View source for Rhionne BW XXXII

Rhionne not only has a vision, but he seems able to interpret thoughts and feelings of those in the images in his mind.

The Gnome’s plan was simple enough, perhaps even obvious. The surprise was not on the battlefield, in fact that was but a ruse. No, it would seem Hintzu was the surprise.  Once the decision had been made at the council of Caladhon, things had moved rapidly. Troops had broken camp, orders passed and the journey begun.  It was less than a week since the Demon fled the plains before Morgul; the victory celebrations had been short but no less raucous for that.

The path south was easy enough, across the battlefields that had seen many wars down the years, indeed, ages. Keeping the saw-tooth mountains of Fangor to their right, the legions moved together in columns or on horse: men, dwarf, gnome and halfling. It was clear that Demogorgan had pulled right back into the southern-most range in Rodrus and had engulfed the high fortifications of Minas Maedus.  The ancient tower stood, dark, proud and silent, staring across Eriador.

Little was known of the fate of its once proud and mighty inhabitants, so speculation had been rife; only Marin seemed utterly convinced that they were alive.  For his part, Hintzu was uncertain but agreed that they could not be abandoned. He realised now that was his mistake: voicing his thoughts openly after the council sealed his fate with Marin’s. That was how he now found himself in a cold, wet, dark sewer, unable to see more than a few inches in front of his face and bent double.  If they met the enemy in here, then he could do little - apart from curse them, perhaps. It was rare for the monk to gripe and moan, but this seemed the most appropriate occasion.

“How much further in this stinking hole, Marin?” he whispered.

“Not far my friend,” came the oft-repeated and totally unsatisfactory reply.

“Sshh,” hissed the scout, “we are at the cellar.”

“You see?” whispered the dwarf King.

Hintzu was ready – he had been for hours.  Every muscle was taught; if he was not so well trained his adrenaline would cause him to shake.  He glanced around - all the dwarves were the same: on edge, ready.  They shuffled as quietly as a score of heavily armed and armoured dwarves might, down the effluent-ridden passage.  Eventually they came to a grate above their heads; two of the dwarves had already prised it open and were rewarded with a great dump of excrement, which they wore proudly on their helms. Hintzu went forward silently and pulled himself up and moved effortlessly into the cellar above.  No sign of friend or foe.  The cellar was empty – not even a crumb was visible on the flagstone floor. No rats either, perhaps they had been eaten, but by who or what?

“Get a grip!” the monk whispered to himself, “this place was not a crypt…no chalk required here…what am I thinking about?” Hintzu moved slowly, silently, in the shadows. “Well, it looks OK…” the monk called softly over his shoulder, before he turned to see if he was being followed. “Pssst,” he called again, “are you coming?”   

“Is it safe?” asked Marin.

“What?” the monk was incredulous, “how do I know? I can’t see a thing!” Hintzu was almost losing control.  In the dark his other senses were heightened, including his sense of smell unfortunately. Then he heard it: an extremely faint scraping noise, or was it a tapping..? “Wait” he whispered to the dwarf Lord who was about to start his ascent.

“What is it?” asked Marin.

“Sshush” hissed Hintzu, but before the last breath escaped his mouth he struck.  Like lightning, his reflexes brought the lajatang into a blocking position over his right shoulder. Swinging around, Hintzu pushed away whatever lashed out of the darkness at him before spinning the weapon over and smashing the blade into what he sensed was a sizeable enemy. The twang of a crossbow was crystal clear and the explosion that followed the impact of the quarrel was stunning. In an instant the whole room came into sharp relief: doors, walls, flagstones, vaulted ceiling, lots of barrels, and one great big, black, bat-winged demon.  Two more blows, from Hintzu’s lajatang, was all it took to return the foul abomination back to the abyss. 

The darkness came back in like a tide.  Hintzu’s ears rang as he stood still controlling his breathing and trying to tune his senses once again. 

“Thanks,” he whispered sarcastically, before groping his way towards where he believed a door to be. The dwarves climbed noisily into the room; “to your right, Hintzu,” called Marin.

“Yeah, thanks,” still partially dazed, the monk’s humour was yet to return. He reached out and found the iron ring-handle, which he turned slowly, silently. The dwarves all stood still, barely breathing but ready. Not that the monk could see them, but he appreciated their stealth.  The door scraped on the flagstones as it swung inwards under the monk’s power. The smell of death was powerful, the war cry stunning, the flash of lightning tore at the fabric of the darkness and the searing heat was enough to strip flesh. Hintzu immediately regretted opening that door.

His thoughts turned to his first meeting with Arienne.  She was dressed in her deep, blue-green gown, over which she wore a blood-spattered apron.  He was immediately captivated by her smiling, compassionate face, which was framed in that moment by her long, wavy, blond hair.  She looked at him, eyes penetrating his soul; eventually reaching out to remove his torn robe and dress his wound.  How many times had that image come to his mind in the last week? What was he to do?  To fulfil all his teachings and through all his life he had shunned love – for it undermined the single pursuit of human perfection. But the temptation had never been presented so powerfully; never had he met such an angel: beautiful, kind, compassionate, loving. Was love not perfection? Was not the union of two stronger than a single entity?  How Hintzu wished he was with her now, back in those healing houses in the heart of Morgul. 

The first blow was easily deflected as it was accompanied by a blast of fire that illuminated the room beyond, setting all closest to Hintzu in sharp relief. Not that he relished the sight.  The replacement of the vision of Arienne with the hideous apparition that he now confronted was painful for the monk – as if he had lost her forever to some evil force. The second blow avoided the monk’s parrying blade and struck him in the chest. The great demon’s claw tore at his flesh but, luckily, failed to grip enabling Hintzu to twist before its great maw ripped off his head. Another massive explosion smashed into the enemy angering them more. Hintzu focussed, setting about the destruction of the giant evil beasts.  Blow after blow hit their target, renting and smashing the demons back to the abyss. 

The dwarves were not idle; hurtling into combat, they drove the enemy back and divided their ranks. Bursts of fire at the end of their magic quarrels, magical axe blades that cleaved limbs and tore demonic flesh, hammers that smashed and crushed bone all took their toll on the hideous foe. Hintzu found space to swap weapons as the dwarves rushed in. The slaughter of the enemy began – lit by fires that glowed throughout the room he was able to pick out targets with deadly accuracy. It was not long before they had vanquished the enemy.

“Well, here we are…” whispered Marin, “now what?”

The monk squirmed inwardly and thought, ‘why is it always up to me?’  He paused before answering, hoping the question was rhetorical. “I guess we try an exit,” he said looking around, “I guess we have lost any chance of surprise; indeed, they seem to know we were coming.” 

“Indeed,” replied the dwarf and, nodding towards the far door, continued, “perhaps we should head west, into the mountain?”

“After you,” offered the monk.

The vision cleared leaving just voices in Rhionne’s head:

“When will I see them?” a female’s voice asked desperately.

“When my Queen gives her permission,” the response was harsh. 

“I have done all that you required of me,” sobbed the female.
The male voice mocked, “I beg to differ Arienne, you may have befriended the Monk but you have yet to secure his affection; he has not accompanied you to this meeting.”

“No, but you know where he has gone,” she continued to plead.

The tone became harsher, “Yes, into the arms of the Demon; not exactly what my Queen asked of you.”

Desperation boiled over, “You cannot keep doing this! You promised!”

Unmoved the male voice replied, “Once you deliver your side of the bargain, my Queen will deliver hers.”

After a brief pause to pull herself together, the female asked, “They are safe?”

“They are; would it help you to know that they work directly for my Queen?  Your parents have proved to be highly valued members of her court.  Their skill is sublime apparently.”