by Daniel Olarnick, Joel Weichs Levy and Janice Jackson
Chapter IV
The Omniscient Voice: Our story thus far:
The Dark Conjurer, an ill-famed half-elf warlock escapes from his imprisonment. He makes powerful enemies of the Riders of the Night, a band of paid assassins, by hiring a rival and fearsome group of Minotaurs, who raid their stronghold, stealing their possessions, both sacred and profane. The Dark Conjurer now has enemies who have sworn to revenge his dark magic.
Jonathan Traveler, an alchemist, arrives at the Black Dragon Inn and plies his trade there. He is accompanied by his manservant, Meatus, who has proven to be a force that will have to be reckoned with.
An Amazon warrior, Elvira, and her husband, Lamas, arrive at the inn. The leader of the Riders of the Night is Lamas, but there are fractions within fellowship that would see him displaced.
Dworic, a werewolf of the highest order has been tracking the Dark Conjurer but loses his scent at the Black Dragon Inn due to unknown causes, mystical and otherwise.
The king’s taxmen are coming to collect back taxes owed by Karl Strange to the King of the Realm.
Captain Karl Strange and his Long Riders of the Stallion Patrol guard Talos Valley, as it is under attack by Karnak’s evil breed of Nightstalkers who have formed an unholy alliance with the Orc Kingdom.
The One-Eyed Demon of war is at full strength, and his followers are gathering in one of the secret valleys within Talos.
Lamas still seated at a table clutching his throat; his manservant, Mudden, grasping a dagger, swinging wildly at an unseen horror.
Therein lays our background story and now the perspectives.
Thus, our story continues:
*
The late afternoon sun cast its final rays across the face of Talos Valley. A tall redheaded woman watched the long shadows flowing like fingers reaching out from the deep forests seeking fresh prey, as she surveyed Talos from her vantage point, a mountain forest. The formation of the shadows, their unusual ebb and flow disturbed her. She examined the shadows looking for any enemy that might be waiting within. Finding none, she moved on towards the Black Dragon Inn.
The woman felt a slight shaking of the ground as a stagecoach approached The Black Dragon Inn. The stable hands rushed forward to assist the passengers into the inn and its series of fortified buildings.
The owner of the Inn, Captain Karl Strange, had taken great care to build the inn to withstand attacks from creatures known as the Nightstalkers, a creation of evil by the wizard Karnak. He had done his job well, she noted to herself.
Hellebore thought back to those friends she had lost during earlier times, added a silent prayers for their souls. She did not usually pray to any specific dragon-god. It had been her experience that those prayers went unanswered.
She knelt beside her companions, the wolves of the White Mountains, and sent them out to track the Nightstalkers.
With a sigh, she turned her path toward the Black Dragon Inn. She longed for a hot meal prepared by her friend Dora, and some human warmth and companionship.
*
Karl walked out to the stables, to check on the Treacherons and his riders. He examined the great beasts carefully; they were often the only creatures that stood between his riders and the dangers of Talos Valley. He called them his horses, but having four legs and flowing manes, would never make these creatures true horses.
Treacherons were carnivores beasts with eight-inch protruding fangs that they used for grabbing and killing their enemies, both animal and human; their cloven hooves were capable of tearing apart any attacker foolish enough to get too close. They were formidable in any battle. It took a solid hand to control their behavior and not lose a limb to carelessness.
*
Dora had spent the past two days preparing for the new arrivals, making sure to arrange for payment bonuses for the staff to see to the guests every need.
Exhausted from her efforts she filled her favorite cup with hot herbal tea and allowed her body to ample body to slump down for a well-deserved rest. Suddenly, she found herself bodily lifted off the stool she was about to sit upon.
"Now, old friend, how about some blood rare meat and a large slice of that fruit pie that I have been longing for?”
"Hellebore! Hellebore Reid!" Dora exclaimed in delighted surprise.
“In the flesh – well, clothed in my finest leathers, at least,” she said, her smile radiating.
Dora raced around the kitchen, as she gathered a huge platter of Hellebore's favorite foods, enough to satisfy even her infamous ferocious appetite, adding a flagon of dark blood red wine for Hellebore to drink away the dust of the road.
"Dora, you have outdone yourself yet again,” Hellebore spoke between mouthfuls of food.
Both women were so involved with their conversation they failed to see the new figure enter the kitchen. Then, just as Dora had done, Hellebore found herself lifted off her stool and turned toward a pair of deep blue eyes.
"Hellebore Reid, I was wondering when you were going to show up here at the inn." Karl whispered into her ear.
"Captain Strange, you have swept me off my feet, once again," Hellebore said, as she laughed aloud and planted a passionate kiss on Karl's full lips. "You are the only man I have ever met that can make me feel small and dainty."
To be fair, compared to most women, Hellebore simply stood out physically She was a warrior, who always carried knives in her waistband, or a tang sword over her shoulder.
Her hair was blood red and hung long, down to her waist; and matched her form-fitting, leather skinned, black warrior’s outfit, which somehow contrasted perfectly.
Karl looked her over and smiled, she had taken special care in dressing. "Hellebore, you are, indeed, very beautiful.”
Hellebore felt a slight tremor run through her body as she exchanged her kiss with Karl. Her cheeks turned red and her eyes filled with passion. “Not yet,” she thought.
Dora had not missed the sparks of passion that passed between Karl and Hellebore. It had long been her own secret desire to have Hellebore married off to Karl. Dora suffered from an excessively romantic mind. She was devoted to Karl and knew Hellebore would make a fine mate to the long-widowed Captain Karl Strange.
*
Hellebore held out her arm to Karl as he led her into the Great Hall’s dinning room. She knew all eyes were upon them, but her years spent in the woods had schooled her not to show emotion, even when the unexpected were to occur, but Elvira the Assassin in the Black Dragon Inn changed all that.
"Elvira? What in the name of all the dragon gods are you doing here?" Hellebore said as she came upon Elvira and Lamas.
The Amazon warrior looked up, a shocked expression upon her face, at being addressed so publically.
"Hellebore Reid, very far away from the Fyrestorm Mountains’ Forests, aren’t you? What may I ask are you doing here?”
“And the handsome gentleman sitting next to you is –“
"May I introduce you to my husband, Lamas. We are partners in the trade,” said Elvira, knowing full well that Hellebore knew the meaning of her “trade.”
“Ah, yes, the trade,” mused Hellebore. “And may I introduce to you Captain Karl Strange, my friend,” said Hellebore, tightening her grip on Karl’s arm, in a showing of possession.
“Honored to meet you both,” said Lamas, extending his hand towards Karl, their handshake grips firm and strong, perhaps a bit too strong and a bit too firm.
“And to you, lovely lady, an honor to meet you; your reputation is legendary,” said Lamas, kissing Hellebore’s hand, as he bowed.
Lamas was not pleased to be identified so publicly. His style was that of stealth and blending in, but so as not to draw any undo attention to himself, he had risen from his seat and extended the formal customary courtesies.
"I hope you enjoy the hospitality of the Black Dragon Inn. Captain Strange runs a safe house for travelers,” Hellebore said, as she gave Lamas a generous and flirtatious smile, knowing the action would silently inflame Elvira.
“Well, we must be off. I bid you good evening. I have other guests to greet before Dora sounds the dinner bell,” said Karl.
Hellebore gave Lamas another generous smile and bid Elvira good night.
“Perhaps, Hellebore, we might test each other one evening, just for Inn’s entertainment. Surely, you have not only your were-powers to rely on,” said Elvira.
“My sword and knives await your worthy competition at all times,” said Hellebore.
“Then to some evening, in the future, for entertainment’s sake, that is,” interrupted Lamas, as he sat down.
“To the darkness of the night,” said Hellebore, as she left with Karl to greet his other guests.
*
'She-Bitch,” Elvira hissed.
"She seemed as deadly as her reputation; which speaks of a warrior to avoid, Elvira," Lamas said, smiling at his mate.
"Men are always attracted to her – it is a scent that she gives off –“
“Perhaps, we should introduce her to Dworic, one of these evenings when the two moons are full in the sky. Then she will have the pleasures that she so richly deserves,” mused Lamas.
*
“Captain Strange,” said Dora, “those two women are not to be trifled with –“
"Redheads, what more can I say,” said Karl with a laugh.
"I do believe we are in for an interesting time." Dora spoke with a voice that quavered with held-in laughter.
"I have to get the staff to start clearing the outer pavilion if those two are going to reward us with an exhibition,” sighed Dora, already counting the coin that came with the rivalry that was brewing.
Dora had yet to plan the next day’s meals. She turned her eyes toward Karl Strange, saw the glow in his eye – “Redheads,” she heard him mutter -- she was going to have to make herself keep from laughing.
*
Hellebore slammed the door to her room shut. Her lips formed into a snarl. Elvira and her Raiders were paid assassins, but usually they stayed out of Talos, choosing to ply their trade in a less dangerous environ.
True, they sold their talents to the highest bidder, not caring what the duty was. Honor did not matter to assassins. Gold was their god, life was the commodity that they traded in, and even the lives of children could be taken.
She had long suspected that a paid group of hired assassins had been the cause of her family’s death, hired werewolf assassins, that is.
One day, she would have her revenge, one day Elvira would break the code of silence, and then – she closed her eyes in deep meditative sleep and dreamt of her changing.
She saw her bruised and battered body as she stumbled through a sacred forest region, while her village smoldered and burnt from the east. – A savage hoard of werewolves had plundered the village. Tears welled up in her eyes, not of sorrow but of revenge, retribution and justice.
She stumbled on and one, until she fell exhausted to the ground, propping herself up a giant oak tree.
Through her veil of tears and sorrow, she saw the forest come alive, as a mystical Green Man appeared in front of her, comforting her, soothing her wounds. He spoke to her mind, drawing forth the beast buried beneath her soul. Her body morphed into that of a Lycan, and she traveled the forest in the pale moonlight. As time passed the change was upon her, something she could control at will, but when the twin moons were full in the night sky that her powers were at their zenith.
*
During the next few days, the atmosphere at the Inn had changed to one of subdued watchfulness. By now, Hellebore knew that some spell or ward was cast upon the Inn, confusing even her Lycan senses.
There was heightened interest at the martial arts training grounds, as Elvira and Hellebore made sure to train at different times, respecting each other’s talents, vying not to allow the other a visual advantage.
*
Elvira came down to the dining room area, accompanied by Johnnie Traveler. Her husband Lamas and their manservant, Mudden, were conspicuously absent.
*
The tension in the atmosphere between Hellebore and Elvira were obvious to all.
Their martial arts skills were honed; their sword and dagger work had become the talk of the inn; their respective skills being displayed to all.
Wagers were placed throughout the inn regarding the outcome of the contest should the two finally test each other in the Black Dragon’s arena. .
Dora had wagered three silver crested crowns upon Hellebore, hiding the fact from Karl Strange who would never approve of her gambling, or so she thought.
*
Dinner was being served in the great room when screams were heard echoing throughout the inn from the upstairs rooms.
Silence ensued in the great room, as Karl and his guards, and various guests followed the blood curling screams to investigate.
Up the stairs they ran to the second level, a locked door barred their entrance, as Karl Strange kicked the door in.
There they found Lamas still seated at a table clutching his throat; his manservant, Mudden, grasping a dagger, swinging wildly at an unseen horror.
On the floor, beside a fallen table, lie one of Johnnie Traveler’s funeral urns.
*
The guards disarmed Mudden. Karl called for medical help. “Get one of the scribes up here immediately.”
Johnnie Traveler entered the room, following closely behind Hellebore. Seeing the alchemist, Elvira lunged for her halberd. Hellebore pulled matched daggers out in an act of defense, but Karl Strange stepped between the two adversaries.
“Lady Elvira, look to your husband’s wounds. I’m in command here.”
Johnnie Traveler bent down picked up the urn. “This is my property. I will take my leave, and return it to my room. Perhaps Lamas found my urn where thieves had left it and brought it to his room for safe keeping, unwittingly releasing the darling little creature it contains.”
“This inn and those within it are under my personal seal and protection,” said Karl. “What creature are you talking about?” The safety of my guests and their property come with my personal guarantee. Lamas is stricken with some poison; Mudden is maddened with fear. That is not acceptable. Where is that damned scribe?”
***
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