Jar Syt Treasure

Jar Syt Treasure
Adelika wove between the tables, dodging pinches and grabs. Each swaying step flicked open the slit in her skirt, each lithe reach squeezed her bodice, and each smile inspired hope. Every movement was choreographed to keep the patrons’ focus on her assets rather than on her actions.   Each trip through the crowded tavern took her past the old explorer’s table twice – once with a sloshing tray of full tankards and once with a circle of rattling empties. The eight men talked quietly, butbetween their drinking and her eavesdropping, not quietly enough. The old man’s high-pitched tavern chatter gave way to a rasping whisper, harder to hear, but more lucid-sounding.
“Thirty-three paces to the jarmot tree. Two hundred paces northwest to the kettle-shaped rock. From there the crypt is . . . But it’s sealed. Sealed forever ... in blood."
“Only if by ‘forever’ you mean until we get there.” One of the two younger men who sat across from her target grinned and patted the scroll case slung across his chest.
His friend, seated next to him, nodded. “We think we can avoid the blood this time.” Their clothes suggested scholarly rather than martial pursuits, and they looked to be strangers to the outdoors.
“Speaking of getting to treasure,” slurred the man seated to the old explorer’s left, “how about it, lass? Shall I try my hand at your secret entrance?” His broad, scarred, and calloused hand connected with her behind with a crack. The fall of the tray covered the drawing of her dagger as she fell into a defensive crouch and began channeling her power.
The bouncer crossed the floor from the door in three strides. With one hand he back-handed the assailant, sending him sprawling. With the other, he tipped their table, sending its contents flying.
Adelika watched the bouncer pause and run his eyes over the scene. She knew he was counting each possible threat. She sheathed her dagger and stopped channeling. Most of the tavern’s other patrons had moved toward the walls, leaving a wide circle around the melee, thereby removing themselves from the bouncer’s equation. The two scholars huddled behind benches. Three brawlers snarled, but did not advance. The fourth, the smacker, gurgled. The old man, simply stood, poking a chicken leg toward the bouncer, but making no further move.
Adelika felt a beefy hand grasp at her ankle. The attacker had recovered from his pummeling. She kicked – but couldn’t break his muscled grasp. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched another tavern patron, one who had not left his table during the ruckus, catapult across the room, tabletop to tabletop. He alighted next to Adelika, the tip of his rapier resting above the brawler’s masculine assets.
When the newcomer spoke, it was with a harsh Thormenalan accent that managed to be at once amused and threatening. “Sir, you have already offended me twice this evening. One, you manhandled this woman. Two, a patron, frightened by your actions, spilled his ale on my cloak. I might have said three for the waste of good ale, which would have been . . . unfortunate for you. Three offenses in so short a time are unforgiveable.” The rapier moved, ever so slightly, and the brawler groaned. The man with the rapier shrugged. “But, this ale is not that good.”
The man saluted Adelika with his blade, and then sheathed it with an elaborate flourish. He then turned to face the barkeep, who was peeking his head above the bar. “This is your establishment, sir, and the girl your hired help. I will leave the handling of this insult to you, good master.”
The barkeep rushed forward reassuring everyone, and shaking the rapier-wielder’s hand. She cursed softly to herself as she bobbed a quick nod to both the bouncer and the swordsman. She’d not hear the end of this for days.
***
Adelika stared straight ahead as they rode southeast, away from the small border town and that wretched tavern and toward the Jar Syt. Every step of the horses’ hooves jarred her taut muscles as she strained to keep her face from registering any emotion at all. She felt Erolis’ stare and knew that the woman was smirking. The only thing worse than having the Black Rose of Arlian angry at you was having her laugh at you.
“Okuvan,” Erolis said, “You’re leaving out the best bits of the story. Gallant of you, but not nearly as much fun. Byrt,” she called to the rear of the column, “come up here and tell me what really happened. Adelika’s pride will survive, but I fear my curiosity will not.”
“If you are worried about missing all of the fun, next time you can play ‘tavern wench’.”
“Ah, if only I could. Sadly, this eye patch is far too well known in these parts. Besides,” she sighed longingly and gestured at her best friend, “I don’t have that exotic beauty that drives the men wild.”
Adelika ground her teeth, and Erolis slapped her thigh and threw her head back laughing. Then the bandit leader grew serious, “Now that we’ve all – all but Adelika, evidently – had our fun, we can move on. Tell me everything.”
The old explorer had been part of an expedition years ago into the Jar Syt swamp. Months after it departed from this same border town, he had staggered out of the waste, alone and raving, but with very real gold bulging in his pockets. His party had known where to go, but they were unprepared for what they found. Shortly after gaining entrance to a treasure vault, the group had triggered a trap, killing everyone but the old man. He hadn’t died, but some part of his soul perished, it’s passing shown by his white hair and addled mind. He had been approached by two scholars from Lormouth who had spent years researching and studying the Jar Syt. They discovered a pair of scrolls they believed would ensure their safety inside the vaults of the sunken city. All they needed was the old man and a party of worthy adventurers to recover the treasure.
In the trade of information, the Black Rose is a wealthy merchant – it was inevitable that she would hear of the story, and of their search. It was too easy to position Adelika and Byrt at the tavern the old explorer was known to frequent. Once that was done, Erolis sent the rest of her band to the edge of the Jar Syt to wait while she and Okuvan watched the road into town. When the scholars and their company arrived, Erolis moved to watch the stables while Okuvan moved to the tavern.
“So,” Erolis said, “There are eight of them. Four thugs, a raving lunatic, two scholars, and a sellsword. No bows or crossbows?”
“Not that we’ve seen,” said Okuvan.”
“What about magic?”
Adelika shook her head. “Neither of them can wield spirit, but they may manipulate energy. Digging any deeper would most likely have exposed me. Neither seemed to sense me starting to channel.”
“Good. Very good.” Erolis nodded. “Come, a warm campfire and our comrades await us at the edge of the great Jar Syt.”
Adelika smelled the campfire long before she saw it – a mix of smoke, ash, roasted meat, and earth. The party found themselves in the ruins of some farmstead or inn. The flames glinted through a gaping doorway, it’s light diffused by tree branches arching over what was left of the building’s roof. Okuvan’s bird call was answered by a trilling frog song, and a moment later a silhouette hopped into the doorway.
“Mithtressss Erolissss. Iss all well?” The Shakrim bowed his smooth muck-colored head, and snaked his tongue out to moisten his large left eye. Bannakai’s bandy-legged stance had fooled many into thinking him smaller than he was, but few mistook his muscled torso and rippling arms for anything but well-honed strength.
“No, all is splendid! Have you had a chance to scout the swamps?” Erolis handed her horse’s reins to Farelek, who had rounded the corner of the building, stowing his weapon as he walked.
“Strange, theeese watersss.” The Shakrim looked out at the swamp, licking his other eye, then extended a large clawed, webbed finger toward the twisted wall of trees. “I can feel it. The . . . decay. Not jussst the land stagnatesss and rotsss here. Once it held richesss. Towers. Minessss. Homesss. Dreamsss. Now, it festersss in a restlesss ssslumber.”
“Do you understand what happened here?” Adelika’s voice was hollow. “This is not a childhood nightmare or rude superstition. An entire city and its surroundings destroyed, leveled by magic. Do you understand what kind of power that took?”
“Godspower, I would imagine, and lots of it.” Erolis face remained passive.
“A twisting of spirit and energy on that scale, what it must have done to the earth? The air? The water? What abominations must hulk and slither there now?
“They may hulk and haunt and slither as they please. The other party will thin their ranks, if indeed they are there. In fact, it will work in our favor should they be weakened by your nightmares. That will make our . . . adjustment of their fortunes that much easier when the time comes.” The bandit leader only had to stare at Byrt for a moment before he gave up the only chair in the hovel. She leaned back, her fingers interlaced behind her head and placed one boot on top of the other, smiling in the glow of the fire. “Felarek – you and Votig are unknown to our soon-to-be victims. Saddle your horses and ride back just short of town. Make sure of the other party’s direction when they head out on the morrow. One of you follow, while the other rides back here to fetch us. “
Adelika shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing. What we’re doing.”
“I always do. And when I don’t, I figure it out along the way.” Erolis closed her one good eye. “Bannakai – you must ask Adelika about her job as a serving girl. She loves talking about it.”
***
Felarek rode back into camp soon after breakfast. He was an expert with horses, and his experience in the less-than-legitimate livestock trade meant he always knew where to find more when they needed them. The man shared a few quick words with Erolis and rode off again. A moment later, Erolis summoned her band.
“The treasure hunters departed this morning, heading north. Saddle up. We’ll head northward as well along the swamp’s edge and set camp near their site.”
The band rode to a small cluster of rocks and brush where Felarek and Votig had claimed the ruined foundation of a small two-room building, probably the remnant of a border outpost. To the east, the ruins of a trail led down into the swamp, where it disappeared into a murky mist. Bannakai dismounted and hop-walked to the edge of the swamp, checking the waters with his webbed toes. He waded in and emitted with a loud churrubber.
“The waterssss are deep. Issshhhould be able to catch up and ssshhadow them quickly”. The Shakrim handed Erolis all of his gear, save his falchion, which he moved from his hip to ride across his back. He swam in a few small circles, then departed with amazing grace and speed, disappearing into the mist in rippled silence.
***
Three days later, Bannakai re-emerged from the swamp. “SSsloow, ssslooow they move, burdened with trinketsss and treasssure. Easssy they were to follow, not looking, not watching.
“How far into the city did they go?” Erolis asked.
“No, not the city. A housssse of the dead. I stayed in the shallows, watched in sssecret. Ssoon after the men with scrollsss went in, there were shouts. The othersss ran inside. Then, sssilence. Out they came, much later. Almossst I left my hiding. Then, they returned.”
Erolis leaned forward. “And the treasure?”
“Ah, yes. Treasure. Treasure of that sssort is burdensome. A large golden chessst they carry, and each of them wearing baublesss and bandssss."
Erolis smirked. “They should take care. One wrong move with that glittering burden will sink them in the swamp! Come, let us go and unburden them. We’re doing them a favor, really. They should thank us.”
***
As the sun set, the adventurers trudged out of the swamp’s swirling mists. Gnats and flies buzzed about their sweat-drenched clothes and their chins hung heavy on their chests. Only the old explorer seemed to have any energy left. He capered happily at the front of the group, dashing ahead and then back, all the while gibbering and yapping. The gibberish made no sense, but more than that, it was just wrong. After a moment, Adelika realized why. The man no longer spoke Faelish, but instead an archaic form of Chalish. He seemed mad – as though his mind fought some intrusion, some power. From her position, warning the others would expose the ambush, so Adelika gathered additional spirit, ready for a large casting. One of the scholars and the sellsword ambled into view, their heavy golden necklaces glimmering in the setting sun.
With a roar that crossed a croak and a hiss, Bannakai launched himself over the men and split the sellsword open from collar to chest. Okuvan’s rapier slid into the front scholar’s breast, dropping him to his knees. Votig’s crossbow twanged, the bolt disappearing further back into the party. All was going to plan, until the explorer loosed a horrifying scream. A surge of magic unlike any she had felt since leaving Koronna washed over Adelika. She turned to face him and loosed all of the spirit she was holding in an effort to shatter his spell, but whatever he conjured was far more powerful.
Adelika staggered from her effort and watched in horror as the fallen adventurers rose. The scholar hauled himself up, dripping with ichor, his mortal wound still oozing. He twisted his head and looked at her. One wrong moment later, the rest of his body followed. Blood spattered from his ashen mouth as he slowly drew his sword. Adelika whispered a few Chalish words and vanished. She’d sought the safety of the spaces between Faelon and Karelon, but her new vantage point only increased her terror. All of the adventurers were dead. What had once been men were now lifeless steeds, and riding them were Krai-jan wights using the golden ornaments as tack and tethers.
The spirit world was no safer than the real one. The scholar’s wight jerked a golden armlet, and the scholar swung wildly at her. She dodged. The spirit’s cracked flesh curled back from its teeth. It lifted its grotesque head and howled, pointing at her with a shifting finger. All of the wights turned their unearthly gazes upon her, and each of them wheeled its wretched steed in her direction. She dodged between the spirits, rushing to the center of the fight and saw the source of the evil: The explorer.
He was not dead like the others, but he was all the more terrible for being alive. The poor man was leashed to a lich – the spirit of a dead Krai-jan priest. His soul long lost to this shade since his first visit. The ravings of treasure had been a lure set to catch any fools so that the priest could regain his place in Faelon. And he’s caught us, too. Adelika quickly left Between and returned to Faelon.
Her friends fared not well. Bannakai fought fiercely, bleeding from multiple wounds that seemed to fuel his fury. Okuvan fought to keep two of the spirits at bay, but was losing ground. Erolis stood over Byrt’s body, hacking at the undead as they clawed at her.
“Beni birini krai mizrak, Beni gerek a harp!” Adelika shouted. The spirit of a Koronnan Red Spearman formed beside her. “Defend me,” she commanded. To the bandits she shouted, “The gold is the key! Take their arms and legs! Separate the gold from their bodies!”
Bannakai did not hesitate. With a single schlock, he decapitated an opponent. Then he wove among the others, shearing limbs like a thresher taking wheat. Okuvan twined his rapier through gold chains and broke them, severing the spiritual links.
Adelika felt the Krai-jan priest assembling another large spell. She spied Votig, searching for a target in the melee.“Votig! Kill the explorer! Do not let him speak!” Votig raised his weapon and took aim. Adelika whispered a spell in the goddess’s name, asking the moons to mark the target. Her prayers were answered. Votig’s bolt hit the explorer in the head, knocking him to the ground.
Adelika turned to her guardian spirit. “Finish him.” The summoned Koronnan warrior dissipated, then reappeared over the fallen explorer and repeatedly plunged his spear into the lich.
“Votig, get over here and see to Byrt. He may survive,” the Black Rose barked. Then she joined Adelika, who stood looking down at the dead explorer. As Erolis approached, the enchantress lifted her head, her white eyes startling against her brown skin. Adelika blinked, returning her eyes to their natural honey brown, and gestured for Bannakai.
“Sever his limbs. We must burn the bodies and cast the ashes and the gold back into the swamps” Erolis sighed. “I was afraid as much. Is all of the gold possessed?”
“I do not know, but if it is, it is beyond my ability to cleanse it.”
“Can we at least keep the chest?” Okuvan asked.
Adelika traced the pictographs on the box’s side with a single finger, and then jerked it back. “I do not think we want anything to do with this box. I believe it contains the remains of the entity that controlled the explorer. This must all be destroyed.”
“All this and nothing to show for this venture,” Adelika said.
Erolis shrugged. “We have the fallen men’s goods. And we have learned much of this place.” She patted Adelika on the shoulder. “And we have the memory of your stint as a barmaid.”