Black Hart

To Kill A King

Chapter 24 - The Windmill

"Feck!" Akhan thought, momentarily torn between getting some payback on Lominstrall and helping Jean-Paul.
The thief's strong sense of self-preservation was beginning to dominate his actions now and the possibility of the paladin being able to restore his sight decided the matter.
"Jean-Paul, it's Akhan," he called, not very loudly as he moved cautiously towards where he thought Jean-Paul's cry had come.
Frustratingly, just as he called he realised that if the knight had been wounded then there was a good chance that the dragon might be nearby too.
"Feck! I'm not doing very well here," he thought mournfully.
But one direction seemed as treacherous as another in his darkened world and he continued in the same direction.
His exaggeratedly cautious steps brought the incongruous memory of a birthday party to his mind. He had been forced to play one of those stupid games where your eyes were bound and you had to pin the tail on the dragon. Of course his elder brother Vellius had made ample use of his blindness to administer some sly kicks and digs.
Akhan didn't object in principal to being blindfolded. Indeed, he could remember some seriously entertaining evenings in an upmarket brothel. But it was the fear of a Vellius-like attack that gripped his imagination now.
Talking quietly, Akhan still heard a lot of noise to his right, like someone running through undergrowth. He headed slowly towards the noise, stumbling occasionally, until he was clear of the woods and on the road.
Suddenly he heard a cry from straight-ahead.
"D'Appignon! D'Appignon!"
Jean-Paul's war cry!
He headed further towards it, then found his legs taken away from him as he sailed through the air to a harsh landing on the road. He fumbled about for a moment, desperate to regain his feet.
As he arose he felt what he had tripped upon - still warm, but not breathing, what was probably one of the dead soldiers which lay at his feet.
More carefully he walked on, stopping after another few steps as he banged his head off something wooden in his way. He felt around, realising it was the King's carriage.
Suddenly he was aware of someone standing behind him.
"Akhan! What's wrong?"
It was Eloi's voice.
"Eloi, I can't see! That bloody dragon blinded me. What's happening? Who's Jean-Paul fighting? Where are the rest of the party?"
Akhan's frustration at not being able to see was getting the better of him and he desperately wanted to know what was going on.
"Eloi, can you get Jean-Paul to see if he can restore my sight?"
Eloi replied to Akhan's questions, lifting his friend to a standing position.
"Feck, Akhan, Lominstrall has really whipped our asses this time. I am badly wounded, as you too appear to be. Last I saw of Jean-Paul and Tumbry they were both attacking Lominstrall. I hope they got the bastard. Let me lead you to the carriage, hopefully we will be safe there. Anyways I want a quiet word with Mordy. A wizard fighting a wizard was what we needed, he just stood by and let the rest of us get frazzled."
He took Akhan by the arm and led him to the carriage.

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Jean-Paul crashed through the undergrowth towards Lominstrall, who was deep in concentration. Before he was close enough to strike, Tumbry had reached the mage and swung a wild blow at him, missing widely.
As Jean-Paul positioned himself for the attack, screaming out his battle-cry, the mage's form changed, and where he had stood but moments before a falcon hovered for an instant then flew up into the sky. Recovering himself, Tumbry flew up after the creature, and out sight, being blocked by the trees, into the early morning sky.
Jean-Paul stood there, dumbfounded that Lominstrall had evaded justice yet again!
Jean-Paul kept his sword drawn and walked back towards the carriage scanning the treeline for any signs of movement.
As Jean-Paul forced his way back to the road, he heard the dragon's roar, and saw Mordekei, backed up against the carriage. At his side the noble Ash, somewhat more cautious of the beast, stood barking wildly at the beast.
As he went to move away, the dragon, which was now almost fully visible in the morning sun took in a deep breath and Jean-Paul realised what was about to happen. He ran forward, shouting to Mordekei.
"Away! Get away, Mord! Run!"

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Akhan froze as he heard Jean-Paul's warning shouted, and closed his dull eyes as he heard that all-too-familiar whoosh as he knew the dragon exhaled. The same clawing coldness overcame him, and all stories of bravado escaped him as he had never felt so close to death in all his life.
Suddenly, he cared not for anything but to lie down and sleep, for the warmth of the sun to heal his body as he rested. He felt Eloi, holding him tight, drag him in an unknown direction, then they were hurtling through the air, landing roughly on the ground.

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As Mordekei turned to be off, the dragon exhaled, and Jean-Paul could do nothing but watch.
A thick cloud, of what could only be described as blackness, flooded from its open maw, billowing in the air about, covering the area in front of the entangled dragon where Mordekei and Ash stood in front of the King's carriage. As Mordekei heard Jean-Paul's warning, the dreadful truth about what was about to happen dawned upon him, and his blood froze.
As he sprinted towards the paladin, a black cloud engulfed him, and he felt the coldness as the dark air flooded up his nostrils, clogged his mouth and flowed through his very bones. Suddenly he felt very cold, and very weak.
He ran as best he could, and in a moment he ran into something solid, falling to the ground.
As the darkness cleared, he made his way closer, taking care not to approach the dragon, and Mordekei stumbled towards him out of the black air, tumbling into the paladin and falling to the ground.
He looked up at Jean-Paul, with eyes that looked straight through him.
"Jean-Paul? Help me, I cannot see!"
As he spoke, he desired nothing but to go to sleep, a dreadful tiredness overcoming him.
There was a yelp from near to the carriage, and Jean-Paul looked up to see the wardog recoil, having walked into it.
From the other side of the carriage, Eloi and Akhan emerged, arm in arm, staggering about and holding onto each other as though their very lives depended on it. Not seeing the body of a fallen guardsman, Eloi tripped on him and sent himself and Akhan tumbling to the ground.
Eloi looked dreadful, and stared up with the same eyes as Mordekei, speechless. But Akhan! Akhan looked like nothing so much as a man he had once seen who had been drained of his very life by a ghoul! He did not look up at Jean-Paul, but held his arms together, looking down, trying to control a sudden fit of shivers.
Akhan sat where he had been dumped and shivered. His teeth chattered, his shoulders heaved convulsively and he folded slowly over onto the ground. He was now so numb that the ground felt like a soft bed. The only thing that penetrated the iron grip of ice on his mind was the pitiful yelps of Ash.
Rolling his head feebly Akhan tried to call the wardog. But all that emerged was a pathetic, "Aa aa aa aa kssh sh sh," as he shivered still on the ground.
Jean-Paul walked over to Mordekei and took his hand.
"Mordekei, come with me."
He led Mordekei over to Akhan and Eloi and helped them up. Jean-Paul made Eloi hold onto Mordekei's hand and Akhan hold onto Eloi's hand.
Taking Mordekei's hand again he whispered, "Keep a tight grip of each other and keep up. We must remain in close formation. I will lead you to safety."
With that Jean-Paul took the most direct route towards the nearest treeline, hoping that the trees would provide some cover for his ailing comrades. As they walked towards the treeline Jean-Paul kept his eye open for any further attacks from the dragon.
It took a minute, but seemed like ages, for Jean-Paul to guide them to the roadside, and into the cover of the bushes. It somehow touched on the paladin's sense of guilt that his companions had borne the brunt of such an attack, and were suffering while he remained unharmed. Mordekei in particular was having great difficulty coping with his blindness, and seemed to be ready to run off in panic at every step.
As Akhan continued to call him, Ash slowly moved towards them until he was, shivering and quite disturbed, back with his corpse-like master. His nose felt warm and dry to Akhan's touch.
Jean-Paul looked back at the dragon and saw it continued to writhe amongst the twisting foliage. It seemed to be trying to shrink away from them, as if in fear, and he wondered inwardly just how long the tiny vines and branches could hold the monstrous thing.
And he had never seen anything like this dragon in his life - it was dark, but seemed to consist of nothing but shadows, of varying shades, with lifeless grey pools for eyes, a worm-like body and tiny wings. It was large, although he had seen larger, at a distance. Still, looking at the wretched state his companions were in he found plenty to fear in its substance.
Eloi ceased his prattling but quietly thought to himself, "I wonder if anyone would notice if Mordekei disappeared into the Doors one of these days."
Jean-Paul looked at his weakened and blind comrades. He stooped down and took Mordekei by the shoulders.
"Mordekei, what is that thing? I have never seen anything like it! Can it be killed? Would I be foolish to go up against it in battle? We need your assistance now more than anything! Pull yourself together and help us."
Eloi stared blindly around him, he realised that only Jean-Paul could see and that the same fate had befallen Mordekei and Akhan. He laughed weakly at Jean-Paul's words.
"We really needed his help back then! He let this happen to us all! He may well be in league with Lominstrall for all we know. Useless bastard! Let's hope he dies of this plague that has fallen upon us. Cause when I recover I am going to stick my dagger as far up his...."
"Eloi, you are tired and confused. You do not truly realise what you are saying. Be calm, I am sure that Mordekei can help us now." Jean-Paul soothed Eloi with his words putting a caring hand on his shoulder.
He turned to Mordekei.
"How can I defeat this creature?"

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"Why don't we go and have a chat with the man over at the windmill then?"
Bermen stretched out his hand for the reins to his horse not wanting to take his eyes from the figure in the distance.
When he had climbed into the saddle he told Sholin and Aranon of his findings.
"Two tracks leaving the village met here and there was a struggle. One of the men was more heavily laden than the other and, as you can see, there is only one set of tracks leading from this point to the windmill. And the tracks are heavy. Who's who I don't know but I can think of someone I want to ask."
Bermen looked at his two companions.
"Unless anyone has any ruse to add I think we should head over there"
"A sound plan, Bermen," Sholin stated.
Bermen mounted and they headed off towards the windmill.
They had gone only half way when something strange caught their attention to the north - something large flying through the air at speed in their general direction. As it got closer, it was obvious that it was a man. He was scouring the area, perhaps heading more towards the village.
Suddenly he seemed to notice the mounted trio in the middle of this field, and headed towards them.
Quickly Bermen took out his bow and notched an arrow, ready to fire. Sholin readied his spear, and Aranon fumbled with his holy symbol as they had seen him do so often when preparing to cast a spell.
As he approached, Bermen's keen eyesight spotted something and he lowered his bow, a faint smile crossing his face.
"It is Tumbry!" he declared.
The others relaxed, and awaited the bard's arrival.
Unaided, Tumbry was quickly headed their way, and pulled up for a moment safe distance away before recognising them, waving briefly then flying at full speed to join them.
He landed in a flurry of dirt a few yards from them.
"There is no time," he said, a distinct sense of urgency in his voice.
"The King's entourage has been ambushed by Lominstrall and a dragon. The others, or what remains of them are back at those woods fighting the dragon. Lominstrall changed into a falcon and flew off before we could stop him. The King is not there, I think he has fled the ambush."
Tumbry panted with exertion as he struggled to clearly tell them what had happened. Bermen looked over to the woods about three miles to the north, where Tumbry had indicated the others were, and gave a brief thought for their welfare, and of the Shadow Dragon!
Sholin raised his hand to stop him.
"When we were coming here from the village there was a falcon flying over this way."
"We think the King has gone, in some way or form, to that windmill," Aranon told him.
"We must act fast!" Tumbry said. "All may be lost!"
All four looked over at the windmill, as a cloud covered the sun. As the windmill was shaded it took on a sombre, almost threatening appearance.
Bermen held out his hand to Tumbry.
"Do you choose to continue to fly or will you ride with me? The Suel Shabass T'Lan may be at the windmill and it would be better if we stuck together.
The gathering clouds seemed to mirror the sense of foreboding that Bermen felt about the King's prospects. He was sure the others thought the same, though none chose to give voice to such a disheartening possibility. He gripped the hilt of his sword fiercely, offering a brief prayer to Kelanen that they might finally catch Lominstrall and put an end to him.
"Well let's not all stand about gawping. Its not as if its Isengard! Tumbry - look for a high level access near the vanes," said Aranon, grinning maniacally before spurring his horse on.
Aranon scanned the windmill warily, watching for any movement at the windows or doors.
"Watch for any Spells, lads, a magic missile or fireball could be a pain in the arse. And spread out a bit!"
Tumbry nodded, with a gleeful grin on his face at Aranon's plan.
"Perhaps we'll take them by surprise!" he said.
Without another word Bermen pulled the reins of his mount 'til he was heading straight for the windmill and set the horse off with a curt, "Yaagh".
The trio rode off as Tumbry launched back into the air, Sholin trailing wide to the left in an attempt to circle the windmill. As they drew closer they saw that the windmill was a small affair, with two, perhaps three storeys. The morning breeze had picked up and the three sails were moving constantly, although not at any great speed. Its unpainted wooden exterior was dull and foreboding under this cloudy sky.
As they rode up, they saw someone, possibly Lominstrall, peering from the open doorway for a moment before the door was slammed shut.

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Mordekei was desperately trying to fight off the shivers on this cold morning, now that they were in the shade of the woods, out of the morning sun.
"I...I've seen nothing like it, and believe me I got a good look. It looked like it was made out of shadows, and it spewed this blinding darkness from its maw that drew the very life from me. But it attacked me too, though I suffered not too badly. It hit Ash badly though."
Mordekei pointed to Eloi's leg, as though he thought the hound was there. He then looked straight at Jean-Paul's groin.
"Your dog saved my life, Akhan."
Jean-Paul might have laughed at the comic scene had it not been so deadly.
Looking over to the other side of the woods, he saw the dragon's shape outlined by the plants that held it, but it seemed to be trying to shrink out of their view. It was still, from the shaking of bushes and trees about it, desperately trying to free itself from whatever enchantment had been cast on it.
Jean-Paul noticed the cloud of Mordekei's had receded back out of sight. As he looked over, he saw Hamman standing in the middle of the road, about twenty yards down from the dragon.
"Hamman!" he shouted. "Hamman, the dragon!"
He pointed to where the beast lay. Hamman stood still.
A realisation dawned on Jean-Paul, and he rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
Hamman was standing too still. And he was completely, utterly, grey in colour. Stone grey!
Akhan kept a tight hold on Ash's collar, although he was unsure who was reassuring whom when he murmured occasionally, "It'll be all right soon," to the wardog.
He listened dispiritedly to Jean-Paul's questions to Mordekei on the nature of the dragon but couldn't find any course of action other than restoring his sight of any importance.
Before Mordekei could reply to Jean-Paul on how to kill the dragon he interrupted.
"Why doesn't it kill us all now? We're hardly a match for it, are we? And yet it hasn't come in for the kill. And where's Lominstrall? Something's happened here we don't fully understand. The last I saw Tumbry he seemed to be going to help Mordekei. Where has he gone? Is he dead?"
The thief lapsed into silence momentarily, brooding on the unanswered questions.
"Jean-Paul it seems pointless to risk your life against this dragon when we don't even know if the King is still here. Has anyone seen him at all? Better that we escape and meet up with our friends if they've made it back yet; or Thoggin's lot. Surely he'll have mobilised all his men!"
Akhan found himself automatically picking bits of dirt from his clothes and almost laughed out loud.
"Come on, let's have the sense to admit when we've been beaten. There's nothing left for us to do here apart from throw our lives away for nothing. You've got to lead us out of here Jean-Paul but if you insist on fighting that dragon then I'm not waiting around to hear it suck the life out of you. Believe me - ha, believe all of us - you don't want to experience whatever it is that blinded us."
Akhan held his hand out blindly to where he thought the paladin was standing.
"Do you agree then?"
"Gentlemen, we can but hope that the effects on me are temporary, but without a cure or a dispel magic, there is little I can do for myself. Which way is the dragon going? Can we, that is, JP, follow it? "
Mordekei turned around, blindly, trying to see anything at all...a glimmer of light, a shadow, but it was all to no avail.
He slowly lowered himself to the ground, shivering.
"I fear the creature has sapped me of my strength, and my p-powers. I am little better than a novice. Let us pray that this is temporary. The creature itself, I have nothing I can now use effectively against it. I doubt it is of flesh and blood, and in a single attack has devastated us. "
Mord shrugged.
"Follow it?" Akhan asked
He ripped a clod of earth and grass from the ground and lobbed it in the direction he thought the paladin was standing.
"What's going on damnit?" he howled with frustration. "Are we going to get eaten or has Hamman just shoved his sword up the dragon's arse? Tell us what's going on Jean-Paul."
"By Heironeous!" cried Jean-Paul "Hamman has been turned to stone by some foul power."
He turned to the others.
"The situation is truly dire, but the dragon does not seem intent on further harm, in fact it appears to be somewhat afraid. If it is made of shadows then perhaps night is its habitat. That being the case it may be afraid of daylight. The creature may lose its. Mordekei do you have the power to cast a spell that would create some kind of light in the vicinity of the dragon?"
He turned to survey the dragon and Hamman.
"I would suggest that our main cause of peril is that Lominstrall is still at large. He has obviously cast this evil spell upon our friend and I think we can be assured that Tumbry has fallen to similar dark magic."
He looked at the pathetic huddle of his comrades.
"Friends, you are a hindrance in your current condition. Best that you wait here. I will investigate the scene before us and return shortly."
He looked up to the sky and carefully walked towards the empty king's carriage scanning the surrounding landscape for any movement.
Prior to Jean-Paul moving off, Eloi gave a weak and pitiful cheer.
"Hear, Hear, I ain't gonna argue."
The three blind flunkeys heard Jean-Paul stride away from them in a purposeful manner, not even waiting for his questions to be answered.
"Oh great!" muttered Akhan as he heard the paladin striding away. Despite his stated intention of buggering off if Jean-Paul left them Akhan knew it was not a good idea to go wandering around in this blind state.
"Anyone go anything to eat?" he asked, starting to rummage around in his belongings for any morsel left.

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Jean-Paul walked towards the carriage, and could see the dragon still squirming within the mass of leaves and branches that held it trapped.
As Mordekei had said, it resembled nothing so much as a patchwork quilt of varying shades of darkness. He could see it was touched by the morning light in some places, although this seemed to have little effect other than to lighten that area of the dragon's hide. Its dull grey eyes spooked Jean-Paul, reminding him of the deep, dark well within the wall-garden of his father's home.
The dragon seemed to be having some success in freeing itself from its bindings, and Jean-Paul was sure it could not be held much longer. He decided to be away from there, and headed back down the road to retrieve his mount..
As Jean-Paul returned to the mounts, he passed the 'statue' of Hamman. The Prince did not look as though he had been in any pain, or even aware of his impending fate. As he left him there he said a brief prayer to Heironeous for his soul, and added that he would never wish to depart in such a gruesome manner.
He was pleased to see that Mordekei's cloud had somehow dissipated before reaching the horses, and quickly mounted his own, returning to the others. On the way back he noticed the dragon had somehow freed itself from its bindings. There was no sign of it anywhere, and he was very cautious as he approached the others.
As he drew closer he could hear them complaining about his absence, and decided to be brief before they tried to persuade them otherwise.
There was a look of amazement on the sightless faces of the trio as he remounted and sped off down the road to Niole Dra.

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They pulled up in front of the windmill, as Sholin, circling around to the left, went out of sight.
"So, Tumbry's going to try to sneak in. You and I take the front door at the same time yeah? I guess you've got some sort of spell to test the door for booby-traps. They certainly know we're coming so maybe we shouldn't give them too much time to prepare their defence."
At that, Bermen frowned suddenly realising, "What if they intend to use the King as a hostage Aranon? We don't know if he's alive but it's a possibility isn't it. Maybe charging through the front door wouldn't be such a good idea. What about hailing them when we get to the front door and demanding surrender. At the very least it might distract their attention from Tumbry."
Aranon surveyed the windmill, looking at the windows.
"Two to one says the bugger is behind that door with a spell ready. Then again he may be after the king."
"We better start moving on over there at any rate," Bermen said, spurring his horse into a canter.
At the approach to the door of the windmill, Bermen moved slightly ahead and to the right of Aranon. He reined his horse in and regarded the door steadily, almost trying to peer through it and try and discern what was going on inside.
With a final enquiring glance at Aranon, Bermen took a deep breath and assumed his formal parade-ground voice.
"In the name of the King! Throw down your weapons and show yourselves."
With this he felt the tension grow almost unbearable and the seconds seemed like hours. The desperate urge to do something - anything - was mounting and Bermen resolved to give them one last warning before he attempted to open the door...
"I really don't fancy charging through there!" he thought. "But if it needs to be done, it'll just have to be done the old-fashioned way with some cold steel."
As he sat, mounted on Lareng's horse before the door, Bermen felt the slight downdraught caused by the windmill's sails rotating slowly behind him.
Suddenly there was a scream from within - a man's scream, sounding someone who had been set on fire, or was being flayed alive.
Without another thought, Bermen leapt from the horse towards the door. He saw Aranon moving too, albeit slower. As he reached the door Bermen put all his weight into a shoulder charge and bounced off the door, although there was a resounding crack from within.
As he stepped back, Aranon too charged into it, and with a mighty snap the door flew open, the priest tumbling to the floor, apparently surprised that the door had opened.
A set of stairs led up from the left to the next floor of this square building, and there, at the top, Lominstrall was casting a spell. Aranon stood to his feet, and took hold of his holy symbol, closing his eyes as he uttered the prayers to cast his own spell. Fearful of being caught in the effects of either, Bermen took cover back behind the door.
A bright magical light appeared behind Aranon's head as Lominstrall finished his casting, and Bermen stuck his head around the door in time to see a column of flame roar down through the staircase, engulfing Lominstrall as it did so. The enormous whooshing roar of the flames as Aranon's spell struck Lominstrall got Bermen's heart beating wildly and he was in no mood to let the Chamberlain get away now.
Bermen, sword drawn, could only watch as Lominstrall ran upstairs, out of sight, screaming as his robe had caught fire. Gritting his teeth he powered his way up the stairs, sword at the ready, and very keen to renew his acquaintance with the traitor.
He hadn't forgotten about the possibility of the Suel assassin being in here too, though. Bermen didn't give a second thought to whether Aranon was backing him up. He knew the priest would be at his side if he could.
He sprinted onto the next level, which appeared to be the storeroom from the bountiful sacks of flour and grain on this floor. At the far end, Lominstrall was beating out the last of the flames from his clothes. He seemed hurt, but not too close to death to spoil Bermen's fun.
As he spotted the ranger, Lominstrall began to cast a spell. With a yell, Bermen threw himself across the room at the mage. His scream appeared to put Lominstrall off, and with a hefty swipe he sliced at the mage. To his surprise his blow met nothing but the scorched end of Lominstrall's robe.
There was a resounding thud from behind as Lominstrall finished his spell, and Bermen looked round quickly to make sure he was not outflanked. There, behind him, dividing the room in half and cutting off Aranon from aiding him, was a solid wall of stone.
From above, up the stairs Lominstrall was backing towards as he drew his puny dagger, Bermen still heard the demented howls of the man he had heard screaming before, although they sounded somewhat more subdued now.
"Come no further or the King will die!" Lominstrall spat, causing Bermen to stop for an instant. "It does not have to be this way, Major. Allow me to go, on your honour, and I will tell you how to save him."
"Honour, Lominstrall?!" Bermen raged at the Chamberlain.
He had been looking forward to spitting him on the end of Gottflinder. But the gall of this traitor asking for the benefit of a virtue of which he possessed absolutely none took him aback. The muscles of the ranger's sword arm bunched powerfully, the steel beginning to swish through the air.
Another pitifully despairing groan stopped the stroke of the sword.
There was every possibility this was just another trick and the wretch before him now was not worth trusting. But if the King could still be saved!
Bermen brandished the point of his blade at Lominstrall.
Almost choking on the words he spat, "I swear by the blood of the Zladek's and the steel in this sword that I will let you pass if you tell me how to save the King."
As he spoke, the consolation remained that neither Aranon, Sholin nor Tumbry had promised anything of the kind. The loathing he felt almost made his eyes bulge from their sockets as he stared at the singed figure in front of him.
"Speak, worm!"

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As Akhan rummaged around in his backpack, they could no longer even hear Jean-Paul's footsteps on the road.
Time passed on, longer and longer, as they awaited Jean-Paul's return.
Suddenly there was a tearing noise and a thump. Then silence. They waited, fearful, for something to happen.
Akhan indulged himself in some frustrated cursing at the paladin's expense for a while but eventually gave up.
"Up a street trollop's crack," he finished but without any real conviction.
"Well, why don't we three go into business then." he continued after a short break having rekindled his sarcasm. "Tousle the hair, get ourselves some manky dresses and a great big bubbling cauldron. We'd do a roaring trade as the Witches of Axewood."
He put on his best crone's voice.
"That be right Farmer Turnip - when frogs rain from the sky ye and yer kin shall inherit the Kingdom of Crap, the bounteous land beyond the horizon."
He shivered again trying to regain some feeling of warmth to his chilled bones and vowed to get stuck into some brandy soon.
"Guess we don't have much choice then do we?" he asked the others angrily. "We just sit here until goody two-boots comes back to rescue us. There must be something we can do?"
Nothing sprang to mind immediately however and in the end Akhan suggested, "If all we're going to do is sit here then some of us might at least get some sleep. The effects of that bloody dragon might wear off."
But he didn't sound to hopeful.
"Who's going to have first watch then? Eloi, Mordekei?"
Eloi muttered, "Can't you see anything with that fecking ruby eye of yours Akhan? I thought it was supposed to be magic or sumthink?"
"It's bloody cold here," he complained pulling his cloak around his body.
"It's emerald, peasant." Akhan retorted. "And no I can't see a sodding thing. Rest assured, if I could see anything I'd be lighting a fire right underneath your upper class arse at this very moment."
He stuck his hands under his armpits in the vain hope of reviving some feeling.
"Yeah, well rest assured it won't be no ruby that I'll stick up your arse. It'll be this sharp stick!" Eloi retorted as he scrambled about in the dirt, feeling for a sharp stick.
"What I wouldn't do right now to 'ave me head stuck between a large pair of sweaty breasts. That's the type of blindness I like!"
Eloi winked pointlessly at Mordekei.
"So, Akhan, that bird back at Axewood, Fimuth's wifey. What is it between you two? Don't tell me you've gone and found yourself an illicit shag? Might be a bit of a mistake, considering the whole heap o' shite were all in know. Who knows Fimuth might be creeping up behind you right now with the intent of cutting your bollocks off."
Eloi sniggered at his own astounding humour.
"Thanks for the advice Eloi," Akhan replied acidly. "But what gave you the ridiculous idea that I had anything to do with Fimuth's wife? Oh and if it's sweaty flesh you're looking for I suppose you could make do with sticking your face in between Mordekei's buttocks. I don't think anyone could describe him as anything other than bony but it's probably the closest you're going to get at the moment."
"Be quiet! Be quiet! Be quiet!" Mordekei suddenly screeched in an uncomfortably high-pitched squeal.
There was a pause.
"For weeks now all I have heard from you two is worthless babble, trying to outsmart each other with your pathetic irony and amateur sarcasm. Do you not understand the plight we are in? Jean-Paul has left us here to die, and that dragon is out there, I can still smell him. And all you two can do is babble!"
Thankfully his voice had lowered to its normal tone.
There was a noise like Mordekei was trying to get up, then they heard him take a couple of steps, and crash into a bush somewhere nearby.

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He had been riding but a few minutes when he came to a small village. Something bothered him about it, and it was only then that Jean-Paul realised that there was nobody about, and no smoke coming from any of the houses here.
At this time of the morning the place should have been bustling with life as the womenfolk set about their chores, the men having left for the fields.
In all the village not a mouse stirred.
It was a small village, with neither inn nor militia outpost, but Jean-Paul soon found the largest house, at the village square, where he imagined he would find a magistrate or some other type of authority. As he rode towards the door, it opened, and a spear protruded at about knee height for a walking man. As he stopped, a young boy ran at him from the house, but was caught a few yards into the street by a woman, presumably his mother.
She forced him to down his spear, then shielded the boy from the knight. As Jean-Paul stood dumbstruck she glanced around at him, apparently relaxing at the sight of this armoured knight. She rose to her feet and pointed down a dirt track leading to the fields to the east.
"They went that way!" she said, bundling up the boy and carrying him inside without further explanation.
Before he could say a word, Jean-Paul heard the door being bolted from within. The spear lay in the square where the boy had dropped it.
Jean-Paul dismounted and hammered on the door.
"Please, I do not understand, who went that way? If I am to help you I need more information? I have friends further down the road that need assistance can you help?"

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Lominstrall smiled.
"First, ranger, you must..."
Bermen saw Lominstrall tense up, and as the mage raised his dagger he found Gottflinder had already slipped under his guard.
A trickle of blood ran from Lominstrall's mouth as he stood momentarily, impaled on Bermen's blade.
From upstairs there was a thump, then the sound of a door closing.
As Bermen pulled Gottflinder from the traitor, his blood spewed over his fine robes and onto the wooden floor. Lominstrall crumpled to the ground, raising his blood-covered hand to his eyes in disbelief.
"I...you...I!"
He stared at Bermen.
"The black heart can only be overcome by the master of the hunt. Blood for blood, he can be saved."
Lominstrall lay back, and Bermen heard him sigh out his final breath, as he had heard so many times before. He would be unable to explain his cryptic words!
Now Bermen was starting to get really angry. There would be no information form the corpse lying at his feet and with a howl of frustration Bermen kicked him viciously.
A groan from upstairs reminded Bermen of his task, and, casting a final glance at the stone wall separating him from Aranon, he ran up the open wooden staircase. And again, Bermen now knew a lot more about this conspiracy than the person up there might suspect. There could be an advantage. But what? He racked his brain, desperately trying to come up with some piece of this murderous jigsaw which would give him some leverage. Nearer and nearer, no flash of inspiration appeared. He stopped at the trap door leading to the floor above.
"Ach, all their souls to a Pit Fiend! This hound wouldn't be holed up in a sodding windmill if he held all the cards," he thought.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Bermen took a quick look around.
"I'm certainly expected," he thought.
Bermen hefted Gottflinder, ready to despatch those who would bar his way.

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