But the sounds they heard manifested into no immediate threat, for whatever were those sounds soon faded away into the dusk of the evening's setting sun
They progressed further into the woods. It became obvious that while they would make up some lost time they would not be able to pass entirely through the woods in a single day.
In camp for the night Jayhawk described the chalice. It was a simple thing, forged of silver and etched with illustrations of the Hill People's past held dear to them. The chalice was used to hold water drawn from a particular spring that is the source of a small creek. Upon the death of any of the Hill People, water from the spring is poured from the cup onto the body of the dead person. The Hill People believe this releases the spirit of the dead person to ascend to the next world. Without the water, the spirit is forever trapped in this world and becomes merely a shade in the forest.
The theft of the chalice by the Lich King ensured those Hill People killed by his minions would wander the forest forever. Their bodies are long gone. Yet, it is said that the shades need only pass through the chalice filled with spring water to achieve the freedom they seek. "We are being asked to retrieve the chalice, fill it with spring water and enable the shades of the Hill People to pass through the chalice and ascend," concluded Jayhawk.
They sat in silence considering Jayhawk's words. Lysette was the first to move. She rose and left saying something about checking on her horse. Thoren, lost in thought, noticed her leaving but was distracted by Jayhawk's words about the plight of the Hill People.
Lysette saw to her horse, patting its flanks and rubbing the blaze on its head. She really liked this pretty chestnut mare and had given her the pet name, Leeta. This was the name of her best friend from her earliest years, before tragedy struck her parents and her home.
Thoren looked around. No Lysette. She shouldn't be on the edge of the camp alone he thought. He rose to check...
From out of the darkness a hand closed around Lysette's mouth. A familiar odor filled her nostrils and for the first time since the inn pure terror filled her mind. Roughly, she was being dragged away, her screams muffled by the hand on her mouth. There, a bit of flesh she could put her teeth into. The man bellowed in pain. Her former master loosened his grip just enough for her to pull herself free.
Suddenly there were two men. She was grabbed and shoved away by the shorter of the two, his blond hair brightly visible in the evening light. Knifes glinted in the modest moonlight as the two men circled, tense and alert. The taller man reached in with his knife. The shorter man parried and stepped back. Lysette felt others behind her. The camp had arrived after hearing the master's painfilled bellow. Thoren continued to dodge the bigger man's feints.
Then the master quickly closed the gap, rushing Thoren with his knife. Thoren deflected the master's arm, but the blade of the master's knife found the side of his arm and made its mark. Blood began to course down Thoren's arm even as the taller man tackled Thoren and drove him to the ground. Hands on each other's arms to stop knife thrusts, only Thoren's knee was free for defense. He brought this up with all of his strength into the master's gut. The taller man's breath whooosed out and he rolled over onto his back then staggered to his feet still gasping for breath. Thoren pulled himself up to his own feet as well.
The master rushed him again, but with less vigor than before. Thoren changed hands holding his knife, balled his fist and drove it into the charging man's stomach. The master fell to his knees once again gasping for air. Thoren aimed one last blow at the side of the master's face making full contact. The master toppled sideways and lay there, barely conscious.
Lysette ran to Thoren and put her slight arms around him crying into the cloth of his shirt. Thoren's injured left arm holding his hunting knife hung loosely at his side, but he placed his right hand on her head to comfort the crying girl. He was going to say something soothing to her, but an alarmed cry from Wendolin caught his ear.
The master had regained his consciousness and his knife. He had risen to his knees and had his knife by the point ready to be thrown into Lysette's back.
Thoren reacted immediately. He threw the girl to the side raised his injured left arm and let fly his knife straight into the chest of the master. The mortally wounded man made one last feeble effort to launch his own knife, but it fell harmlessly between the two men. The master toppled over, fell forward on the protruding knife and rolled over onto his back.
Lysette fainted away on the spot where she had fallen to her knees after being thrust there by Thoren. The blond Norseman simply sat down on the ground where he formerly stood as Wendolin and her friend rushed over to see to the pale, unconscious girl.
"Anybody have some spirits," asked Thoren. "The liquid kind, if you please." And he put his head down between his knees as his rush of adrenalin ebbed and now flowed back to its source.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 03-21-2000).]