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"Disciple, step forward."
Hammish, eyes staring forward, did as he was told. His tail slowly waved back and forth, betraying his nervousness. The sun shone in the open air above the Court and reflected off of Hammish's gray scales. Upon reaching the appropriate distance, Hammish bowed. "Grand Master."
A slight smile almost started to form on the thin lips of Grand Master Glox, the man who had raised Hammish as his own son. In Hammish's blue eyes he could see love and admiration. Glox quickly studied Hammish. He saw rippling muscles beneath scales and flesh. Hammish's scales were still bright with youth, compared to his own that were now dull and faded. "Today you have been accorded the nineteenth rank in our honored Order of the Swifttails." The assembled Swifttail masters all bowed. "In honor of your newly attained status, we have a mission for you. Do you accept?" Glox's tail swayed slowly back and forth.
Although is face didn't show it, Hammish was ecstatic. He lived for the chance to prove his loyalty to the Court of Pain, especially to his adopted father, Grand Master Glox. He gave a slight nod of his head and replied, "Yes, Grand Master. I would be honored to accept this mission."
Glox was pleased. "Very well," he said, smiling. "Brother Zent traveled to the ruins of Old Sebilis via the Emerald Jungle in search of an artifact that would greatly help us repel the foul Sarnak that have once again invaded our lands."
"Yes, Grand Master," Hammish said. "I am familiar with Zent's mission."
The smile faded from the Grand Master's lips, turned itself into a frown. "Brother Zent should have returned yesterday. He has apparently gone missing." Hammish was beginning to see where this mission would take him. Grand Master continued, "We got word that he made it as far as the ruins of Kaesora on his way home." He straightened his body. "With the artifact," he added.
Hammish nodded his head. "So I am to find Brother Zent and return with him?"
"No, my son," the Grand Master replied. Hammish looked confused. "Brother Zent has failed in his mission. He has not only dishonored himself, but has dishonored the Order." The other Masters all nodded in agreement. "You are to find the artifact and return it to me." He could see the conflicting emotions in Hammish's eyes. Zent was like a brother to Hammish. The two had grown up together. As young broodlings they were inseparable. They would do anything for each other. However, loyalty to the Order came first and foremost.
"I understand, Grand Master," Hammish said, bowing. By dishonoring himself and his Brothers, Zent's life was now worth nothing. Hammish knew that if he wasn't already dead, he would have to kill Zent. It was the way of the Swifttails.
"You leave immediately," said the Grand Master. He motioned to one of the Masters, who walked forward. "We have provided you with some basic provisions." The Master handed Hammish a backpack, which he proceeded to strap on. "Anything else that you require you will have to provide for yourself."
Hammish bowed. "I will not fail you, Grand Master." He turned sharply on his heel and made his way out of the Court of Pain.
The Grand Master watched him leave, a gleam of pride in his dark red eye. "I know you won't, my son," he whispered to himself.
- - - -
As he made his way out of the eastern gate of the city of New Sebilis, Hammish again checked the straps of the backpack. Other than the clothes he wore, the small backpack was his only possession. He carried no weapon, for there were no stronger or more reliable than his fists and feet. He carried no shield, for there were none better than his shins and forearms. Hammish's body was a deadly weapon, honed by years of training to perfection. The monks of the Swifttail Order devote their loves to achieving mental, spiritual and physical perfection. They are masters of the martial arts, and their bodies are considered deadly weapons. Even at such a low rank as nineteen, Hammish could crack plates of steel with his bare fists.
The sun was shining, its fiery brilliance alone in the sky except for a few small wisps of clouds on the horizon. A gentle breeze was blowing; it was not strong enough to be a bother yet strong enough to rustle the leaves of the tress. Hammish glanced around at the place he called home.
There were several buildings just outside of the city gates. They were obviously very old. Their paint had long since faded and large portions of their walls were a myriad of cracks, like a spider's web. Some of the buildings even had large portions of them missing, having been damaged long ago in the wars against the evil dragon Trakanon. At the end of the courtyard a small dirt path wound its way down the hill to the Field of Bone. Along this path were several large marble columns that had long ago broken off at the base and lay in ruin. There were guards patrolling around, keeping guard for the bandits and marauders that had as of late been causing trouble. They were also there to keep an eye on the many young Iksar that ran around, hunting scaled wolf pups and emerald beetles. As he walked down the path, Hammish saw all this and smiled.
Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, Hammish found himself on the Field of Bone, a large heath devoid of any plant life. The path continued out across the moor to a place called The Pit. The Pit was a huge crater in the ground that once served as the water reservoir for Sebilis. It had long since dried up, its floor baked hard and cracked in the sun.
The Pit was a now a favored place for young Iksar to hunt and hone their skills. Hammish himself had spent many long days in The Pit perfecting his martial arts skills against bandits and roaming skeletons. One day Hammish had been collecting spider silk to weave into bandages when a Marauder had ambushed him. Zent had come to his rescue, fighting the Marauder off. Hammish owed his life to Zent . . .
Remembering his mission, Hammish glanced around his surroundings in deep concentration. He recalled that the Grand Master had said that Zent had made it at least as far as the ruins of Kaesora. The ruins were very near the entrance of the Emerald Jungle. Since Zent's mission took him to the ruins of Old Sebilis, he would have entered the Field from the Emerald Jungle. Hammish decided that was as good a place as any to start his search.
The Emerald Jungle was a day's journey from New Sebilis. One could get there relatively safely by skirting around the southern end of The Pit, and then going around the ancient ruins of the city of Kaesora. Only a very brave warrior, or a fool, would enter the ruins, as vastly powerful undead were now the only inhabitants. Hammish knew Zent to be of sound mind, and promptly banished the idea that his fellow monk would travel through the ruins of this lost and forgotten city.
Hammish reached the Emerald Jungle without incident. Immediately he set to the task of finding any traces of his friend. There were a great many tracks on the ground, mostly those of scaled wolves and scorpions. After a short while of searching, Hammish found what he was looking for. A set of tracks definitely belonged to an Iksar, and they were heading into the jungle. Grand Master had said that Zent had gotten to Old Sebilis by traveling through the jungle, so logically the tracks belonged to his friend. Hammish quickly noticed another set of Iksar tracks. This time they were heading out of the jungle. A quick comparison of the two tracks proved that they were from the same person. However, the second set, the ones leading out of the jungle, indicated that the Iksar walked with a slight limp in his right leg, and there were small marks indicitave of a tail dragging every few feet.
So, Hammish thought, Zent did make it back through the jungle, and he's injured. Hammish almost felt sorry for his friend. Then he remembered that he had failed in his mission, and therefore must pay the price of failure. Grand Master Glox does not tolerate failure, Hammish though, and neither do I.
Hammish continued to follow the tracks that lead out of the jungle. A short distance later there was evidence that a struggle took place near the wall of Kaesora. Zent's tracks met up with at least five other sets of Iksar tracks. It was hard to tell how many there were as the tracks were partly demolished in the fight. There were Iksar scales lying on the ground, and small spatterings of blood. The tracks led off to the north, towards the cliffs that bordered the Timorous Deep. As he started to follow the tracks, Hammish noticed the sun's rays reflecting off of something in the dirt. Crouching down, he examined the object. It was a small golden snout ring. The Iksar Marauders always wore these as a sort of insignia. There were some pieces of flesh attached, as well as a small amount of blood. One of the Marauders had apparently gotten his ring torn out in the fight. Way to go, Zent! Hammish thought.
It was painfully obvious to Hammish that Zent had been taken prisoner by the Marauders. Hammish had studied the Marauders, and felt truly sorry for his friend, should he still be alive. The Marauders were a vicious bunch, who took delight in torturing their victims before finally doing them in. Hammish had heard a story once that the Marauders kept one of their victims alive for over two years before finally killing him. They would break every bone in his body, use the magic of their shamans to heal him, and thens tart all over again. Hammish could not supress a shudder at the thought of Zent being tortured at the hands of these insane madmen. Even though he was condemned to die, Zent didn't deserve the treatment that the Marauders would give him. Hopefully, Hammish thought, I'll be able to find him and end his suffering quickly.
Hammish followed the tracks for two more days. They kept to the eastern edge of the Field of Bone, near the trees. Hammish had been able to make out seven sets of tracks, including Zent's. The tracks were fairly fresh. Good, thought Hammish. Zent is slowing them down. A short time later, Hammish found something that made him worry.
Three sets of tracks emerged from the trees and started following those of the Marauders'. The new tracks were lage, very large, and belonged to adult scaled wolves. Scaled wolves were dangerous as pups. Adults were deadly. Following the tracks, Hammish's tail swayed back and forth in anticipation.
As he came over a small hill, the sight Hammish beheld left him speechless. Six Marauders lay dead, their bodies scattered about like rag dolls. They were mangled almost to the point of being unrecognizable. Tails were ripped off, throats slashed open. Blood and scales were everywhere. The Marauders had been able to take down one of the wolves; it's huge green form was sprawled out on the ground, countless slashes and gouges covered its body. They were lucky to have killed even the one.
Hammish, coming to his senses, dropped to the ground in a defensive crouch. The two remaining wolves could still be around. He sniffed the air; the sweet scent of blood permeated his nostrils. He couldn't hear anything but the birds. A good sign. Standing up, Hammish slowly approached the scene of the carnage. He couldn't find Zent anywhere. He was thinking that the scaled wolves may have dragged him off when he heard a moan coming from the bushes.
Zent crawled out from beneath the foliage. He had a deep gash above his left eye and dried blood caked his face like a mask. Several of his teeth were missing. Seeing Hammish, he tried to stand. A ragged slash in his right leg sent a bolt of pain throughout his entire body and he crumpled to the ground.
"Zent!" Hammish gasped and ran forward. "You're alive!"
Another moan from Zent. "Heh . . .yeah."
"You failed your mission, Zent."
Zent swallowed hard. "I know." Zent looked to the ground. "You were sent to fine me?"
"No. I was sent to recover the artifact, and to make sure you are . . ."
"Executed?"
"Yes."
Zent made a motion with his hands. He handed a ring to Hammish. "This is the artifact Grand Master sent me to recover. I know nothing of it, save it turns invisible when you wear it. That's how they," he motioned to the corpses, "didn't find it." Hammish put it on and it vanished instantly.
"Zent, I . . ."
"No, brother. Words are not needed. I am ready."
"No, Zent. I can't do this!"
"But--"
"I've made up my mind, Zent. I have a raft hidden on the beach. You know the spot?" Zent nodded. "Good, take it. You can escape. You can live!"
"But you'll fail your mission, Hammish. Glox will execute you himself."
"I don't care. We've been through too much together, Zent. I owe you my life more times than I can ever repay." He grabbed Zent and helped him to his feet. "Take the raft and sail the ocean. Perhaps you'll make all the way to Faydwer . . .and if not, you're no worse off than dying here, right now, right?" Zent nodded.
"Thank you . . .friend," he said. Hammish didn't respond. Zent stared at his fellow monk for several moments. When he could feel tears start to well up in his eyes, he turned and slowly limped his way across the short distance to the beach.
Hammish smiled. "Goodbye, friend."