725. Three's Company (Patreon)

They arranged a watch between the three of them, allowing them all proper sleep. In addition, Martel and Eleanor cast their own runes of warning around the entrance; along with those from Rolf, they would be well alerted if any enemy approached. They shared their last provisions with the bard, who greedily devoured everything they could spare.

Martel took first watch, which gave him an opportunity to study the skáld. He did not distrust the northerner; everything he had told the Asterians rang true, and if nothing else, they needed each other to get out of this place. But he was curious as to the powers that this bard possessed. Martel had taken the opportunity to look closer at some of the runes that he had finally discovered inscribed by Rolf on the walls, but he could not deduce their meaning or magic.

He knew the skálds used song somehow, but he could not quite guess how or for what purpose exactly. Even if he had not fought against a berserker, Martel could easily understand their role in a fight; they stood on the front line, dealing out mighty blows, much like mageknights did for Asterians. But he could not imagine that skáld had the destructive power that a battlemage or frostmage might possess. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

Glancing at Rolf, Martel saw a bard who looked past fifty; his hair, which had the feather of a black bird tied to a small braid, was blond in colour, making it hard to tell the grey from the natural hue, but the tanned face with its deep furrows spoke of a life spent on travels. Besides leather reinforced with lamellar to protect him in battle, he had two blades at his side.

For a man to enter a place such as this alone, he had to possess courage and powerful abilities alike. Yet still not of such strength that he could stand against the supposed monster roaming this labyrinth. Martel wondered if that suggested he might overestimate Rolf's capabilities or underestimate those of the vampire – if in truth they faced such a being.

***

When Martel woke, his spellpower had returned. Any pain or discomfort from the fight with the spectre upstairs was gone, a little to Martel's surprise; he had expected that would take days to recover. Rolf had mumbled something about his runes providing them with rest, but Martel had assumed he meant the wards would protect them, letting them sleep peacefully. He wondered if there was more to it, and whether the bard could teach such symbols to his new companions.

That was a question for once they got out; a battle lay ahead of them in unfavourable terrain against an unknown enemy defending its home. Martel looked at the mageknight and the skáld as they ate what remained of their provisions; Rolf had offered to hunt for rats, which Eleanor had politely declined.

"What's our plan?" Martel asked. "How is this fight going to happen?" Both he and Eleanor looked at Rolf.

"He's fast. I can't outrun him – without runes to interfere, I'd never have gotten away. He melts into the shadows, which are everywhere," the skáld warned them. "If he has powers beyond his gaze, I don't know."

Martel exhaled; the battlefield with the dark tunnels certainly favoured their enemy. "He'll try to stop us from reaching the other exit, I take it."

"We're his prey. Why would he let us leave? Especially if he can turn us against each other." The bard swallowed some water that Martel had pulled from the air into a small cup.

"We will need your light, Martel. Take away his shadows. Force him to fight us in the open or retreat. We are three spellcasters against one – he might not like the odds," Eleanor considered.

"He won't let us leave," Rolf reiterated with a mutter.

"What about our destination? His lair?" Martel asked.

The bard cleared his throat. "It's a room much larger than this, in the middle of the labyrinth. Two tunnels give entrance, from what you might call north and south. The shaft to our freedom is like an alcove into the eastern wall, where we can climb up. There are wards from the old wizards – I assume they keep the creature from escaping the way we intend to. Same reason it can’t leave where you entered." He shrugged. "What more is there to say? I saw the place only briefly before I had to flee, but it looked an empty room to me."

"He may try to strike before we get that far," Eleanor speculated. "We are vulnerable in the tunnels, with little room to manoeuvre. That is to his advantage."

Rolf nodded. "True." He looked at her. "If you, strong mageknight, lead the charge, I will bring up the rear." He turned his eyes on Martel. "I have spells to blunt the steel in battle. I should be safe, walking behind. You stay in the middle and kill, with your magic of fire."

"Sounds like a plan," the battlemage muttered. It did not inspire much confidence in him, but he had no better suggestion. It would have to suffice.

***

They set out. Eleanor moved in front, Rolf in the back, and Martel walked in between them. He was not entirely sure he felt comfortable having a near stranger behind him; they all walked with drawn weapons given the danger, and it would not take much for the skáld to swiftly strike at the battlemage. Unlike Eleanor, Martel could not keep his summoned shield going for long, protecting him from an unexpected strike; it would expire after a little while, and he would burn through his spellpower keeping it going.

He would have to trust Rolf, despite his instincts making a shiver constantly crawl up his spine. To help with that, he constantly used his sense of heat to feel the bard behind him, including any sudden movements, though he knew that with empowered speed, Rolf would probably be able to attack faster than Martel could react.

Every time they reached a corner, the skáld cast runes of warning to protect them from anybody sneaking upon them. Martel kept his flame shining atop his staff, and Eleanor threw their lightstone down every tunnel they reached, illuminating the path ahead. They took every possible precaution, guarding against an ambush.

Still, they did not notice the blade before it cut into Rolf, making the skáld fall to one knee with a pained groan.

~~

Martel's character sheet (no change).