Black Hart

To Kill A King

Chapter 18 - Torrisz Village

Bermen held up his arm to warn the party to stop as they grew close to the woods. According to the directions the innkeeper had given them, Torrisz Keep was only fifteen minutes away, in the midst of these woods. As he turned and rode back to the others, Bermen noticed the look of worry on Jean-Paul's face.
"Don't worry, JP," he said. "Friederikson is in good hands."
His squire had fallen ill the previous night, and despite Aranon's ministrations had felt too weak to travel. Jean-Paul did not seem comforted by his words.
"That's the forest ahead," he continued. "I suggest we dismount and enter to the south, checking for a campsite and a good vantage point."
The others agreed, and they all dismounted.

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Bermen crouched with the others around him at the edge of the forest. He pointed to the sights in the foreground.
"That must be the orchard to the far left, then the keep, the village, and I'd dare to guess that smoke to the north is the farm the innkeep spoke of."
Akhan thought on the strange tale the innkeeper had told them. Torrisz had apparently been abandoned long before the death of its last lord. People had been going missing for years, with alarming regularity - travellers, villagers, the keep's soldiery. Rumours of ghosts or orcs or witches abounded, and one by one all had left, all except the farmer who lived in a steading to the north, who lived almost as a prisoner in his own home by night.
"The graveyard must be on the far side, to the west."
Akhan nodded, and as Bermen motioned they slowly crawled away from the forest's edge towards their makeshift camp.

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His face blackened, Aranon led Bermen and Eloi along the stream bed, keeping low to the ground to remain unseen from the keep. By the light of the full Luna, within the outer wall, they could see the larger, round inner keep to the south end. It was there, Aranon imagined, that they would find their quarry.
Within half an hour they were at the reaches of the village. On the east side, sheltered from view from the keep, they stood up.
"Did you see that?" Bermen whispered, motioning towards the keep.
The others shook their heads.
"Something flying above the keep, several forms, humanoid."
Aranon grimaced.
"We'll have to keep quiet and unseen then," he whispered back.
They nodded, and Aranon led them on into the village, as silently as he could manage. They had decided to recce the village, to see if it would be viable to use as a waystop on reaching the keep, as there was too much open ground between it and the forest for them to risk being seen by crossing.
Glancing around the corner, he could see that the village was typical of Keoish farming settlements, based around a square, undoubtedly with a village hall or moot somewhere there. He edged forward, noting the poor condition of the houses there, left to rot by inhabitants long dead or fled.
As they walked over to the square, Aranon got his bearings, and worked out that the houses in the south-west corner would be closest to the keep. As he did so, Bermen tugged his shirt from behind.
"Horses!" he hissed, pointing back down the road to the east.
Aranon jogged forward, headed to the south-west corner. He tried the first door, and was glad to find it unlocked. Within seconds Eloi then Bermen were within and they hid behind the partly closed door, crouching, watching for the horses to emerge.
Seconds passed, the n they rode by, about ten horses in a canter.
Eloi turned to Aranon.
"Lominstrall!"
"Are you sure?" the priest asked.
Eloi nodded.
After another minute or so they got up.
"Lets take a look at this keep then," Bermen said, his voice slightly louder now that they were inside.
They went through into what looked like the main living room, and over to the shuttered windows. Eloi quickly opened them slightly, and peered out. He could see it was only a couple of hundred yards to the foot of the battlements, where an earth rampart had been built up against the lower walls. From what he could see from here, scaling the walls should be no problem to a talented one such as he.
"I think I should…"
Eloi trailed off in mid-sentence as he looked around to Bermen.
"Where's Aranon?" he asked.
The priest was gone!

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Aranon watched from the house's doorway as the shadow slipped across the village square, back towards the side they had come from. It was man-sized, dressed in a dull grey costume that covered it from head to toe, carrying a long spear-haft with a wicked looking curved blade on the end.
He had noticed it slip from another room of the house as they had entered the living room, trying quietly to leave without them noticing. As it reached the corner, he sprinted after it, slowing to a halt as he too reached the corner of the square with the road.
Peering around the corner, he looked down the road to the east but could see nothing. Then, he noticed by the moonlight a partly open door to the left, one he was sure had not been open earlier, the first house as they entered the village.
Staff at the ready he slowly walked over, pausing at the door before pushing it open with his staff. Stepping within the doorway, Aranon heard the noise behind him, but before he could turn he felt something pressed against the small of his back.
"Who are you, what do you want here?" the voice said quietly, a thick Baklunish accent that Aranon would probably have guessed as from Zeif.
"I could ask you the same," he replied in Baklunish.
The person behind paused, perhaps surprised at his use of the Baklunish tongue.
"Answer me now, or I will kill you!"
Aranon had had enough of this nonsense, and turned as swiftly as he could - not swiftly enough!
The spinning motion was enough to deflect most of the spear-thrust, but still he felt the sharp cut of the blade as he brought his staff down onto thin air. Seeing his attacker closely for the first time, he was dressed in grey silks, a cloth wrapped about his head and face as many of the desert dwellers did.
Before Aranon could recover his thrust, the man had slashed across his chest and was preparing another strike which he only just managed to deflect in time.
There was the sound of running feet, and out of the corner of his eye, Aranon saw two forms, presumably Eloi and Bermen, running towards him from the right. The man, obviously quicker than the ageing priest, moved to angle Aranon between him and his incoming saviours.
As Bermen and Eloi drew their weapons, Aranon held up his arms to stop them.
"I ask again, your purpose here?" the man demanded.
Aranon regained his composure, and decided to risk their purpose - this man was no friend of Lominstrall's, sneaking about the village thus.
"I am Lord Aranon Silverlief, and we are here seeking the traitor Lominstrall to bring him to justice."
The man lowered his spear.

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A faint glow from the sunken, smokeless fire within the house lit the Baklune's features. He had no facial hair as did his kind traditionally, in fact he had very little hair indeed, his head having recently been shaved. His skin was sallow, now that he had removed the grey silk shemagh that had previously covered it, and his face thin and lined with taught muscles that suggested the speed and strength Aranon had met.
"I, my lord, am Sholin of the Al D'Ai Shatain, a follower of Zuoken," he told them in quiet tones.
Aranon had heard of this strange monastic brotherhood, living high in the mountains of the Barrier Peaks.
"I know not of your Lominstrall," he continued, "Other than that he is aster of this area. I was in the capital, Niole Dra, when I discovered an agent of the Scarlet Sign, and it is to here that I tracked him. My intent would be to discover his reason for being here if possible, but at the very least I would wish to be certain that he does not live much longer."
"Perhaps we can be of mutual assistance then," Bermen said. "For we have been investigating a treacherous plot on the life of King Kimbertos, and have indeed connected it with the Brotherhood. We should team up for greater effect."
Sholin nodded.
"However, when we get to the brotherhood agent, he is mine. Is that acceptable?"
The others nodded.
"Good," said Aranon. "Eloi and Bermen - you maintain a watch here with Sholin. I will return and arrange the others to come here, and we will work out how best to enter the keep. I feel if we leave it until tomorrow, he may be gone in the light of day. Perhaps we can give our 'friend' Lominstrall a sleepless night!"
Aranon grinned at the thought of finally confronting Lominstrall.

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Eloi sat at the window as they awaited the return of Aranon, glancing over to the keep occasionally. They talked of Lominstrall and the keep, but Eloi's thoughts were hundreds of miles away, with Thoggin. Perhaps if he killed Lominstrall, the gnome would release the grip he had on him.
Eloi shook his head silently as he realised what utter nonsense he was thinking - Thoggin would never let go his grip on Eloi!
"Every night at sundown," Sholin explained, "They retreat within the buildings, almost as though in fear of something. The farmer to the north, he even takes his beasts within his home, as though they are in danger."
"I saw something flying about the keep on the way in," Bermen told him.
A shiver ran down Eloi's back, and he glanced over a the keep.
Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, drawing his sword and running at the door.
"The party are coming!" he yelled at Bermen.
"How do you know?" Bermen asked with a quizzical tone, also drawing his sword and running into the hall with his companion.
"Your winged beasts have seen them and are flying over us to the attack!" he said , sprinting out the door.
Bermen saw the last winged form descend out of view behind the houses to the east as Eloi charged across the square.

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Aranon had reached the edge of the village, and was glad, as the noise of Jean-Paul's armour scraping along the cry riverbed was driving him insane in the stillness of this bright night. Only Mordekei's dragon, cluttering along the pebbles from time to time, seemed to make more noise, and he almost wished he had allowed the thing to fly across.
Brushing the dirt from his tunic, Aranon felt the dark shadow fall across him, but it was only Akhan's quickly muffled scream that really gave him warning as the beast fell on him from the sky, its claws rending into his body.
It was all he could do to beat his way clear with his staff, the flurry of claws and teeth taking him unexpectedly. As he focused on his attacker, it resumed the attack, and again he could do nothing but parry a few blows. At least this time he could see his opponent - he had not faced one in many a year, but he knew from the smell and the look of the creature that it was a gargoyle!
The sounds from around him and the dark shadows that had flitted overhead told why no-one had come to his aid - they were all fighting for their lives.
Aranon swung his staff as hard as he could, a wide blow that gained him some room from the gargoyle, and left him better placed to deal with its next rush. As it launched off the ground he struck it firmly in the leg, finally feeling more in control as he fended off its blows. He could hear running, and a glance showed Mordekei, preceded by Grym, flying off into one of the nearby houses, pursued by two of the beasts.
A clawed hand caught the side of his face, and he felt the blunt thrust of another through his mail coat, himself managing to land a feeble strike to the creature's chest. As he turned, he caught sight of Akhan, looking as bad as Aranon had ever seen a man, with long red clawmarks on his face and body, desperately fighting, the blue light of Kagnstir making his opponent look all the more menacing.

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Bermen had almost caught up on Eloi as they turned the corner on the square, with Sholin breathing hard down his neck. Drawing Gottflinder as he ran, they heard the combat just before they saw the party, swarmed by the flying beasts and fighting for their lives.
Mordekei was missing, but Bermen saw two of the beasts, gargoyles he was sure, clawing at a cottage door, and quickly figured that was where he had hidden. He saw as Eloi landed his first blow on the gargoyle attacking Aranon, and the look of dismay as the strike rattled without effect off the creature's hide with a dull thud.
"Use magic!" Bermen cried as he ran past them to a badly wounded Akhan.
The wide blow from his huge bastard sword had all his weight in it, catching the gargoyle in mid-air, its back to him, and his blade bit deep into its back, almost severing one wing and forcing it to the ground. Beyond them, he saw Sholin using his strange curved spear to attack the two at the cottage door, landing a devastating blow before they knew what was happening. They counterattacked, but Bermen was glad to see the monk as quick in defence as on the attack, dodging their slashing talons and howling maws.
Tired, hurting, Akhan saw an opening and in the best form of the Rel Mord duellists lunged deep, Kagnstir sliding into the monster's abdomen, leaving a gaping hole as he carried out his riposte. He had begun a self-satisfied smile when the creature wiped it from his face with a vicious bite to his sword arm. Akhan felt he could not survive this fight much longer.
As Bermen drew its anger, he quickly fished a potion from his belt pouch, pulling the stopper with his teeth and swallowed the bitter liquid fast. He instantly felt better, even more so as Bermen swung a two-handed blow at their adversary which almost decapitated it, and it dropped like a stone, dead.
As Akhan regained his breath and composure, Bermen quickly looked about. With another swing, he struck one of the gargoyles fighting the monk, drawing its attention long enough for Sholin to finish it off with a slashing strike. He was as yet uninjured, so Bermen turned instead to Hamman, who was not badly wounded, but appeared appreciative of his help.
Akhan saw Jean-Paul at the rear, uninjured as the monsters' blows fell, ringing off his plate armour. He held his longsword aloft for a moment, almost as if in glee, then brought it swiftly down on the head of the beast, and it too fell dead at his feet.
Akhan joined in with Aranon as he finished off the wounded creature he had been fighting, and once it lay dead, he turned to see the last gargoyle being put to the spear, cornered by Sholin, Hamman and Bermen by the cottage door.

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The eerie glow of Luna filled the empty village, as did the sound of the adventurers' heaving lungs. A couple of the gargoyles twitched and flapped their wings briefly, the unmistakable twitching of the dead.
Mordekei opened the door, but a crack at first, then came out to a welcome sight. He beckoned Grymalkin out as they gathered themselves together in silence and began to heal their wounds. They stared at each other, almost in disbelief at the injuries these monsters had inflicted in such a short time. Istus had indeed been on their side from the fact that no-one lay dead alongside the gargoyles now.
Sholin cleaned the black blood from the blade of his spear, and looked towards Aranon and the others..
"What now?" Tumbry asked his priestly friend in a low voice, sheathing his sword.
Aranon was quickly checking himself over for wounds.
Akhan turned to Bermen and bowed his thanks for the assistance. Then he looked over at the stranger whom Aranon had told them of, and the man introduced himself.
He looked very different from the usual from these parts, being dressed in a cloak of grey, covering a light silk robe, a burnt orange in colour. In his hand he held a fine spear, with an unusually shaped blade, one side being flat and quite blunt. Behind his grey silk scarf, which usually masked his face, he had the fine northern features of his Baklunish race
"To those I have not met as yet, I am Sholin, a worshipper of the mighty Zuoken. I am here because of the Scarlet Brotherhood agent within these walls, and it is my intent to kill him and gather what I can of his reasons for being here. It would seem that our mutual needs are best met by collaboration, but I warn you that I have no concern for your Lominstrall or his deeds, only for the Brotherhood agent."
"You are wounded brother Akhan," Jean-Paul said to Akhan. Akhan looked briefly down at the clawed cuts to his body.
"Let me help you there," the paladin continued.
Grasping Akhan's arm firmly, he passed his other arm over the rogue's wounds, while muttering words of prayer to his god. Before his very eyes the wounds healed.
"Blimey!" Akhan said, astonished.
Akhan clapped Jean-Paul on the shoulder.
"Nice deity you've got there. Remind me to say my prayers more often."
Observing the still twitching Gargoyle, he hopped over one of the dead lying in his way and, swinging his leg gracefully behind him, followed through with a resounding boot on the head of the twitchy one.
"I'm getting a tad annoyed with Lominstrall now. All we want is a friendly chat after all, and he's putting us to all this trouble."
Akhan tutted disapprovingly then grinned.
"So we need inside the castle and fast, before the guards come back on duty. What do you say to a spot of cat-burglary Eloi? If the battlements really are deserted at the moment it'd be simple enough to open the stronghold once we climb up and inside. Is it a plan, or is it a plan?"
Akhan asked, looking round at the others for their opinions.
"Lets get these injuries fixed first," Aranon said, the others only too keen to agree. With a few minutes rest and several healing spells, they were as good as new and eager to continue.
Mordekei turned to Grym and gave him a meaningful look. Without so much as a word, the pseudodragon seemed to get the message and flew off back towards camp - perhaps it would be too dangerous there for such a precious familiar.
Eloi grinned and rummaged about in his backpack, producing a rope and grappling hook from within.
"Lead the way," he smugly replied to Akhan. "We can find our way down to the main gate and open it to allow the others to enter."
Jean-Paul thought very carefully and then replied.
"I can see no better way to enter the castle, but beware our battle may not have gone unnoticed."
He turned to Eloi and Akhan.
"I suggest that you make haste as dawn cannot be far off."
Bermen carefully cleaned off Gottflinder before sheathing it.
"If you two flies are going to go crawling up the wall, you might need some help picking off anyone who fancies dropping rocks on your heads."
He then produced his bow and began a quick check of its action and picked out some arrows.
"I'll pick myself a spot to cover any danger areas. It might also be advisable if someone of a more resilient constitution, such as our good paladin Jean-Paul here, were to follow you two up the rope. I mean no disrespect to your abilities but if the garrison is roused there may not be time to go down and open the doors. We may all be compelled to do a little rope climbing with those at the top under attack. Just a thought gentlemen."
Bermen smiled ruefully.
"It's not as if we've been very quiet about our little disagreement with the gargoyles here."
Bermen then turned to Aranon.
"Aranon, is it simply our objective in there to grab Lominstrall and run or are we looking to take a rather attractive horse-thief along with us too. Hmm?"
Bermen paused. "Hmmph, that's always assuming that Lominstrall's in there at all!"
"But if we have a rope," Tumbry exclaimed," What's to stop us all climbing up onto the battlements? Opening the gates might draw unwanted attention."
Akhan shrugged, and started over to the house he had been watching the keep from.
"Give me two minutes to check its all clear."
A minute later they were all staring intently at the battlements from within the house they had been watching from, but saw no movement there. With his usual impish grin, Akhan beckoned the party to follow him as he leapt out the and across the uneven ground to the foot of the castle walls.
The openness of the ground bothered them all, especially when Luna peeked out from behind the scant clouds from time to time, but they soon found themselves at the foot of the earth embankment leading up to the walls.
There was no commotion from within, so they assumed that they had made it so far unnoticed.
Akhan stepped up to the wall, heaving his grappling hook in ever-widening circles three times before letting fly. With an almighty clatter the metal hook landed on the battlements above, and Akhan visibly cringed at the noise. With a gentle pull and a scraping noise, he soon found that it had lodged first time. Giving it one last tug, he glanced at the others before starting the twenty foot climb up the rope.
The night was cool, but Akhan sweated visibly as he pulled himself up the thin rope - it had been some time since he had undertaken such exertion, and was perhaps a few good wine casks less fit than he once was. The grappling hook groaned slightly, but otherwise held his light weight, and despite the exertion he managed to climb it easily, using his feet for balance only.
As he rounded the top, a sense of dread filled him, and he made the final pull over, expecting danger.

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