Glen Avery
Baron Calephas did not need to touch the back of his head to know that there was a large lump there; the throbbing pain that raced through his skull with each heartbeat told him exactly where he had been hit, and rather pointedly how hard the blow had been. He blinked groggily and dark images flashed before his eyes, a subtle play of light cast in lines before him, showing the rings of hollowed out wood. Memories swirled through his skull despite the prodigious bruise, flashes of the scene at the bridge crossing the chasm to the South. Vaguely he recalled that the Metamorians had been trying to torch it, but then had gone rather suddenly and painfully dark. Had a missile he had not seen struck him?
More importantly, where was he now? Calephas raised his head slowly up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes with one hand. Yet his hand did not want to come to his face. With a start he realized that his hands were bound tightly behind him as he lay on one side. Rolling over on the flat wood, he pushed himself into a sitting position, stretching his shoulders as far as they'd dare go. Rubbing his fingers along the thick rope, he tried to hide his smile. These would not take him terribly long to undo.
Gazing up and about the tree's interior he saw that there was only a single exit with a tiny, barred hole in it that offered his prison a feeble illumination, leaving much of the small chamber shrouded in deep shadow. The iron door was set firmly into the base of the tree, and no hinges were visible from that side. He secretly smiled at that but remained otherwise silent. It was clear to him now that somehow the Keepers had captured him and were holding him prisoner. Most likely they would try to discern what he knew of the attack on the Keep itself, and he hoped that they asked him.
It was terribly cold though, and as he shifted about in his thick woollen jacket he could feel the iciness of the weather sink through to his very bones. The cell was obviously somewhere outside, even though he could not make out any details outside. Given that he was imprisoned within a tree, though, he decided that he was probably at Glen Avery, for those folks had made the forest their home in more ways than one. That was good as well, for he knew the land around Glen Avery fairly decently.
Shadows passed before the narrow grate set in the iron door and Calephas straightened his back. He heard a metallic bolt shift about and soon the door swung outwards, allowing the meagre light to chase the shadows from the tiny cell. Without a word two figures walked inside and the door was slammed shut with a loud ringing, as if to emphasize his imprisonment. Garadan Calephas was unconcerned with that of course, instead turning his attention to the two figures that had joined him in the shadows.
They were an interesting pair, one large and swarthy while the other was lithe and narrow. They sat down before him, the larger of the two resting a black-furred paw on the pommel of the great sword resting in his lap. The other had a long tail that flitted back and forth behind his head, almost like a billowing cape. It only too the Baron a few moments to realise just who they were, even in the darkness of the cell they all now shared.
"Good to see you again, Lord Avery," he said, doing his best to sound cordial. "How are your children?"
The squirrel started at that, and the badger sitting at his side drew his claws along the length of the blade, sending a strident squeal lancing about the dim prison. Calephas kept his face level though, knowing that his barb had stung as he had hoped. Lord Avery was quick to muster his own reserve though. "Safe, now that monsters like you have been caged. I suppose you know why you are still alive."
Calephas stretched his back rather nonchalantly, fingers caressing the knot behind him deftly, tracing along it. It would take him some time to untie of course, and it was a long way back to his forces at the Dike. "Of course, you wish to interrogate me."
The badger gripped the pommel of his sword, the leather creaking under his crushing grip. "I was thinking first we might rid the world of your filthy plaything first." Calephas actually blinked at that and said nothing else for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was to anger them enough to follow through on that threat.
Lord Avery let out a soft chuckle. "I see that we have your attention now; good."
"Hardly," Calephas countered, narrowing his gaze. "Before I say anything, I want your assurance that my two human sergeants will not be held here or interrogated any further. They know noting of the plans and the arrangement of the forces. The only one who did was myself, so if you want to know any of that, you will have to ask me. And I will say nothing until you let them go."
Both the Glenners looked at each other for a moment in surprise, just as he had hoped. The more he kept them off-balance the more they could reveal to him. A silent communication passed between them for a few moments while Calephas fiddled with the ropes that bound him. He had no desire to get them too loose while that badger sat there with his sword in his lap, so did so as discreetly as possible, only tugging on them enough to see how they moved in and out of each other.
The animal morphs returned their gazes upon the Baron, the look of distaste mollified slightly, though now more uncertain than anything else. "We have already seen to that. They are being taken care of currently, and we will see to it that they are put outside the boundaries of the curse once we have what we need from you."
Calephas nodded, though he had expected them to haggle the point for a few moments first. It was not important anyway, as he could find equally competent sergeants when he returned to the Dike. Considering the two Glenners before him, he leaned back slightly, shivering as a blast of cold air filtered through the grate. It was even worse in Arabarb, but at least there he could sit beside a roaring fire or lay beneath thick quilts while one of the local boys saw to his needs. "So, what do you wish to know?"
"How many enclaves have you set up in the Valley? We know your supply line began at the Dike, where you have considerable force. Where else do you have troops stationed?"
As he saw no point in lying about this, Calephas shrugged. "Most of the rest are at Metamor. There was no need to subjugate the northern villages as we had done the last time. Metamor is the nexus of this Valley's defence. If it falls, the Valley falls as well."
"So the only other troops that Nasoj has are at the Dike?" Avery pressed.
"That's where I left them, yes. Though there are two other outposts we've taken and garrisoned."
"And where are they?" Avery asked, leaning forward slightly, his claws scratching against the circles of wood.
Calephas drummed his fingers upon the coarse twists of the rope binding him. If they were to do as he wanted they would need incentive. Making a quick decision, he said in a droll tone, "We have troops stationed at the first watchtower on the North side of the Keep, just to make sure that none of the other villages attempt to outflank us. The second is another relay station along the road, a few hours South from this point."
"What are they doing there?" the badger prodded.
"They receive the supplies and send them on. As I said, a relay point to freshen our horses and to keep the lines of communication open."
Avery crossed his arms. "Then why haven't they sent troops North to see why the supply shipments have stopped?"
Calephas laughed bitterly at that. "Lutins are not terribly bright as a race. Their orders were to stay there in case our forces at Metamor needed to get word to the North, regardless of anything else. They're not likely to disobey that."
"How many troops are at this relay station?"
"As many as held the bridge, about three dozen, with half that number scouting the perimeter."
The badger and squirrel held another silent conference between their eyes, and then some decision was reached between them. Turning back to the Baron, Lord Avery asked, "How many troops does Nasoj have at Metamor?"
Calephas rolled his eyes back slightly as he resurrected the numbers in his head. After a moment, his light tenor began to rattle of the figures, "Several thousand Lutins, with a few hounds per squadron of Lutins, at least a hundred human mercenaries, assassins, and the like, and about a dozen mages."
"Is Nasoj himself at Metamor?" the badger then growled, his thumb trailing along the thick leather wound tightly about the hilt of his blade.
Calephas closed his mouth tightly, eyes firmly set upon the dark tree rings before him, and upon neither the badger nor the squirrel. Depending on how affairs were working out at Metamor, Nasoj was either going to be handing down rewards, or punishing those who had survived. Inevitably his ordeal here would be revealed and the truth of it strained through some particularly vile magic. He had to know what the Glenners intended to do with his information, so that he might slant it and use it against them later.
Sensing an ambuscade in the making, Calephas ground his teeth together, waiting for the Glenners to react to his silence. Lord Avery was quick to appease him, turning to the badger and giving him a meaningful look. Angus began to rise to his feet, the sword point levelled towards the Baron's chest. Calephas continued to look away until the point pressed tightly against his shirt. A trickle of blood began to soak the wool against his skin.
"I'll ask again," Lord Avery said, his voice clam, though there was a slight burr to it. "Is Nasoj himself at Metamor?"
"Yes," he barked out bitterly, and the sword point left his chest. He glared up at the badger, his eyes smouldering, though inside he could only laugh. Nasoj was quite a ways north of the Dike, letting his generals and mages do his own fighting for him. "I don't know where in the Keep though. It depends on if Metamor has been taken or not."
Angus snarled then. "I don't believe that for a minute. You've been sending supplies back and forth. Surely you've heard something."
Calephas glared indignantly at the irate badger, but kept his calm. "And the last I heard was that Metamor had not completely fallen yet."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Avery demanded.
"What I said, Metamor has not fallen completely yet. The town outside the castle is ours, but the castle itself is unclaimed." He truly did not feel in the least bit traitorous for saying these things, for he doubted that the Glenners would be alive for much longer, at least not after he set his plan in motion. He simply had to satisfy them enough to get them to move, a tricky proposition at best.
Angus and Lord Avery shared another conference, gazing back at each other, their faces waxing between determination and uncertainty, gullibility and suspicion. Calephas said nothing more, for there was little need to at this point. Instead he watched them, noting the play of the feeble light upon their eyes and snouts, how it shined in the former, and cast the latter into vague shadows.
"How can we be sure what you are telling is the truth?" Angus declared suddenly, placing the tip of his sword beneath the startled Baron's chin. The badger's voice was full of disgust and loathing, and his eyes only betrayed his contempt for the man sitting before him.
"What reason do I have to lie?"
"Every reason in the world," Angus snarled, pressing the icy tip against his neck. "You side with Nasoj, that makes you the enemy of every living being in this Valley, and in the world. What reason do you have to lie? Every damn one that a person can name, that's what!"
Calephas stared, stony faced, back at the badger, noting the darkness of his face as he interposed himself between the Baron and the light. When the master of Arabarb finally spoke, he did so softly, but harshly. "If you are so convinced that everything I tell you is a lie, then why are you bothering to interrogate me? Do whatever you planned to do with me and get it over with."
Lord Avery stood up then and placed a paw on the badger's shoulder. Angus still had his sword pressed firmly against Calephas's neck. "There is nothing more we can gain here. I think he has told us enough already." Turning then to face the bound man, he spoke in tones that broached no argument. "I have no desire to kill you, Calephas. You will stay here, in this cell, until Metamor is freed, and you can stand trial for your crimes. I imagine the curse will give you a new form by then."
Calephas nodded. "I'll probably become a little boy, it would be fitting after all considering the hundreds I've taken to bed with me. It will be nice to feel that smooth flesh upon my own body, I've always thought one of the most alluring aspects of young boys is their sweet tenderness. Don't you agree?" His tenor contained not a hint of mockery, but instead veiled itself behind a mask of honesty and simple-mindedness. The questions and statements were so frank though that they could do nothing but enrage the Lord further. After all, he had two young boys himself.
And it had the desired effect. Lord Avery stormed from the cell without another word, his tail flitting behind him in a terrible fury. Angus, however, sheathed his sword at his side and stared down at the bound noble with dark eyes gone as hard and cold as black ice. Then he brought his paw to one side and smacked Calephas across the cheek with the front of his palm with such force and speed it sent the baron tumbling away with a truly startled yelp. The claws dug into the man's ear, rending it in two. Then the badger left as well, slamming the iron shut behind him. Stunned from the blow, Calephas could not hear the bolt as it rattled into place only seconds later.
Calephas lay face down on the ground feeling the sting of that blow ringing throughout his entire head. He supposed it was fortunate he came out with only a torn ear and aching skull. His healers in Arabarb were more than adequate at repairing the damage, but he would be left with a scar. It would not be his first though, which was a small consolation. Despite the ache of his head and neck and the sting of his savaged ear he figured the injury was not as great as others he could have received, so he put the wound from his mind.
He lay there on one side for a few moments and waited. There would surely be a guard at the door. Even so, he wished to stay safe in his prison until he was certain that Avery and the others had gone back to formulate their plans. He had his own to arrange, but they would have to wait a short while. So he lay there limply, closing his eyes to rest for a moment.
His own spies had learned a great deal about the Glen during his mission last April. Though it had been a disaster, and they suffered near total casualties, the information he had discovered about Lord Avery and his subjects had been invaluable. He could never have taunted Avery into storming off had he not known of his twin sons. With a bit of a grin he recalled that they were already squirrels too, like their parents. As he drifted off into light slumber he wondered just what it would be like to caress a soft furry rump than the smooth ones he was used to. Dreams of young squirrels brought a smile to his face.
Battle Lines: Metamor Keep
"What do you have to report, Misha?"
The battle-scarred fox rose and walked to the far end of the table, opposite Lord Thomas, his eyes hard and determined. Between the Long Scout and the Duke sat Father Hough, Raven, Rickkter, and Daria, on either side of the table in Hough's study. Daria was frankly feeling a little out of place among such important leaders, but the Duke had requested her presence personally.
"After interrogating our prisoners from the fight with the Shadow Bringers, we've learned the location of the enemy's command center," Misha said, gripping the edge of the table and leaning over the map that lay atop it. "There is a group of five high-ranking mages operating out of Barracks One, here. According to our sources, these mages are acting as the commanding officers for the entire assault. They're led by General Selig, one of Nasoj's old veterans. The mages are an unknown quantity, but the lutin I know. He's a very dangerous enemy."
"And now that Kyia has been freed, they are cut off from most of their forces," Raven added. "All of the gates and doors have been sealed. Nothing can get in or out."
"How many troops does the enemy still have in the Keep itself?" Thomas asked.
"We aren't entirely sure," Misha admitted. "Our best estimates indicate perhaps four hundred human troops, eight or nine hundred Lutins, and a small number of support units." He gestured at the map. "Of those troops, a mixed force of about three hundred is assaulting the Long House. The rest have withdrawn to the barracks itself, probably expecting an attack."
"Why are they only attacking Long House?" Rickkter asked interrupting the fox.
"Evidently Nasoj thinks that Long house is important enough to expend so much effort to take," Misha replied.
"Why?" Hough asked. "What could be so valuable?"
"Metamor holds many treasures," Raven answered enigmatically. "Some more valuable then others."
Misha nodded in agreement but said nothing.
"If they are expecting an attack, then let us be sure we don't disappoint them," the Duke said evenly, changing the subject. He folded his hoof-like hands above the table and looked at the fox. "How many of our soldiers can you rally for this assault, Misha?"
The fox looked pensive for a moment. "Based on what we've seen while scouting ... perhaps two hundred regulars, another three hundred reserves and militia. The dire wolves may or may not help us, but I'll be satisfied as long as they aren't helping Nasoj. In terms of manpower, we have enough people to make it a decent fight. Our chain of command is in shambles, though, Sire -- I can't guarantee that we'll be able to pull off anything elaborate."
The stallion twitched his ears in an expression of mild amusement. "Close-quarters combat in a confined area is seldom elaborate, Misha. Just do the best you can. I want every able-bodied soldier available to be a part of this."
"Aye, sir. They'll be there."
"Good. What's your plan of attack?"
Misha pointed on the map to a small room adjacent to Barracks One. "This guard room provides the most direct access to the barracks. It will be heavily guarded, but because of its size they won't be able to fit very many troops inside. I think a strong, veteran group can clear it with no trouble. There is another door at the other end of the barracks, but it usually leads to a small, narrow corridor that connects the barracks to the officers' quarters. It also leads to one of the small access doors to the outside of the Keep -- a bolt-hole for the officers -- but as Raven said, that door is sealed. Effectively, the enemy has shut itself into a den it can't get out of. He has nowhere to retreat to. That's good and bad. The enemy can't escape but it also means they have no choice but to stand and fight to the death."
"Messy work," Daria murmured.
The fox nodded soberly. "This will be knife work, close and bloody. Very bloody, especially with wizards involved. Fortunately, the close quarters will keep them from using any large area-effect spells."
"What concerns me is that the troops attacking Long House could come back and attack us from behind," Thomas gave Raven a serious look. "Lightbringer, can you assure us that Lady Kyia will keep that from happening?"
"She will," the wolf-woman said, eyes glittering coldly. "Kyia hates these intruders as much as we do, my liege. She can keep them running in circles forever, if need be."
"That will help," Misha nodded. "Once we kill the leaders, the rest will panic and we can kill them at our leisure."
"What about the enemy forces outside the Keep?" Daria asked. "I realize they can't get in, but they could set up a siege and wait for reinforcements to arrive."
"What's the status of our own reinforcements?" Thomas asked.
"They could be here at any moment," Raven answered. "Now that the storm has lifted, they should be making good time. Once they arrive any attempt at a siege will be impossible."
"I still haven't seen any sign of help from the Mages' Guild," Misha added, "but that doesn't mean they aren't here."
The duke nodded. "We shall just have to hope they can take care of the forces outside, while we deal with those within. Continue, Misha."
"Aye, sir. Once the guard room is clear we will place the reserves and militia forces just outside it and muster our regulars here and here" -- he pointed to two spots along the left side of the barracks -- "along with most of our spell casters and archers. The remaining mages and archers will form a line at the main entrance, inside the guard room.
"When the signal is given, we'll open the front doors and the spell casters and archers will begin firing at the enemy. At the same time, Daria will use her Key to open holes in the wall at these points, and our ranged attackers there will set up a crossfire to eliminate as many of the enemy as quickly as possible."
"Will they be targeting the mages or the regular troops?" Daria asked.
"Primarily the regulars. For one thing, there are a lot more of them, and a dozen trained men with swords are as good as one mage in this sort of close-in fighting. For another thing, the mages will probably have shield spells to protect them from any direct attacks. We'll be better off using the mana where it will count. Plus I have a plan to get rid of the mages."
"All right," Thomas said. "How long do you plan to use the mages like this before pulling them back?"
"As long as they can keep the enemy at bay," Misha said. "Once they start getting drained, we'll pull them back and send in our foot soldiers. The archers will stay by the entrance points and scout for targets of opportunity.
"What about the Mages?" Rickkter asked. "They need to be removed quickly."
"I intend to take out the general and most of the mages at the start."
"How?"
"If they stay true to form," fox explained. "We'll find General Selig and the five remaining mages together in one, very well protected spot in the center. It won't be hard for the Longs to get in and kill them."
"How?" Daria asked. "They'll be in the surrounded by all those Lutins."
"I have a plan," Misha said confidently but without explaining. "We'll take him by surprise and kill them all before they can put up any resistance."
Thomas nodded. "You make it sound easy."
"It won't be," Misha said quietly sitting down in a chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes. As Daria watched the energy seemed to drain out of scout. He looked very tired and haggard.
"Are you all right?" The Duke asked.
"Just tired," the vulpine said the weariness in his voice confirming the words.
"We're all tired Misha," the stallion commented.
"Llyn dead, Lisa – crippled, Ralls, injured and now Kershaw down. I'm running short of people. I need some help. More people. I wish George was here."
"How many do you need?" The stallion asked.
"I could use one person, very good with a bow and sword."
"I know of someone," Raven said. "He just came to the temple a few hours ago. A fine hunter by the name of Padraic."
Misha opened his eyes and seemed to perk up. "A brown rabbit from Ellingham?" he asked.
"You know him?"
"George and I have had our eyes on him for a while. Having him would be perfect," the fox explained.
"I'll inform him as soon as I return to the temple," Raven answered.
"Thank you. It would greatly help us if she could do that."
"What about you, Madam Lightbringer? What are your plans for this battle?" Thomas asked.
"Sister Merai and I shall deal with the two remaining Moranasi," the priestess replied smoothly. "I expect them to be in the barracks with the commanders, but if they should try to escape we will be ready for them."
Father Hough gave her a quizzical look. "I thought you said the Keep was sealed. How could they escape?"
Raven flicked one of her ears. "The old texts say that the Moranasi are extremely resourceful. They have spells that will enable them to escape almost any prison, though they are quite draining and used only in dire circumstances. They could escape through even a sealed door, though they could not take anyone with them."
The seeming-boy frowned. "Then why haven't they escaped already?"
The Lightbringer smiled thinly. "Most likely because they still suspect they can win. If they retreat now and Nasoj's forces still manage to achieve victory, they will be disgraced before their master -- both for their cowardice and for allowing their four apprentices to die without retribution. If they wait until the Enemy is conclusively defeated, then they live to fight another day and lose nothing."
"But if they can escape so easily, how will you stop them?" Hough persisted.
Raven's smile grew wider and more mysterious. "We have our ways," she replied cryptically.
"Our key advantage in all of this," Misha said, "is the enemy's overconfidence. They didn't expect us to be able to do half of what we have already done. They certainly didn't expect Daria's Key -- and thank Eli that Kee brought it here in the first place -- and they probably aren't expecting whatever the Lightbringers have in store for them, either. I think that we should strike now -- tonight, if possible -- so that we can end this before they have a chance to come up with a new plan."
Thomas sat in silence for a few moments, then nodded. "Agreed. We shall not get a better opportunity than this." He looked up at the others. "Do what you have to do ... and may all the gods smile on us tonight."
"One thing," Misha said interrupting the duke. There was a cold light in his eyes that made Daria shiver. "I need to make this perfectly clear. We are dealing with the leaders of this attack. Some of the most foul, vile and evil people alive. This is a battle of no quarter. No quarter asked, and none given. When the fighting starts, kill everything that lives," the fox said in a cold, heartless tone. "Take no prisoners and leave no survivors."
"Misha, we are not cruel monsters," the duke countered.
"We aren't, but our enemies are," the fox replied. "We have to destroy them utterly, wipe them out of existence." He held up a dagger its steel blade blackened to show no reflection. "To do that we have to be as hard and cold as steel. We won't get another chance. We win or loose with this battle."
A solemn air filled the temple as a long procession emerged from the Archives and filed out into the hallway outside. It was all very different from before. There were no speeches this time, no ceremonies -- just the business of war, being carried out with quiet efficiency for the first time since the battle began. The Longs and the remaining members of Daria's otrinca squad had searched as much of the castle as time allowed, and dozens of ranking officers had been brought back to the temple to lead the mustering army. As Merai walked quietly with the rest of the group, she observed that there would be few people left in the temple when they departed. Lord Thomas was calling every able-bodied man and woman in Metamor to battle.
She looked up at her father, Dana, who was wearing his studded leather armor and carrying a long sword along with his expander bow. The man's gray eyes were serious and determined. She thought back to the time several days ago when Misha had turned him down for a place on Daria's team, saying that he was needed more as a father than a fighter. Now, it seemed, he would be called upon to fight anyway.
"Da?" she said softly.
He looked down at her, smiling gently. "Aye, honey?"
Merai grimaced, clenching her teeth and trying to force back the rush of fear that ran through her. "Be careful. Please?"
Dana reached out and hugged his daughter tightly. "I shall," he said.
Wordlessly, they drew out of the embrace and continued walking. In the flood of people, no one noticed the gray wolf slinking out the door behind them.
Adept Mistress Thryza prowled the edges of the barracks hall like a caged animal, nurturing her hatred into a quiet, simmering rage. The target of her anger was virtually irrelevant, and shifted with each passing step: The Horse-King who had dared to defy Lord Ba'al's chosen servant. Nasoj himself, for his idiotic misjudgment of the Keepers' abilities. Grand Master Polteen, for bringing her and her apprentices with him on this fool's errand. Rankin and Stenger, for allowing themselves to be killed by mundane warriors -- and most of all, the Keepers who had slain them, putting to waste the years of training she had invested in them. The hatred churned and writhed inside her like a living thing, and with each passing moment it drew more of the Dark Prince's power into herself.
She would need every ounce of power she could get, Thryza thought bitterly, as she pushed aside an ogre who had gotten in her way. The towering brute reeled under the impact and fell to the floor, but it did not dare to make a sound in protest. In a way, Thryza found that a little disappointing. She would have liked the excuse to torture something right about now.
The door at the back of the hall opened and General Selig walked in, his little band of pet wizards following close behind. Thryza immediately veered to intercept them.
"Hail, General Selig! I trust the cowering is proceeding to your satisfaction?" she sneered.
Selig glared daggers at her. He was big for a lutin, nearly as tall as she, and lately he had started refusing to bow his head before her. Maybe someone had finally told him that he was the one in charge of this debacle. Then again, maybe it was just that he didn't find her so imposing after she and her fellow Moranasi had been humiliated by a motley band of Keepers.
"This 'cowering', as you call it, is our best chance of preserving our foothold in the castle, Mistress," Selig said, his voice making clear how little value he placed on her title. "The Keepers must now make a choice: death now, or death later. If they attack us here, with our forces concentrated in one place, they will be crushed. If they postpone their attack, we will hold their castle under siege until the Dark Lord himself arrives."
Thryza frowned. "Nasoj is coming here?"
"We received word yesterday evening that another three thousand troops are coming to reinforce us," the mage Thorne said, standing impassively behind Selig.
The Moranasi scoffed. "And you didn't tell him what's happened? We're losing, you idiots!"
"Do not take the failure of your mission to mean the failure of ours," Selig retorted. "We still hold every inch of ground we held before."
"But now that ground can slip through your fingers like sand!"
The lutin smiled thinly. "The Keep cannot take us anywhere if we do not choose to move. When the Dark Lord arrives, he will penetrate Metamor's defenses and the rest of our troops will storm the castle. Nothing will save the Keepers then."
Thryza shook her head. "You're a bunch of damned fools, all of you. Once I take care of the ones that killed my pupils, I'm going to sit back and enjoy watching you die."
"We shall see, Mistress," Selig said, walking past her toward his chair in the middle of the room. The mages followed him, single file, all of them pointedly ignoring her murderous gaze.
Thryza turned her perceptions outward, sensing the hostile, swirling thoughts of the Keep itself -- and somewhere, not far away, the minds of approaching Keepers, ready to fight.
"We certainly shall," she whispered.
The group that waited for Misha did so in the silence of worn and tired veterans. All of the remaining Long scouts were assembled together. Misha looked the group over. There was Meredith, Arla, and Laura sharing a bottle of ale. Nearby Jotham was examining a mace that he had captured. Danielle and Finbar were off in a corner by themselves, talking. Georgette and Caroline were eating a loaf of bread together, with some wine they had acquired somewhere. He also noticed far too many faces missing. Faces of people dead or wounded.
"Explain to me again what we're going to do?" Georgette asked, chewing a piece of bread.
"We are going to kill General Selig before the main assault ," Misha explained.
"I got that part," the woman said. "My question is how? He's surrounded by eight hundred lutins, one hundred humans, and at least four ogres and a troll."
"Let's not forget the five mages too," Meredith added.
"The big question is how do we do it?" Misha asked.
"You don't know?" the bear asked.
"We have no option in this," the fox answered. "These people are well prepared and fortified. The battle is going to be hard and bloody, with Selig in command it will impossible. If we can kill the leader when the attack starts it will throw them into confusion and give us a fighting chance to win."
"That still doesn't answer my question," Georgette said. "How do we get past one thousand soldiers to kill him?"
"That's easy," Danielle said, speaking for the first time.
"Easy?" Laura asked as the whole room looked at the pine marten morph.
"They're in a room, right? Rooms have ceilings and floors," Danielle explained. We can knock a hole in the ceiling and dropped down on top of them."
Laura smiled, "Death from above!"
In Long House
The next time the door opened the figure that entered wasn't who they expected. "I see, Nasoj wasted his money on you two."
"You told us that George was some drunken, old bandit, an easy kill," Ferwig countered. "I think Nasoj wasted his money on you, traitor."
The long scout's eyes narrowed and the person stared at the fighter long and hard. "If you want to live I suggest you shut up and follow my orders. You can still earn your money."
"How?" Teria asked.
"By helping me take Long House. In twenty minutes a large lutin force will attack Long House through the front. While that's going on I'll let a group in through the backdoor. All you have to do is help us. Once the group is in we'll kill anything that gets in our way."
"Including George?" Ferwig asked.
The traitor laughed. "Yes, even George."
The fighter and the mage exchanged looks.
"One question," Teria asked. "Why are you doing this? Why betray your own people?"
"I want power and riches," the scout answered. "I saw the power Nasoj gave to Loriod. If that fat fool can get such power, so can I, and I can do a lot better then he did."
"There are other things besides power and riches," Teria said. "But you're too young to realize that."
"Are you going to follow my commands or just lay there and preach."
"As long as we get paid," Ferwig said.
"Good," the traitor replied. "First we'll get your weapons, I have them stashed nearby." Then he turned and left the cell.
Ferwig followed the scout out the door and into the hallway. A few short steps brought them to a small door. Moving quickly Ferwig rushed through into the room beyond and almost tripped over a body that lay sprawled on the floor. Looking at the corpse he recognized it as Janet, the lynx woman who had helped bring him in. The fighter stepped over the body and retrieved his weapons and equipment from the shelves they were resting on. Teria stepped over the corpse without pausing and retrieved her own items.
As they put their gear on Ferwig heard a low moan. Looking down he could see the felines arm move ever so slightly. "She's still alive."
The scout shrugged. "Not for long. I slit her throat."
"Sloppy work," Teria said adjusting the last strap.
"I'm not good at assassination, that's Finbar's job. If watching her die bothers you; kill her."
Ferwig looked at Teria for a long moment. They had been together for a long time and no words were needed. He knew what she was thinking. "I'll do it," he said finally.
The fighter drew a dagger with his right hand and knelt down next to the feline placing himself between Janet and the traitor. He brought the dagger up over his head. With his left hand he grasped the lynx woman's hand with surprising tenderness and he looked into her eyes. Something seemed to pass between them for a moment. Then the blade came down; Janet jerked once and lay still. Standing up he sheathed the blade and turned to the scout. "All right traitor, lets go to this back door and let this group in. The sooner we let them in the sooner Long house falls and we get paid."
"We need to hurry," the traitor said. "The main attack will start in a few minutes." With those words he turned and left the room. The two mercenaries followed close behind.
George raced up the steps, and passed the bubbling cauldrons and out onto the balcony. The sounds of fighting echoed throughout the hall and then died down. A tall woman dressed in robe but with a sword belted at her hip stood at the battlements looking down into the room. "What happened Diane?" he asked.
"An attack," she answered. "By the sounds of it a major one."
"Did the barricades hold?"
"I haven't any seen lutins yet."
A figure rushed across the room and stopped underneath the balcony. The red squirrel morph was dressed in ragged and battered leather armor. The sword he held in his hands had blood on the blade. "What happened sergeant Brea?" George asked the squirrel.
"Sir," the squirrel replied. "They hit the north and east barricades at the same time, at least sixty and forty lutins at each. We held them off but they're reforming for another try. Plus there's been noise from the south corridor."
"Casualties?"
"Two wounded, not serious."
Can you hold them against another assault?" George asked. It was a tall request; the squirrel had to hold three corridors with eight soldiers, two of them wounded.
"Their next attack will come at all three corridors at once," Brea responded. "Either I get more people or we have to fall back to Long House. I can't hold all three with eighteen people."
"Agreed," the jackal responded. "I'll send you more people."
"George," Diane interrupted. "We only have a few soldiers and almost half of them are down there already."
"Send more," George responded. "If they manage to corner us in Long house we're half dead."
Diane leaned over the rail. "We'll send you six more people," she told the sergeant.
"How long till they are finished setting up the ballista here on the balcony?" George asked.
"Another hour," Diane answered.
"Too long. We need it finished now," the jackal commented. "Put more people on it. I want it ready in ten minutes."
The woman nodded at George, "Understood."
Then she looked back to the squirrel. "We'll have the ballista ready to support you in ten minutes."
The squirrel nodded, "Good. We can use the help."
"Brea," George called down to the squirrel. "I want you to hold onto the barricades as long a possible then fall back to Long house."
"When do I give the order to bolt?" Brea asked.
"I'll leave that to you," the canine answered. "We need to hold them as long as you can but don't hold too long or you'll never make it back."
The squirrel nodded in agreement. "All right."
Brea turned and headed back to his soldiers. The sergeant had been tasked to defend this large hall. It wasn't even really Long House but a small dining hall in front of it.
The room had three entrances into it, on the north, east and south walls. There were no easily bolted doors there, just openings that lead into corridors. To help defend the openings they had upended some of the wooden tables to make barricades. Being over two inches thick the flat tabletops made perfect walls. When vertical, they would stop any arrow from penetrating.
George had placed six people at each entrance. At the north entrance he placed the barricade as far down the passage as was safe. Far enough to give them room to retreat but close enough to hear orders and ask for help. Standing right behind the wooden wall, was two swordsmen standing side by side. In the narrow confines of the hallway there simply wasn't room for more then two. Behind the sword fighters were a pair of pike wielding soldiers. It was an ingenious tactic. The nine-foot long pikes stuck out past the sword points and the barricade. Any attacker had to first get past the sharp points of the pikes before they could get to the barricade itself. Even if they did get that far a lutin had to fight their way past the swordsmen. All the while two archers at the very rear would be peppering them with arrows. The final touch was the caltrops scattered across the floor in front of the barricade. Really nothing more then sharp, four pointed spikes, anyone stepping on them would have their feet pierced by a spike. It wouldn't kill a person but it would cripple them and slow down the attack.
For the south doorway George had the same thing, but he didn't have enough pikes or archers to do that for the east barricade, so he placed three crossbowmen there along with two spearmen. Not the best solution but all he could do. The extra soldiers he had stand ready in the hall near the three passages. If any barricade needed help, they could rush there quickly.
The ballista had been set up by this time and he could see it on the battlemented balcony overlooking Long Houses solitary entryway. He took the time to go up and check its placement and crew himself. Brea hadn't worked with a siege weapon in a long time but he still remembered how to use it. The ballista basically worked like a large crossbow, except that the missile it fired as five feet long. It was cocked by winding the rope back with a small windless. The entire weapon was mounted on a large wooden base with a pivot. With a simple push the women who were crewing the weapon could swivel it in any direction.
Flanking the ballista on either side were eight soldiers, four on each side. They were of five different units. All had been lost in the attack and wandered into Long house almost by chance. They had never trained or fought together till today but he had no doubts about their fighting skills. He checked each in turn to be sure they knew what to do and had what was needed. Satisfied that they were ready he made his way back down to the floor of the large hall.
He paused at the doorway and looked across the wide expanse of the dining hall. Somehow it seemed larger now then ever before. Their chances of making it back across that open space to the safety of Long house while being swarmed by hundreds of lutins was small. But he couldn't fault Georges strategy. They had to keep the Lutins as far from Long House as possible. It was just Brea's bad luck to be stuck out here.
Suddenly there came the blaring of trumpets echoed across the hall and soon it was joined by the sounds of combat. The last time they had only attacked two barricades. This time the Lutins attacked all three at once.
Caroline waited calmly. For the tenth time she checked each of the arrows she had prepared. There arraigned on the railing in front of her were twenty arrows. Forty more arrows were resting in two quivers slung across her back. She examined each of them with care, checking the feathers and shafts for soundness. When done with the arrows she checked her long bow with the same thoroughness.
Beside her stood a tall rabbit morph who was also doing the same thing the otter was, checking his bow and arrows. Caroline barely knew Padraic, but George rated the brown, flop eared lapine very highly, and that was all she needed to know.
The two archers were standing in front of a waist high railing that made a complete circle of the floor. There was nothing unusual about the floor inside that circle. It was identical to the stones of the rest of the small room they were in.
A hand dropped onto her shoulder and she turned to find Misha standing there. "We're ready," he said calmly.
"I still wish you'd let me go," she commented.
"No," the fox answered firmly. He was dressed in the camouflaged chain mail that marked him as a Long Scout. Besides the ever present battle axe Whisper strapped to his back, he had a long sword in a sheath at his hip. Two hand axes were tucked into his belt along with a dozen arrows and he carried a long bow in his right hand.
"You can't keep protecting me Misha."
"I know that," Misha answered. "I'll say this once more my love. You're the finest archer in the Keep and you're needed here." He gently touched the arrows laid out on the railing. "These little items are keyed to you alone and they'll be our edge in the fight. Plus you and Padraic are going to protect our backs."
"That we will," the rabbit said nervously.
The remaining Long Scouts came up and clustered around the railing. All were as well armed and armored as Misha.
"Everyone ready?" the fox asked to the group.
"My team is ready," Arla said quietly.
"My team is ready as well," Laura announced.
The scouts waited in silence. None had any illusions about this fight being easy. All of them understood just how dangerous things would be.
"This is has been our toughest battle yet," Misha said calmly. "From happy celebration to a brutal fight for survival. It's killed many of our dearest friends and family. This fight will end that struggle and pay them back for all the Keepers they've killed. Everyone spread out and take position." The scouts all took a spot at the railing. His final order of "take no prisoners," went unspoken. They all knew it already, even Padraic.
Misha took Whisper from off of his back and carefully leaned it against the railing. He strung an arrow onto his bow and aimed it at the floor inside the circle. All of the others quickly followed suit.
"Kyia," Misha announced loudly. "Now!"
Suddenly the floor inside the circle disappeared. Caroline could see a large hall some fifty feet below crowded with Lutins and humans and she scanned them looking for a target. The otter saw a group of Lutins and humans protected by a barricade of wood at least six feet high. That would be Selig's hiding place. A tough, little, wooden fortress in it own right that crouched in the center of the hall. It even had little towers at each of the four corners. She couldn't help but laugh, it was an impressive fort, but a fort without a roof. The hole she was looking down through was directly over the center of it.
None of the people below seemed to know the Keepers were above them. That was only short lived as Misha loosed a shaft down into the waiting crowd beneath him. Everyone else joined in loosing, dropping or throwing missiles as fast as possible. They seemed to fall haphazardly, without a clear target but not one fell without striking a warm body. The floor below was soon was littered with the bodies of the slain. Everyone shot as fast as possible, everyone but Caroline.
The otter took her time. She picked up one of her special arrows, and drew her bow. In the archery tournament last summer she had been awarded twelve arrows for winning. The magic in those missiles was special, and she had saved them until the right moment. This was finally the right time. She aimed for the center of one the towers in Selig's hiding place. There were four Lutins with bows there looking around for the killer of the man who was sprawled at their feet. She released the bow string and reached for another arrow. She had just grasped the missile when her first arrow reached it's target. There was a bright flash and an explosion engulfed the whole tower and it's occupants.
Misha put his bow down and picked up his battle axe. Jumping up onto the railing he held the weapon over his head. The fox let out a long, eerie yowl and stepped into open space.
Misha landed lightly on the floor in the center of Selig's refuge, axe swinging. A lutin with a spear in his hands had time to gawk before the fox cut his head off with one blow.
A dozen Lutins charged at him their spears aimed at the fox's heart. Holding his axe in one hand he took something from his pocket using his free hand. The metal sphere he was holding looked just as it had when Misha had used it at the armory. He tossed it at the approaching Lutins. "Huyria Kormun!" the vulpine shouted. There was an explosion that tossed Lutins in all directions, some whole, but most in pieces. When the smoke cleared all twelve of his attackers were dead.
A moment later Finbar touched down next to the fox. "Great!" the ferret shouted. "The charm actually works!"
"That's great to hear," Meredith said landing next to him with a thump. The crossbow in his massive paws shuddered and a bolt buried itself in a human sentries head.
Misha retrieved the metal ball from where it had fallen. The sphere was different this time. The runes carved into it's surface were still there but the whole ball was covered with a layer of soot. Plus there were hundreds of cracks that now spider webbed across the metal surface. Gingerly the vulpine placed the orb into a pouch and turned to killing Lutins. There was no time now to figure out what was wrong with it. In a moment the remaining scouts came down together. Quickly they lashed out at every enemy within reach.
Arla cut down a pair of Lutins protecting a small tent. Jotham and Allart leaped over the fallen sentries and into the tent. The wizard they found inside raised his hands to cast a spell. A blue light glowed in his palms. Allart buried his short sword in the mages chest, and the light died along with its creator.
Two humans were frantically trying to open the forts one gate to let help in when two arrows from Padraic dropped them.
Danielle, Finbar and Meredith charged straight at a group of ten Lutins who were trying to organize into a shield wall. They never got the chance.
"Charge!"
At Captain Landon's shout Daria rushed through the breach into Barracks One, together with a mass of her fellow warriors. The acrid scent of smoke and charred, burning flesh filled the air, and her ears throbbed with the battle cries of those around her. Garulf ran alongside her, battleaxe at the ready.
The Enemy had arranged their forces intelligently: for all the devastation caused by the Keepers' magic attack, the rather expendable Lutins had formed the outer defensive perimeter, thus bearing the brunt of the assault. Hundreds of Lutins already lay dead, but their stronger and better-trained human companions had been partially shielded by the sea of green-skinned brutes around them. Now those human soldiers rushed forward with the surviving Lutins, intent on crushing the attacking Keepers.
It was, Daria knew, the absolute worst sort of fighting for her to be caught in the middle of. She was small, slender and lightly armored, and while her strength and agility were in top form there were still physical limitations on her abilities that she was all too aware of. In the close-packed sea of bodies that took shape along the outer edges of the barracks, there was a very real risk of her being crushed. She stayed close to Garulf, hoping that the bear-man's imposing bulk could help ensure her a little more breathing room.
For good or ill, that state of affairs did not last long: after a few minutes the battle lines had become mixed and jumbled, and the combatants spread out to fill the barracks' entire expansive area. Daria found herself fighting back-to-back with Garulf in a room filled with similarly small pockets of attackers and defenders. The Keepers were outnumbered, but only slightly; the initial magical strike had done much to even the odds. Daria couldn't get much sense of the overall flow of the battle -- due in no small part to her height -- but judging from the number of opponents she and Garulf were facing at any given moment, it looked as if the enemy had three soldiers left for every two Keepers. And since the Keepers were, without question, the finest warriors in all the lands of the West, those odds were rapidly evening out.
Daria and Garulf ran into a cluster of enemy soldiers, and the redheaded warrior quickly turned her mind from the overall battle to the task at hand. Occasionally glancing over her shoulder to keep an eye on her comrade, she admired Garulf's skill with that enormous axe -- he wielded it almost artfully, using it as both shield and weapon, striking with precision and brutal intensity. At one point he was attacked from both sides simultaneously; aware of both enemies, he drove the butt of the handle hard into the face of the one on his right, even as he caught the other's sword with the blade of the axe. Pushing back the one on the left with a hard thrust, he made two quick swings -- right, then back to the left -- that left one attacker dead and the other grievously wounded.
"Nice work!" Daria remarked, genuinely impressed. Clearly, Garulf was a far keener warrior than his barbaric weapon suggested.
"Thanks," the bear-man grunted, as he finished off his remaining opponent. "On your right."
Daria spun and blocked the incoming sword, then darted to the left and directed the blow's momentum down and away from her body, reducing the force of the impact on her arm. She then drove a hard right kick to the man's right knee, stepped forward into a left jab, and drove in her sword beneath his chest armor, angling it upward into his gut. Sweeping her leg behind him, Daria pulled his feet out from under him and drove him to the floor. The force of the impact made the enemy soldier finally drop his sword, which Daria had carefully kept pinned between their bodies, and she quickly took advantage of his helplessness to draw her dagger and slice open the man's neck. Retrieving her sword, she sprang up and returned to Garulf's side, leaving the invader to drown in his own blood.
"Did I ever tell you how much I admire your courage?" Garulf asked.
"Don't think so," Daria said, flashing a quick smile.
"You don't shy away from a good fight," he continued, as another pair of enemy soldiers approached them. Daria and Garulf slowly circled, back to back, making sure there were no other immediate threats to worry about. "That impresses me."
Daria smirked. "Aye, well ... you're rather impressive yourself."
Then they plunged into the fray again. As the battle continued, Daria's focus closed down, the enemy soldiers and Lutins becoming mere targets to be destroyed, no longer sentient beings with dreams and fears and ambitions of their own. She and Garulf were the only two people left in her world, surrounded by a roomful of noisy, sweaty objects classified simply as "friend" or "foe". Together, they were unspeakably deadly.
High above the fighting Caroline and Padraic calmly added to the chaos going on in the main hall. Each was using their bows to good effect, picking and choosing the target to kill. The otter used her regular arrows only, leaving her magic ones for special targets.
The first to be killed after she destroyed the small tower was a tall, black haired, human officer. He was using his sword like a pointer, ordering his troops to attack the Long Scouts when two arrows slammed into his chest. The man was dead before he hit the floor. Another man rushed up to help the fallen officer and earned an arrow in the back from Padraic.
Caroline's second kill was another human, one of three Jotham was fighting. That fighter took one arrow to drop. She moved onto other targets as Jotham quickly killed both of the other two he was fighting. Looking around she found more targets. Misha was fighting three Lutins. Two arrows evened the odds, and the fox made short work of his sole remaining opponent.
Suddenly all the troops of Nasoj in the little fort were dead, except in one corner. In that corner stood a large tent. The bright red canvas of the tent was covered in lutin scrawl. In front of its sole entrance stood a ten foot tall banner hanging from a pole, that was at least fifteen feet high. Dangling from pole and banner were countless, skulls and decaying heads. On the banner was a fanged skull on a blood red background. That was General Selig's personal standard.
Outside the little fort fighting raged savagely as the two sides were locked in a brutal fight for survival. Inside the wooden walls things were calming down as the Long Scouts finished with the other troops in the fort. Slowly they gathered in front of the tent. Between them and the tent were three ogres, ten human fighters and twenty Lutins. Behind them stood a lutin, almost five feet tall and dressed in armor. This armor wasn't the usual patched together bits and pieces. Instead it was finely made plate mail that fit him perfectly. Caroline had no doubt that this lutin was General Selig himself. The woman standing next to him was dressed in the flowing robes of a mage.
Padraic loosed an arrow and Caroline watched it streak towards the general and the mage. Some ten feet from its target the arrow shattered as if it had struck an invisible wall. The rabbit muttered a curse under his breath and reached for another arrow.
The mage looked up at straight into Caroline's eyes. She smiled and pointed her finger at the otter.
"OH SHIT!" Padraic shouted. Both rabbit and otter ran away from the railing as fast as possible and dropped behind an upturned table at the other end of the room. A ball of flame exploded a moment later engulfing the area they had just been standing in searing flames. It took a minute for the flames to die down. It revealed a burned and shattered railing.
Caroline and Padraic slowly edged forward to the hole in the floor. The rabbit shrieked and dropped to his knees. "MY BOW!" he screamed and held up a charred and blackened stick that might once have been a long bow.
The otter was luckier, she had managed to not only hold onto her bow but all of her arrows as well. She nocked an arrow and looked over the edge of the hole to the battle below.
The corner of the fort was a scene of savage fighting. The keepers were locked in bitter combat with the soldiers defending the tent. A brown bear was locked in a savage wrestling match with a ogre twice his size. Arla, Allart and Jotham were fighting a second ogre. The body of the third ogre lay stretched on the ground near the tent.
She saw Georgette, Danielle and Finbar were desperately trying to hold off a score of Lutins. For a frightening moment she couldn't find Misha. Then she saw him and Laura standing back to back as they held off the dozen, human fighters surrounding them.
General Selig was still standing where had been the last time she had seen him. The mage was still at his side. The wizard moved both hands in small circles and four balls of light shot from them straight at the Keepers. Danielle brought her hands up as if to block the onrushing spheres. The balls suddenly changed course flying off to one side as if they had ricocheted off of a stone wall.
The mage scowled and readied another spell. The pine marten morph had caught her off guard, she didn't know the keeper was a mage. Caroline took one of her magic arrows and aimed at the wizard. Danielle had blocked her first spell, but she didn't have the skill to stop her forever.
Suddenly Padraic grunted and Caroline thought he had been wounded. Looking at him she saw that he had picked up a stone block that had to weigh at least twenty five pounds and was holding it over his head. She could see his muscles bulging under the strain. Then he threw it over the edge. Caroline followed the stone block as it dropped slowly to the battlefield below. It seemed to move with an incredible slowness, turning end over end as it sped towards it's target.
"HEY MAGE!" the rabbit shouted down.
The wizard stopped her spell casting and looked up just as the block hit her square in the face. The woman's whole head exploded in a splatter of blood and gore that sprayed all over the lutin standing next to her.
Caroline turned back to the battle and aimed at one of the humans threatening her lover but didn't shoot. "Think when you're in combat," George had told her during one of their training sessions. "The key to winning and living in combat is to control your emotions and not let your emotions control you." Misha was surrounded and fighting for his life, but he was holding his own. If she killed one of the humans facing him that would have only a small effect on the battle. The same went with killing one of the Lutins. An ogre. Kill one of the ogres that will free up two or three scouts and the odds will be tipped in their favor.
All that decision making had taken a brief moment. She swung her bow over to the ogres. Meredith was tumbling and twisting on the floor in a death match with one, she couldn't get a clear shot. So she took aim at the remaining monster. Allart was laying on the ground cradling a shattered arm as Arla and Jotham fought the eight foot tall creature. The dog morph dodged a blow from a club as large as her whole body. Jotham took advantage of the distraction and rushed forward, his mace held high. He smashed the weapon into the ogres side and danced backward as the creature swung at him.
Caroline took careful aim at the ogre and waited for the right moment. The three combatants moved back and forth, in a tight dance of death. Her bow followed every move of the giant creature as it tried to kill the two keepers. She had to bid her time and wait for an opening. A wrong decision and her arrow could wind up in a Keeper, so she watched and waited and finally the moment came.
The ogre gave a huge swing of his club that made both Keepers jump back to avoid it's deadly contact, but Arla moved too slowly and the canine was sent flying backward. She landed in a heap and didn't move. The ogre tossed his head back and shouted in triumph. Caroline loosed her shaft, and then drew, nocked and shot two more in quick succession. The monsters shout ended in a gurgle as two arrows buried themselves in his eyes and a third into his throat. The ogres club dropped to the pavement. His body joined it a moment later.
Jotham stood over the dead ogres corpse for a moment. The he turned to where Misha and Laura were fighting. With one swift motion he drew a hand axe from his belt and with a single toss, buried it in the back of a human soldier. Holding his mace high he charged the men surrounding Misha and Laura. He had no time to check on Arla. Help the living first, then see to the wounded and the dead.
Misha ducked under the sword swing and lashed out with his long sword. One of his attackers stumbled backwards his intestines spilling onto the floor. That did him little good as the other three he was facing pressed forward, eager to avenge their comrade. They didn't see Jotham racing up behind them until it was too late.
Three swift blows killed them before they even knew what was happening. Misha turned to help Laura and found the woman fighting a single fighter. All the other men they had been fighting were dead. He noticed that at least five of the bodies had arrows in them, courtesy of Caroline and Padraic.
In short order Laura killed the man with a slash across his chest. "Where's Selig?" she asked.
Misha pointed to a dozen Lutins who were clustered around the general's standard fighting Georgette, Danielle and Finbar. One of the Lutins collapsed when two arrows sank into his chest.
Suddenly there came a loud grunt and the sound of bones breaking. Turning to the noise he saw Meredith standing over the corpse of the ogre he had just killed. The great bear wavered a moment then dropped to the ground.
"Jotham," Misha said. "See to Meredith and the other wounded. This fight is over."
"What about them?" the man asked pointing to the Lutins, who despite out numbering their attackers, were loosing badly.
He saw Finbar parry a blow from the general with the knife in one hand and then lash out with the other. The ferrets blade went through the visor on Seligs helmet. There was a splash of blood and the lutin collapsed to the ground. Georgette and Danielle made short work of the remaining Lutins.
Danielle grabbed the staff of the banner and shook it hard. There was a loud crack and the cloth, and trophies fell to the floor. The banner itself came to rest on the general's body. It's cloth the color of blood made a fitting shroud for such a brutal murderer.
"Like I said. This fight is over," the fox explained. "See to the wounded Jotham. Laura, make sure the dead are actually dead and not faking it. I'll muster the rest. There's still a bigger battle to win."
There came a pounding at the gates to the little fort. "OPEN UP," someone shouted from the other side. "GENERAL ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" Then there was deeper thump and the door rattled visibly. Tired of knocking, the Lutins on the outside were battering the door open.
Georgette, Finbar and Danielle, joined Misha who was staring at the wooden gate. "What do we do?" the ferret asked.
"We let them in," Misha said "and then we kill them." The fox sheathed his sword and started to unbuckle the pants of his armor.
"What are you doing?" Finbar asked, confused.
"Preparing," Misha asked, dropping the chain mail pants. "This is what we'll do."
Misha stood behind the tent and waited nervously. Beside him Georgette was kneeling, a spear in hand. If she was nervous, it didn't show. The woman looked calm and collected. Peering around the corner of the tent he looked towards the gate. The wooden gate wouldn't last much longer. Already it was splintered and hanging by a single hinge.
His eyes fell upon the small metal ball that lay in the open some ten feet from the door. That little magic sphere had done some great work for him, it's explosive abilities had evened the odds on numerous occasions. The ball had always worked flawlessly but how would it work now? Would it work at all? The fact that it was damaged was clear, but what would it happen when he activated it? There was no telling what it would do, malfunctioning magic was a dangerous thing to mess with. Still they had no choice.
There was the loud cracking of timber and the gate went flying off it's hinges. In rushed a mob of Lutins at least forty strong. They stopped just inside and looked around. All they could see was debris and dead bodies. "General?" one of them asked.
Georgette stepped into view and threw a spear that buried itself up to the shaft in the lead Lutins chest. With a shout the whole group of Lutins charged straight at the women who had dropped out of sight.
Without giving it a second glance they rushed passed the metal ball laying on the ground. Misha waited till the middle of the group was over the ball before setting it off.
"Huyria Kormun," the vulpine said out loud. The ball gave a low hiss, and it started to glow, dimly at first, then brighter. Then there was a blinding flash and thunderclap, as the ball exploded. The flames came rushing towards Misha like a tidal wave. He had a moment of pure surprise before the shock wave sent him tumbling backwards into the tent.
A little dizzy Misha slowly stood up and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He looked to where the ball had exploded and saw total devastation. The gate was blasted into splinters as was the walls on either side for a distance of ten feet. Of the Lutins there was no trace what so ever, just a blackened and scorched circle on ground. Random bits of debris burned fitfully on the ground.
"Wow," Georgette said standing up.
Hefting his battle axe, Misha stepped out of the ruins of the tent. He had changed his shape and now walked on all four legs of a foxtaur. His humanoid torso was still covered with his camouflaged chain mail armor. Below the waist his body was the pony sized form of a red fox. His lower body had no armor except for the metal soled shoes on his paws. Misha now stood over six feet tall and weighted almost half a ton, all of it muscle and bone. As he walked his muscles rippled, revealing the power locked up in them. A power he knew how to release and control.
He moved towards the gate and Georgette, Finbar, and Danielle walked with him. Reaching the point where the wooden doors had been Misha looked out at the bedlam and chaos of battle that raged around the little fortress. Everywhere his eyes wandered he saw humans, Lutins, morphs, giants and trolls were locked in a bloody fight for survival. Without a sound or a word he swung Whisper in a broad arc and charged straight into the chaos of the battle.
Starling pumped her wings hard, just barely dodging out of the way before an energy bolt burned through the space where she had been an instant before. Hissing, she turned and let out a fiery blast of her own. The enemy mage summoned a shield spell to block it, but he winced just a little under the impact. It looked like he was finally starting to tire.
David lashed out at the mage with his staff, aiming for his head and forearms. The wizard blocked the blows with his own staff, but he had nowhere near the same physical strength as the black ant-morph. Slowly, David drove him backward toward one of the pillars that supported the huge barracks room.
Starling darted around behind the enemy mage and breathed out another fire jet. This time she caught him squarely in the middle of his upper back, and the mage screamed in pain and rage as the flames burned through his robes and into his flesh. Dragonfire was intensely hot, difficult to extinguish and clung to surfaces in a thin film -- but it was also highly magical, which allowed the wizard to absorb much of its power before it could do serious damage. Still, the attack managed to get her opponent's attention, and for an instant David was forgotten -- an instant he used to knock the mage's staff out of his hands.
The sorcerer's face contorted with rage. Bracing himself against the pillar, he lashed out with claw-like hands towards the ant-warrior. Lightning bolts shot from his fingertips, coursing over David's body, but they fizzled in the space of an instant as David drained the mana out of the spell. Swatting aside the wizard's hands with a sweep of his staff, David drew back and rammed it hard into the man's gut.
Lord Dokorath's blessing was apparently still in effect, because the mage's abdominal cavity ruptured in a spray of blood, run through by the blunt, heavy staff. As the man writhed on the end of the pole, Starling let out one final jet of flame, aimed at the wizard's head. She held it there for a long time, longer than she'd ever held a blast before, until a deep, throbbing ache welled up in her throat. At last she couldn't take it any longer and closed her mouth, swallowing a few times to try to get the discomfort out of her throat. The mage's body sunk to the floor, its head nothing more than a blackened skull. Starling turned away, feeling more than a little disturbed about what she'd just done.
"Come on," David said encouragingly. "Don't think about it right now -- our friends still need our help."
After a pause, Starling nodded. Their friends did need them, and that was all that mattered for the moment. She turned and flew beside the ant-man as he ran back into the fray, being careful not to look at the smoldering corpse behind her.
Misha charged a group of thirty Lutins who were formed up into two lines shooting arrows at the attacking keepers. Their backs were to him and they didn't notice the foxtaur until it was far too late. His first swing cut down two Lutins with a single stroke, sending their body parts flying in all directions. The backstroke beheaded another in a spray of blood.
Rearing up he lashed out with his front legs. Steel shod paws cracked hard against bone and armor. Misha became like a whirlwind, slashing and swinging his axe and lashing out with his paws in all directions. Every blow seemed to connect with a lutin, every blow killed something. He was an unstoppable killing machine.
In the battle at Stepping Castle he had gone berserk and become a monster, loosing all control, but Misha remained in complete control this time. The blind rage threatened to swallow him up but he fought it as he fought the Lutins. He kept the rage in check, controlling it and not being controlled by it, using it to charge his body and drive himself harder and faster and to make him infinitely stronger.
Behind him he heard running feet. He lashed out with both hind legs and heard bones crunching. Then he spun his large, bulky body around with a speed and grace that surprised him. It certainly took the twenty Lutins that were rushing him by surprise. His front legs took down two Lutins as his axe killed two more. The huge weapon moved with a deftness and speed born of years of practice. The blade sped passed his left hind leg missing it by inches. It didn't miss the lutin who was trying to roll under him. It's skull was cleaved in half, brains splattering everywhere.
Misha closed his mind to everything but the fighting, to simply killing the enemy. The Lutins disappeared, replaced by men in plate armor, but they fared no better. Misha killed their leader with a single sweep of his axe and the rest scattered, trying to escape. Only a handful succeeded.
A large canine appeared in front of Misha, and suddenly waves of pure terror enveloped him. He stopped fighting and stood numbly in front of the moondog, too terrified to even move. Then he felt the handle of Whisper grow warm him his hands and the fear left him as suddenly as it had come. The vulpine let of a blood curdling yowl and reared up on his hind legs to his full height of ten feet. Then he dropped down on the moon dog, his front paws descending like meteors from the heavens. There was the sounds of bones crunching as his paws landed on the monsters head and the creatures body fell to the ground. Misha lashed out again and again, channeling all his rage and pain into each blow until the corpse was an unrecognizable, bloody mess. Only then did he move on to other targets.
Without a second glance at the creatures corpse he charged a group of Lutins who had surrounded a Keeper. A swipe of the axe and a flash of steel shod paws killed most of them, the rest tried to flee, but didn't get far. The other keeper helped cut them down with a flash of sword play. Suddenly all the Lutins were gone and only the dead remained near the keepers.
The battle raged around them but for a moment the two were alone. He pushed the rage that filled him back down. He needed to rest for a moment, to regain his bearings and measure where next he was needed.
It took Misha a moment to recognize the blood and gore covered creature in front of him, but the long tail was a dead giveaway. Even matted with blood, it could belong to only one person. "Rickkter," Misha said.
The creature looked at the Long Scout with cold, hard eyes that suddenly lightened in recognition. "I see you're still alive," was the raccoons comment. "Although you've put on some weight since the last time we met."
Misha laughed for the first time in many days. "You look like the black dog of Maladar," the vulpine replied. "How goes the battle?"
"Badly," the mage answered coldly. "We're badly outnumbered."
The foxtaur swung his axe in a broad arc. "Well then, let's go even odds."
Rickkter nodded and the two went back to the business of dealing death.
Ferwig, Teria and the traitor moved quickly through the myriad passages that made up Long House. They calmly walked passed guards, servants, and countless women and children. No one paid the slightest attention to the trio. They came to an intersection and took the right hand turn and entered a small hall which like Long hall was crowded with people. To the fighter the people all looked like the refugees he had seen elsewhere, tired, hungry and scared.
No one gave them a second glance as they moved through the hall. In a moment the group reached a doorway set in one wall. It was closed by a double door that lead into a passage wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The corridor was empty of people except for one soldier who was standing about twenty feet away.
The three people moved down the passage slowly. There were closed doors on the right hand side of the passage but not the left. The left wall was devoid of any openings that he could see. When they got close to the guard Ferwig could see that it was a woman, no more then sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. She was standing next to a small door that was recessed into the left hand wall.
Ferwig saw the traitor flexing his claws and realized he intended to kill the woman. He stepped in front of the scout. "We're here to relieve you while you go eat," he told the woman on guard duty.
The woman smiled. "Great, "I've can use the relief." She saluted the traitorous Long scout "Thank you Sir. I'll be back quickly."
"Take your time," the scout said as the woman moved off down the hallway and out of sight.
"That was stupid," the scout angrily. "I should have killed her."
"Is killing all you know?" Teria asked.
The traitor stared at her. "Since when do you care who lives as long as you get paid." Then he turned and rapped on the door three times. There came three sharp raps in return.
"Good, they're ready," the traitor said and reached for the bolt that held the door closed. Suddenly the tip of Ferwig's spear blossomed out of his chest. The traitor managed to gasp and look in shock at his killer. He was dead before his body hit the floor.
"Like Teria said," Ferwig pronounced to the corpse. "There are other things besides power and riches."
Suddenly there came three sharp raps at the door. Teria lightly placed her hand on the woodwork. A bright light leaped from the door and hit her full in the chest knocking her across the corridor.
Ferwig helped the mage to her feet. "They want in," Teria said.
"Can you hold them?" he asked.
She made some complex gestures on the door and a light yellow glow covered it completely. A soft thump sounded from the other side, the whole door shook and the glow dimmed noticeably. "No," Teria said, finally answering Ferwig. "There are too many and they're too powerful."
"How many?" a voice asked from behind Ferwig. Turning they found George standing there with a half dozen soldiers. The jackal was staring at them with a coldness that made them both shiver. "How many?" he asked again.
"At least eight," Teria answered. "Two of them very powerful. Plus at least sixty warriors."
The jackal stared at the dead traitor for a moment. The birds plumage was covered in blood. "Baldwin. I was sure it was Allart," he said calmly as if discussing the weather.
The woman standing next to the jackal shook her head. "A Long Scout was a traitor. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it. He was going to let them in," the woman said the shock plain in her voice.
BOOM! The sound echoed through the corridor. The door shook visibly.
"They still might get in," the jackal said. George turned to the woman standing next to him and pointed down the corridor passed the door and the mercenaries. "Where does that lead?"
"It dead ends in a kitchen and some storerooms," came the answer.
BOOM!
"Any exits?"
"No, this corridor is the only way in or out."
BOOM! The glow surrounding the door flared and disappeared. BOOM! The door exploded, splinters showering everyone. A dozen men in armor came rushing through the shattered remains of the door.
The first two invaders through the door died quickly. Ferwig speared one through the stomach and George beheaded the other with a single blow of his cutlass. A dozen more poured in to replace the dead and the corridor was filled with people locked in bitter combat.
The fight in the hallway was a nightmare; men, women, and animal morphs of all shapes and sizes locked in a frenzied fight for survival. It was a hideous fight of sword, dagger, knife, tooth and claw devoid of any subtly or tactics. Magic arced and flared through the corridor adding an eerie and unworldly light to the scene.
Ferwig lost all track of time and place as he fought to survive. He calmly speared a mercenary in the chest and kicked another one in the groin. The man dropped to the floor, groaning in pain. A spear in his back ended his groans. He saw George parry a blow with his cutlass and drove his large dagger into the attackers stomach. Suddenly flames filled the hallway engulfing attacker and defender alike. He heard screams of agony over the roar of flames. Then the fire disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
Teria pointed her finger at a figure standing behind the attacking fighters, "FA SHOO!" she shouted. And the man just seemed to fall apart, blood spraying everywhere.
In the confusion Ferwig suddenly found himself fighting side by side with George as Teria stood behind them casting magic.
"Seems like old times George," Ferwig shouted over the din of combat.
The jackal parried a blow and slashed the stomach of his attacker. He laughed, "Yes it does. Now that you're on the right side."
Suddenly from down the corridor came the sounds of shouting, screaming, and the crackle and boom of magic. The whole corridor suddenly lit up with the glow of flames. Behind the attackers he caught a brief glimpse of a skunk morph. The creatures black and white markings clearly visible amidst the invaders. He saw the skunks whole body glow with raw power. Then the image was gone, lost in a swirl of smoke and flame.
"What's happening?" Someone shouted.
"Magic," Teria answered. "Very powerful magic." The mage let out a cry and dropped to her knees.
A soldier grabbed her and helped the mage to her feet. "What's wrong?" the man asked.
"Something drained my magic," the woman gasped. "All of it!"
"What's happening to the walls?" A voice asked above the din of the fighting.
Ferwig spared a glance at the stonework overhead. He saw the stone go from the usual polished gray to a more corroded, ancient, very pale gray. Dust slowly filtered down on them. The stone was decaying as he watched. He heard George curse loudly as the stonework started to crumble. Suddenly one of the wooden roof beams he was standing under just seemed to disintegrate into sawdust and he heard the groan as the ceiling began to give way.
"EVERYBODY OUT!" the jackals voiced boomed over the bedlam. "THE WHOLE PLACE IS COLLAPSING!"
Everyone tried to scramble back to the hall down a corridor that was collapsing around them. The stones of the ceiling were raining down on everywhere as choking dust and smoke filled the air. A large stone smashed into shoulder of the reptile morph in front of him. Ferwig grabbed the Gila monster under the shoulders and lifted him up. Dragging the wounded man, the fighter made his way down the disintegrating corridor into the hall and placed the wounded man a good distance from doorway. Unlike the corridor this stonework seemed strong and secure.
Ferwig walked back to the opening and stood next to Teria. He place a hand on her shoulder and she gave him a faint smile. The woman didn't seem hurt, just tired. He watched as the corridor he had just come from collapse into rubble and debris as smoke and dust billowed out into the hall.
There came a deep boom echoing down the corridor, followed by a bright flash of light clearly visible through the smoke and wreckage. A second boom rumbled passed the debris, this time shaking the very walls and floors, knocking everyone to the ground. Teria's eyes widened in shock. "Get back!" she warned. "Get away from the corridor!"
Without bothering to ask why, Ferwig did as she ordered, scrambling on his hands and knees to do it. A tremendous roaring explosion boomed down the corridor and a jet of flame thirty feet long shot into the hall sending people and objects flying. Thick smoke filled the air and blotted out everything.
Thryza grimaced as she cast her gaze around the barracks hall. She couldn't see much from her perspective, but her aura-sight told her just what she had suspected: Nasoj's forces were losing, and badly. And worst of all, she still hadn't spotted the Lightbringers who had killed her students.
"Damn it, Lothanasi, where are you?" she muttered, caving in the chest of an approaching Keeper with a quick right fist. The man sunk to the floor in silent agony, and she kicked his head contemptuously, snapping his neck. The fool never should have tried to take her alone, she thought, wondering why all of the worthier opponents seemed to be ignoring her.
As if in reply, a challenging shout echoed over the crowd. "Moranasi!"
She spun around to see the raccoon she'd fought yesterday, his whole body drenched with blood. He was approaching her now with death in his eyes. Smiling, Thryza brought her own sword to the ready.
"Let's finish what we started, eh, Shadow Bringer?" the coon said.
"Happily," Thryza replied, loosing a quick right slash. The dark warrior stopped her blow easily, and countered with one of his own.
The ensuing duel was intense, brutal, and vicious, with neither of them holding back. The power of Revonos flowed through Thryza's limbs, as she dealt him blows that normally shattered swords and severed arms; but the warrior's sword was imbued with some sort of powerful magic that shrugged off even her hardest strikes, and he countered with attacks so strong that they could only have been empowered by Dokorath himself. The man bared his teeth savagely, reveling in the conflict, as their lethal dance spiraled all across the barracks.
"You're good," Thryza remarked off-handedly, feinting to the right. The raccoon followed her movement just a split-second too long, and she gestured toward his sword arm with her free hand. With a few muttered syllables the warrior's hand spasmed, causing him to drop his sword. " 'Tis a pity I have to kill you." She swung her blade in an arc toward his neck—
And in a flash, he reached out and grabbed it in both hands. With surprising strength -- the war-god's blessing again, no doubt -- he tore it from her grasp in an instant, then drove a fist hard into her nose. The dark priestess flew backward under the impact, but she rolled with the fall until she came up in a kneeling posture. The raccoon was waiting, though, and with an outstretched palm he drove a sizzling green ball of energy into her chest.
Thryza reeled under the impact, momentarily stunned. She tried to project another spasm-spell at the battlemage, but he resisted its effects and kept advancing, armed with her own sword. Shaking off the effects of the energy bolt, she rose to her feet, just as he thrust the sword-tip into her belly...
Only to find that it stopped against her flesh as if it were solid rock.
Thryza smirked. "My sword," she pointed out, slamming her palms against his chest. There was a loud crack of broken ribs as the warrior flew back bodily to crash against a stone pillar. He crumpled to the floor with a sound halfway between a grunt and a moan. As she swaggered towards him, she noticed that he seemed to have worn down badly -- this time, he'd only gotten to his knees by the time she reached him. He looked up at her with a stunned, glazed-over expression in his eyes.
"Such a handsome boy," Thryza purred, running her fingers through the fur on his head. "Maybe I won't kill you, after all. You'd make such a wonderful slave..." She stretched out her mind toward his, already weaving the charm-spell...
Then snapped back as if she'd been bitten. Her vision went dark and blurry, as a sudden vertigo struck her body. In her fragmented and disoriented aura-sight, she could see a strange amulet glowing red beneath his armor.
"Sorry, already taken," he growled, producing a dagger from his belt and driving it into her chest.
Thryza looked down in astonishment at the ornamented handle protruding from her sternum. That was magical armor she was wearing beneath her cloak! She coughed, feeling the unpleasant sensation of blood filling her lungs. Dizzily, she raised her hands upwards.
"Herumor, nai nuvan mornie!" she gasped.
There was a sound like thunder, and a cloud of smoke rose up around the Moranasi, choking the battlemage with its foul scent. Then there was a pulsation of darkness, and Thryza's flesh, blood and bones melted away into nothingness -- until only a living shadow remained.
The dagger fell to the floor with a muffled clang, surrounded by the black and silver garments of the Moranasi.
The raccoon swore in amazement as Adept Mistress Thryza turned glowing red eyes toward him, ethereal claws flashing like silver daggers. He dodged and rolled out of the way, recovered his sword, and rose to his feet, the rune-carved blade at the ready.
Thryza was mildly curious as to whether that mystical sword of his could actually harm her in her present form, but there was no time for her to find out. Now that she had used the wraith-spell, it would not be long before she attracted the attention of Metamor herself.
"Polteen!" she cried, her voice echoing across the hall like a banshee's wail. "Come on!"
There was another puff of smoke on the other side of the room, and within seconds the two Moranasi had vanished into the shadows on the ceiling above, leaving the raccoon battlemage behind.
They floated through the stones of the castle effortlessly, racing toward the north wall and the freedom beyond it. Thryza found herself pondering what the Dark Prince would say to Nasoj when he was forced to give an account for this miserable failure. Perhaps he would torture the wizard -- that could prove quite entertaining, indeed.
Thryza was just beginning to picture Nasoj writhing in agony in the pits of the Ninth Hell when she and Polteen passed out of the rock and into an open room.
A room that abruptly flared brilliant white from every direction.
Thryza hissed and covered her eyes, blinded by the divine light that emanated from the very stones. Futilely she threw her wraithlike body against the walls, but with no shadows present there was no way for her to slip through. She tried to summon a darkness spell, but she was already weakened from the battle -- and maintaining her wraith form was already taxing her energy reserves. As her eyes finally grew more accustomed to the brightness, she noticed that Polteen was having the same sort of trouble that she was.
Then she heard the awful, piercing metallic sound of mithril sliding out of its sheath. She turned, and a chill of fear ran through her as she saw the Lightbringers -- wolf-woman and cat-child -- bearing towards her, swords flashing in the too-bright light.
Shadows and Light
Merai held her divinely-blessed sword at the ready and tried not to show any fear. The two forms floating before them, just a few yards away, were nightmarish and menacing: though nearly human in form, they seemed to be made of darkness itself, and their eyes glowed an unearthly red. Ethereal claws flashed like daggers at the tips of long, distended fingers, each looking like it could eviscerate a man in seconds. For all their terror, though, Merai could see that these Shadow Bringers were weakened and vulnerable, their fatigue made clear by her aura-sight. That, at least, filled her with a measure of confidence, bolstering her mind against the animalistic fear she felt at the sight of such unnatural beings.
She glanced at the elder priestess beside her, and the subtle motions of Raven's eyes made it clear: Merai was to face the one who had been a woman, while the Lothanasa herself dealt with the Grand Master. No words were spoken as the two sides warily approached each other; there could be no surrender in this battle and no retreat, and melodramatic speeches would only waste time and breath.
The Moranasi struck first, rushing with blinding speed at the Lightbringers' throats. Dokorath's blessing held firm, though, and both Raven and Merai stopped their claws with a swing of their blades. Merai focused in on her opponent, forgetting for the moment about Raven and the Grand Master and concentrating solely on the shadowy, vaguely female shape before her.
The she-wraith swung her claws in three quick swipes before Merai stopped her momentum and countered with an attack of her own. The shadowy mass before her felt firm but pliable as she struck at it, like leather armor, and in a flash of insight Merai saw the shields that surrounded her opponent's body. Those shields required force of will to maintain, and in time could be battered down.
"A nicacce!" the wraith hissed, spreading her palm toward Merai. A sudden, icy chill shot through the cat-woman's body, freezing her from inside out. She went rigid, feeling her innards turn to ice.
"N-nai nuva y-yaja!" Merai gasped, teeth chattering. Instantly an aura of fire sprang up around her, countering the freeze-spell and restoring her body to normal. Gritting her teeth, she struck out at the Moranasi again, knowing the dark cleric had just wasted a portion of her precious energy reserves. Silently, she thanked the gods that Raven had been teaching her Yajiit's proxy spells.
Stealing a glance across the room, Merai saw that the battle between Raven and the Grand Master had been vicious: Raven's leather armor was largely shredded, and the fur on her arms and legs was matted in several places with blood. At the same time, the chief Moranasi seemed heavily battered: his shadowy form was significantly faded in many spots, and his "body" was leaking smoke like a censer-pot. Both were fighting like wild animals, attacking and counterattacking with blistering speed. From a quick glance at their auras, though, it seemed clear to Merai that Raven was gaining the upper hand.
Merai's attentions were brought jarringly back into focus by a slash of her opponent's claws, slicing through her sword hand. Merai shrieked in pain as the blade fell to the floor, backed away from the attacking claws, then pushed the wraith away from her with a shield spell. The sword now lay several feet away, behind the advancing Moranasi.
Biting back a curse, Merai stretched out her hand. "Yajiit, a nasa yaja!" she cried. A blast of flame about a hand-span wide shot from her fingertips, but the fire jet passed through the wraith with no apparent effect. The unholy creature seemed to be laughing.
"So that's the way it is, is it?" Merai muttered. "Fine, then..."
The young priestess stood her ground, staring the Shadow Bringer straight in her flame-red eyes. Then, steeling her will, she drove her consciousness down like a dagger into her enemy's mind.
Merai found herself "standing", after a fashion, in the midst of a swirling torrent of hatred. Pushing further in, she saw ground below her -- the solid terrain of conscious thought. In the Moranasi's mind, that ground was bare and hard, devoid of growth or beauty, like the deserts she had read about from time to time. She settled lightly to earth, eyes and ears alert for danger, tail flicking back and forth in anticipation.
She didn't have long to wait. The dust in front of her swirled together, driven by the winds blowing around her, and coalesced into the form of a short, red-haired woman with angry, defiant eyes. This deep inside her mind, Merai saw the woman's identity in an instant: Adept Mistress Thryza, the sixth child of Mordeloth Blackhand and right-hand aide to Grand Master Polteen. The Moranasi was proud of her titles, proud of the fear her name instilled in her homeland -- and, at the moment, utterly livid with Merai hin'Dana.
"Get out of my head!" she growled, lunging at the young priestess.
Merai, feeling for the first time like she was actually in control of things, nimbly stepped aside, tripping up the enraged Shadow Bringer and slashing her arm with a swipe of her feline claws. Thryza landed hard, looked down at her bleeding arm, then looked back up at Merai with an expression of surprise mixed with silent fury.
"Don't ask me to explain it," Merai shrugged, her confidence strengthened by the discovery that Thryza was unfamiliar with this sort of battleground. Evidently Prince Ba'al taught his students to focus more outwardly than inwardly, to project their anger at external targets rather than to turn their observations toward themselves. That gave Merai the advantage: if there was one thing that Raven had taught her in her short time as a Lightbringer, it was to remain centered. "Nolalye sulelya", or "Know Thyself", was one of the prime commandments of the Lothanasi; fortunately, that did not seem to be the case for their counterparts.
Thryza rose to her feet again, panting, her fists clenching and unclenching as she stared at the intruder in her mind. Merai settled into a fighting stance, claws out, and beckoned to the dark cleric.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked, quietly but with a slight edge to her voice.
The red-headed woman took the bait. She stepped quickly forward, fists raised, and let loose a flurry of punches at Merai. The cat-woman blocked or dodged most of them, then darted in with a few quick jabs of her own -- each one careful, deliberate, measured. She ducked under one of Thryza's swings and raked her claws across the woman's belly, leaving deep gouges in that soft and tender flesh. The tempest above them roared with thunder as lightning-flashes of anger split the sky, and though the wind blew hard against her Merai held her ground.
Thryza howled in rage and hit Merai with a straight right punch to the face, which sent her flying backwards to land roughly on the barren ground. The priestess was up in a moment, and she sensed a ripple of disappointment in the storm around her; evidently, Thryza had been expecting the blow to shatter Merai's skull.
"Your strength won't help you here," Merai said, wiping the blood from her nose. In truth, it probably would help the Moranasi a little, simply because it would grant her more confidence in herself. But Merai was attacking her psychologically, and the more uncertainty she could sow in Thryza's mind the easier it would be to defeat her.
Merai met her opponent halfway in the next attack, a quick exchange of blows that left both of them bruised and bloodied. They grappled with each other's arms, twisting this way and that in an effort to get some leverage, before both toppled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Thryza bit, kicked and scratched like a wild beast, and Merai responded with carefully placed blows and measured swipes of her claws. Even as the Moranasi became more desperate and heated in her attacks, the Lightbringer became cool, almost emotionless, filled with a determination as rigid and cold as iron. It was a very different feeling for Merai, but it seemed so inexpressibly right -- as if she had always known, at the very core of her being, what she would have to do in order to win this battle.
Rolling until she was on top, Thryza pounded downwards at Merai's face -- but Merai caught her wrist and pulled the punch wide. Digging in her claws, she pulled roughly away from the dark cleric's hand, slitting the woman's wrist in a long, ragged gash. Boxing Thryza's ears, Merai rolled again until she was on top, and with two quick swipes she shredded the woman's dull black tunic to ribbons.
It was a symbolic act, representing vulnerability, exposure, and the loss of identity, and the damage it did to Thryza's avatar was reflected in the surrounding landscape: the storm overhead grew darker and more violent, and the earth beneath them rumbled as cracks began to form in its surface. The Moranasi's consciousness was beginning to come apart at the seams under Merai's relentless assault.
"Who are you?" Merai asked her, tearing away the shreds of fabric to leave Thryza naked and exposed on the rock.
"I am Thryza!" the woman shouted, getting her arm free and punching Merai in the chin. "I am Moranasi!" Focusing past the pain -- after all, it was all in her mind, she thought -- Merai spit out blood and pinned down the woman's arm again. Trapping one of the Moranasi's fists under her knee, Merai quickly slashed a twin-cross on the woman's chest with her claws. It was another deliberate act, "branding" the redhead's avatar with the symbol of her most hated enemy.
"Are you really Moranasi?" she replied calmly, holding Thryza firmly in place.
"Yes!" Thryza shouted.
"Then where are your robes?"
"You took them!" she screamed. In her eyes, though, Merai saw a flicker of uncertainty mixed with the rage. The ground trembled, and the cracks around them began to open wider.
"You don't look like Moranasi to me," Merai said firmly, locking eyes with the other woman. "You wear the symbol of the Lightbringers on your chest."
"No! You lie!"
"Look for yourself."
Merai gave the other woman just enough slack to let her raise her head and see the bloody twin-cross that the Lightbringer had carved in her chest. "No!" Thryza shouted, struggling to free her arms. "Get it off! Get it off!"
"It is a part of you," Merai said simply. "It is who you are."
"NO!" Another tremor, and the cracks spread into crevasses around them, jagged and unfathomably deep. "I am Moranasi! I am Adept Mistress Thryza!"
Merai scoffed. "You aren't an Adept Mistress," she said. "An Adept Mistress would never wear the mark of the Lightbringers. And an Adept Mistress wears black and silver robes."
"I have robes!"
"You are naked."
"I had robes!"
"Where are they?"
"I -- I --"
The rocks groaned again, and now there was a canyon just a few feet away from them, so deep that the bottom -- if there was one -- was obscured in solid black. Merai leaned in close to Thryza's ear.
"You have no robes," she said quietly. "You have no robes, because you are not an Adept Mistress."
"I -- I'm ... not?"
"No, you are not," Merai said, her voice firm. "You are not an Adept Mistress. You are not Moranasi. You are nothing but a naked woman with the mark of the Lothanasi on your chest."
"No!" Thryza insisted, tears of fear and desperation filling her eyes. "I am! I am!"
"You are what?";
"I am ... I am ... Thryza! I am Thryza!"
"Who is Thryza?" Merai asked. "It is only a name. What does it mean?"
"It means ... it ... I ..." The woman was sobbing uncontrollably. The canyon widened yet again, and now she and Merai lay at its very brink. The winds of the storm howled even in the bottomless chasm below -- a tempest of pure, uncontrolled emotion.
"I shall tell you what it means," Merai said forcefully. "Thryza is a helpless, naked, defenseless woman who wears the mark of the Lothanasi!"
Thryza shook her head violently, barely able even to speak amidst her shuddering sobs. Merai loosened her grip on her hands, and the woman pulled away from her like a frightened animal.
"No! Go away! Go away!" she cried, pushing weakly on Merai's chest. Finding that she couldn't move that way, she pushed with her feet against the rocky soil, bringing herself and Merai closer to the edge of the cliff.
"Don't run, Thryza!" Merai all but yelled in her ear. "We can help you! After all, you wear the sign of the Lightbringers, so you must be one of our own! We will take care of you, poor, helpless, vulnerable Thryza!"
"No!" Summoning more strength than Merai would have thought possible in her current state, Thryza pushed the cat-woman off of her. "You stay away! I'm not one of you!" She was edging backward, sheer terror in her eyes, not even noticing the chasm behind her.
"Aye, you are, Thryza!" Merai insisted, holding out her hand to the frightened woman. "You are Lothanasi! Look at the mark! What else could you possibly be?"
Thryza backed away even further. "I am ... I am--"
And then, abruptly, there was no more ground behind her -- and Thryza fell tumbling into the bottomless depths of insanity.
"I am!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls of the chasm. "I am! I am! I am!"
And then she vanished from sight.
Instantly, the ground beneath Merai crumbled to dust, Thryza's consciousness shattering in the wake of her fall into madness. With a thought, Merai propelled herself away from the disintegrating landscape, back into the storm of emotions raging above. She felt her mind twist sharply to the right, spiraling outward—
And then she was back in her own body, as Thryza -- once again in human form -- collapsed numbly to the floor.
"I see you survived your trip."
Merai looked up to see Raven standing beside her, Elemacil in its sheath.
"The Grand Master?" she asked.
"Dead," Raven assured her. "He vanished like a puff of smoke. And his adept will soon be joining him."
Merai looked at the Lothanasa in shock. "Is it truly right to kill her like this?" she asked, incredulous. "There is nothing left of her but madness!"
"We do not have to kill her, Merai," Raven said, putting a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "For good or ill, that decision has already been made for us."
"What do you--?" Merai turned, looking at the crumpled form of Adept Mistress Thryza, and suddenly saw what Raven meant: there was a grave-looking knife wound between the woman's breasts, which Merai's aura-sight revealed had pierced the woman's heart. Even now her life force was ebbing; in another minute or two, she would be dead.
"Someone must have dealt her that blow before she changed," Raven said. "In her weakened state, her body apparently returned to the condition it had been in before, wounds and all. I suppose they must have some way of restoring themselves when they return to human form, but after you defeated her from within..."
"There was nothing left of her mind to put her back together again properly," Merai said soberly. " 'Tis sad. For a moment there, I truly believed that we might help her to find a new life. One free of all the hate that she had been raised in."
"It is sad," Raven agreed. "But it is also just. She killed many in the pursuit of personal gain, and she was an accessory to the murder of countless others. She has paid the price for her actions."
Merai nodded, eyes still fixed on the dying woman before her. "I understand," she said softly. "But it is still ... so very hard."
"May the gods help us if playing the executioner ever becomes easy," Raven said. "Now, come. Let us see what has become of the others."
Turning away from the fallen Shadow Bringer, the two priestesses took the door that Kyia had provided and began walking towards the barracks hall. Behind them, the glow of the stones faded into darkness, and all was silent.
Bonds
Raven stepped through the door at the back of Barracks One and cast a glance over the expansive room. The battle was over, but the hall was still filled with a subdued buzz of activity. The dead lay scattered from one end to the other, and spots were slowly being cleared on the blood-soaked floor to make room for the treatment of the wounded. Coe and his fellow healers were working feverishly to save as many Keepers as possible, while the soldiers and militia picked through the bodies for any comrades who might still be alive. It was a grisly, deadly serious scene -- but though the men and women of Metamor had paid a heavy price this day, they had won the battle decisively. The sheer numbers of dead invaders attested to that.
"Lothanasa! Glad to see you're still alive."
Raven turned and nodded in polite acknowledgement to Rickkter, who was wiping his sword with a cloth as he approached. The raccoon looked like hell -- several hells, actually. Blood and gore seemed to cover every inch of his body, though she suspected that most of it wasn't his. He seemed to be breathing with a fair amount of difficulty, probably due to the numerous cracked ribs she could see with her aura-sight.
"Likewise, Rickkter. It would have been a shame to lose you."
"You're too kind," he replied, with affected modesty. "I take it you were successful in stopping the Moranasi?"
"Aye. It was a hard battle, but justice has been served."
"Good. I would have liked to have killed that woman myself, but apparently my methods weren't strong enough for a Shadow Bringer."
Raven raised her eyebrows in interest. "Were you there when she changed? I still need to recover her clothes for the offering to Dokorath."
"Aye, they're ... around here somewhere," the raccoon frowned, scanning the piles of bodies around them. At last he walked over to one of the pillars supporting the roof, pulled aside a few corpses, and retrieved the pile of blood-soaked garments that lay beneath them. After picking through the clothes for a moment, he pulled out an ornamented dagger and handed the rest to Raven.
"Here you are."
"My thanks." Raven looked at the black, silver-edged robes, the belt, the shoes ... and something beneath the robes...
"This is magical armor," she said, holding up a short-sleeved black tunic covered with silver runes. It had a large, blood-stained hole in the middle of the chest. "I thought only mithril could pierce this."
"That and a few other things," Rick said, holding up the dagger for inspection. "This is one of Marshak's Teeth, four daggers that will supposedly pierce any armor."
"I remember those. You won them at the tournament, didn't you?"
The battlemage smirked. "Aye, they were the prize for second place. I suppose I should be grateful that Kwanzaa bested me."
Raven smiled slightly and folded the Shadow Bringer's clothes neatly over her arm. "Thank you, Rickkter. You helped Merai and myself more than you may realize."
"Always glad to be of service, Lightbringer," the coon said, bowing respectfully.
"Mistress Lightbringer!" a deep voice bellowed across the room.
Raven turned to see a tall, muscular bear-morph beckoning to her. He was kneeling beside a young woman -- Daria, to judge by her aura. "If you'll excuse me, Rickkter..."
"Of course, Lothanasa."
The priestess walked swiftly towards the ursine warrior. As she drew closer, she recognized him as Garulf, one of the members of Daria's otrinca squad. He was covered with blood, both his own and others', but none of his wounds seemed particularly grievous. Daria, on the other hand...
"By Akkala," she murmured, kneeling down beside the young warrior-woman.
"Can you help her?" Garulf asked.
"Aye, of course," Raven replied, examining Daria's body with her aura-sight. Several of her ribs had broken, again; one of her lungs was punctured; there was damage to her liver and one of her kidneys; and her right biceps and abdominal muscles had taken a few nasty cuts. "Heart looks well ... brain and spine are unharmed," she said, after a moment. "I can heal her, though it shall take some time."
"Is it safe to move her?"
Raven peered closely at those broken ribs, finally determining that none of them looked likely to pierce the heart. "Aye, I think so, but we'd best be careful. Do you have a stretcher?"
"I can get one."
"Do so."
The bear rose quickly to his feet in search of the needed equipment. A minute or two later, Daria let out a soft moan and began to stir.
"Stay put, Daria," Raven cautioned her, placing a hand on her forehead. "You have some broken ribs."
The redhead sighed, then coughed weakly at the sensation of blood in her lung. "Again?"
"Aye, and 'tis a bit worse this time," the priestess answered. "Garulf is bringing a stretcher to take you back to the temple."
Daria closed her eyes and nodded. "Where's Merai?"
Raven lifted her head and took a brief look around the room. Merai's aura stood out like a lantern at midnight. "Over there, assisting the healers," she said. "She's fine."
The young warrior smiled. "Good."
Garulf came back with the stretcher, and he and Raven began the delicate task of moving Daria onto it and strapping her down. They were just getting ready to move her when a loud yipping noise caught their attention. Looking up, they saw Kee Coyote running into the barracks, looking excited and out of breath.
"Reinforcements!" he shouted. "They've arrived!"
Misha, walked quickly to where the Duke was standing, surrounded by the members of his guard. With the fox was Finbar and Danielle, all looked battered and exhausted. To the vulpine, Thomas looked as tired and worn as everyone else as he leaned wearily on his sword. The long scout noted the dents in the stallions armor and the blood on his sword.
"General Selig and the mages are dead?" Thomas asked.
"Yes," Misha replied simply. "Can we . . "
"Captain Kortel, take your people and go with Misha," the stallion ordered a woman standing nearby.
"How many do you have?" the fox asked.
"Forty eight," the captain responded. "I started with ninety four."
"Get your people together and ready to move right now. We have one last fight."
"We'll be ready in five minutes. Where are we going?"
"To Long House," Misha explained. "And I hope we're in time."
Raven walked ahead of the convoy of wounded Keepers, her steps light and her stride long. She was feeling wonderfully optimistic, an emotion that had been sorely lacking in her life far too often of late. Nasoj's forces within the Keep had been resoundingly defeated, and even now the cavalry brigades from the Midlands and the nearby towns of the Valley were doing the same to the enemies camped outside. With their leaders dead the invading army would be routed, and the Keepers would drive them back into the Giantdowns like chaff before the wind. The enemy's morale would be crushed -- and, Raven knew, Nasoj would likely have to answer to Prince Ba'al himself for his failure. In spite of the horrible destruction the wizard's winter assault had caused, the totality of Metamor's victory made the future seem brighter than it had in years.
As they passed out of the corridor, into a small and unornamented room, her attention was brought back to the present by the distant sound of an animal yelping. And by the timbre of the voice, it seemed disturbingly familiar...
"Hold," she said, raising her hand to stop the line of people behind her. "Guards to the front. Form a line in front of the wounded."
Silently, six of the soldiers accompanying the convoy entered the room and spread out in front of the doorway, keeping the line of wounded behind them. The other three warriors took up a rear guard position in the corridor at the end of the line. Ears perked forward attentively, Raven drew Elemacil from its sheath. Merai came up to stand beside her, carrying a short sword she had picked up in the barracks.
The yelping grew louder, now accompanied by shouts and other noises. Soon, just as Raven had feared, a gray wolf came barreling around a corner towards the line of Keepers, with about three dozen Lutins in his wake.
*Damn it,* Raven swore silently. *Wanderer got out of the temple. He must have run into some of the troops from the attack on Long House...*
The wolf ducked into the shadowed corridor with the wounded, as Raven, Merai and the soldiers rushed forward to meet the attackers. Momentarily surprised at seeing so many Keepers in one place but apparently eager for a fight, they hesitated only a moment before leaping into the fray, screaming defiantly.
Somewhere behind her, Raven heard Wanderer let out a quiet whimper.
Hide, hide, must hide, hide from mash, bash, crash, hide from manymanytoomanytoomanytoo ... too ...
She is there, where She should not be. Too much, too fast, too danger! But She is there, fighting the other pack. She stands on two paws and holds them back.
The strange feeling comes as she fights, growing strong like the moonlight, like fire, like prettynoise. What? Whatisit? Whatwhatwhatwhat ...
She falls, a hittingthing knocking her down. Get up, She! Getupgetupgetup ...
He ...
He rai ... raises the ... whatis?
Raisssssss ...
No.
NO!
I spring on the thrice-accursed lutin and rip his filthy wrist to the bone, then spit the hand that's attached to it aside. As he scrambles back without it, I look into his eyes ... and from somewhere deep within me comes a rumbling, like thunder in the mountains. Thunder that means ... that means ...
MINE. NO HURT MINE. DIE NOW. DIE NOW, BADTHING. RIP, TEAR, I AM DEATH, I AM BITE, I AM BLOOD, I AM EATING ALIVE ...
... the nearby Lutins seem to freeze at the sight of me, and the warriors around me seize the opportunity to thrust them back toward the door ... doors? I am shoved to the ground from the side, a misplaced boot forcing me to the stone floor. I leave the war to the warriors and turn to Raven.
She is lying still, dazed, her breath is soft, almost not there, her scent ... her ...
She's scent is weak, confused. I ... I ...
I go to her side and try to take her face in my hand. Oh, Raven, Raven, please don't go, don't go, please don't go away ...
... away ...
Raven, please ...
... please don't ...
... don't leave me ...
... alone.
*I'll be a good boy*, my mind whispers in desperation, *I'll be nice, I'll be good, pleaseohplease don't leave me alone, not alone, oh please not alone again. I love you too much ... *
"Wanderer ... "
I blink more fully awake as she speaks.
" ... you're giving me a headache ... "
"Wurrrr ... "
I blink again, my quick retort dying unspoken. Unspoken? What is wrong with my voice? What is wrong with my ... ?
My hand. My ... that's no ...
What ... what's going ... what's going on?
Taking her hand, Merai helped Raven slowly to her feet. She'd taken a nasty hit to the back of the head from a lutin mace, and had lain on the floor for a good fifteen minutes before she felt like she could sit up. All the while the wolf had guarded her jealously, eyes sharp with human intelligence and tender with human affection. Evidently, Wanderer had returned to the land of the living.
Once Merai and the soldiers took care of the remaining Lutins, the younger priestess took a good look at Raven's head with her aura-sight. Fortunately, it looked like only a mild concussion; Raven would have to be careful not to tax herself too much for a few weeks, but there would be no lasting harm. Merai guessed that the Lutin's rather short stature had kept him from getting a good angle on the blow.
"Thank you, Merai," Raven said, leaning on the cat-woman's shoulder for support.
"Not a problem, Sister Raven." She turned and gestured to the men and women behind her. "Come on, everyone. We shouldn't be far from the temple now."
Slowly the line of battered Keepers continued their journey toward the Lightbringer temple, led by two priestesses and a wolf who looked like he'd finally awakened from a long and terrible dream.
*How is your head?*
Leaning back against the pile of pillows behind her, Raven smiled weakly. "Sore. Much like the rest of me," she added with a chuckle. "My fight with the Moranasi is catching up with me, I think."
Wanderer spread his jaws in a lupine grin. *Merai said much the same thing,* he "said", the telepathy spell broadcasting his thoughts to her mind. She could have used her consciousness-projection abilities to get the same result, but in her current condition the healers advised against it. Besides, that would have been useless for speaking to other Keepers, and the wolfish bard seemed to have a good deal to say after his months-long silence. *Methinks the girl is unused to such strenuous exercise.*
"She'll learn," Raven said, reaching out to idly scratch behind Wanderer's ear. Even with his human mind restored, he still found it wonderfully pleasant, especially since he was still stuck in a full wolf's body. "With things as they are in the world today, I suspect she will need to know how to fight, and fight well."
*That does seem to be the way things are progressing,* Wanderer sighed, crawling a bit closer along the bed to allow Raven easier access to his ears. He let out a little, contented-sounding whuffle. *Don't stop.*
They lay there in silence for some time, Raven working her hand around both ears and over the top of his head. After a while her hand started cramping up, and she let it fall to her side, looking out the window at the clear blue sky beyond.
"Wand'rer?"
*Aye?*
"I ... I have to apologize for the way that I've treated you."
The wolf cocked his head curiously but said nothing.
"You've given me so much," Raven said softly, her pale blue eyes beginning to water, "and you've asked for so little. I'm ashamed to say that I took you for granted, that you would always be there. And then, when you weren't..." She paused, wiping the tears from her face. Taking a deep breath, she started again. "I never showed you how much you meant to me ... how much solace and strength I took from our relationship. I tried to hide it -- tried to be strong, like I thought I was supposed to be." She turned to look at him, gazing deep into those serious yellow eyes. "I don't think I even knew how much I needed you until you were gone."
Wanderer pulled himself a little closer, the ears flattening back on his head. *Raven...*
The wolf-woman reached out and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you, Charles," she whispered. "I'm not afraid to say it anymore. I love you ... oh, gods, Charles, I'm so sorry..."
*Hush, Raven,* Wanderer said soothingly, nuzzling against her shoulder. *There's nothing to forgive. I love you, too.* Then turning his head upward, he licked her ear.
"Agh!" Raven cried in surprise, pulling away to look him in the face. The wolf was wearing a roguish grin that she found wonderfully familiar. The priestess grinned, broadly and sincerely, filled with more joy than she had felt in ages.
"You realize there's no being rid of me now, don't you?" she warned him playfully.
Inwardly, the bard laughed. *I was just about to say the same thing myself.*
With Misha at their head, the group rushed down the corridor as quickly as possible. They moved together in silence, no one needed to urge them onward. All knew that the lives of fellow keepers were at stake. Padraic and Caroline walked side by side with him. Going through all their minds was the question about what was happening at Long House. All of them had friends and family there. Thoughts of them pushed everyone to move faster. To get there before it was too late.
Suddenly the vulpine stopped and peered down the corridor. "Advance and be recognized," he said to the darkness ahead.
The shapes of Danielle and Finbar materialized out of the blackness and moved towards them. Ten feet from the group, the pine marten morph and the ferret morph stopped. Finbar held up his hands towards Misha, palms down and fingers splayed downward.
Misha mimicked the ferrets gesture but only with his left hand. "Recognized," he said dropping his hand to his side. "What's the situation?" he asked as the two joined the group.
"Quiet," Finbar said.
"Quiet?" Kortel asked.
"Explain," the vulpine ordered.
"They beat off the attack and destroyed all the Lutins," Danielle explained.
"Destroyed?"
"It's easier if you see it," Finbar replied.
"All right," Misha answered. "Let's go see."
It took a minute of marching to reach the first bodies.
The foxtaur stepped over three lutin corpses without stopping. He noted the crossbow bolts in their chests and wondered who had done the shooting. It took careful walking to avoid stepping on the caltrops that were scattered everywhere. A few steps on there were three more bodies, also killed by crossbow bolts. A fourth lay nearby with it's chest ripped open by some unknown weapon.
The next bodies were four piled in a heap in the middle of the corridor. Unlike the previous ones these hadn't died by missiles. Misha realized that this was where the barricade had been. These four Lutins had been the first to reach it and had died at the hands of spear wielding Keepers. But the wooden barricade wasn't there nor were any keepers, dead or alive..
Looking up he could see that the hallway was lined with the dead bodies of countless Lutins. In some places it was just a single corpse stretched on the ground. In other places there was a cluster of two, three or fours bodies contorted in death. The foxtaur moved onward. Splotches of blood, and dead Lutins sprawled on the floor marking the slow retreat of the barricade and it's defenders.
He could easily imagine the savage fighting that had taken place in this here. The desperate Keepers behind the barricade trying to stave off hordes of lutins and being literally pushed further and further back down corridor. But each foot of corridor the Lutins had had been paid for in blood. With each step Misha could see the bloody reminders of that fight.
Then came upon the shattered remains of the barricade itself. The large table was laying in a heap upon the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces. There was also several large pools of blood as well. One pool was so large that Caroline had to hop to keep from stepping in the blood.
Misha gave faint notice to the corpses as he stepped over them. He'd already passed thirty other dead lutins.
"Hold!" a voice announced from up ahead. "Who goes there?"
"Misha Brightleaf with relief," the foxtaur answered.
"Advanced and be recognized," the voice ordered.
He stepped forward slowly, passing three more dead Lutins in the process. Up ahead he could see the doorway to the hall. He also saw a woman holding a spear looking at her.
"That's close enough," the woman ordered and Misha stopped. Brea suddenly appeared next to the woman and ran towards him.
"Misha," the squirrel said with obvious delight and hugged the foxtaur.
"Is everything all right?" Caroline asked as the group moved forward.
Brea released the hug and the happiness disappeared for a moment. "We survived."
"Most of us did," the spear armed woman added.
"I see George's idea for the ballista worked out," Caroline said as she stepped into the large hall. There at her feet were three lutin all pieced by the same spear. The massive three foot long missile had gone through all three bodies before running out of energy.
"It did," Finbar said as he looking at a spot on the wall. A lutin was pinned to the wall by one of the javelin sized missiles from the siege engine. The body was four feet off the ground.
"Report," Misha said calmly. "What happened?"
"They came at us down all three corridors at once, all three hundred of them," the squirrel explained. "The barricades held at first, but then they started pushing us back by sheer weight right into the hall itself . . . "
Brea was going to die. That much he realized as he parried a sword blow with the dagger in his left hand deflecting the blade downwards and away from his body. The squirrel lashed out with his long sword, catching the lutin across the stomach. The creature tumbled backward only to be replaced by two more. Around him a dozen keepers fought against scores of Lutins.
They had held the barricades for as long as possible and tried to organize a retreat back to Long house door but things had fallen apart. Too quickly the Lutins had flooded into the hall and cut off their retreat. All they could do was stand in a tight circle in the middle with theirs backs pressed against each other fighting in all directions. There was no chance of winning this battle or even surviving it. All Brea could hope for was to kill as many as possible before he died.
Across the hall he could see over a hundred Lutins rushing the single doorway leading into Long Hall. Already the floor was littered with a score of their dead, killed by the people on the balcony. He could see the ballista being worked and saw it's massive bolts cut a deadly swath through the invaders, taking two or three at a time.
There were eight Lutins carrying a massive log between them and they were using it to batter down the door in front of them. Each time the massive log struck the door it shuttered under the blow and sent splinters flying in all directions. Arrows, spears, darts and even rocks rained down on them killing all of the green creatures using the battering ram. But a dozen more Lutins rushed forward and grabbed the handles before their compatriots bodies had even stopped twitching. Again and again that massive ram slammed into the door.
With a loud hissing noise and a cloud of steam boiling water poured down from hidden spouts in the wall engulfing a score of Lutins. Their screams of agony filled the hallway for a moment. But in moment more Lutins stepped over the screaming and burnt attackers and picked up the battering ram again and kept on smashing at the now weakening wood and steel door. The fight raged on. Neither attacker nor defender giving up or backing away.
In one corner of the hall a black robed figure stood silent and unnoticed by the combatants who filled the room. He began to move his arms in slow, complex gestures. His voice was soft, barely a whisper and spoke a language that few in the world remembered now. It was long dead to most. At first nothing seemed to happen, then a pale gray smoke began to form. It was thin and wispy, almost invisible first. But it grew in strength and density every second until it surrounded the figures legs like fog in a forest. Then the fog began to move despite there being no wind to shift it.
The gray fog snaked away from it's creator towards the battle like a smoky snake. It seemed to hesitate for a moment as if trying to decide who to attack first. Then it shot forward towards Brea.
The squirrel had managed to work his way to one of his fellow Keepers, a woman wielding a spear. Now the two fought back to back against a dozen Lutins. He felt something brush his leg and then a burning sensation that ended as suddenly as it had begun. Risking a glance down he saw a gray smoke wrapping itself around the legs of the lutin in front of him.
Suddenly the fog shot up and enveloped the creature completely. The lutin let out a shriek of panic and slashed at the smoke with his blade but to no effect. Then Brea saw something that made his blood run cold. Wherever the smoke touched the Lutin's skin bubbled and writhed like it was trying to escape the bones that held it. The lutin collapsed to the floor, screaming and clawing as it's face just melted away. In a moment the creature stopped struggling and lay still on the stones. Brea watched in horror as the Lutin's body just melted away leaving just bone and teeth.
The fog hovered over the bones for a moment, then split into two and went after the Lutins standing on either side. Both backed away unwilling the share the fate of their comrade, but they didn't get far. In a moment they too were screaming on the floor before dying. The fog split again, this time into four, long, powerful snakes of gray smoke. Brea realized that what ever it was the smoke was growing more powerful with each murder. It death making it stronger.
One tendril of fog shot across the floor to where five Lutins had pinned to the floor. It spread out and simply rolled over all of them at once. It paused a moment then moved onward leaving an unhurt woman lying on the stones amidst scattered bones that had been living creatures a few heart beats before.
He turned his head in time to see two tendrils advance side by side to a score of Lutins. The two swept over them knocking a dozen Lutins to the pavement. None of them survived long enough to utter more then a brief scream. Four tendrils left the Lutins bones and spread out among the fighters.
The squirrel watched in rapt fascination as the strange fog went after the Lutins. One tendril flowed over the battering ram and dissolved the ten Lutins using it against the door. The siege weapon clattered to the floor intact, with hardly a mark on it. It lay amidst the bones of the creatures that had just been using it.
A scream echoed over the battlefield over the din of combat and panic swept through the Lutins, they had finally noticed the fog. By this time it was too late for most of them to escape as the fog had blocked their escape routes. Only the north corridor lay open and Brea watched as the terrified Lutins stampeded for it.
Brea saw one agile lutin leap over one tentacle of fog and duck under a second and race off to safety. Another one wasn't so agile and lost a foot to the killing smoke. It didn't stop the creature or even slow him down and the rodent was amazed to see him hop down the corridor. Others weren't so lucky as those two. A lutin tried to dive through the fog and a heap of bones landed on the floor on the other side.
Some twenty Lutins were trapped by the fog in a corner. A solid wall of the deadly smoke advanced on them. Some wept, some screamed in terror, some shouted defiance, and others fell to their knees and pleaded for mercy. Of the three hundred who had attacked so boldly a mere hour ago, only this handful remained. Suddenly the smoke stopped advancing and hovered inches from the green creatures. Then it began to dissipate, slowly at first but then with surprising speed. In a minute it was gone leaving twenty Lutins and seven Keepers standing in a room full of the dead.
There was a clatter of metal hitting the pavement behind Brea. Turning his head he saw a black robed figure sitting on the floor with his back against a wall. The squirrel recognized the black, metal visage of Omega. He never noticed the automaton had even been in the hall. "So that's where the fog came from."
Brea looked back to the Lutins and caught the eyes of the leader. "Leave Metamor Keep immediately," the squirrel ordered in a cold voice. "And never come back."
The Lutins ran for the doorway without pause. In a moment only one remained, the leader. He stared at Brea for a moment and then turned and walked away without saying a word.
None were needed.
It took a long time to restore order. The fires were extinguished, debris was removed, the wounded cared for and the smoke eventually thinned out and vanished. And then all that was left was the counting of the dead, a long list.
George, Ferwig, Teria and four other soldiers edged carefully down the now ruined and blackened corridor. Halfway down they came to the door where the fight had started or at least where the door had been. Instead of a hallway and doors they found collapsed rubble and debris. The right hand wall at this spot was gone, instead there was a gaping hole twenty feet wide. Cold wind was blowing in bringing with it a thick cloud of snow that was already piling up on the floor. Looking into the opening Ferwig found himself looking out into open air. He could see a courtyard covered in snow and debris laid out far below. "I can see the outside courtyard," Ferwig said. "The explosion has blown a hole clean through the keep."
"Any idea what caused the explosion?" Teria asked.
"There was a storeroom full of oil back here," George explained. "I want to know what caused the walls to collapse?"
"Someone drained the magic out of them," the mage explained. "Drained it out of them and everything else."
"I caught a glimpse of a Metamoran behind the invaders," Ferwig said. "His whole body was glowing with power. Maybe he did it."
"What was he?" George asked.
"A skunk."
"A skunk. That must have been Muri," George commented. "He was a mage."
"Any sign of the skunk?" Ferwig asked.
"He must have been killed instantly," the jackal replied. "No one could have survived that blast."
December 27th, 706 CR ― 3 PM
After what felt like an eternity Charles finally struggled up from the bounds of an unwanted sleep, his body sore and resentful at his attempts to rise. Blinking into bleary, half-formed surroundings the rat struggled against the confining bag that held him fast, pushing the cloth away, but aching at every motion. The greatest pain was across his back, which felt as if a spike had been driven into the flesh and sewn in place. Yet there was one balm, a pleasant surcease from his stultified blackness, that smiling face of his dulcet lady; the last thing he could remember seeing.
And then, when his feverish images began to coalesce into something coherent, he realized that the image he saw was not that of Lady Kimberly, but of that opossum whom he had saved from the bridge. The bridge? Yes, the one that he and the Glenners had gone to destroy. What had happened to it? He had lain over Baerle as it began to collapse and then terrible agony had filled him, then nothing; darkness. Where was he?
Suddenly the blackness was sucked from his eyes as he bolted upright from the convulsing phantasms of his unconscious self. Blinking wide, his eyes stared at a small room shorn from rock, braziers lining the walls casting the place in a friendly amber glow. Looking down at his paws before him he found that he was lying in a bed, covered by thick quilts. Over his chest were bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. He reached up to gingerly press against them and grimaced, a dull throbbing pain resounding through him.
Obviously Charles realised that he was back at Glen Avery, but what had happened? He turned to climb from the bed but the pain in his back sent him falling back onto the pillow in a terrible exhaustion, his breath stolen by the sudden ache. His tongue lolled form his mouth as he panted, the heat of even trying to move that much enervating him completely. The falling timbers must have injured him more than he had realized; he was probably lucky to still be alive in fact. But what about the others? Surely they did not go unscathed in that bridge's angry fall?
His question was answered a moment later, at least in part, when he heard a shifting behind him, a creak of old wood, much like a chair. Charles put one elbow beneath him, and with a grunt and a heavy breath, rolled over onto his side and peered over his pillows at the figure behind him. Slouched over in one of Lars' chairs from the brewery was the same grey-furred opossum whose face he had seen in his dreams. Baerle was reluctantly sleeping, her narrow snout resting on one of her small paws, the long white claws slicing through the fur of her muzzle and whiskers. Most of the white powder still clung to her in patches and there were splinters of wood still imbedded in her fur from the collapse of the bridge.
Charles could not help but afford a small smile. She had been watching over him as he lay here ever since he had been brought back, not even taking the time to refresh herself. His chest felt a bit lighter at that despite how uncertain she had made him feel the previous day. He could almost feel that impromptu kiss on his muzzle, and he had to suppress a chuckle as his ribs groaned with the very thought of it. He wondered idly why she had played with him during that voyage, but found no immediate answer that made sense to him.
He did not have much time to ponder such matters, however, before the opossum stirred, her long white tail gripping the chair leg tightly. Yawning, she stretched her arms out wide and blinked drowsiness from her eyes. She then saw that the rat was awake and watching her, a small smile crisscrossing his whiskered muzzle, and so returned the expression, her dimpled cheeks casting a glow upon her face that the braziers could not match. "Ah, you're awake," she said, her voice smooth, relieved. "We were wondering if you were ever going to recover."
Charles nodded and leaned back into his pillows. "What happened? How badly was I hurt?"
"You broke four ribs," she said reproachfully. "You almost died on the way back to the Glen, you know." Her voice was slightly accusing, as if his injuries were entirely his fault.
"Four?" Charles murmured, pressing his fingers up against the white bandages and wincing. He kept running them along the shape of his chest though, but could not feel any twisted bones, or bones in places they shouldn't be.
"Burris used his magic to mend them, but they're still weak, so you are going to have to stay here for a while." Baerle said, bringing the chair around to the side of the bed so that they could talk without the rat straining himself to look back at her.
"I've never had four broken before." Charles murmured, as if proud of his injuries. Baerle scowled at him as he said that and swatted one of his round ears with a paw.
"Don't you think about it."
"Think about what?" Charles asked innocently even as he tried to sit up, holding his paws up before his face to ward off any more swats.
"Going back out to fight. You're in no condition to leave this room until those ribs heal." Charles wondered if she'd used the same routine on her father while he was still alive.
"But I'm very useful, and it really isn't that bad," Matthias grunted as he shifted back onto his elbows.
Baerle snorted indignantly, her tail lashing about behind her. "Men! Anson said almost the exact same thing, and all he did was break a leg. You can't even sit up and you think you are ready to go out fighting again. You'd be dead in five minutes if you tried. You are staying in this bed until I say you can leave."
Charles groaned, and lay back down on the pillow, panting once again. He hated to admit it, but she was right; he was in no shape to help his friends in whatever was to happen next. Nodding slowly, he sighed and acquiesced, "You're right, I ought to recover more before I go back out. But I am going to go back out, and soon. I just need to get used to the pain first. I'll be fine after that."
Baerle put a finger to his chest as he tried to rise again and he gasped, collapsing back on the bed, his dark eyes wide from the sudden pain that had flooded him. "Oh, is that all you have to do?" she asked archly, her eyes imperious, yet there was something else behind them that the rat could not yet identify.
"I said you were right," Matthias spluttered, gasping once more for breath, each inhalation causing a new round of stars to flash inside of his head. Closing his yes he rolled into the pillow, welcoming blackness into his mind. Then, with a sudden lance of fear he pushed the darkness away, forcing his eyelids open and gazing out past his furry snout towards the opossum who sat watching him. Forcing his breath down, he repeated, "I said you were right."
"Good," she said sternly, before uncrossing her arms and leaning forward, her face taking on that mischievous girlish aspect, like the one she had worn just after kissing him. "Now, what would you like to talk about? Is there anything you'd like me to do for you? I used to give my father massages when he was sore, if you are interested."
The thought of asking her to give him a massage almost caused him to splutter in embarrassment. Instead, all he managed was a dry cough, hacking for a moment or two until he caught his breath again, a thundering ache filling his chest and sapping his breath with each ragged cough. "No, thank you." He managed to gasp after a moment, waving an impotent hand toward her, "I would like to know what happened after the bridge fell, though. Did everyone make it out all right?"
She looked at him curiously, ears pricked forward as she leaned close to hear his breathless words. Impetuously she reached out a paw out to straighten the fur atop his head. Charles was too sore to protest. "Not everyone made it okay," she said pointedly, but then added, "but everyone made it. Anson's leg was broken, but he thinks he's fine. Lady Avery is making sure he gets his rest. A few of Angus's men have cuts and bruises, but otherwise we managed remarkably well. We even have Baron Calephas for a prisoner!"
Charles blinked several times, trying to sit up in surprise until his chest convinced him that was an unwise move. Baerle continued to stroke her claws across his head between his saucer-shaped ears, and he had to admit it was very comforting. He thought of the times that Lady Kimberly had done the same for him while they were lying out underneath the summer sun in one of the Keep's gardens. He hoped that she was all right, but even the thought of her filled him with worry.
However, it was short-lived, as the news that Baerle brought was great indeed. "Truly? That is a major coup then. How did we mange that?"
The opossum shrugged as she leaned close to him, her scent filling his nostrils. Was it just his imagination, or did her subtle scent seem entirely too receptive? Shaking such distracting thoughts from his mind he focused on her voice instead. "I'm not sure exactly how, I've been watching over you since you managed to hurt yourself, but I do know that his own sergeants turned traitor on him."
"What's being done with him?"
"Lord Avery and Angus interrogated him, I believe. You know how intimidating Angus can be sometimes." After Charles gave a mild chuckle that did not end in a hacking spasm of coughs, Baerle went on, "His sergeants gave us their weapons, and so are unarmed for now, but otherwise I think they are free to come and go as they please. They're both big men though. It would take four of you to make one of them, I think!"
"I've seen Northerners before, they are gigantic." Charles agreed.
"They're helping our men make new weapons right now, I think. At least that is what Amelia told me when she came in with fresh linens for you a few hours back."
Charles studied her, his own face quizzical. "Fresh linens? Why would I need those?"
Baerle laughed sprightly at that, and cocked her head to one side. "You've been bedridden for almost a day now. You can't very well use your chamber pot lying down can you?"
"Oh." Charles said, flushing once more in embarrassment. He gingerly lifted his sheets with one paw, and peered down, which only caused the opossum to laugh again. "Oh dear."
"Don't worry, I cleaned you up. I've had to do it for my father for years now a well."
The rat flushed even more, his whiskers standing out to their tips as his ears backed in consternation. She'd cleaned him up, which meant she'd touched him down there. Nobody had ever touched him down there in years, not even Lady Kimberly! He wished he hadn't asked about the sheets now, as he would have been perfectly happy remaining ignorant of the entire affair. At the very least, Charles could console himself that this was nothing special for her, as she had done it for her father after all. Yet for some reason, he felt she derived a secret amount of delight from taking care of him like this, and he could not understand why.
So he turned the conversation back in directions that he felt were less compromising for him. "Why do you need to build more weapons, I thought you had plenty here."
"We did," she said, her face taking on the serious rote once more. "But Nasoj's forces swept down on us so fast, we weren't able to stockpile them in sufficient numbers. We have enough swords and daggers, but many of our longer bows were broken."
"So you are trying to repair them?" Charles asked, though for some reason he doubted that, as he was vaguely aware the difficult process involved in shaping a bow.
"No, silly, we are using the pieces for what we can. The snapped strings make wonderful garrottes, very good for taking out sentries."
"What do they want to use all this for? We've taken out the supply line, so now what can we do?" He queried as he propped himself slowly up on his elbows again.
Baerle leaned forward again and tapped a claw on his pink nose. "You can stay in bed and rest," she said pointedly, pressing that claw down, making the rat's whiskers twitch uncomfortably. "As for the others, I think that Lord Avery wants to help save Metamor. I think they're going to attack Nasoj's forces from the rear as soon as they can force Baron Calephas to talk."
Charles's eyebrows arched in surprise and he found himself trying to rise once more, the pain in his chest filling him again though he did his best to ignore it. "If we are going to help Metamor, I have to be there, it's my home!"
But once again the opossum simply pressed her claws into his ribs, and with a grunt he fell back onto the pillow, breathing heavily. She waited several moments, shaking her head down at him. With her watching over him like this he knew that he was not likely to join in the fight until she thought he was ready. Yet, despite that, there was sympathy in her eyes this time. "You'll be no good to us when we do go, not like this. You'd delay us at every turn, and where would we be then, hmm?"
Charles closed his eyes as he continued to catch his breath. Finally, after the agony had left his bones, returning to that dull throbbing that was bearable, he answered her in despairing tones. "But Metamor is my home!"
"Then why did you come here to fight with us?" The question struck the rat as more curious than anything else.
"Because of Garigan, my student. I promised him that as soon as he reached a certain point in his training, he could return to Glen Avery freely. When we found out that the Keep was under attack, he insisted on coming to save his home, but I knew that if he tried to come alone he would be caught and killed. So I insisted that I go with him, and so here I am."
"And your human friends?"
"They wanted to come along as well."
She nodded then and leaned back in her chair, tail swinging back and forth and rubbing at the polished wood. Finally she bent down and retrieved something from the floor at the rat's bedside. Matthias watched with keen interest, hoping sourly that food was in his near future. He hated having to be waited on like this but, much to his chagrin, Baerle was right. He could not do practically anything for himself in his condition.
Yet what she lifted was not anything edible, but the thick black cloth of his Sondeckis robe. She turned it over in her palms, the white of her paw fur brighter in contrast. Finally she managed to draw the heraldry to the top, the folds of the robe making the white sword appear bent and the red palm crooked, almost like a paw. "You were all wearing robes like these when we found you, except that Garigan's was green. What does this mean? I've never seen anything like it before."
With a sullen pang of irony he realized that Nasoj's attack had forced the issue. He could no longer hide who he was. The bloody kangaroo was going to have his way after all because of this. Somehow that only made him despise his former friend all the more. However he could only hope that the marsupial met an unfortunate end during the attack, as his neck was not here for the rat to sink his claws into.
Even so, he still had to answer her question. Taking a deep breath, and thankfully not descending into a coughing fit for having done so, he began, "I'm not surprised. That is the symbol of the mage clan that we four belong to. Well, we aren't officially members as such, and my elders do not even know of our ferret. But that tells others who we are and what we can do."
"You are a mage?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Not like Burris, or most of the magicians you've seen, certainly. I can't cast any spells in the normal sense of the word. We have a power born within us that lets us use physical force in ways that ordinary men cannot, and most mages cannot. That's how we were able to break the foundation of the bridge, because we are stronger than we appear; far stronger."
She traced her claws over the sword, and around the hand. "How can Garigan be a member if your elders don't know about him?"
Charles fumbled with his words for a moment. "Well, he isn't technically. When I was here last April I saw that he had the power within him, and so I took him back with me to Metamor to train him to master it, instead oft he other way around."
"His power controlled him?" Baerle asked, her voice mostly curious now, seeking.
"Yes. Our power feeds on our emotions. Ask any of his friends here about how he was acting before he left for Metamor last April. He was surly, grouchy, and very combative. You've only seen how he is now."
Baerle shook her head, "Only a little while watching him in the bar. I didn't come to Glen Avery until last June after all."
Charles nodded as he lay against his pillow. "I remember you mentioning that before. Anyway, had I not reined him in his power might possibly have killed him, or caused him to harm others. It won't do that now, he's learned enough to keep it under control."
She continued to fold the cloak contemplatively, running he paws across the dark fabric, feeling the rough edges of the seam. "Will you be going back to Metamor, after?"
"After what?" Charles asked.
"After all this is over, and you've recovered I mean. Will you take Garigan back to Metamor with you?"
"I would like to, yes," Charles admitted. The truth of the matter was he had never even thought that far ahead so far as Garigan was concerned. Now that they were in Glen Avery he had no hold on the ferret, and if he should decide to stay how could the rat compel him otherwise? Reluctantly he added, with a painful sigh, "But, that is his decision."
"What of your human friends? Were they both women before?"
Charles did his best not to laugh though his whiskers twitched with a smile, "No, they haven't been touched by the curse yet. I imagine they'll stay only as long as they have to, unless the curse takes them. I wonder if that wouldn't be such a bad thing after all." His voice trailed off as he considered what that could mean. With three black Sondeckis there would be little to fear from the Kankoran at least. He could even give back the Sondeshike simply to appease Misha, as it would do Rickkter little good.
Even so he felt slightly ashamed at that line of reasoning. Misha was his friend, somebody he cared deeply about. And he had betrayed a trust in keeping that Sondeshike. Yet the great unknown was whether he could trust Rickkter far enough to let him have the weapon back. He did not know for certain, but he was afraid that he could not.
"And you are going back to the Keep once this over?" she asked finally, her voice rather distant.
"Of course, that is my home."
She nodded absently, gently stroking his head fur with one claw. It was much like Lady Kimberly did while they were lying together, he thought. Even so, Baerle's sudden withdrawal did strike the rat as unpleasant, so he scooted up a bit under the covers and offered her a pleasant smile. "Were you an archer before you came to the Glen?"
She nodded, turning her muzzle to one side, considering the sconce along the rough-hewn cavern wall. The light it cast made dizzying shadows along the contours of the cave, always flickering and shifting about him as if they were spinning about. "After Nasoj's forces destroyed Mycransburg, I took up the bow. I was only twelve at the time, and hadn't changed yet. Most of the boys my age had been killed in the raze, and as many of the older men who'd survived were now women, they let me practise with them. The bow was the only weapon I was really any good at."
"Have you had much chance to use it?"
"More now that I'm here at the Glen than before, but yes, I've killed my fair share of Lutins. They like to raid our farms you know. Mycransburg is still too poorly defended, even after all these years. I remember the days when I would play with one of the ard'Kapler boys out in the rolling fields with the cattle, doing our best not to step in the pies. He was older than me by eight years I think, but he was a midget, and hated being around his family. He went off to Metamor a year or two before the attack to become a mage I think."
Charles grimaced, his breath sucking in warmly. "Wessex," he murmured, remembering the dead child's eyes, haunting grey embers that flared with maleficent light.
Baerle nodded, turning to face him, muzzle cracking in a dimpled smile, her eyes brightening. "Yes, that was his name. Do you know him?"
"I did," Charles said, looking to that face, so innocent despite all the pain that surely she had faced in recent years. He could not help but feel a great compassion for her. "I'm sorry, Baerle, but he's dead."
Her eyes faded then, dark embers dwindling into ash. "Oh," she said, leaning back in the chair, her paws settling in her lap negligently. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Not as sorry as I am to have to tell you this. I wish I could give better news to you," Charles reached out a paw from under the quilts and laid it atop of hers, gripping them in a comforting touch. She returned the gesture, holding onto his paw, as if it were a sacred treasure, an heirloom that had been passed on from a dying elder
"I'd rather know," she said softly, her eyes meeting his again. There was a subtle warmth to them that they shared in that moment of rapport. "How did he die?"
Charles sucked in his breath, unsure of how to respond. In all truth he did not know who had actually killed the young mage, only that it had been a most horrific death, most likely caused by another mage. To make one undead was not easy, and there would have to be an investigation of it when Nasoj was finally stopped, if he was at all. Sighing, he said the only thing that he could, "He was one of the first casualties of Nasoj's invasion. I helped put him to rest before coming here. I'm sure he is somewhere far better now." He did not mention that the boy had been a well-known agnostic at the Keep, as he did not know to what faith Baerle subscribed.
She nodded solemnly, her gaze descending step by step into a melancholy that was tearing at Charles's heart. There was such a vivacious spirit in her that it pained the rat to see it quenched at the loss of an old friend. He had lost too many himself. Reaching his paw even further, he gently stroked it along her arm, offering her his smile yet again. "Baerle, it is all right, please don't cry."
She held onto his paw tighter, shaking her head. "I'm not crying!" she declared, though her eyes were wet. "I'm not crying," she added, though with less conviction than before.
Charles leaned over slightly, his chest groaning in protest. His other arm came around and he gently presses a claw beneath her muzzle, raising her eyes to meet his. "Yes you are." he said, though he did his best to keep a certain amount of levity in his voice.
And it proved enough, for her eyes brimmed then as she laughed, her body shaking, and her visage bright once more. She patted Charles on the head with one paw as she tightly held the other. Then, not feeling that was enough, she leaned over his bedside and wrapped his chest in a gentle hug. It did hurt slightly, but not enough for him to object. As she drew back up, she pressed her muzzle to his, and kissed him quickly.
"Thank you, Charles." she said, before she laughed again. Charles's expression was once more that of shock, as his nose scrunched up, in disbelief that they'd kissed. "You look really cute like that, you know."
He grunted and lay back on the pillow. He felt his stomach growl at him again, as well as another unpleasant sensation a bit lower on his anatomy. Grimacing, he patted the top of the quilts for emphasis, "Is there anything I can get to eat here? I haven't eaten in days I think."
She chuckled again and rose from his bedside, her long white tail circling one of the chair legs. "Of course, I'll go bring something back in a bit. You just rest there, and we can talk more I get back, all right?"
He smiled and nodded, watching her leave out through the doorway at one end of the room. When he heard the soft click of the latch he breathed a sigh of relief and tossed back the coverlets. Aside from the bandage wrapped over his chest he was completely naked, but it was not something that embarrassed him as much as it used too. Peering over the edge of the mattress he could see where his clothes had been piled and black chamber pot at one corner.
He grinned at that and began to draw himself up into a sitting position. It took quite a bit of energy and by the time he had his legs dangling over the end of the bed he was panting again, so weak he had to hold onto the sheets to keep from falling back down. With a ginger push he slowly slipped his feet to the cold ground, letting his paws feel the stone beneath them. He kept his arms pressed against the bed for support for he did not think he could stand otherwise.
Then, kneeling over the chamber pot he took care of one pressing concern. It felt good knowing that he would not have to worry about Baerle cleaning him again!
December 27th, 706 CR ― 4 PM
Charles was finishing off the stew that Baerle had brought for him when a trio of figures collected outside the doorway. The opossum was still sitting in her chair next to him, holding onto his mazer of mead while he spooned the beef and potatoes into his muzzle, heartily enjoying the warm flavours of both. At first he objected to Baerle's assistance in holding his mazer while he ate, but she pointed out that he had nowhere to set it down, and might spill it, so he begrudgingly took her help.
Yet as he gazed up and saw his fellow Sondeckis standing there, white powder washed clean from their faces, he could not help but set his plate down upon the quilts before him and call out in delight, "Jerome! Krenek! Garigan! I'm so glad to see you all, and well! Please, come in, I'm just finishing my breakfast."
Jerome laughed slightly as he passed beneath the aperture. "It's actually closer to dusk than dawn, but we just heard that you've come to, so thought to welcome you back to the world of the living."
Charles then turned to the opossum, her eyes watching his companions with a bit of uncertainty, as if she was about to order them out and insist that the rat need rest. Yet his gaze caught her attention and she held out the mazer for him thinking, or hoping, that he wanted another drink. His request caused her face to droop slightly, but only slightly. "Baerle, do you mind excusing us while we talk? I'll be fine, I assure you."
She nodded then and set the mazer on the floor next to his robes and other belongings. "I'll be back to check on you in a little bit though." Her eyes then went to Garigan, the only other animal morph in the room. "Be sure that he doesn't get out of that bed. He is very weak right now, and should not be moved. Don't let him tell you he is fine, because he isn't."
Garigan nodded at that, offering the flustered opossum his word that he would keep Charles in bed, with rope, if need be. Baerle looked back at Matthias with her hazel eyes once as she rose from the chair, patting his shoulder with one calming paw, and then lithely walked from the room, the click of her toe claws upon the stone receding into the distance. Zagrosek watched her leave, his own eyes curious though he did not immediately speak. Instead he came in and dragged two more chairs into the room with him, setting them down beside the bed.
When they were all sitting around their friend, Charles said again, even as he leaned back up on his pillow and grimacing at the ache in his chest, "I'm very glad to see you three here. Baerle told me that you made it out unharmed, but it is still nice to know it with my own eyes."
Garigan whistled through the gap in his front teeth as he chuckled. "I imagine Baerle has told you a good number of things recently. I hadn't believed it at first when these two told me what you and she had been doing together on that trek."
Matthias blinked, his cheeks growing hot as his ears backed. "I don't know what you are talking about!"
Zagrosek shook his head as he suppressed a chuckle. "Oh come now, Charles, don't tell me you haven't noticed the way she is flirting with you. She obviously has her eyes set on you, and is trying to woo you. And you've been making it very easy for her."
"Oh come now," the rat groused. "I already have my Lady Kimberly, why in the world would I be interested in this opossum?"
"I didn't say you were, but she is very much interested in you," Zagrosek winked back at him. "She insisted that she be assigned to watch over you while you recover, you know."
Though he didn't want to admit it, he could see that mischievous grin as Lady Avery consented to let her sit at his side. But, as he'd known her for barely a day, she was probably just the flirtatious sort, hardly worth worrying about. "Never mind about Baerle," Charles finally said, putting the last few bites of the meat into his mouth before he handed his plate to Jerome, who set it on the floor. After chewing down the luscious morsels, he added, "I want to know what's been going on."
"We have Calephas as a prisoner," Garigan said, quite elated. "Turned in by his own men too, if you can believe that."
Charles nodded then, even as Jerome handed him his mazer. Drinking the last of the warm mead he wiped his muzzle upon the fur of his upper arm and handed the wooden decanter back to his friend. "Yes, Baerle told me all of that. Has he been interrogated yet?"
"Earlier in the day, aye." Garigan continued, his tongue pressing at the place where his two front teeth had once been, only to find the scarred gums. "We didn't get much out of him though. But it looks like Nasoj may be at Metamor himself."
Charles blinked in surprise. "Now that is important! If it's true–"
"If it's true," Garigan finished, "we may be able to end our troubles once and for all. Lord Avery and the rest are discussing the particulars of it all now. We don't have the forces to single-handedly destroy the flanks, but we certainly can harass them."
The rat nodded approvingly at that, and then looked over at the two humans. "And so, do you plan to stay for this final fight? I don't know just how many days you have been with us already yet, my accident has made me lose count."
"By dawn tomorrow we will have been here in the Valley for four full days." Jerome replied, certain. "We are going to stay the duration, though it is our hope that this siege is resolved in the next two days, otherwise, we will most likely be stuck here with the two of you."
Zagrosek shifted in his seat a bit, leaning forward ever so slightly. "I can think of worse fates than to be ever at the side of friends." His eyes then strayed down to the white bandages wrapped firmly about the rat's chest. "Did you really manage to break four of your ribs?"
Charles nodded then, resisting the temptation to feel his chest, as that always filled him with an intense throbbing. "They're mending now at least. I'm glad to see that you three came out unscathed."
Jerome rubbed the back of his head slightly. "Well, not completely unscathed. I woke up several hours after the fight with the worst headache ever. Here, look at this bruise." The broad man turned around, showing him a swollen scalp, and purplish lines all across the back of his neck. "You'd think I'd dyed it, it's so colourful."
Wincing, Matthias turned to the other two, "And how did you fare?"
Garigan shrugged, "I wasn't down in the chasm, remember? All I got was Lutin blood on my fur. That stuff is such a pain sometimes to wash out."
"Just a few minor bruises," Zagrosek added, shrugging. "How long do you think you'll be in bed?"
"Well, I'm not moving today," Charles said, grunting as his chest drove the point home, his ribs creaking beneath the bandages. "I don't want to be kept here in this bed like an invalid while the rest of you risk your lives for Metamor."
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice," Zagrosek pointed out, rifling his fingers through his black hair. "Breaking four ribs is not the sort of thing you just walk away from, even with the help of magic."
"But, I–" Charles stopped and sighed, leaning back against the pillow, one ear pinned under his head. "I don't want to be helpless."
Jerome chuckled softly, and gave him a warm smile. "You aren't helpless, Charles. You never have been. I'm willing to wager that you can still punch anybody sneaking into this room while lying in that bed."
The rat nodded sourly as he lay there, breathing shallowly, to keep his chest from groaning against the bandages. "It just doesn't feel right for me to be stuck here, while you are fighting for my home. I can't explain it any better than that."
The three of them shook their heads as if in unison, though Garigan spoke for them. "You don't have to, Charles. We know precisely what you mean. I felt exactly the same way when I first heard about the attack; I was willing to walk into the face of death to save my own people, my home. Metamor Keep is your home, just as Glen Avery is mine, and you have every right to wish that you could be there to drive out those Lutins and plunge a dagger in Nasoj's black heart."
Garigan smiled then, a lopsided grin that showed off his missing teeth. "Besides, in another few days, you will be right as rain again. And then you can go back to your love, and everything will be all right once more."
Charles smiled weakly at that, though stronger than before. "I do miss her. I hope she is all right."
"You said yourself she was in the Chapel, and there are many competent fighters there. I'm sure she's safe." Garigan assured him, his voice confidant.
"I just don't know," Charles admitted. The thought of her being hurt, and possibly dead, was a frighteningly real one to him. He did not wish to imagine what they could have done to her, for he also feared the rage it would unleash in his chest. Yet the shame that burgeoned there instead came from the fact that no matter what had happened, if anything, there was nothing that he could do about! He could not protect her, he could not soothe her wounds and her heart, nor could he avenge her should the terrible occur. That was the true source of his woe.
"Look," Zagrosek cut in, "we've all been injured at one time or another, have we not? It happens to the best of us, and when it does, we just have to live with it. I would rather have you at my side than a hundred men, Charles, but the truth is, you can barely sit up in that bed, let alone wield your Sondeshike."
The rat sighed disconsolately then, slipping back within the warm covers, resting his paws on the lip of the quilt. No matter how much he hated to admit it, they were right, all of them, Zagrosek, Baerle, Garigan, Jerome; they all knew that he had to rest in this bed until he was well enough to leave. And, much to his chagrin, he knew it too, no matter how much he wished to deny it, or worm his way around it. No circumlocution would mend his bones and restore his muscles. Only time could bring back his health and his strength.
"Well, then, I just hope that you three can fill my place adequately in the coming battles. My thoughts will be with you."
Garigan then gave him yet another lopsided grin, deliberately pulling back his lips to expose the raw, bright red gums where his teeth use to belong. "It could be worse, you could be missing your two front teeth like me!"
Charles found himself laughing, as were the others. "Yes, but at least with you, it isn't too noticeable! How does your mouth feel by the way?"
"Much better now," Garigan shrugged, one paw reaching up to feel at the empty space in his muzzle. "It is still sore, but at least it doesn't hurt to eat any more."
"Good, I don't think I want to know how awful that must have hurt."
"And I think I'd like to keep my ribs in one piece! What ever made you leave yourself so exposed like that?"
Jerome chuckled dryly, shaking his head, at which the rat gave him a dirty look. "Baerle had been standing out in the open watching as the bridge tumbled down. I grabbed her as I ran and forced her into the crevice beneath me. I guess it hadn't been deep enough for the both of us."
"And she blames you for getting yourself hurt too, I'd wager." Zagrosek added in wry amusement.
Charles nodded at that, his face settling into that typical moue of annoyance. "Yes, that is what I've gathered. I can only imagine the fit Lady Kimberly is going to throw when she finds out how badly I was hurt. She'll probably blame it all on me too."
Zagrosek laughed then; a thick throaty laugh. "That's a woman for you! They aren't just satisfied with seeing you in pain, they have to make you feel guilty about it too!"
"And then they hug you really tight and gape at how brave you were," Jerome added, his smile whimsical. "Remember that night we were walking the streets of Makor, and we ran across the lady being robbed?"
Charles nodded, his own muzzle twitching with the delightful reminisce. "Ladero was on the hooligans before I'd even recovered from my drunken stupor. And they were running as fast as they could only a few moments later. She practically jumped in his arms if I recall, and then fussed over the cut he'd gotten."
"Of course," Zagrosek cut in, "Ladero wouldn't let her touch it, which only got her more insistent."
"It wasn't as amusing as when we found out she was a prostitute and was willing to repay Ladero with her trade!" Jerome put in. Garigan's eyes went wide at that, his village innocence shining through clearly. The ferret had heard of such people, but had never seen them, not even in Metamor, though he knew they existed in the town.
"I'll never forget that," Charles murmured quietly. "His cheeks were so bright when he found out, that you could have used him to light the city block!"
"I think he spent the rest of that night counting his rosary." Jerome added, laughing at the recollection.
"Ladero sounds like a very good man," Garigan put in, gazing at the three black Sondeckis, his own eyes wistful.
Charles nodded, his lips set firm. "Yes, he was." Then shaking the memories from his mind, he peered back at the rest, his eyes curious. They were also tired, as a sudden sleepiness began to fill the rat. It had given no warning, but as he lay there, head against the pillow, he knew that he must soon rest. "When do you think Lord Avery will want to act on what he got from Calephas?"
"Probably tomorrow," Garigan said. "Maybe tonight. The sooner that we can strike at Nasoj, the fewer of us have to die."
"Well," Charles said, his throat dry, "Then let us sing the Song of the Sondeck one last time while we are together. I know that you two are going to leave if this mission is successful, and you are better off not coming back to visit me again. So, before we part again, let us share in that."
Zagrosek nodded even while Jerome began to hum a note. "We shall sing," the black-haired Sondeckis declared, affirming the rat's plea. Each finding their own place in the song the four of them joined in harmony, singing that ancient melody to the walls, letting it fill the silences of the cavern and into their bodies, bones; to fill their souls with the unifying theme of the ancient song. Though his chest ached with each new note, Charles sang on, letting his voice rise in conjunction with theirs, to form that hymn of old, and to once more proclaim his allegiance to their mutual suzerainty.
His eyes trailed over their faces, even as he found his spirit transported upon the waves of song. Their features were already a permanent fixture in his mind, yet the rat studied them nonetheless. As the sound and the Sondeck filled his body and soul he wondered whether he would ever see any of them ever again. That thought slowly faded as the somnambulant strains echoing off the walls lulled his eyelids and soon, as the last harmony resounded, the rat had drifted back into quiet sleep.
Lord Avery had already drained two mazers full of mead yet his nerves were still wound tight, like a new sapling tied in a knot, threatening to work loose and swing violently about and smacking all who were nearby. The badger who was morosely glaring at the map before them was not much better, every now and then striking the table in heated frustration, and constantly pacing his wide girth back and forth behind the table. Lady Avery's slender paw was resting on Brian's shoulder, her words soft-spoken and soothing, but ultimately they could not remove the stain that Calephas had left upon his thoughts.
His boys were off to one side of the bar, still rubbing down the slender shafts of fir that had been collected. Their small rasps were more than adequate to add the proper notches and to make the indentations necessary for the fletching. They were not discouraged by the fact that several of the scouts that they had grown up with were now dead. Rather they appeared emboldened to try and help all those that they lived in this forest with. Though Brian did not know which would take his place and watch over the Glen, he knew in his heart that they would be good stewards, either of them.
Yet his knuckles tensed, the flesh beneath his fur whitening with strain as the horrid images that Calephas had implanted rose once more to the surface. That beast who only bore the semblance of a man wanted to use Brian's progeny for his sexual amusement, debasing their bodies in whatever fashion he chose, before throttling the life from them and discarding their useless flesh in some faeces-infested gutter. That very notion burned Avery's heart and made him wish nothing more than to see the Baron's privates skewered left out for the crows, among other even less wholesome mutilations.
Yet as he listened to the soothing words his wife murmured into his short, round ears he knew that his mind ought to be elsewhere and not on devising more interesting and painful tortures for the dog of a man locked in their redwood cell. Leaning back he ran a single paw up into her cheek fur, disturbing the grey of her ruff, his dark eyes meeting hers and sharing an instant of untamed fear. Then, sighing, he said softly, "I love you, Angela."
Her short muzzle broke into a gentle smile and she pressed her two large teeth against the side of his head, planting a kiss upon his own ruff. She then blinked in sweet but reassuring delight. Though, with a bit of mischief about her, she replied, "I'll think about it."
Lord Avery laughed then, finding the tension in his body relaxing somewhat as he turned back and gave her a kiss of his own, his nose twitching at her lovely scent. There was a tinge to it that was pleasantly familiar. With a bit of chagrin he realized that she was beginning to come into season. He blinked in surprise as he recognized this fact, appearing almost embarrassed as he sat there facing her.
She caught the look and nodded, knowing precisely what he'd realized. Setting a single claw upon his nose, she tapped it in admonishment. "After Nasoj's troops have been beaten, dear."
Angus peered up at them curiously, but said nothing, his own nose quite capable of telling him all that he needed to know. Instead he set his dark orbs back on the map of the Valley that was stretched out before them on the table. Leaning forward, he rubbed the white diamond on his forehead, pretending to be lost in his own thoughts despite the fact that the Baron had rendered him too incensed to keep focussed.
"Well, I think we should really try to work out a plan of action," Lord Avery suddenly interjected, his voice filled with new purpose. Angus did not mention he had a very good idea what that purpose might be. In fact he found it quite amusing, something that he would have to confront his friend about over a good mazer of mead one day, many months from now.
Several of the other Glenners began to get approach their table, setting down the work they'd been doing. Most were busy repairing broken weapons, piecing together new shirts of mail, sewing cloth garments to help protect them from the chill season, or lying down with their muzzle in their arms to catch a bit of sleep between patrol shifts. In one corner Walter looked up briefly before she returned to stitching appliqué heraldry of the Glen into various tunics and coats. She had insisted that they allow her that vocation while they kept her cooped up in these travertine caves away from her home and her looms. Avery knew that she did not blame him for this, and so had not argued but allowed the tailor to pursue her own agenda when she was not needed elsewhere.
Alldis came up behind Brian from the other side and crossed his long arms over his broad chest, the thick black nails of his three-fingered hands tapping his elbows. "Well, what exactly did you have in mind? You said the Baron was not very forthcoming. Aside from that relay station, of course."
Angus shook his head and hit the table again with his thick fist. The table shook with the force of the blow and the mazer set before Lord Avery nearly toppled, saved only by the squirrel's swift paw. "He gave us numbers of troops, and as they were we could never hope to match them. Presumably the Metamorians have dispatched a good number of them by now, but we can't depend on that."
"And presumably Nasoj is there," Alldis finished for him, lifting that hoof-like hand to tap at his slender snout. "It could be a lie of course. I would hardly expect honesty from a man of his habits, but what if it is true?"
A small voice piped up, hushed as if expecting swift rebuke because though the speaker was obviously nervous, "He is a powerful mage. If we tried to attack him, he could scatter us to the winds, mi'lords."
Angus grunted as his eyes trailed to the white ermine who had been sharpening his mien gauche upon a whetstone. Fellen had been under the boot-heel of the thankfully late Lord Loriod, and so had trouble escaping the subservient habits that the fat man had instilled in him. And it had not just been through force of arms that had so ground his spirit to dust, but also through the geas of magic. It was little wonder that he feared Nasoj so greatly.
Berchem shook his head as he continued to dust some of the white powder from his fur. He'd just recently returned from a patrol of the region but had found not even a single living Lutin skulking about in the thick snow. "An arrow can kill any man, if they do not see it coming," he said simply, his voice carrying with it the weight of many years of hard won experience.
"If he comes out into the open." Fellen countered, his tail whipping from side to side in his nervous tension.
"Well that is all well and good, but it doesn't help us too terribly much," Lord Avery pointed out, spreading his paws before him as he rose from his seat. Angela stood close to his side, her paw still resting upon his shoulder as her long, bushy tail mingled with his own. "We have to decide what to do. I believe at least one thing that Calephas said. If Metamor falls, then so will the rest of us."
"I'm afraid he is right about that," Alldis muttered sourly.
"He is." Brian continued. "If Metamor falls, so do we. That is why I believe that Nasoj has centred his forces on the Keep. We should find token resistance throughout the rest of the valley because the great bulk of their forces here," he tapped the castle which occupied near the very centre of the pass between the mountains. "We've destroyed their supply line and we'll have taken that relay station soon, but I do not believe that it will hurt them at all anymore."
"Why not?" Berchem asked, sounding mildly upset about that. It was not hard to imagine why, as he had led the expedition into the chasm to destroy the Northern bridge, as well as the one that had travelled down the road to determine whether Calephas had been telling the truth about the relay station. Much to their dismay the Baron had been honest, giving them one more task to perform before they could help Metamor.
"Because there are at least a hundred men in his service, mercenaries most likely. I have grave doubts that they would have signed on if the siege had been intended to last more than a few days. It has been almost four since the battle started, so they must feel victory is soon to come."
Angus glanced at the map thoughtfully, studying the lay of the land and the thick of the forest that surrounded Metamor's northern borders. He could see Glen Avery in one corner, secluded, with only Barnhardt's estate a two-hour walk to the South. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, rubbing his nose absently with one claw. "Has our envoy to Lord Barnhardt returned yet?"
Alldis shook his head, the great set of antlers threatening to dislodge the paltry chandelier that swung absently from the timbered roof. "No, that party hasn't returned yet. They should sometime soon though. If the newt has troops left I cannot imagine him refusing to join them in any scheme we may devise."
Lord Avery nodded, and considered. "I can hardly imagine him refusing to help either, despite our grievances."
Angus's brow furrowed at that. "He won't come join the fight, so you needn't worry about that."
"Of course he won't join the fight himself, he's a newt. He's probably having his wife soak him in a tub of warm water just so the weather doesn't kill him. I won't blame him for that–" Lord Avery cut his diatribe short, lest he begin to blame his Southern neighbour for the various disputes they'd had over the years.
"In any event," Alldis spoke, "let us assume that he sends his troops to join us. We obviously have to make some sort of attack against Nasoj's troops. From what side though, and by what path?"
"Well," Berchem mused as he drew closer. "Their wagons were moving down along the main road, and they do have that one station just a short distance south of the glen along it. There may be more groups stationed along the road that Calephas didn't tell us about. But we should have little trouble in sacking them unless they are as heavily garrisoned as the Dike."
"True enough, so it sounds like our forces should follow the road South, though flanking it rather than on it. That sounds reasonable to me. We'll also need to take that watchtower as efficiently as possible, so that they can't warn their brethren at the Keep. I suggest a small team of archers and fliers. Burris can help with that. And what should we do once we near the castle itself?" Lord Avery asked.
"Well, I suppose we would have to see depending on where the troops are placed." the skunk replied, rather stumped. If only they had more information about Nasoj's troop placement at the Keep they might be able to plan properly, the Lord of the Glen bemoaned to himself. He could see that wistful look on the face of all of his brethren here, each one wishing that they just knew a little bit more about what was going on.
"Another good question," Alldis then mused, tapping his muzzle again with one thick hoofed finger. "How many of our men are we going to take to Metamor, and how many stay behind to guard the Glen?"
At this Lady Avery sucked in her breath, though her paw was firm and steady upon Brian's shoulder. The grey squirrels regarded each other for a moment before Lord Avery turned back to the rest around the table. His voice was certain and stern though the edges had been rounded smooth, betraying his concern for his people. "We will leave only a dozen men to protect all those here who cannot fight. The children will be taken below to the lower caves and kept hidden down there until we return. The men will wait in the brewery here and defend it should the Lutins discover it. If four days pass and those who remain behind do not receive word from us then I want you all to leave this place and head for the mountains to the West."
There were a few about the room who began to object to that, but Lord Avery waved them silent with one paw. "I know, I do not like to think of abandoning our home to those monsters, but we may have no choice. If you do not hear from us in four days we will either be dead or captured. I do not want to see the same happen to any of the children, be they of my blood or not. Angela will lead you into the Dragon Mountains and from there you will hide as best you can and keep living with the hope that one day you'll be strong enough to push the Lutins back out of our home."
Angus snorted. "I'm surprised Nasoj chose this time to invade. The entire continent is girding itself for war, ever since the Patriarch died. At least that's what I hear from Metamor. Even if Nasoj wins he'll ride right down into the Midlands only find seasoned troops waiting for him."
Lord Avery nodded at that, breathing deep, his heart soft after ordering such a terrible thing. Yet he could feel the warm touch of his beloved wife and he knew that she would be strong enough to carry on and raise their sons to fight for the Glen, even if they could not live there. "So I want to take every other available fighter down to Metamor. I wish that Matthias could come, as he is far more familiar with the area than any of us, but we'd kill him if we tried to bring him. It takes about five hours to reach Metamor from here via carriage. I want to be there by midday tomorrow with as many troops as we can muster. We will wait until midnight to hear from Barnhardt, but then I'm afraid we will have no choice but to strike out on our own."
"We'll have at least sixty men," Angus said, running his large black claws through the thick ruff of his cheek fur. "If you want to include some of our new recruits who haven't finished their training yet then we'll have just over eighty."
"Yes, bring every paw that we have," Lord Avery said, spreading his own slender paws across the map. He was about to continue when there was a pounding from the barricade at the main entrance to the brewery. Three firm raps, then a pause followed by two slower ones in a earlier agreed upon sequence. They each let their breath exhale, though drawn swords were still held tightly, the fresh leather crinkling in their calloused hands as the guards opened the door to the outside.
A small cadre of Glenners poured into the warmth shaking snow from their cloaks and their fur. The wind shrieked through the aperture and plumes of snow blew inward, sprinkling the roan horse who stood watch with speckled white. Their eyes turned to the lead figure, another buck whose set of antlers was only slightly less dramatic than Alldis' own. Hearts leapt in delight at the sight of the proprietor of Glen Avery's only Inn. Voices were raised to congratulate the stalwart buck at his safe return from his mission to the South.
"Jurmas!" Brian Avery called out over the din of the crowd. "Please be bringing good news, for we sorely need it at this hour."
Jurmas shoved the thick coat from his shoulders, wrapping his arms about his chest, the thick green tunic underneath damp from the snow. His wife, a slender doe who had been helping Mrs Levins in the kitchens, rushed to greet him and drew his chilled body close, sharing her warmth. The buck smiled and gently kissed her, whispering words of assurance and relief before turning to his Lord. "We've come back from Barnhardt's lands fast as we could. He's agreed to put his men into the field under our joint banner. He dickered about it enough though." The buck muttered, "I had to remind him just who was invading Metamor at least three times. Sometimes I think the water is sloshing around in his head, and not the other way around."
His complaints were not unexpected, as was the buck's habit. Alldis regarded him dismissively, though his own narrow muzzle was breaking into a cervine grin at the news. Avery hoped that the two bucks had gotten over their animosity from the embarrassing rut this last Autumn, but instincts were hard to dismiss. All he needed was another waft of Angela's luscious scent to remind him of how powerful it could be.
"How many men does Lord Barnhardt plan to send?" Angus asked finally as he leaned his large form across the table.
"Not nearly as many as we hoped," Jurmas groused as he continued to rub his arm fur free of the damp snow. "The Lutins had sent a small force to pen them in before moving onto the Keep but his soldiers spotted and engaged them yesterday morning, so he won't give us more than a third of his garrison out of fear that there might be a counterattack. He's sending at least a hundred men; thirty archers and three times as many foot. He only wishes to know where he should send them."
"Thank you Jurmas, we'll discuss that now. I'll send another group to inform him once we've reached a decision." Lord Avery smiled at the Innkeeper, one of the first he'd given that evening, and certainly the first since interrogating that foul Baron.
"Of course, my Lord." Jurmas acknowledged, bowing gracefully, his antlers sweeping out before him, nearly catching on the edge of a nearby table. When he straightened he looked about, his light voice turning sour, "Now, where can I get some warm food and drink into my stomach? I've been walking through the snow all day after all, and having to deal with stubborn newts!"
His wife led him to the counter where Lars was already bringing him some of his mead and a plate of Mrs. Levins' vegetable stew. Jurmas continued to lament his travails privately to his wife around mouthfuls of potato, while Lord Avery and the rest returned once more to their map.
"There, I think." Alldis said, tapping a cluster of hills just South of the Lake near Barnhardt's estate. "It will take us at least four hours to reach there on foot. We can wipe out the relay post quickly enough, and then continue on down to wait for reinforcements there, as it is relatively secluded and a good distance from the main road."
Angus nodded in agreement. "I can have our men keep those hills secure until Barnhardt's men arrive. It probably is the best place. If we send a group to meet with Barnhardt now, and leave ourselves within the hour, we will probably only be waiting an hour or two before we can push on further South to Metamor."
"In the night no less," Lord Avery said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That will be awfully hard on those of us without fur."
"True," the badger mused. "I recommend we keep what humans we have here at the Glen, excepting Charles' friends should they decide to come. From what I've heard them say, I think we want them there at our front."
"Good, send somebody to fetch them and Garigan. What humans we have stay here in the brewery. Angus, I leave the choice of any others for this place's defence up to you."
"What about the Baron?" Angus asked, his voice full of disgust.
Avery's dark eyes narrowed. Those orbs strayed to two small squirrels who were watching the conference with barely veiled curiosity even as they continued to work on fashioning the bits of wood into arrows with their rasps. He then looked back the badger, the malice held within his gaze plain and clear. "Set a guard upon him, but if something unfortunate happens to the prisoner, I don't care."
The others around the table nodded, sharing the sentiment wholeheartedly.
December 27th, 706 CR ― 11 PM
Baron Calephas was wretchedly cold. Night had long since fallen on the Glen, and inside his wooden cell all pretensions of warmth had fled, leaving him shivering in the thick wool that he had worn when venturing to the Bridge. At the very least they had left him his clothes, otherwise he would probably have died from the chill by now. As it was he was hard pressed to believe that he would not die anyway under the lack of care the Glenners provided.
He had heard the muffled sounds of footfalls an hour earlier moving past the tree in which he had been imprisoned; a great number of them passing him by. Certainly Lord Avery had to have set set his men on their expedition to Metamor by now. If he were to follow through with his hastily conceived plan, he would have to act swiftly. And so he slowly stood, the cold stiffening his joints and biting through his garments the moment he unfolded himself. He paced his cell, rubbing his arms firmly as he paced, working up a particular need – as well as keeping his body warm – and talked to his jailer.
The guard outside the door was a rather robust wolf morph though his belly could have benefited from less alcohol. He did his best to ignore Calephas's barbs though the Baron could hear him growl under his breath into the chill wind. This sign only emboldened the master of Arabarb, prompting him to describe in detail how he had seduced one particular page boy back in his father's manor. It had been his very first and he had been rather clumsy at it, but he told nothing of that to the wolf, gushing with voracious detail about the event, and how the boy had cried against his bonds at the climax.
"Shut up you sick bastard," the wolf snarled, banging his sword point against the bars of the iron door.
Calephas laughed at that. "Oh, I assure you I'm no bastard, I was born legitimately from my father's loins. Though I did have a few half-brothers. In fact, the youngest was quite handsome. I remember that on his eighth birthday I gave him such a lovely present, though he wasn't quite as eager as I'd hoped. Eight times I gave it to him, for being eight years old. I thought it a fair gift. Would you care to hear about it?"
"I said shut up!" the wolf barked, his eyes gone red with disgust.
The Baron, however, went right ahead and began to tell the story, ignoring the guard's angry demands, omitting not a single detail, describing the boy's cries as he made each thrust. He noted the way the knots were tied that held him secure to the bed, and remarked upon how long the sobs continued even after he had finished and let the boy recover from his exuberance. Throughout the tale the wolf only growled louder, though he set his back firmly to the door, doing his best not to give Calephas any pleasure.
The Baron took every opportunity he could to find pleasure, as it was necessary. Stepping close to the iron door he peered out into the dark of the frigid night and, though he could only see the vague outlines of the wolf's form, it was enough. "My, I must say, your children must be quite lovely. After all, you're a delightful specimen. I certainly wouldn't mind taking one of your boys to bed and exploring further."
As he said this he uncinched the belt at his waist and let his trousers fall to the floor, exposing his legs and groin to the bitterly cold wind. The wolf turned about and snarled at him from between the bars as he had hoped, crying out for him to be quiet. What he found, rather than silence, was the warm stream of the Baron's piss splashing across his muzzle and spilling down his nose.
Spluttering with rage the lupine guard jammed the keys into the lock as he snatched his sword from its sheath with his other paw. Calephas slammed his shoulder into the door the moment the bolt was pulled, throwing the heavy iron outwards against the enraged wolf, smacking it into his head. Kicking his pants to one side he jumped out into the bitter snow and dived onto his jailer.
The wolf, startled at the ferocity of the sudden attack, tried to bring the sword across. His muzzle was bleeding profusely from the nose and mouth as one of his long canines had been knocked from his muzzle and was lying in the scarlet snow. The Baron was faster for all of his chill. He kicked the wolf's sword arm aside and snatched the dagger at the wolf's hip from its sheath, then plunged it into the thick mail covering the guard's chest. Crimson stickiness spread from the wound and the Glenner gaped in horror, the sword falling limply from his paw as blood welled from his throat, choking off his agonised howl. He coughed a few more moments, glaring at the Baron with hate in his eyes, before he finally lay still and lifeless.
Baron Calephas retrieved his trousers and pulled them back up over his legs, tying them tight. Returning to the dead wolf he scanned about the Glen to see if there were any others about. Though his eyes were not very good, he did not hear any tocsin raised, so assumed that he had yet to be discovered. With quick fingers he undid the straps holding the wolf's leather mail in place, swiftly stripping the wolf of his armour. The shirt was ruined, drenched in blood as it was, and Calephas cut it away. The breeches, though, were just large enough to fit him despite his lack of a tail and greater height.
With the extra warmth around his legs, Calephas set to slicing his enemy's bowels open. Years living in Arabarb had taught him to contain his stomach, as he'd had to do this to many different animals. With precision he sliced the layer of fat from the skin and began to squeeze it between his fingers. It was warm, but would not be for much longer.
Grimacing, the Baron began to wipe the fatty mucus across his woollen shirt, rubbing it hard and deep, letting the oil sink into the material. It smelled acrid and foul, but he cared not, reaching into the stomach cavity for even once he had finished with the first handful. By the time he had completely coated his shirt in the muck, the snow had begun to cover the body.
Certain that his warmth was assured, he unfastened the wolf's buckler and placed it around his own waist. He then wiped the dagger off in the snow and sheathed it at his side. He considered the sword, but after a moment's thought left it behind. If the Glenners tracked him it would be of no use to him anyway. Brushing a bit of the snow from his oiled shoulders, he set off at a quick trot, heading North through the woods. He could not be thankful enough for taking the time to thoroughly memorize the maps of this region.
As he left the environs of Glen Avery, picking an easy trail through the snow, he turned his mind back to the guard. With a bit of whimsy he wondered whether the lupine even had any children.
"What's going on?" Misha asked harshly. "Why aren't they dead?"
The man in front of the fox morph was tall knight who couldn't have been more then twenty years old. The elaborate heraldic design on the tabard he wore marked him as a knight of high noble birth. Misha knew he wasn't from Metamor. He vaguely recognized the rampant Griffin emblem as being from a Tourell noble house. The man's armor was still shiny and devoid of any scratches or dent. Most likely he was a second born son sent out to gain glory, fame and experience.
"My Lord," the knight said, bowing deeply. "I am Sir Roark of Brigston Manor. And those foul beasts are held up in a group of rooms."
"I'm aware of that," the fox interrupted. "This is a castle, there are thousands of rooms and only forty Lutins."
"Yes Sir, I know that," the knight said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "But there is a problem. The have hostages."
The fox went stiff. "Are you sure?"
"Yes sir. When we charged them they put a Keeper in the doorway."
The Long scout muttered something under his breath. "Have they said anything?"
"The Lutins want safe passage back north," the knight replied.
"Not surprising," Finbar said walking up to the two. "What do we do?"
"We talk," Misha answered.
The doorway had been barricaded with a motley collection of chairs, tables, desks, and whatever else that happened to be laying around. There was no sign of any Lutins.
"All right," Misha said out loud from a corner some ten feet away. Beside him was Finbar and the knight. "This is Misha Brightleaf."
A green head appeared briefly over the edge of an up turned table and then disappeared. A moment later a lutin stood up in plain view. The fox noted that this lutin was dressed in chain mail armor that was covered with various bits of leather, metal, feathers, fingers, ears and other body parts, some human, some animal, many lutin in nature, many others unidentifiable. Misha realized that this lutin was an important person, a sub chief at least.
"What you want?" the lutin asked.
"I want to see your head hanging from the Keep gates," Misha answered. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you all."
The lutin nodded to his left and a figure appeared next to him. It was a bound and gagged pony morph.
"Good point," Finbar commented dryly.
"We want safe passage out of here, and back to our home," the green skinned sub chief demanded.
"What do we get in reply?" Finbar asked.
"We give you our hostages."
"How many do you have?" the Knight asked.
"Many," the lutin replied.
The knight opened his mouth to say something else, but Misha stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Don't bother, Lutins can't count."
"We get to Giants dike safe, we free them all then," the lutin demanded.
"NO!" Misha countered strongly. "You release them all now and we'll let you go free."
The lutin laughed. "We know you fox. We give you people, you kill us all anyway."
Finbar laughed. "He has a point."
"I'll be your safe hostage," the knight announced suddenly.
"Roark," Misha said to the knight. "Do you realize how dangerous that is?"
"I do," he answered simply. "But it's worth the risk if it will save lives."
Misha stared at the man. The face that stared back at him was calm and dead serious. "You'd do that for a Keeper?"
"You're all humans, no matter what people may say," was the knights response.
Misha turned to the lutin. "I promise you safe passage in exchange for the people you are holding captive. This I swear by Whisper."
"You promise but not live up to promise," was the Lutins answer.
"I'll give you Whisper as a safeguard," the fox answered.
A look of shock crossed the Lutins face. "You really mean it," he said surprised. "Why?"
"A thousand Keepers are dead, and many times that number of Lutins. There's been too many deaths already," Misha said in a weary voice.
The sub chief nodded in agreement. "Fershak stupid to believe Nasoj's lies about gold and plunder."
Misha laughed. "Chief Fershak is dead. You want to see his head?"
"You keep head," the lutin said grinning. "I keep tribe."
Twenty keepers watched as a ragged group of forty Lutins came out of the doorway and filed past them. All were battered, worn and frightened, hardly the bold group that had entered the keep a mere handful of days ago. Last came the lutin chief. Misha handed the lutin a large white cloth on a pole. "Carry that at the front of your group and it will guarantee your safety as far as the Dike," the fox explained. " Then he reached for the axe that was strapped to his back.
The lutin waved his hands. "You keep axe. I trust you. If you not kill us yet, you will live up to promise."
The fox laughed. "Brains and humor, a rare gift in a lutin. What will you do with your tribe?"
"I take the Hammers home," the lutin answered. "And never come back to Keep."
"I'll hold you to that promise," Misha said.
The lutin left the Keeper and ran to the head of his people, the white banner held aloft. In a moment the group was out of sight.
"I believe he'll live up to that promise," the knight commented.
"So do I," Misha added.
Finbar came running out of the doorway. "Misha, you'd better see this."
The ferret dragged Misha through the doorway and into the rooms beyond. He was drawn passed a stinking pile of rags and furs that marked a Lutins bed and through a side door. The fox found himself in a small room that had been a storeroom at one time. Scattered around the room were at least a dozen keepers. Some were sitting against a wall, others were lying down and still others were tending to the wounded. Finbar brought him to a keeper who lay in a back corner near the rooms sole window. He recognized the figure instantly.
"ANDRE!" he shouted and dropped to his knees to hug his old friend.
Weakly the wolverine returned the hug. "Hi Misha," he said in a whisper.
"It's good to see you alive," the fox said crying.
"Jenn is safe?" Andre asked.
"Yes, she's doing fine."
"The Keep?"
Misha hesitated before answering. "The Keep is fine."
"No it isn't," the wolverine countered. "I can tell by your voice."
It was a long time before Misha spoke. "A lot of Keepers are dead or wounded and most of the lower ward is in ruins, but we've broken the attack," the fox explained. "The only Lutins in the pass are dead or fleeing for their lives." He looked his friend over and noticed something that horrified him. Andre's left leg was gone below the knee. All he had there was a stump covered with a dirty and bloody bandage. "What did the Lutins do to you?"
"The green skins didn't do this," Andre said waving a paw at what remained of his left leg. "The humans who took the gate did it. The Lutins saved my life. The chief kept us alive as a safeguard. If the attack failed he was going to use us to gain his freedom."
"It worked," Finbar said.
"It worked for everybody," Misha added.