Epilogue to Episode 29
"Nightfall"
(c) 2001 J. Sage Schreiner
 
The list of the dead and missing from the attack on Nyborg is very long. Groa 
reads it impassively as Grimm, Thorfinn's steward, stands beside her. When she 
finishes, she begins again and then stops herself half-way through, unable to read 
further.
 
Groa: This is... What happened? Were the boats sunk?
Grimm: Yes, Groa. Sunk under ice, lost at sea, charred into hulks. A few made it... 
At least the enemies warships and knorrs were destroyed. They cannot strike back.
Groa: But we are almost defenseless. We have lost the best and bravest. Rognvald... 
Thorfinn... Gylf, the old priest of Lendor...
Grimm: A few were scattered into the woods.
Groa: ... where they were... consumed by the Wendol.
Grimm: The cold broke soon after the attack. The Wendol cannot survive a thaw -- or 
so it is said. A few survivors of our men have signaled boat patrols, or stolen boats 
from local fishermen and made their way back. Less than a dozen, but there may be more. 
And the Baron of these islands may be among them. A man who was at the heart of the battle, 
has a story of Thorfinn. I trust him -- I've known him for a long time. Bring Ulfsson in.
 
A large, bearded man is brought in. His arm is bandaged and he looks immensely tired.
 
Ulfsson:  My queen. Honored.
Groa: I am not a queen, Ulfsson. Tell us what you have seen.
Ulfsson: I was an oarsman on the Lord's warship, the Kestrel. We, all the ships, 
rounded the point with cloth-muffled oars. Sun wasn't up yet -- hours still. Wind 
from the Sou'west, like we hoped. To hide the noises of the boats. A strange thing 
about the wind that I remember: it brought with it the smell of dust, like I remember 
on a voyage from the far south, and it was warm -- did not have the bone chill of 
all winds this winter. We thought it odd, but couldn't tell if it was good or ill 
omen, but I felt uneasy. It was unnatural. We made it very close to the shore before 
the alert went up, rowed hard and beached the Kestrel just under the keep. I... I... 
can't speak for most, but I jerked my sword out of its sheath and started running 
with the others up the steep stairs to the keep. As you know, we had landed inside 
the main wall. A few guards got in our way, but we cut them down. 
Groa: Go on.
Ulfsson: Then it started. Massive cracks of thunder, white flashes, fire, the smell 
of brimstone and char. From just over the wall. It wasn't aimed at us, thank the 
gods. Yet. The guards put up a solid resistance in the courtyard -- their training 
ground I think, and they were good soldiers -- well equipped, well trained, experienced. 
But they were surprised, and we out numbered them at first. Thorfinn was with us every 
step. He was a great man, Queen. Victory was very close -- Thorfinn slew a raging dwarf 
-- their leader, I believe -- and they began to break. They were only mercenaries, 
after all. Then in a crack of white fire, a dozen men beside me dropped dead.
Grimm: Fires of the arcane, aye?
Ulfsson: ... or a doorway the Nine Hells the priests of the new gods tell us of. 
Thorfinn yelled for us to hold the line, and then he and the old priest engaged... 
something. I could not see it. Perhaps from the darkness. But we had our own problems 
with the mercenaries. After a time of fighting I let another man take my place and 
stepped into the shadow of a smithy to rest my arm and catch my breath. I found I was 
wounded -- this little cut to my arm -- I hadn't even noticed in the heat of battle.
I saw Thorfinn leaning heavily on his sword, and his own blood ran down the ancestral 
heirloom. The old priest was stricken and dying on the frozen mud. In front of them 
was a strange, terrible looking man -- there was a look on his face of frustration and 
rage. He was doing something in the air with his fingers -- trying -- and nothing 
happened. Thorfinn stepped forward to slay him, the man leapt forward -- I saw a flash 
of something small in his hands -- and pricked the baron. Thorfinn struck him down 
with the sword, cut the man from his shoulder to his sternum. .
Groa: Bring him mead.
Ulfsson: (gratefully accepts the mead, and downs it and a second horn quickly). My lord 
Thorfinn was bitterly poisoned. I could see it in the way he staggered, clutched at 
things in the air. It disheartened us, and we couldn't hold the line. There were too 
few of us left and there were too many of them. We ran; I saw some carrying Thorfinn. 
I was wounded by arrow and sword slash or I would have helped. Our dishonor, Queen. 
We ran like fishermen from a fall gale.
Groa: Continue.
Ulfsson: The air was warming, like something had suddenly lost its grip over the land, 
but it wasn't a good warming -- wasn't spring. It filled us with fear -- and the 
mercenaries as well. They had little heart to pursue. Most of our boats were burning 
from arrows from the keep. The Kestrel was holed and sunk from the siege engines on 
the keep's towers. Some men surrendered. Some of them were cut down. But at least we 
had destroyed most of their boats. I could see an orange glare for the town's waterfront, 
where the shipyards burned.
Grimm: How did you escape?
Ulfsson: Into the water. It was cold beyond imagining, but I didn't die. I made it 
into the town. Some men -- cutpurses, or cutthroats -- took me in. I saw a man, very 
ugly, beaten badly a long time ago, but I didn't hear his name spoken though he seemed 
in command. There were three of us from the attack in their hideout. One, a boy, died 
before I could learn his name. The other escaped with me the following night with the 
help of the cutthroats. We followed the coastline for two days until we saw a boat of 
the island, crewed by women and boys. They brought us here.
Groa: Wendol? Wolves?
Ulfsson: We heard the wolves, but saw nothing of the wendol. The frost had broken and 
our feet were guided by the old gods.
Groa: Thank you Ulfsson. Grimm, reward him with golden arm-rings.
Ulfsson: (leaves)
Grimm: The ambassador from the general in the south is here. Thorfinn had asked --
Groa: Shalister?
Grimm:  Yes. I didn't know you knew...
Groa: I knew. I convinced Thorfinn that we should speak treaty with the him. But let 
the ambassador wait until tomorrow and learn his place. Tell me more of the killing 
of the King's children. What did the merchant say about the preparation of defense in 
the Ratikhill pass? Is the snow in the pass melting? And what of the rumor of new 
horrors awakened in the far north? And of the priests whose prayers go un-answered? 
Tell me, Grimm, or find me more people who can. We must know where things stand.
Grimm: Yes. You know the difficulties... we are so far from everything...
Groa: Do it. Our survival rests on it.

Grimm lets her be. The pale-blue sky yellows and darkens into an uneasy winter 
evening. The little moon, Celene, has been dark since the strange night weeks ago.
 
Grimm leaves food for Groa, but does not disturb her. The torches in her chambers 
are unlit. Much, much later, he sneaks into to cover her from the cold, and her 
bright eyes scold him for bothering her.
 
Across the sea, below even the dungeons, in dark, cold catacombs, a torch flickers.
 
Guard #1: I hate it down here. I'm going to take leak up in the dungeon. I'll be back 
in a minute.
Guard #2: [snores]
Norel: Pssst... Tron... are you okay? Tron?
Nigel: [whispers] The mage kept asking me about the cup as they tortured me. I told 
him everything. I'm sorry.
Sapphire: [whispers] Me too. Maybe he'll go after Gabriel? How are we going to get 
out of here? I'm chained and can barely move.
Norel: I'm chained, too. And I remember a lot of twists and turns when they brought 
us down here. I don't know how we're going to find our way out. Psst... Tron.
Nigel: They brought him back awhile ago. He was unconscious. He probably said 
something... unwise.
Norel: Don't provoke them. We can't give up hope.
Sapphire: I hear the second guard coming back! Shhhhh!
Guard #1: [returns] Hey, I heard you! No food today for any of you. Or water.
Sapphire: [mutters something in gnomish]
Guard #1: That's it. Ball gag for you for a month. See how you like that, you 
nasty little... uhh... thing.
Sapphire: [snarl]
 
Days pass unmarked in the darkness, each blending to the next without sign. In 
the darkness it is impossible to tell how time passes. Food is watery soup with 
a piece of rotted turnip. On a lucky day it might be a sick rat, or something 
less appetizing. The prisoners are slowly starving and their wounds fester in 
the putrid air. Hope fades. But hate keeps them warm.
 
Across the wind torn channel.
 
Groa: Let me speak to the two who came from Marner with the supply-ship. You 
said they were fortune seekers, but not braggarts like most. They may be of 
some use. There may be prisoners, and with the help of the beaten-man... 
Grimm: As you wish.
Groa: And Grimm?
Grimm: Yes.
Groa: The answer is no.
Grimm: You'll have to marry someone. Women can't rule. They don't have the stomach 
for it. [Leaves for a moment, then shows in two hooded figures that are indistinct 
in the dim light of Groa's paper-strewn chambers]
Groa: I have arranged for a contact in Nyborg for you. His name is Helge. He has 
told me there are survivors of the attack in dungeon of the keep, and the catacombs 
below. He will find a way for you to enter. I don't know how. You will be rewarded.
Hooded figure #1: Well rewarded, I hope.
Hooded figured #2: We leave tomorrow morning.
 
They leave.
 
Groa: The spy from the mainland we caught -- have we got any more information from 
him?
Grimm: It's clear that he was hired by this wizard to scout our defenses. He 
admitted that he worked for a traveling merchant that had wintered in Nyborg, also 
a spy, perhaps? But nothing else of value for days -- he tells us whatever he thinks 
we want to know.
Groa: Have his lungs cut from his chest while he still lives so that he can see 
himself take his last breath. Let the people watch and be warned.
 
 
 
This is written in the ancient records of that age:
In these uneasy spring days, when the moon Celene is gone, the elvish bards 
sing a new song: it speaks of upheaval in the god-realms. Of a winter that had 
covered all the lands of the Flanaess, and perhaps beyond, that had desperately 
held evil locked within its icy grasp. Of two brothers, mortal enemies, fighting 
side-by-side for their very survival. Of a temptress and her dark-lord who have a
woken a greater evil that devours all it touches. Of gods consumed and their picked 
bones spat into wastelands beyond human knowing. Of two ancient artifacts lost to 
malevolent hands, and a trinity almost completed.
 
TO BE CONTINUED...