into the side of a small stone building, sending chunks of masonry flying. It made a terrible keening sound, but I could see no mouth.
Six monks in homespun robes were trying to drive it away from the hives with yelling and smoking torches. The creature lurched back from them and howled again. The bees were swarming, but not attacking, instead forming a loud, dark cloud over the battle field.
I sent an arrow past the monks but it only scraped the thick hide of the strange beast. I nocked another, aiming this time for its eye.
“No, no!” screamed one of the monks, turning toward us. “Hold the arrows! Don’t attack Peggy. Make noise.”
Peggy? It almost sounded like the monks had named this thing.
Rahiel, riding Bill, swerved around the bee cloud and slapped her wings together as she waved her glowing wand. A sound like thunder in the peak of a storm pealed out from her delicate wings, and the creature moaned, backing away down the hill. Makha banged her sword against the edge of her shield, though just running in plate armor had made a pretty good clamor. Azyrin and Drake started shouting and waving their arms.
I halted and stood helpless, my bow hanging from my hand. Making noise was beyond me, thanks to my curse.
The creature backed up further. The chain swung in a wide arc and then it pulled it back, curling it around its body. With a final cry, the odd beast spun and hopped away, disappearing into the cypress trees.
“Apinir be blessed, we lost no hives,” said the oldest looking monk as he lowered his torch and turned toward us.
“It’ll take them bees hours to quiet now,” muttered a monk with reddish, thinning hair and a sour cast to his features.
“What in blazes was that thing?” Rahiel asked, flying down.
“What’re you? An’ what’s that?” the sour-faced monk asked, holding his torch out in front of him like a shield.
“Easy now, Nabbe, these fine folk helped drive old Peggy off.” The old man extended his hand to Drake, who stood nearest him. “I’m Abbot Konbri. Welcome to the monastery of Apinir.” His smile was genuine and though his face was lined like old parchment and his jowls soft, a keen intelligence gleamed in his cornflower-blue eyes.
“I’m Drake Bannor,” Drake said, taking the Abbot’s hand. “That there’s Rahiel Glowbix, a pixie-goblin,” he added with a faint smirk directed at the one the old man had called Nabbe.
“I’m Makha Stormbane,” Makha said, clanking forward and extending her gauntleted hand. “We’re Adventuring Guild, just passin’ through.”
“Azyrin Stormbane,” the shaman said, moving forward as well.
“A winter orc!” The Abbot chuckled. “I studied in Icerift for a while in my youth. And you, elf?”
“That’s Killer. She’s mute, so forgive her lack of manners,” Drake said.
The other monks came forward, looking at us curiously. The Abbot introduced them and then invited us in.
The layout of the little monastery reminded me of a bee hive in some ways. There was a large hall, dominated by the cooking hearth, from which many little rooms branched off like cells in a honeycomb. Nabbe chose to stay outside and burn sweet-smelling wood that smoked a lot in an effort to calm the bees. The other monks showed us in and soon warmed to Rahiel’s enthusiasm for their honey.
“The Sweetbee is like no other bee,” the Abbot agreed, smiling at the pixie-goblin as she flitted up to sit on the long black walnut table stretching much of the length of the common area. “They have no sting but produce the clearest honey you’ll find. Their hives are different, also. The middle of the hive cone is like a funnel that stores the honey they create. All we have to do is tap in and take what we need.”
Once our packs had been stored within a couple of unused cells and we had thick bread coated in the thick golden honey, mugs of mulled wine, and heaping plates of roasted summer vegetables piled in front of us, the Abbot brought the
Six monks in homespun robes were trying to drive it away from the hives with yelling and smoking torches. The creature lurched back from them and howled again. The bees were swarming, but not attacking, instead forming a loud, dark cloud over the battle field.
I sent an arrow past the monks but it only scraped the thick hide of the strange beast. I nocked another, aiming this time for its eye.
“No, no!” screamed one of the monks, turning toward us. “Hold the arrows! Don’t attack Peggy. Make noise.”
Peggy? It almost sounded like the monks had named this thing.
Rahiel, riding Bill, swerved around the bee cloud and slapped her wings together as she waved her glowing wand. A sound like thunder in the peak of a storm pealed out from her delicate wings, and the creature moaned, backing away down the hill. Makha banged her sword against the edge of her shield, though just running in plate armor had made a pretty good clamor. Azyrin and Drake started shouting and waving their arms.
I halted and stood helpless, my bow hanging from my hand. Making noise was beyond me, thanks to my curse.
The creature backed up further. The chain swung in a wide arc and then it pulled it back, curling it around its body. With a final cry, the odd beast spun and hopped away, disappearing into the cypress trees.
“Apinir be blessed, we lost no hives,” said the oldest looking monk as he lowered his torch and turned toward us.
“It’ll take them bees hours to quiet now,” muttered a monk with reddish, thinning hair and a sour cast to his features.
“What in blazes was that thing?” Rahiel asked, flying down.
“What’re you? An’ what’s that?” the sour-faced monk asked, holding his torch out in front of him like a shield.
“Easy now, Nabbe, these fine folk helped drive old Peggy off.” The old man extended his hand to Drake, who stood nearest him. “I’m Abbot Konbri. Welcome to the monastery of Apinir.” His smile was genuine and though his face was lined like old parchment and his jowls soft, a keen intelligence gleamed in his cornflower-blue eyes.
“I’m Drake Bannor,” Drake said, taking the Abbot’s hand. “That there’s Rahiel Glowbix, a pixie-goblin,” he added with a faint smirk directed at the one the old man had called Nabbe.
“I’m Makha Stormbane,” Makha said, clanking forward and extending her gauntleted hand. “We’re Adventuring Guild, just passin’ through.”
“Azyrin Stormbane,” the shaman said, moving forward as well.
“A winter orc!” The Abbot chuckled. “I studied in Icerift for a while in my youth. And you, elf?”
“That’s Killer. She’s mute, so forgive her lack of manners,” Drake said.
The other monks came forward, looking at us curiously. The Abbot introduced them and then invited us in.
The layout of the little monastery reminded me of a bee hive in some ways. There was a large hall, dominated by the cooking hearth, from which many little rooms branched off like cells in a honeycomb. Nabbe chose to stay outside and burn sweet-smelling wood that smoked a lot in an effort to calm the bees. The other monks showed us in and soon warmed to Rahiel’s enthusiasm for their honey.
“The Sweetbee is like no other bee,” the Abbot agreed, smiling at the pixie-goblin as she flitted up to sit on the long black walnut table stretching much of the length of the common area. “They have no sting but produce the clearest honey you’ll find. Their hives are different, also. The middle of the hive cone is like a funnel that stores the honey they create. All we have to do is tap in and take what we need.”
Once our packs had been stored within a couple of unused cells and we had thick bread coated in the thick golden honey, mugs of mulled wine, and heaping plates of roasted summer vegetables piled in front of us, the Abbot brought the
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