Chapter Three

Chapter Three
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    Brandis and Lia set out within minutes.  Lia explained as they mounted their magically sped-up horses, that Brandis had been dead a full year, and that Zen’dik had already gone on foot, seeking the arrowhead of the Light, which was the only weapon powerful enough to defeat Zen’dik’s sister at this point.
    Brandis spurred his horse to follow Lia, who was tracking Zen’dik’s trail.  Though the tiefling was certainly able to disguise his trail, he hadn’t done so, perhaps for the very purpose of allowing Brandis and Lia to find him.
    Brandis and Lia traveled for days, moving with incredible speed through plains, forests, and mountinous regions.  On the third day of their travel, they found Zen’dik.
    Brandis was asleep, his horse simply following after Lia’s.  The wizard had not fallen asleep during the entire time that the two had been traveling.
    He was dreaming of sitting in a tavern.  The mercenary walked up to the bar.  “I’ll take a flask of your finest ale,” he said, “And some milk for my son.”
    The barkeeper, a middle-aged man and former soldier named Edfrith Toeberry, nodded and pulled out a flask of ale, then handed it over.  He went towards the door to his home, which was connected to the tavern, and called, “Could you bring me some of the cow’s milk for a customer?”
    “Yes, Edfrith, I’m coming,” came the response.  A woman in blue robes made an appearance, holding a bucket which contained milk almost up to the rim.  She placed it on the table, then held out her hand, palm up, on the table.  “That’d be six iron coins,” she said.
    Brandis grunted, reached into the coin purse strapped to his waist, and counted out six iron coins, dropping them into the woman’s hand.  He took the flask of ale and the bucket of milk, then walked towards the table where Tom, his child, was sitting.
    “Here’s your milk,” he said, placing the bucket on the table and taking a swig of his ale.  “Enjoy, and stay out of trouble.  I’m going to have a little word with that man over there.”  He pointed at a drunkard who was making threats against two others.
    “Now look here, Nicholas, you’ll find none of your ‘stolen possessions’ in here,” said one man, backing up nervously.
    Brandis walked into the center of the group.  “You, Nicholas, are out of line.  Do you know what I do to people who step out of line here?”
    The man laughed.  “Indeed, but you won’t.  You realize that you’re just another pawn of that Toeberry b*****d, and you don’t want to kill another person for his sake.  I can tell.”
    “He’s a bit--” said the other man, then tapped his fist against his head.  “Even when he’s not drunk.”
    Brandis nodded.  He grabbed the man by the shoulders, hefted him up, and headbutted him.  The man flew out of Brandis’s hands and landed on the ground about ten feet away.
    “No more fights!” he yelled, walking back to the table where Tom was sitting.
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    “Brandis!” Lia called.  “Brandis!  Wake up!”
    Brandis’s eyes popped open.  “I’ll have some more ale,” he muttered.
    “Brandis,” Lia repeated, “Wake up.”
    Brandis shook his head violently, then looked up at Lia.  “What’s going on?”
    Lia gestured towards the motionless tiefling lying in the sand.  “We’ve found Zen’dik.”  The sun beat down on Brandis, which he hadn’t noticed until now, as he was only fully awake after he heard Zen’dik’s name.
    Brandis and Lia were in a desert.  Brandis reached for his waterskin and took a gulp out of it, hoping for the refreshing feeling of cold water sliding down his throat.
    “The water’s already warm.  Whoever made these waterskins is a terrible craftsman.”
    Lia nodded, then pointed her staff at the waterskin Brandis was holding.  The mercenary’s hand suddenly felt cold.  Brandis eagerly lifted the waterskin to his lips.
    Brandis dismounted his horse and walked over to Zen’dik.  “Is he dead?” he asked.
    Lia shook her head.  “He’s suffering from a heat stroke, though.  I cooled him down, but I can’t directly cure a stroke.  We’ll have to wait until he recovers before we can continue.”
    And wait they did.  To keep Zen’dik from getting worse, and Brandis from falling unconscious, Lia created a fire which would absorb heat rather than radiating it, lowering the temperature.  The fire still produced light, though.
    In the middle of the night, Zen’dik awoke, staring up at the night sky of the desert while he felt at his forehead.  He was still suffering from a fever, though it wasn’t as extreme as when he had collapsed in the desert earlier.
    It was then that Zen’dik became aware of the cold fire next to him.  He only knew of one person who could create such a thing...
    “Lia?”
    The elf groaned, rolled over, and woke up.  “Who’s that?” she asked.  “Zen’dik, is that you?  Of course it’s not, he’s dying....”
    “It’s me.”   
    Lia’s eyes popped open.  “It is?  Zen’dik, you’re alive?  Have you found the arrow?”
    “No,” muttered Zen’dik, “but I know now where it is.  The arrow rests somewhere within the town of Eldon, which is near here.”
    “In the morning,” responded Lia,”you must lead us to that town.”
    Zen’dik nodded.
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    The town of Eldon awoke when light first shined through the window of the guard captain.  He rose from his bed quickly and without a word, then shouted out to the guards who slept nearby, “Wake up, ye lazy humans!” he shouted, grabbing his axe of of the nearby weapons rack and slamming the tip of its long handle onto the ground.
    Lamor quickly took his shield down off of the wall, walked up to the bed of one of the more lazy guards, and held up his axe so that the blunt shaft was pointed towards the guard.  He made a threatening noise, then, when the guard did not wake, prodded his stick into that guard’s chest.
    The man gasped and was suddenly awake, causing the dwarf’s features to contort into a grin.  His beard, which measured almost a foot in length, was tossed up as he laughed and threw his head back.
    Just as any other dwarf, his skull was small but thick, able to withstand many hard blows.  He looked straight toward the guard and said, “Come on.  It be time to go, and ye’re just sitting there dawdling!”
    To adjust to the village, Lamor had needed to work on getting rid of his dwarven accent, but he hadn’t made much progress.  He hated the surroundings of the straw building, with the wind blowing in his face constantly and an open doorway practically inviting rascals to come in an stab the guards.
    The night before, Lamor could have sworn he’d seen an elf and some sort of demonic humanoid walking through the town, carrying an arrow.  The elf wielded a spellbook, and the tiefling creature held a bow in its hand.
    The dwarf captain quickly informed his troops, “We have a little job for ye today -- I’ve spotted an elf wizard and some sort of demon in the town last night.  It’s our job,” he continued, tossing a spear to one of the guards, “To find them, then either apprehend them or kill them.  I prefer to kill.”
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    Zen’dik led Lia into a tavern, one of the few wooden structures in town.  “Trust me,” he said, “I know this place.  Everybody’s so drunk, they won’t mind having a tiefling in the building.  And it’s always so crowded.”
    Lia scowled at a drunkard who attempted to grab her foot, pointing a finger at him and letting a small spark of flame fall onto the drunkard’s head.
    The man screamed, rolling over and grabbing Lia again.  “Ish that yous deemone?”
    Lia kicked the man in the face, shouting “That’s not a demon!  Can’t you tell a cursed person from a demon?”
    The man shook his head.  “Me ish pretty stupid.  That why me come here, to get smartened up.”
    Once again, Lia kicked the man.  “I’m done with this place, Zen’dik.  I can’t walk into one tavern -- not one -- without some idiotic drunkard trying to grab me!”
    Zen’dik muttered, “This is the safest place, the guards are after us.”
    Lia slammed her staff on the ground.  “After you!  Not me!  You’re the one who’s probably going to get killed in five minutes!”
    Zen’dik turned as he heard a voice.  “That’s very true,” it said, and the drunkard who had tried to grab Lia rose up, crossbow in hand.  He aimed it at Zen’dik.  “Demon, your time is up.”
    Lia scowled.  “I have to just keep on saving your life, don’t I?”
    The drunkard was a dwarf, the guard who had been trying to kill Zen’dik.  He was short even for a dwarf, and had an axe strapped to his left hip, as well as a case of crossbow bolts.
    Zen’dik produced a bow from his backpack and tossed it to Lia, then got out his own and fitted an arrow on.  In the process of doing this, he had let down his defenses, but not for long.
    This dwarf was faster than most.  His crossbow went off, and Zen’dik leapt to the side.  The bolt passed through his bow, shattering it and itself.  Finding himself with no weapon other than his sword and his knife, Zen’dik charged forward, holding his sword high.
    The dwarf fired another bolt, but this time it was deflected by the tiefling’s sword as he leapt through the air and planted his feet on the wall, using the traction provided by his boots and the speed of his feet to run across the wall while giving the dwarf a nasty cut to the chin.
    Zen’dik tossed both of his blades toward the opposite wall, while leaping across the room with lightning speed.  He landed on the wall and held on until his swords descended towards his hands, then grabbed them, losing his grip on the wall and leaping back across the room.  He spun the dagger, and it viciously drove through the dwarf’s heart.
    Everything stopped.  Before that moment, everything that had happened here had simply been another barfight.  In the one moment, before Zen’dik even landed on the ground, he felt a strange euphoria from the killing.
    Everything was suddenly clearer.  He could see the drunkards around him, the bartender nervously fingering the hammer which lay below the bar.
    Zen’dik suddenly leapt towards the bartender, who grabbed his hammer to block a blow from Zen’dik’s sword.  It was knocked out of his hands.  The bartender watched in horror as Zen’dik’s sword came for his neck.
    He’d always tried to be a good bartender, few fights had ever broken out in his tavern.  But there was nothing he or anybody else could do to stop the fight that had just begun.  The bartender knew that he was about to die.
    Time slowed down.  It stopped. Then, the bartender heard a voice.  But how could he, when the sword was only an inch from his neck?
    Zen’dik drew the sword back again, then held it up over his head, howling in triumph.  A burst of fire surrounded the sword, and the tiefling brought it down upon the bartender, cleaving him in two.
    The drunkards all began to approach Zen’dik then, holding their empty and their filled beer bottles and laughing menacingly.  Zen’dik laughed back, his sword and dagger flaming as he leaped into the drunken army.
    The tiefling was a wirlwind of fire and steel, cutting down the drunkards and burning them with his fury.  As the only one to survive the first five seconds of the fight began to run, Zen’dik flipped forward, burning a hole through the the building and slashing open the drunkard’s throat.  Only one remained.  Lia.
    Zen’dik ran back into the tavern, his mind filled with rage.  Lia was knealt over the remains of the customers, spilled blood and entrails with mangled bodies lying in a heap and broken bottles of grogg and rum lying throughout the area.
    Lia saw Zen’dik then, knowing what she had to do.  She held out her hand and let forth a burst of dust.  The fine particles caught in Zen’dik’s eyes and caused him to wildly look around, then blink several times.  He was blinded, for now.
    Zen’dik looked at Lia.  He stood there for a few moments.  And then, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell to the ground.