“We need to find a way across the chasm. After that we’ll deal with whatever comes next. Any ideas on how we’re getting across anyone?”
“Kharikhan said he could get us across, and I trust him. But I’m more worried about the giant at the other end.” A determined look comes across John’s face, then fades. “I’d offer to hold him off while you escape, but with the wounded… Besides, a giant’s stride is longer than any of us, and we don’t know if the goblins got at the horses. Any sort of sacrifice will likely only buy the others a few hours, at most. We need to deal with the giant, permanently.”
Dur’dan watches the hinfolk’s swordplay and smiles, “That’ll do hin, that’ll do…”
As Jikhal lifts up the other side of the stretcher Dur’dan looks at him, and give him a silent nod of thanks, “He fought bravely till his last moment.” and Dur’dan looks away.
When they reach the cavern Dur’dan will wit up against the wall and wait for Kahn to do his thing. “I believe the troll fancies me, if he still lurks in the area no one will fight alone, it will be suicide. Our best bet would be to fight him as a team, like our previous battles. There is no other way, we can’t even run from this fight if we wanted to.” Dur’dan looks especially tired and distant. His nephew was like a son, and now he’s gone.
Karikhan looks to Dur’dan and Arrow, the two marksmen of the group.
“The vermin have retreated, for now. But if they return, send them to Hell.” To John, Karikhan says, “Hopefully the giant does not return, but if it does we shall defeat it.”
Then, Karikhan gets to work. His chanting has become familiar to the others as he begins to shape the masonry from the walls around him. It is more than chanting - it is a song. It is wild and unpredictable in volume, rhythm, and tone, and it is certainly not pleasant. A handful at a time, Khan carries a load of earth from the chamber toward the bridge, and begins patching the area destroyed by the giant.
Karikhan casts groundforge to repair the bridge.
Hob peaks over the chasm edge, and is suddenly hit dizzy with vertigo. He backs away suddenly before he runs the risk of tumbling over. Sitting down on the ground, as he is wont to do when relaxing or waiting, he says at once to the entire party and again to nobody really at all:
“You know. That giant wasn’t really such a bad guy. He declared his intention to fight, like a true gentleman. And he disposed of those nasty goblins too. If we meet him again, I’m sure we’ll have a nice chat before he brutally attacks all of us.”
“I’m down to my last arrow.” Arrow said checking his quiver.
“Anyone have any they can spare? I’m not much use to the party with out them.”
Dur’dan will split what he has left with Arrow.
“Thanks…and I’m sorry for your nephew.” Arrow said sincerely to Dur’dan while restocking his quiver.
“It was a good death, a noble death. He did the Ironbeard Clan proud. Maybe some day these halls will be named after the first death in retaking it.”
The seconds turn to slowly-passing minutes as Karikhan remakes the bridge, inch by inch. He scoops stone from the walls of the chamber as if it were clay and packs it onto the bridge, bustling back and forth, back and forth, the crossing slowly taking shape. Eventually the way is made, though crude and unpolished like the bridge that came before. Khan has absolute faith in the strength of his creation and wastes no time in hefting back up his end of Brenley’s stretcher and leading the litter train across.
The group winds its way back through the tunnels, about ten minutes later appearing back on the surface in the bosom of the Crookback. It is now the dead of night and the bodies left in the basin here have been stripped bare by scavenging birds. The temperature has dropped substantially and the characters’ breath hangs in the air. The party continues through the valley until finally reaching the pass where the horses, camels and wagon had been left. The scene is gruesome: A single half-devoured horse carcass is all that remains. Perhaps a couple of the other animals were taken alive but at least a few were slaughtered here- there is blood and entrails scattered along the ground and walls. The wagon has been stripped of its wheels and harnesses, the water it held gone.
“The Burning Sea is not kind to ill-supplied travelers.” Jikhal sets down his end of Oshro’s stretcher and picks among the wreckage for anything salvageable.
Karikhan to Dur’dan: “It is time to bury your kinsman. His spirit belongs here, your tribe’s new home.” He has enough sense not to mention that carrying Oshro’s body will slow them down, possibly fatally.
Khan does not worry for himself, as he has the conditioning and skill to survive in the wasteland. He is greatly worried for the rest of the group, especially Jonathan.
To the group, Khan says, “We now must choose between two paths. We may attempt to cross the Burning Sea, exposed to the elements and without supplies. Or, the Voice will provide Jikhal with a horse; he will ride to fetch a healer and some supplies and bring them back to us, while we remain in the delve entrance shielded from the elements.”
“Give the man a horse. I’d rather die in battle than die to thirst or hunger in the desert. We have a stream in the delve entrance and we might be able to scavange for food better here than out in the desert.”
Karikhan nods in understanding. “Very well,” he says, and walks to the mutilated body of the horse. As he does, he looks over his shoulder and says, “The ritual is long and…indelicate. Some may even mistake it for necromancy, but I will not simply animate a corpse. The Voice will breathe new life. Do not let anyone intervene.”
In Shelic, Khan says over the body of the horse:
Before you may rest in eternity, there is one further task required of you. You have been chosen for a great honor, friend.
Then, he begins to work. He starts by gathering as much of the mutilated equine corpse as possible. Soon his hands are covered with blood. As he works, Khan’s trademark chanting begins again, although with a much darker tone this time.
Karikhan will cast Bind Beast on the slain horse.
The party gathers in the valley to watch the ritual but Jikhal bids them return to the cover of the cave in the basin. Reluctantly the group lifts its litters and bears them back to the grotto, Khan’s loud chanting fading behind them in the distance as they go. The first hours are unremarkable aside from a moment’s consciousness from Jonathan: He stirs restlessly in his sleep, afflicted by dreams. Jikhal crouches at his side, speaking quietly in Shelic. He looks at the noble expectantly, downcast when he continues to stir. “Were Karikhan with us his Voice might cast out the dreams.” He places a hand over Jonathan’s forehead. “Fever. Pray the magi’s spell is quick.”
At some point in the night a light is spotted over the top of the valley wall, as if a bonfire had been lit. Jikhal urges the party members to remain and resist the urge to investigate. The darkness seems to grow thicker now, like a deep haze. And then, the miraculous: First there is a drop of moisture upon Arrow’s brow. Then, upon Hob’s arm. Minutes later the ambient desert noise has been drowned by the heavy patter of rain. Perhaps some of the party members brush it off as coincidence and others attribute it to their superstitions. Regardless, by early morning, the sky still nearly black as pitch, the rains cease and a figure approaches from the end of the basin. Karikhan is walking astride a heavy brown paint horse, both slick with sweat and rainwater.
Jikhal runs to the pair, scrambling up the side of the basin and into the narrow valley, speaking to Karikhan in their tongue.
The long journey back through the delve adds to Hob’s stress and exhaustion. At the grizzly entryway, he cracks sarcastically, “Boy, this entrance gets better every time we visit.” Walking over to the wagon, he gives it a swift kick. “They even took the wheels…,” he mutters in a voice uncharacteristic of the light-hearted Hin.
Before he can fall deeper into a bad mood, he overhears Karikhan beginning the binding ritual. Overcome by curiosity, he begins to watch from a safe distance. When beckoned by Jikhal to back to the cave, he does so, helping the others carry some things. However, as soon as he is finished, he will attempt to quietly and stealthily go back to watch Karikhan work his magic.
Jikhal cries out to Hob to stop and stay with the group. Sighing, he turns to the others. “It is not a thing we should see.”
Karikhan unstraps the mithril broadsword given to him by Dur’dan, and hands it to Jikhal while speaking in Shelic. As he glances toward Jonathan, his voice becomes urgent.
“Yah! Yah!” Khan shouts as Jikhal mounts the horse. “Fly, brother!”
Hob stops abruptly when he hears Jikhal’s voice. Torn between his desire to watch the strange ritual and a fear of falling into bad graces with the party he is depending on for survival, he is caught in indecision. His curiosity seems to be winning out, and he takes a few hesitant paces forward, when he hears Karikhan’s voice resonating darkly in a tone that would stop a man in his tracks if it were directed at him. And that’s not all Hob hears. He also hears horrible, unnatural horse cries and a mixture of frenzied jerking, gnashing, and slopping noises. A terrible chill runs down his spine, and he returns at no slow speed back to the group.
While this is all going on Dur’dan will get as much sleep as his mind and body will give him. He will need his strength.
“Let’s get some sleep Kitz. We both can use it.” Arrow told Kittix as he turn to find a place to rest.