Chapter 16: Warrior 4

Toril pulled the white canvas cloak tighter about him. The others of the small party seemed to remain in their own little worlds, with only the human rogue and the half-elf ranger conversing in any normal way. The last member of the small band was a human also, and a sorcerer to boot. There was a deep sadness about the human magick user, a great loss hung about him like a shroud. It tugged at his sense of compassion to see one in such pain. The small encampment they had was shielded by the ranger's magick, and kept close in the twilight for warmth. The Ranger kept watch for anything that might be looking for them, and the Rogue and the Sorcerer sat together and spoke in hushed tones.

"Are you alright?" The Ranger spoke.

Toril focused on the warrior and nodded once. He did not want to get close to the others, despite the fact that they would all be soon counting on each other for their very lives.

"We'll wait here for a few hours yet." The Ranger spoke, turning to face the entrance. "Most of the ork patrols will be gone by midnight. It will be the coldest time, but only the undead will be about."

"Great." The Rogue spoke. "Corpse-sickles."

"The undead are not to be taken lightly Kieron." The Ranger spoke. "While those we might face are mere zombies, ghouls, and skeletons, they are on the low end of the scale as it were. The real threats-"

"-are the liches, wraiths, and vampires." Toril finished, looking up. "Those you spoke of can be fooled, but the last; the last would take much more than a mouthful of salt to stop."

The Ranger knelt down on his heels. "Correct." He spoke. "I am Aerick, the thief is Kieron and the mage is Savren."

Toril shook his head. "I remember. The good General introduced us all."

"I take it you have some idea of what we face?"

"Yes. The good Lady Murelle made sure I knew everything of what we might encounter."

"Any special training?"

"Does being a fallen Paladin of Sioban count?"

"Fallen?"

"Somewhere I lost my faith."

"Then we'll just have to help you find it again." Kieron spoke.

"It isn't that simple." Toril replied.

"You'd be surprised." Kieron closed his eyes. "All you have to do is just believe."

Toril settled down and stared at the icy ground.

He hated being a non-entity in the keep. He felt as if he was slowly being pressed into nothingness, like his very being was being torn into small pieces. To the inhabitants of the keep he was lower than dirt, something to be ignored, at best tolerated. Oh, he was fed from the table of the Duchess, and had a good bed to sleep in, but it hurt him inside. The Duchess said nothing of his treatment, only drilled him on his knowledge of warfare and battle. It seemed to her he was nothing but a tool, a living weapon. He began to crave those sessions with her. She became a focus for him, a link of sorts to the world.

It boiled down to an obsession.

The moon crested high in the night sky as the four slowly made their way further into the icy realm. It was a slow march, with Aerick taking the lead, followed by Kieron and Savren. Toril followed up the rear. It would be several days before they reached the Castile, and the pace set by the Ranger meant it would be a while before they breached the ancient fortress's defenses. The Rogue would plan out the penetration as they went, and the Sorcerer would prepare several spells in advance for the assault. Toril's function would be the main assault and gate crasher. The Ranger would provide assistance to who ever needed it.

He fell into a rhythm of walking in the snow, following the tracks made by the others as to maximize effort. Right... Left... Right... Left... it seemed like an endless trek across an unchanging landscape. The white of the north seemed to blind his soul and mirror the confusion he felt. Who was he, really? Was he truly a paladin? Or was he simply as the Duchess had said, a spoiled nobleman who was expendable with delusions of grandeur. The others, they all seemed so sure in their own identities, he mused.

The days seemed to merge one after the other as they slowly marched towards the Castile. It became repetitive, which he did not mind. It gave him time to think and wonder.

"Want to talk about it?" Kieron matched step with him in the darkness.

"How do you do it?" Toril glanced at the young human.

"Do what?"

"Deal with your situation."

Kieron shrugged. "I guess it is how I was raised."

"You weren't raised in the Empire."

"No, but my parents were of the Empire." Kieron shrugged. "What did your parents do?"

"My father is an officer in the City Militia, and my mother is now a Temple Healer." Toril stared into the darkness. "My family is of the Nobility, but not of the Great Houses."

"But your parents were a love-match, correct?"

"Yes."

"It makes a difference." Kieron pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head. "Those born of arranged marriages are not as emotionally developed as those born to love-matches."

"Are you saying my problem is emotional in nature?"

"No, your problem is in more dealing with surrender."

"Surrender?"

Kieron sighed. "You are a strong personality, a credit to your upbringing. However, for a male to survive in the Empire requires a great deal of surrender, or in your case, a great deal of surrender to your goddess. You haven't accepted it yet."

Toril shook his head. "It isn't that simple."

"Your right, it isn't. It isn't easy either."

"How do you do it?"

"What, surrender?"

"Yes."

"THAT, is something only you can figure out. We are all different, all individuals in their own way." Kieron blew out his breath. "For me, I fell in love."

Toril pondered the words of the young human. Despite his age, he seemed to be quite wise. He assumed that the short life spans of humans gave them an edge, as opposed to the millennia of life granted to the Sun Elves. His thoughts about the human's words troubled him. Was he in fact resisting his Goddess? Did he really want to be a Paladin after all? In his heart he knew he had to make a decision, and the memory of his beautiful mate slowly tipped the scales.

For three days and nights they traveled the endless white. On the dawn of the third day they ran into a patrol of Orks. Aerick waved them down as he drew his bow. Toril inched his way forward, sword drawn and ready. Behind him Kieron loosened his own blade as Savren tightened his grip on his staff. Six Orks passed their position, muttering amongst themselves in their guttural tongue. The white camouflage they work concealed them perfectly against the broken dawn landscape. And they remained motionless until the patrol passed beyond the ridge of the ice valley.

"We could have taken them." Toril spoke softly to the Ranger.

"Yes, and that would have alerted them to our presence." He scanned the terrain before them. In the distance a black spire rose above the crevasses and ridges of ice. "Our best chance for survival relies solely upon stealth right now. Once we breach the defenses, Kieron takes the lead and we destroy this crystal, then you can make all the noise you want."

"What happens once we destroy the crystal?"

"We run."

The rest of the party gathered close.

"Alright," Aerick spoke. "We are about six leagues to the Castile. I would rather wait here until nightfall and approach the Castile, but we are rather pressed for time. We will move very slowly towards the Castile along the ridgeline. That should provide us with some cover. Kieron, I want you to follow up the rear and watch our backs. I'll lead, followed by Toril then Savren. Any questions?"

"And we get in the Castile how?"

"I originally planned to make the assault by scaling the outer walls of the fortress." He placed a hand on the ground. "However there are some problems with that plan that would expose us to unnecessary danger, too many Ork patrols and the fact that there are more sentries on the walls that anticipated. But there are some old sewers in the fortress; at least they were when the Castile was built. During the abortive rebellion I was shown the original plans of the Castile, and was asked to plan an assault that way."