction the other members of his party had taken. Deep hoof prints marked their passage, and the trail was easy to follow. Sartorius tried to keep oriented by the position of the sun, and hopefully trekked westward. The musician could see where the elves had managed the forest by cutting down portions of the forest for animals to thrive. Frequently, the dead underbrush had been removed, and the potential for increased fire danger with it.

He felt at home in the forest. The musician had survived two combats against stiff opposition for his ability and experience, which was next to nil. Sartorius ' spirits rose after he took some time out, and practiced using a bow, and a quiver full of arrows. After the fourth shot, he could gage the strength of the pull, and the drop of the arrow to hit targets he had etched on a large tree.

Feeling confident, he wandered westward until he found a clearing inhabited by many animals. What he wanted was food, and since he did not know how to lay a snare, he decided to wait for a small rabbit or something to pass by. Several deer were out in the meadow; out to kill one would have been a waste of good meat. After waiting for many hands of time, the sun was beginning to drop below the crown of trees surrounding the western edge of the clearing. It was then that he saw the pheasant quietly waiting in the brush. How long the bird had been sitting in that location was uncertain, but Sartorius took aim, and accurately hit the animal with his first shot. Elated, Sartorius smiled to himself. He could do this if he had too.

Carefully stepping into the clearing, he removed the dead pheasant hen from her place of hiding. Underneath her were eggs. With care he removed the eggs, and put them in a pouch of his pack after wrapping them in a cloth shirt.

Not wanting to remain in the open, Sartorius gathered his equipment, and continued on the path his friends had taken. His night vision sensitivity had grown more acute, and he could see better in the dark shadows of the forest as he walked carefully along the trail. Not aware of the time, he noticed the sun had gone down, and he began looking for a suitable place to bed down for the night.

In the distance, he heard a snap, and then voices. Freezing in his tracks, Sartorius carefully inspected his surroundings in a full circle. The swirling breeze brought the smell of pine smoke to his nostrils. Creeping slowly, and cautiously, Sartorius closed in on the voices. Soon a small smokeless fire illuminated the small circle of trees in the distance. Two horses and five people sat around the fire. Two of them were Dahljanna and Smythe. Both of his friends were bound with ropes, and gags were around their mouths.

The three captors were rugged looking individuals, passing the remnants of Dahljanna 's flask between them, and making rude expressions with their hands. At times the orcish looking men would drop their trousers, and expose their flaccid members to the elven priestess. Taking care to reduce the threat of noise, Sartorius removed his excess gear and pack. With one bow, and a quiver of arrows, the musician began sneaking in the direction of the small smokeless fire.

Sartorius did what he could to reduce the potential of error in his aim, with an arrow knocked, he continued to close in on the small campsite. What he wanted was a perfect target that way he would not hit either of his friends. The three orcish looking men were opposite of their captives, and were becoming more intoxicated as the night drew on. It was Dahljanna who saw him first, and looked away from him. Fear was in her face as one of her captors rudely fondled her. Sartorius held his anger back, and maintained his composure as he continued to close in on the three kidnappers.

Suddenly, a brigand stood, and walked out of the camp to relieve himself. Sartorius homed in on the brigand as the man stood, and exposed himself spraying the small vegetation with his urine. The musician took careful aim at the weaving man, and loosed an arrow.

The missile punctured the man's right arm, and entered his right lung, driving him into the spot he had just watered. Sartorius wasted no time as the man fell suffocating in his own blood, and loosed another arrow into the brigand's back. His companions called out laughing.

"Could you not find it Ganesh?" One captor asked.

The musician knocked another arrow, and continued on his slow advance toward the campfire. Ganesh's companions were becoming concerned about their comrade's condition, and another brigand soon stood. The musician tracked his target for about ten paces, and loosed an arrow as the man stopped in his tracks. Clawing at his back, the brigand spun in the direction of Sartorius as an arrow sprouted out of his back.

Reloading, Sartorius loosed another arrow into the brigand's belly. The brigand's scream echoed through the forest. Sartorius continued his perilous journey forward trying to save his friends.

Yelling his companion's names, the third brigand tried to get their attention. "Ganesh! Garah!"

Hiding behind a large tree, Sartorius kept out of sight. He could view the third brigand who sat agitated in the firelight. In a bewildering language, the man shouted out, but received no response.

It was obvious to Sartorius. This man was an experienced fighter. To engage the brigand hand to hand would be a very bad decision. A key was to catch him in the open or near the fire while he was still 'light blind.' The sound of sliding steel caused Sartorius to peek out at the man from behind where the musician hid.

"I will find you, whoever you are!" The brigand shouted.

"I will find you first." Sartorius said to his right.

"I am going to slit you from crotch to eyeball with my bone-knife!"

"You son of a goblin whore, I would like to see you try!"

"What do you know of goblin whores?"

"Not so well as the man who met your mother, my bastard friend." Sartorius's last comment was the final straw for the brigand who rose, and walked purposefully to the edge of the fire pit.

Sensing this was his only chance; the musician drew, and took a bead on the brigand. Loosing his arrow, Sartorius watched the short flight of the deadly missile as it landed square into the brigand's chest. The blow knocked the orcish looking man backwards, and he tripped into the fire of which he was standing in front.

Dahljanna screamed through her gag as the dead brigand fell backwards into her lap. His eyes stared skyward as blood pumped out of the wound caused by the deeply embedded arrow, and flowed down the dead brigand's jerkin. Sartorius sauntered into the firelight after picking up his equipment, and pulled the dead brigand off Dahljanna. Using his working knife, Sartorius cut her hands free, and handed her his knife.

"I know more of them are not too distant." She said as she untied Smythe who stared wide-eyed at the musician.

"Am I glad to see you." Smythe said in appreciation after his gag was removed.

"We should leave if more of these brigands are in the area." Sartorius said. "Where did these people stow their gear?"

"Their packs are over here, behind this log." Smythe said, as he rose to retrieve the packs.

"Strip the packs of what we can use. We want weapons, cooking utensils, food, and water. Anything that ties us to the deaths of these brigands we want left behind." Sartorius said.

Dahljanna untied the horses, and brought them near the campsite. She smiled at Sartorius nervously. The musician walked over to her, and handed her a bow, quiver, a long sword, and his pack.

"Take those, you might need them before the night is over. Inside the pack are some pheasant eggs, a hen, and a flint and steel, just transfer that into my bag, and pitch the bag into the distance, away from the bodies." Sartorius said.

Smythe had transferred the cooking utensils in the packs to his bag on his horse, and was scrounging for weapons.

"Forget it, we need to leave, I have weapons for you." The musician said.

"Man, are you a sight for sore eyes. How did you get these, the orcs, right?" Smythe asked.

"Later, right now we have to make tracks. How many others were there?"

"Two more, and they went north."

"Good, we go south, and make for the west." Sartorius said, as he handed a bow, a quiver, and a long sword to Smythe.

"Sounds like you have all the answers." Smythe said.

"Just a good collection of common sense, you two ride, I will take the lead."

The three adventurers walked back onto the trail, and walked west for two or three rods. Turning south, by Dahljanna's direction, the three companions moved into the center of the western arm of the elven forest, and entered the pine domain.

*****

"Are they still with us?" Xarno asked.

"Occasionally I get a hint of movement, so we can assume that we are being followed." Lindisfjarn said.

"Do we know who it is?" The elven princess asked.

"No, we do not, but we can assume the worse." The wizened mage said.

"Do you think they are Zhents?" Dinnel asked.

"Possibly."

"What should we do?" The elven priest asked.

"Prepare for the worse, and hope for the best." Lindisfjarn added.

The party of seasoned adventurers knew they were in a bad position with those who were trailing the movement of the barge from the high ground. Of the hardest things, waiting was the worse.

*****

Rimwold looked down at the river from the small patch of brush overhanging the high riverbank. Below him, he caught a glimpse of the barge full of equipment, and the barge pole men working the barge into the center of the stream flow. To the rear of the barge, the elven woman held her infant closely. She stood a group of some well-outfitted men, all of elvish descent.

Rimwold cursed under his breath. The smell of foul human body odor clouded his nostrils. Sliding backwards, the lord Rimwold noticed Hastor laying near him.

"Do not you ever bathe?" Rimwold asked.

"Trail dirt getting' to you?" Hastor asked in return. "What you worried about?"

"The elves near the woman with the infant who are standing on the back of the barge."

"Elves, I am not worried about any elf. Tarl there has a collection of elf ears. Show him Tarl."

The cutthroat named Tarl produced a string of pointed ears on a jute line, and an enormous grin. "I killed them myself. Lord Rimwold, just like we are going to do to you. It seems the Zhentarim want to cash in on the promise they made to keep you in line."

Rimwold went to draw his sword, but he arched his back as Hastor ran him through with a dirk. The lord of Rimwold Manor went to his hands and knees, and tried to stand. Blood was welling into his throat from his wound in the left lung.

"Why?" Rimwold asked in a rasping voice as he tried to regain his feet.

"The Zhentarim regard failure as weakness, and weakness will be stamped out."

Lord Rimwold noticed Hastor lying near him on the top of the dirt covered rock outcropping. "Do you not ever bathe?" Rimwold asked.

"Trail dirt getting' to you?" Hastor asked in return. "What you worried about?"

"The elves near the woman with the infant who are standing on the back of the barge."

"Elves, I am not worried about any elf. Tarl there has a collection of elf ears. Show him Tarl."

The cutthroat named Tarl produced a string of pointed ears on a jute line, and an enormous grin. "I killed them myself. Lord Rimwold, just like we are going to do to you. It seems the Zhentarim want to cash in on the promise they made to keep you in line."

Rimwold went to draw his sword, but he arched his back as Hastor ran him through with a dirk. The lord of Rimwold Manor went to his hands and knees, and tried to stand. Blood was welling into his throat from his wound in the left lung.

"Why?" Rimwold asked in a rasping voice as he tried to regain his feet.

"The Zhentarim regards failure as weakness, and weakness will be stamped out." Hastor said as he brought the dirk across Rimwold's neck.

Blood spattered the dirt trail as Rimwold exhaled in pain. Blood spattered out of his neck, and he clutched at the wound, trying to stay alive.

The lead cut throat ended the charade of life by ramming the dirk he held into Rimwold's eye socket. The five cutthroats set about stripping the wealthy man of his clothes and personal belongings while the man slipped into the darkness of death.

*****

Turning west, the three adventurers made their night transit of the forest floor. Darkness was everywhere, and the muted clip clopping of the horses hoof beats on the needles of the forest floor sounded like the thundering of a massive army.

Sartorius estimated that about five hands of time had passed since they had turned west. A small circle of trees with a dead fire ring in the center was on their minds.

"We should stop here for the night, and get some sleep." Sartorius said.

Both Smythe and Dahljanna dismounted. Sartorius took his pack off the older horse, and brought it with him to the fire ring. Smythe deposited an armload of firewood into the pit, and the musician began building a fire with twigs. Soon he had a small fire blazing. Smythe built the spit he relieved the brigands of, and a pot full of water from a nearby spring they had passed. Hanging the pan of water over the spit, Smythe grinned at Sartorius.

"Well?" Smythe asked.

"Well, what?" The musician asked as he placed the eggs in the pot, and began plucking the large hen pheasant.

"Are you going to tell us what happened?"

"You mean you want me to brag about the gruesome details?"

"Well, yes."

"No, I will not, but I learned a lot about fighting back there. It is about getting the drop, and taking advantage of the situation. What I want to know is, how did you folks run across those men?"

"You mean half-orcs." Dahljanna said, using a pine bough to wipe her hands.

"Yes, if that is what they were." Sartorius asked for clarification.

"They were half-orcs. We just ran into the three you killed, and then we met two more before we were shuttled to our campsite. Those were some of the meanest brigands I have ever met. If you did not show up when you did, we would have been finished." Smythe said.

"You are welcome." Sartorius said as he flipped the bird over, and finished plucking the rest of the feathers off its breast.

"So tell us," Dahljanna asked. "How did you stop the orcs, and take their equipment?"

Sartorius relented, and related the story of how he heard hoof beats twice. "So the evidence left behind us will show that they were attacked by orcs, and not us."

"The forest suits you Sartorius." Dahljanna said.

She took the plucked pheasant, and used Sartorius' working knife to gut the animal, and remove the entrails. Fresh water was used to clean the vacant abdominal cavity of the hen, and then Dahljanna took the spit, skewering the hen. She then hung the bird over the flames next to the pot. Soon the smell of sizzling pheasant wafted through the campsite.

Using an old shirt, Sartorius pulled the boiling pot of pheasant eggs from the fire to cool. Dahljanna went into her pack, and removed the last of her food. She shared the remnants of meat, bread, and cheese with her adventuring companions.

They waited for the bird to finish cooking on the spit.

"Where did you learn to shoot the bow you found?" Smythe asked.

"I took the time out to practice on the trail. That is how I found this pheasant, stumbled on it really. She was sitting quietly in her nest as I stood near her." Sartorius said.

"You could have fooled me, I thought you had been doing this adventuring stuff for many years."

"However long you have been adventuring. I am just glad you came when you did." Dahljanna said with a beautiful smile.

Drippings from the bird fell into the fire, and caused the flames to flare up. Dahljanna pulled the spit clear of the fire, and offered the wings and legs to her companions. The roasted flavor of the game bird was excellent. Soon, the bones were picked clean. The eggs were passed around, their shells quickly peeled, and the eggs consumed rapidly.

Sartorius felt better, now that he had eaten something. He lay back against a log considering the events of the past day, thanking the Protector for his safety. It was not long before the musician was asleep.

Dahljanna held her bow, and shouldered her quiver. Sartorius had not abandoned them, but had sacrificed something to allow them to gain safe passage. She had told Smythe to get some sleep. When both men were asleep, she doused the flames with water. Steam hissed as it rose from the small fire pit. The night passed uneventfully in the western spur of the elven forest.

So ends the fifth segment of The Lost Vale

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