38
Your vision clears and, as you regain your senses, you see that the warriors are men of the Masbaté, the tribe believed to be extinct after persecution by the Wytch-king, Shasarak. With a flurry of sword blows, the Masbaté hew a bloody path towards you. Though they number less than fifty, their demonic foes seem powerless to resist, so swift and fierce is the attack. The demon horde scatters in all directions. Some dematerialize—magic is inherent in their nature. Those that remain are slain mercilessly.
When at last the battle is done, no living demon remains in the tomb, while, incredibly, the Masbaté have suffered no losses, only a scattering of light wounds. One of their number now stands before you. Like his comrades, the Masbaté warrior stands well over seven feet tall, his body rippling with muscle beneath skin as black as ebony. His hair is long and black and his eyes still burn with the fire of battle. He is clad only in a corselet of worn, padded leather. A scabbard slung low from a broad belt carries a massive broadsword of dull, grey metal. His only protective wear, a pair of metal wristbands, is engraved with the intricately worked design of a rearing horse. He gives you a speculative stare. It is not an altogether friendly gaze.
‘What do we have here?’ he booms, in a strong, yet melodious bass tone. ‘A boy and a girl perhaps? Or demons in human guise, defilers of the sacred tomb of our forefathers. Speak now and swiftly. My blade is thirsty yet to drink the blood of more hellspawn.’
Before you are able to speak, Tanith has risen to her feet, brandishing her dagger and scowling with the characteristic ferocity that you have come to know so well. ‘You know not what you say,’ she snaps, menace in her voice. ‘But for that, this blade of mine would have your life for such insult to one who comes to save your brawny, worthless hide. Soften your tone, tall one, for you speak to a mighty wizard, a master of great powers, the chosen one of the great ancient Shianti. He has come to challenge the Wytch-king himself, who is surely the enemy of us all.’
Despite her slight frame and her puny blade, Tanith confronts the warrior with an icy countenance that would freeze blood. Though he towers over her like a giant, the warrior steps back, mouth agape in astonishment at her fearless outburst. He is stunned into silence. The barely suppressed mirth of the other Masbaté is plain to see.
‘Ho there, Dioka!’ shouts a squat Masbaté, with a bellowing laugh that makes his pot-belly quiver and shake. ‘It’s a spitting she-cat that’s stolen your tongue I see.’
‘And the cat has claws, bladder belly!’ she snaps. The plump warrior’s face drops, while the one named Dioka bursts into laughter. ‘Well met, my lady,’ he guffaws.
With a bemused expression, you rise on shaky feet and turn to Dioka. ‘Greetings, men of the Masbaté,’ you call out in a loud voice, ensuring that all can hear. ‘Plainly we are not agents of evil in mortal guise.’
‘Indeed not,’ Dioka replies with a smile. ‘The very demons of the plain would flee the wrath of your brave companion’s acid tongue!’
‘Yet, in her anger she spoke the truth,’ you continue. ‘For I am the Wizard, Grey Star, bound upon a quest in the service of the Shianti and sworn to the destruction of the Wytch-king, Shasarak.’ The vast hall grows silent. Wide-eyed, the Masbaté regard you with stunned expressions.
‘Can this be?’ Dioka gasps, a gleam of hope shining in his dark, deep eyes. ‘We will talk of this at length and in the proper place,’ he continues. ‘You must come with us. It is not wise to remain here. The demons may return and in greater numbers. Most likely they will be led by more formidable masters than this,’ he gestures dismissively towards the corpse of the Demon master that sprawls on the floor a few feet away. ‘The home of the Masbaté now lies in the Kashima Mountains, beyond the River Iss. The king must hear of your return.’
The Masbaté restore the bodies of their ancient dead to their resting places. A funeral pyre for the slain demons is built outside the walls of the tomb, and with considerable effort and over many hours, they are able to repair the stone door. While they work, your wounds are attended to and you and Tanith are given food and water. There is a gifted healer among them and he is able to restore to you 1 ENDURANCE point. (Amend your Action Chart accordingly.) It is late afternoon before the Masbaté are ready to leave. Struggling to keep pace with the rapid march of the warriors, you head into the lengthening shadows, toward the distant mountains: the secret lair of the last of a proud and mighty race.
