Chapter 6 Part 5

It was just after sunset when Armegon and Tyson returned to the inn. They socialized in the commons area for about an hour where Tyson discussed a business proposition with a lady of the evening for an evening of pleasure. Armegon, however, was more interested in looking at the maps he had copied earlier that day.

After arriving at their suite, Armegon opened the door and found the lights were out and the interior was dark. His elven vision saw three heat sources in the room. One source, a very small fading source was probably the recently extinguished candle, while two other sources were larger and in motion. They were crouched and slowly circling each other. One was smaller in stature and definitely female. Armegon summoned a spell. Marlena was human and was at a disadvantage in total darkness. Her attacker obviously was aware of this and was taking advantage of the situation. By its movements, Armegon could tell that the second heat source knew exactly where Marlena was as well as the fact that he had just opened the door. Armegon released his spell as the assailant made a lunge. In rapid succession, a dozen bolts of light slammed into the assailant. It fell to the floor in a lump at Marlena's feet.

"Armegon?"

"I am here, Marlena, let me get you some light." Summoning another quick spell, he pointed his finger at the dim glow his elven vision identified as a recently extinguished candle. A thin red beam reached out and touched the wick re-igniting the flame. As the flame grew, Armegon entered the room to inspect the body. He glanced up at Marlena at the same time she flashed him a reassuring smile. Before his very eyes, he saw her smile fade as her eyes focused behind him.

Had Armegon been a monk, he would have evaded the attack. But just as he was about to turn he felt a strong hand clamp over his mouth and pull his head back. He felt something warm against his throat and suddenly the front of his chest was warm and wet. Dizziness clouded over him and he felt detached as he slid to the floor. Lying prone on his back he watched a red liquid squirt up into the air. Armegon's perception grew dim as the last thing he saw was the flash of metal above him.

Marlena watched in horror as the assassin hastily moved from the hallway behind Armegon. The assassin effortlessly caught Armegon unaware and slit his throat as if butchering cattle. Horror gave way to rage and Marlena took the initiative. In one smooth motion she scooped up the dagger the first assassin had carried and heaved it at the second. Years of hanging around monks and an ex-thief paid off as the dagger slid home through the right eye socket of the assassin. The look on his face as the point of the blade penetrated his brain was one of shock and surprise. That look would be etched forever as he toppled over dead on the floor.

Marlena sprinted to Armegon's side. "Don't you leave me too," she whispered as she placed one hand on the cut and the other on his heart. Her druidic healing powers had returned to almost full strength. She sensed Armegon's life force ebbing.

Quickly she plunged into her most powerful healing magic, as meager as it was. She sealed the cut arteries and used her own strength to keep a tired heart beating. The forces of nature were aligned against her as the ultimate fate of all nature, death, tugged greatly on the spark of life that was Armegon.

Marlena knew that she was not strong enough to fully heal Armegon. For Avery this would have been a simple task, but her druidic powers could only bend and weave the natural forces of nature, she could not directly oppose them. Death pulled even harder and Marlena knew she would soon lose her patient.

There was one chance. Armegon was a healer too, just like Avery, but to a lesser degree. If she could bring his own formidable healing powers into play together they could thwart death. She altered her tactics. Instead of trying to heal the physical damage, she began strengthening the spiritual damage.

Slowly she nurtured Armegon out of shock and back to consciousness. "I can only hold you conscious for so long," she whispered. "I need you to save your own life. Be quick!" Armegon's jaw moved slightly and a few garbled words bubbled from his mouth and throat. Then he passed from consciousness again.

Marlena broke the contact. She had done all she could. She watched as the blood flow from the wound slowed then stopped and Armegon's breathing steadied. Within minutes his eyes opened. It was obvious that he was far too weak to move, and his throat would probably keep him from speaking for some time, but he was alive. And as if to reassure Marlena, and to thank her, when she moved into his view, he focused his eyes on her and winked.

Wearily, Marlena washed her hands and then made her way down to the common room where she found Tyson at a table in a dark corner. He was busy entertaining a young woman. Marlena would like to have left him alone, but recent events disallowed that luxury. Marlena approached the table and cleared her throat--this was no time to be civil.

"Tyson." The couple disengaged in their personal business and faced her.

The young seductress clung possessively to Tyson's arm. "Who’s this," she hissed in an tone that displayed little effort in being nice.

Defensively Tyson prepared a counter. "Oh that’s just..."

"His wife," Marlena finished bluntly.

The lady turned to Tyson with fury on her face. "You said you weren’t married!" She laid her right hand smartly across his face. "Bastard!" And with that she disappeared into the crowd.

Tyson rubbed the red cheek and watched her go. Then he turned an angry eye at Marlena. "Wife," he said, "this had better be good, because you just cost me a good piece of..."

"Armegon's been hurt." Marlena cut him off. Tyson was immediately on his feet. All thoughts of nighttime activities were erased from his mind. "How bad?"

"He’s unconscious but I think he’ll live."

Tyson breathed a sigh. "What happened," he asked. "Two assassins attacked. One attacked me and when Armegon took him out, the backup man took him by surprise."

Marlena and Tyson hurried back up the stairs to the suite. Marlena recounted the whole story for Tyson as they went. When the door was opened it revealed a scene collaborating her tale. Tyson inspected the bodies of the assassins for a moment to ensure they were dead. Then he looked over Armegon. Other than a pool of rapidly drying blood, the only evidence of his injury was a telltale bright pink scar running across the front of his throat.

"We have to get out of here," Tyson declared. "I’m certain that these two are not the only ones out looking for us and I don't want to wait for their friends to come and check on them."

"I can be ready to leave within the hour," Marlena said.

"Okay," Tyson agreed. "I need to go and get the team and wagon ready. Will you be okay?"

"They won't surprise me again," Marlena assured him. "Now that we are on to them."

Tyson quickly left the room leaving Marlena to pack. This would have been a lot better if those assassins had been more competent. If he returned to the room, he could very well kill off Armegon in his present condition and in catching Marlena by surprise, he felt confident that he could take her out as well. But something inside him rebelled against that idea. He may lead his ex-comrades into a death trap, but it would not be by his hand that they meet their doom.

Tyson reached the stables and found the stable keeper very quickly. Within minutes he had their account settled and the team was prepared for travel. With that done he returned to the inn and helped Marlena with their baggage. Carefully, and with the aid of a simple telekinesis spell, they placed Armegon and Seymore in the wagon. Armegon groaned and fidgeted a little at first but soon settled down as the gently sway of the wagon sent him deeper into a dreamless sleep.

"His healing has accelerated," Marlena observed.

"I noticed," Tyson replied. "Within a few days, he’ll be back to his old nasty self. He was lucky to have you near."

Marlena glanced around nervously. Moonlight from the newly risen moons replaced the setting suns giving the town a different mood. The buildings they passed showed no signs of malice, but she knew that any one of them could be sheltering a bowman or an assassin's blowgun. "I'll feel much safer when we're out of town," she said.

Tyson agreed. "Do you know which direction we’re supposed to take?"

"I think his maps were of a region to the southeast from here," she told him remembering the charts she had cleared from the table earlier.

"Southeast it is then."

It took almost an hour before they passed through the tent city that surrounded the metropolis. Marlena's spirits lifted visibly with the return of trees and wildlife. They rode on through the night stopping around midnight to take a rest. Tyson built a small fire by which he roasted some of their preserved rations while Marlena chatted with an owl she had coaxed down from its hunt.

"We can both sleep tonight," she said. "I have regained enough power to arrange for a guard until morning." She indicated the nocturnal bird of prey. "Nothing will escape her notice."

They enjoyed a warm meal and bedded down soon after. They slept quite soundly until Marlena's guard's screech brought them fully awake and alert. Marlena whistled and the owl descended from above to land on a lower tree limb. Tyson watched curiously as she spoke to the animal. It had been a long time since he had last spoken the language of the wild. He listened only catching bits and pieces of what was being said, but it was enough for him to gather that the bird had discovered other humans coming up the road. Marlena listened as well, but her grasp of the speech and language was far better.

"Many humans," she translated. "Ground slow flying from direction of many manys of humans." Marlena addressed the bird again and the creature flew off. "Animals don't really have a concept of numbers beyond 'more than, less than, alone, and many'."

"Normally I would argue that there is no reason for alarm," she added, "but the only people who travel at night are those who are being chased and those who are doing the chasing."

Tyson agreed. "And we do not want to meet up with either of those categories."

"Is it possible that we are one of those categories?"

Tyson kicked out the fire. "I didn't want to say that, but yes."

Marlena packed their small camp as Tyson hitched the team. "Armegon should be conscious by morning," she observed. "He’ll still be very weak, but if we can avoid conflict for another day, he’ll be recovered enough to help fight if necessary."

Tyson boarded the wagon and snapped the reigns and urged the horses into the sparse trees. "I think we’ll turn east here for a while," he said. "If it isn’t us they’re after, we’ll avoid the conflict altogether."

"And if it is?"

Tyson looked back up the trail they had come down. "Well," he said, "at least we’ll know."

They rode for a few hours until the suns broke the eastern horizon. Marlena requested a halt to give the horses a breather from their near trot pace weaving in and out of the trees. She took a moment to speak with a raven and sent him off to the west.

"Checking out behind us?" Tyson asked as he knelt by the rear hooves of one of the horses. He inspected the animals feet for signs of damage.

"Yes," Marlena replied. "I’m going to put up a barrier to prevent us from being too easily tracked as well." She took some vines and uprooted them careful as not to cause damage. Then she wove them together and transplanted them on the trail directly behind them. She then took some mistletoe, powdered it and mixed it in a bowl with rainwater from her water skin. She made a few gestures over the concoction then irrigated the vine sprigs with it. As she finished the incantation a gentle breeze sprang through the glade and a fresh scent of wildflowers drifted on the breeze.

We can turn in any direction now, she said at last. "Within an hour there will be fresh growth of vines as far as the eye can see. They will cover our tracks so well that even a ranger will be hard pressed to follow us."

"I doubt if anyone chasing us will be able to gain the confidence of rangers. They are notoriously picky about who they work for and why they track a mark." Tyson checked the last hoof.

"I don't think we have to worry about that either," Marlena agreed, "but just in case, this barrier should stop them for a while."

"Stop who?" Armegon sat propped up against the buckboard of the wagon. He rubbed his head.

"Welcome back from the dead," Tyson said as he mounted the wagon. "I take it you’ll live."

"The way my head hurts makes me believe otherwise," Armegon commented. "And I have an unbelievably sore throat. What happened?"

"Remember the assassin?"

Armegon faced Marlena and thought back to the scene in the room. "Yes, but I thought I got him."

"You did," Tyson said. "But you didn't get the backup man."

"Oh. I guess I should’ve thought of that." Armegon rubbed his throat. "What’d he do to me?"

"He tried to take your head off with a dagger." Tyson informed him. "But Marlena interrupted his plans permanently and then she saved your neck...Literally"

Armegon bowed his head to the druid. "My thanks dear lady."

Marlena smiled and climbed aboard the vehicle next to Tyson. "Forget it my friend. There’ve been many occasion when you have rendered aid to us."

Armegon questioned them further to get more details, until he had a good idea as to what had happened to him and how they were faring. "Yes, southeast is the general direction to go, but it won't hurt us too much if you went due east a little ways. Just turn due south for about half a day."

"Isn't that pretty obvious," Tyson questioned. "Well we still don't know if the humans Marlena's friend saw were after us." Armegon pointed out.

"We do now," Marlena interrupted. She held forth an arm and the large raven descended to perch on her wrist. She listened as it cawed and whistled. Then she flung it back into the sky bidding it farewell.

"Well?" Tyson and Armegon waited.

"We are being followed."

"Wonderful," Tyson cursed. He snapped the reigns and the wagon lurched forward.

"This barrier will stall our pursuit," Marlena said, "but we have another problem. The raven claims that there are more hunting parties to the south and east of us."

"They are trying to heard us north," Armegon asked.

"So it seems," Tyson agreed.

"Then that is the one direction we can not go."

"South?" Marlena suggested.

"Not yet," Armegon advised. That is our original course. They will be looking out for that one. I suggest southwest for half a day then due west for another two days. That would logically be the most unlikely direction for us to travel. We may elude them completely."

"And if we don't?"

"Then that is where they will be the weakest. And we’ll just have to deal with them as best we can."

Chapter 6 Part 4

Morteous paced the floor anxiously. He had been healed within a day of his defeat at the hands of the mage, Ultrecht. His thoughts replayed the contest over and over. He bore no real grudge against his opponent. On the contrary, he was quite grateful. Ultrecht had wielded classical spells but at a power level never seen before. It was as if his abilities were finely tuned to the magics they were commanding.

Such control and manipulation offered Morteous two things: first he was offered an opponent whose defeat would result in a great victory for him elevating him to the very pinnacle of the warlock hierarchy; and secondly, if he played his cards right, he could learn how Ultrecht managed to hold such a control on his magic as to wield such power.

"Anxious for a rematch, brother?" Morteous had not heard his half brother enter the room. There were those who had believed that Serpent Blackheart would slay him for his failure, but Morteous knew better. Not only was Serpent too smart to waste a master warlock, but Morteous was quite capable of defending himself against his brother.

"Not quite," Morteous replied. "Their magic is slightly different and quite strong. I sensed that he had no schooling in conjuration, necromancy or any other of the spheres of magic that are taught to all wizards and warlocks."

Serpent sat in a chair and Morteous continued. "I felt a categorical manipulation, but it was not of a familiar nature. I was attacked with cold, but felt no abjuration in the form I know it." Morteous paused in his lecture. "It is quite perplexing."

"It would also be quite useful to have," Serpent said. "And the sooner the mage is dead, the sooner I will absorb his power and you can study this phenomenon at your leisure."

"I would like a little more time to study this before making another attempt."

"Need I remind you that our opponents are nearing their goal?"

Morteous started, then caught his retort before he spoke. "I will make haste, my lord," he said with a respectful nod.

This seemed to satisfy Serpent and he responded with a nod indicating his acceptance of Morteous' submission. "Our operatives in Allentown will soon spring their trap and destroy the other three that Tyson is with. Once they are eliminated, Ultrecht will be alone."

"And the others?"

"Their heads arrived in Aspberg this morning and are enroute to the palace as we speak. That is why I dropped by. I thought you would like to be present when we inspect them."

"I would indeed."

Serpent stood and walked towards the door. "Then will you accompany me?"

Morteous joined him as the monarch opened the door to reveal Miguel. "Listening at doors again," Morteous accused with a smile.

Miguel made a halfhearted effort to look surprised. "Why, uncle! I was just coming to get you." He turned to his father. "They are here. They await you in the small audience chamber."

"Excellent. Shall we go and look at these adversaries who have been an irriatant since the day we conjured them?" Serpent asked rhetorically as he walked down the corridor flanked by his brother and his son, while being trailed by four armed guards.

The small audience chamber reflected the larger one in decor, but was much smaller and did not include courtiers and priests. With the exception of a few guards, it was quite empty when the trio entered. Near the head of the room before the throne lay a large leather sack bound with a shimmering silver cord. Serpent had commissioned the local mages to create the cord and others like it for his own use. Once tied they would not untie for anyone except those who knew a correct command.

To one side of the sack stood the commander of the task force which had accompanied Morteous. Serpent found the smirk on the man's face as a sign of arrogance but overlooked the fault. After all, the man had succeeded where Morteous had failed.

"Greetings, Major," Serpent greeted the man. "I hear that you may have some news for me."

"Indeed I do, my lord." He gestured to the bundle. "I have here the heads of the companions of the mage who escaped." Miguel glanced at his uncle for some signs of resentment and was rewarded to see a stone straight face as if Morteous had heard nothing.

"And your losses?" Serpent asked. The major swallowed hard. Here was unfavorable news. "Our losses were sixty percent including two captains and five sergeants. They gave their lives in your service."

"Well done, Colonel," Serpent replied emphasizing the new rank. "Let us see these giants who so readily whipped my own house guard."

Beaming, the newly promoted colonel brought forth the sack. Serpent leaned close to the sack and whispered a phrase. Instantly, the cord loosened at which time the colonel unfastened it and opened the bag.

Chapter 6 Part 3

Armegon had discovered that getting into the archives to review mythology was far easier than getting in to review geographical data. The keepers of the books were somewhat conscious about military intelligence and kept most of the more sensitive information locked away. Fortunately, the assistant that he was dealing with considered the Well of Time to be a myth and had granted him access to the books he had requested.

He found what he was looking for quickly. The Oracle's reference to the Isle of Time was easy to trace. According to the archives, the Isle of Time was a pocket dimension whose entrance was a gateway in the mountains bordering a place called Gly-ou-vogue. A quick side reference indicated that Gly-ou-vogue was a wasteland left behind by some battle long ago before recorded history and that to date nothing grew or lived there.

After a little bribery which drained Armegon of all but the very last of his money, he managed to get a look at a general atlas. He took some notes on the location of the indicated gate and its distance from the city of Allentown. He also made note of the distances between some of the places they had been already to compare and calculate how long it would take to make the trip.

Satisfied, he took his notes and returned the atlas to the keeper. "Did you find what you were looking for?" the keeper asked him. Armegon assured the keeper that he had. "What guild holds your membership?"

The question caught Armegon off guard. "I beg your pardon?" The keeper repeated his question. Armegon was getting the feeling that this was more than a friendly inquiry. Was he expected to pay for the use of the archives? He had assumed the archives were for the most part open to the public. Or was this some kind of identity check? Armegon thought quickly. He needed an alibi vague enough so that it could not be immediately verified. "I am with the Tycarian Mages' Society," he lied. It was the only city he had visited with a large elven population.

The keeper frowned. For a moment, Armegon was afraid that his bluff would get called, but finally the keeper wrote the name down in a small book. "We don't get many woodlander down here often," the keeper mumbled.

Armegon suppressed a sigh of relief. "I should think you would get quite a few patrons. From what I hear this is the largest library in the world."

The keeper smiled letting his pride shine through. "It is," he confirmed, "but it seems that you Tycarians would rather travel all the way to Kesron than down here."

"Well I like this place. It appeals to me somehow."

The keeper laughed. "I wouldn't think so," he said. "I thought elven folk detested open plains areas."

"My father was human," Armegon informed him.

"Well, nevertheless, I hope you got what you came for."

Armegon bade the keeper farewell and exited the building. The Archives were in the upper middle class part of town and there were stores and street vendors to be seen everywhere. There also existed what appeared to be a center for higher learning. He asked a few questions to passers by and was informed that the great building was the University of Magic, the primary training center for mages of all kinds. Intrigued, Armegon watched the place for a couple of hours. He noted the multitude of youngsters, all dressed in plain white tunics running to and fro on errands or in the duty of chores. There was the occasional grey robed youth who was usually in the service of a blacked robe adult. Armegon suspected that these were the apprentices and masters of the college.

Finally, Armegon decided to move on. It was well into the noon hour when he left the compound that housed the University and the Archives and emerged onto the street. Having plenty of time, he decided to browse through the marketplace on his way back to the inn.

Apothecaries and tanners occupied one corner of the square and Armegon marveled at some of the fine works of leather and the fragrance of some of the ointments on display. His review of the crafts was cut short as a pushy merchant decided that Armegon was not interested in buying anything and asked him somewhat less than politely to move on. Passing a jeweler's shop and a blacksmith's shed, he happened upon a store advertising itself as "Odds and Ends". Curiosity aroused, he entered the building.

The interior was dark as there were no windows, but oil lamps and a few candles provided enough light to see well. A short fat man waddled out from a back room and introduced himself as Seada the proprietor. Armegon inquired as to what sort of wares were being dealt. "Oh, I deal in most anything. I particularly deal in contracts and information."

"Contracts?" Armegon asked. "Yes," Seada answered. "I subcontract work. I deal in research, deliveries, and manual labor, but my wife enjoys dealing with information. Actually she just likes to gossip," he laughed, "but whatever we call it, it is a very big seller. She writes it up on large sheets of parchment and posts it on a wall in the square. Local merchants pay us to endorse their business on the postings and they get more customers as a result. Actually that is my main source of income."

"Information?" "Information is power, my friend."

"Of that I have no doubt, but your main source of income? What kind of information do we speak of?" Armegon inquired.

"Oh, general news, political gossip and occasionally military intelligence," he was told.

"Would it be possible to get a free sample?" The merchant laughed. "What kind of information would you like to hear?"

"How about some political news?"

"Certainly!" The merchant went over to a desk and ruffled through some notes. "Here is a juicy tidbit," he exclaimed excitedly. "I had planned to post this tomorrow, but you get a sneak peek today. It seems that House Blackheart is raising an army."

"What is so unusual about that?" The merchant's jaw dropped. Then slowly he grew a grin. "Ahhh, you are fooling with me, eh?"

Armegon joined in with the jest. "You know full well what is wrong with that." Seada sighed. "Well, I don't know what Blackheart is up to this time, but I don't think the king will sit quietly by for this insult. Violating the Pact of Quatar is not to be taken lightly by anyone."

"Aren't you afraid of his army?" Armegon was interested in spite of himself. Seada studied him for a moment. "You're a halfelf aren't you? Where are you from, Elmendor?"

"No, I am from the Tycarian region." Armegon was beginning to wonder what it was that was giving him away as a stranger. His was not the only elven blood in the city.

"Tycarian, eh?" That seemed to satisfy Seada. "Well, we aren't much closer to Aspberg than Tycho. And Aspberg has to go through Seron to get here. I don't think we are in any real danger."

"I suppose you're right," Armegon agreed. He decided he had better leave before he made a slip he couldn't cover. "Well, I must be on my way, but if I hear of any potential business I will certainly steer it your way."

"Many thanks friend and have a safe journey."

Armegon stepped out into the afternoon street and glanced at the sky. A bank of clouds were approaching from the west hinting at a chance of rain. The approaching weather was preceded by a strong breeze that took the edge off the afternoon heat of the double suns' glare.

Armegon turned down the street and took in the sights as he made his way back to the inn. He thought on the conversation he had just experienced. This 'Pact of Quatar' might be an item of interest to study if he got the chance. It would be interesting to note how raising an army could so violate this pact as to warrant such a reaction. But, he reminded himself that he had no plans to be around this world long enough to get involved with its politics.

By mid-afternoon he had reached the neighborhood where they were lodged. Not surprisingly, he found that Marlena and Tyson were not at the inn. He spared a quick check on Seymore and then sat at the table to go over his notes.

It was in this position that Marlena found Armegon as she and Tyson returned from a day of browsing and shopping. Marlena, backed by Tyson's purse, had procured enough material from a local tailor to mend, darn and patch their wearing apparel back to health. She claimed it would only require a few hours, if Tyson and Armegon would stay out of her way.

"You can play with that stuff later," she demanded as Armegon objected to her commandeering the table for her work. "Right now you can make yourself useful by getting dinner."

Armegon was about to say something when Tyson shoved him through the door. "Best not argue with a woman on an empty stomach or you may not find it filled tonight."

Marlena watched the door close behind them. Humming a tune from her younger days, she sat and began her chores.

Chapter 6 Part 2

Marlena slept late the next morning. She stirred from her slumber to find the suns were approaching the noon transit and the day was almost half over. She quietly dressed and entered the common room that connected her bedroom to the other two in the suite Tyson had rented during their stay in town.

Tyson himself was sitting at a table eating a bowl of soup and looking out a window. "Good morning," he greeted her although he had not seen her enter the room. People often forgot that he was once a grandmaster monk. None of his enemies who ever forgot remained alive.

Marlena noticed Seymore's frozen body in the corner. She glanced out the window as well and pulled up a chair next to Tyson. "Where is Armegon?"

Tyson swallowed a spoonful of broth. "He found the university on the northern side of the city," he said. "He will probably be there most of the day."

"What are we supposed to do then?"

Tyson drained the last of his meal, reached into his tunic and pulled forth a bag which jingled of coins. "Go shopping," he laughed.

"I have no money," Marlena said with a smile. Tyson promptly poured about half the contents of his bag into the empty soup bowl. "Now you do."

Marlena whistled. "Thank you, my good man. Where should we go?"

Tyson thought for a moment. "Why don't you go where ever you please? I have a few errands to run on my own and I fully intend on stopping by a brothel and taking part in a little recreation." He smiled at the flush rising on Marlena's face. "Unless of course you want to join me. I am sure that you could even make a little profit in a brothel."

"Thank you, no!" The woman stormed out the door pausing only long enough to scoop up the money.

Enjoy it while you can, Tyson thought to himself.

Chapter 6 Part 1

THE TRAITOR AND THE WELL

"So should I demand the head of my brother for his failure?" Serpent paced the floor speaking softly to no one in particular. Miguel sat at a table reading a report from the infirmary about Morteous' condition. "Nay," he concluded, "I may be a tyrant but I am no idiot. I will not waste a master warlock just because he bit off more than he could chew. Tyson never mentioned this elemental control that the mage, Ultrecht seems to possess."

"Do not be so quick to blame Tyson, father," Miguel said in a calm voice. "It is possible that he thought we were aware of that kind of magic. It is obvious from Morteous' report that the powers of a warlock confused the mage as well. Tyson did not know what a warlock was until he met Morteous."

"They are regaining more and more of their power," Serpent said. "It is going to be much more difficult to destroy them."

"We have a report that our operation was at least partially successful," Miguel offered. "A fighter, a monk and an archer were slain in the raid. That is three."

"I do not feel like a monk or an archer," Serpent commented dryly.

"Give it time, father," Miguel suggested. "You did not feel the power of the druid immediately after his death."

"We shall see," was all Serpent would say.

"There is more news," Miguel said changing the subject.

"Our armies are drawing attention?"

"They are," Miguel confirmed, and quite blatantly, I might add. Already Seron and Elmendor have sent delegations to Kesron to petition the king to release the legions of High Branch."

"And what has King Rigel to say?"

Miguel laughed. "His Majesty is not convinced that a danger exists to the Pact." Serpent's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Even after we have raised an illegal army?"

"So it seems, father." The dark lord of Aspberg thought in silence for a moment.

"Perhaps," he said at last, "the king needs a little dose of reality."

Miguel gave a cruel smile. "You have something in mind, father?"

Serpent Blackheart stood and addressed the tapestry containing the giant map of the world. "If we quickly send a strike force to Kesron by ship," he started.

"We could lay siege to the capital within a week," Miguel finished. "But the armies of High Branch would march just as quickly. We would be caught in the open around Kesron."

"Perhaps," Serpent admitted, "but if you were the king, what would you think if you saw a fleet of strike barges coming down the Caleko River?"

"I would send for help of course."

"I think our rather old but cowardly king will do likewise."

"Father," Miguel said sincerely, "If we do this, if we openly violate the Pact of Quatar, if we start aggression, the whole world may turn against us."

"High Branch itself is a force more than we could handle without our allies, but if the rest of the world should oppose us we may not have forces to hold out against them." Miguel stood next to his father.

"We only have to hold out long enough for me to slay the god of war," Serpent reminded him. Once done whether we are victorious or defeated, we succeed in our plan."

"And if you fail to defeat the god?"

"Then no force in the universe will be able to save us. The gods, good and evil, will hunt us down and destroy us all. Even Set will turn against us to save himself." Serpent paused and faced his son. His face was hard and cold. "I will not fail," he said.

"And we will not have to face their forces of High Branch at the capital. The siege on Kesron will be carried out by a phantom army. We will send just enough militia to keep the gates of Kesron closed and their defenses busy. Thanks to the Pact that should not take much."

"When High Branch marches to the aid of the king," he contimued, "we shall attack them from ambush with our main forces. Caught unawares we stand a grand chance of defeating them in a blood bath of such magnitude that even the most peaceful of gods will view the conflict."

Miguel fell to his knees. In his father's oration, Serpent seemed to have grown dark and tall. His eyes flashed like lightning and his voice was like thunder. "Father," the young priest said reverently, "only you would conceive of the plan and dare violate the Pact of Quatar. Only you have the power to do the deed before us, and only you can lead us to victory."

Serpent glanced down at his son's adoring gaze. He reached out and stroked the younger man's brow. "Arise my son," he said tenderly. "You are my one true joy in this world, and you shall be most favored of me when I enter into my rightful divinity." Miguel stood and embraced his sire. "Now go," Serpent told him. "Go attend to your uncle's hurts. I shall need his power in the days to come.

Chapter 5 Part 18

Isefk watched as his troops fall one by one to the trio fighting on the plain. He saw the scene with the warlock and the mage taking place off to the west. That was a kind of battle he could not deal with. Down below, he knew that the lone warrior had gone berserk, for even his co-defenders were keeping their distance. Isefk suspected the warrior was using an enchanted weapon.

By using hand signals, he ordered his captain to draw the warrior away from the others. One squad, the one engaging the warrior began moving away from the elves. Mindlessly the warrior did likewise. The other two remaining squads concentrated on the elves.

After a few moments, he ordered his archers to open fire on the two groups. He reasoned that one of the two groups was no longer protected by the magic shield that he had observed turning his arrows earlier. To his delight, Isefk watched as the lone warrior and three of his own soldiers fell beneath a rain of arrows.

Isefk scanned the western plains where the magic duel had been taking place. It was empty. There were some marks where some of the spells had rearranged the landscape, but there was no sign of Morteous or the enemy mage.

Isefk turned to his aide. "I want the heads of those three brought back to Aspberg." The aide sprinted off to carry out his orders an Isefk resumed his observation of the battle in time to see the elven monk dragged down from horseback and subject to repeated sword blows until there was no sign of movement. The archer followed quickly as a circle of soldiers pounced on him like a pack of wolves. Within minutes three heads were on display in front of the commander of the Royal Serpentine Guard.

Chapter 5 Part 17

Keeneye fired six arrows at the attacking horsemen before they arrived, and the result was six lifeless bodies on the ground behind the charging cavalry. He stood behind and between Norwind and Samson shooting through the narrow gap of their shoulders.
As the soldiers bore down on them, he dropped his bow and drew his rapier.

Samson stood his ground as the first rider tried to run him through with a lance. His shield easily turned the attack aside, and Libra shattered the lance into splinters. Spinning around, he backhanded the rider with the flat part of the blade causing the sword to moan in anger. The rider departed his animal.

Out of the corner of his eye Keeneye saw Norwind's staff unhorse two more riders as it tangled among the beast's legs. Norwind himself vaulted onto the back of one of the animals and threw it's rider to the ground none too gently.

Keeneye spent the next few seconds assuring that the downed riders would not be getting back to their feet. He then retrieved Norwind's staff and tossed it to the monk as the latter rode by.

Norwind, staff in hand charged into the cavalry swinging the staff so that both ends dealt painful blows and sent riders tumbling to the ground.

Samson unhorsed another rider and beat him senseless with the flat part of the sword. He could feel the blade trying to sink it's edge into flesh, but Samson knew that the moment the blade drank blood it would consume him in a frenzy of berserk violence that would not stop until he was alone.

By himself that would be fine, but he had allies here and though they would know to get away from him, in the heat of battle that would simply be one too many assailants for them to watch. In their attempts to watch him they may have to turn their backs to someone else.

Samson glanced to his compatriots as he readied for the next attack. Norwind appeared to be in no immediate danger, but Keeneye, for all his sharp senses was being stalked from behind by another rider. The rider was at a full gallop with a lance lowered to skewer the archer from the back to the front.

Samson yelled a word of warning while simultaneously running towards Keeneye. Over the noise of battle, the warning went unheard, and the horse was just too fast for the big man to get there in time to intercept the blow. In an act of desperation, he halted and reared the sword back as far as he could. "There is thy blood, Libra," he told the moaning sword as he threw it end over end towards the rider.

Keeneye had just finished with another rider when he heard the familiar scream of the Sword of Balance coming to life. The scream passed by his ear and shot behind him like a stroke of lightning. Whirling, the archer saw the sword buried to the hilt in the chest of a rider who was staring at the sword in surprise as he slid from the saddle just as his life slid from his body.

The sword withdrew from the lifeless body and hovered in the air. Blood dripped from the blade and a mad and cruel laughter filled the air.

Samson held forth his hand and the sword flew towards him as if to slay him as well, but at the last moment it reversed itself and planted the handle into his grasp. As Samson closed his hand the mad laughter erupted from his throat.