Black Hart

To Kill A King

Chapter 8 - The Battle for Fax

The journey east had been a pleasant one - the days warm and sweet and, despite travelling off-road most of the time, the knight and his squire seemed to be making good time. It was almost harvest time, and all around the people were busy rebuilding their lives, and preparing for the work to come.
It was late at night when they reached Axewood Palace. Duke Fimuth Celanil's palace was a magnificent affair, built in the shape of the letter 'E'. However the knight could not help feeling it was somewhat excessive considering the poverty of the people he had met on his recent travels. On arrival, they were met by the gnome he had met in Niole Dra, Thoggin Oakley, whom it seemed was somewhat of a bigwig around there.
"Sir Pascal," he addressed the knight. "I am pleased to meet you again. It seems Lord Holmer and the Earl of Sterich think very highly of you, for they recommended you to help us rebuild our countries here. But first, I believe there is something that may interest you more."
He lead Jean-Paul into a plush library, where he was seated, and a servant brought large brandies for the knight, and the erstwhile Frederikson left to attend to his master's accommodation. Thoggin held his glass under his nose, taking a deep scent of its smooth aroma.
"Ahhh," he exclaimed in an appreciative manner. "Keoish blue - of the best."
The gnome took a sip.
"I have to say though," he mused, "that the wines of Fax are more to my taste. Spent a long time living in that fine town."
"If I were a betting man," the knight commented, "I'd wager you did not ask me here to talk about Fax's finest produce."
Thoggin nodded.
"Yet it is Fax I am concerned with. I fear with the Pomarj overrunning the county there will be no grape harvest this year. Worse still, if the city of Fax itself should fall, we lose another ally, and that is not such a ludicrous proposition."
Thoggin went on to explain the plight of Aranon and his daughter
"Lord Aranon has left for Oakhart with your friend Eloi Brand, and a Major Bermen Zladek from Grand Duke Owen's armies. The rest of the party, a mage called Mordekei, a noble called Hamman, and a thief by the name of Akhan, are set to be teleported to Fax tomorrow, to try to assist them. It is about a day's ride from Fax to Oakhart, but at present the city is under siege by the Pomarj's hordes."
Jean-Paul perked up at the mention of the scout, Eloi, and found himself wondering how the rascal had fared in recent days without his guidance.
"I would ask you to go with them, and as well as assisting Lord Aranon, to report back to me on the affairs of Fax. It may be that the siege is ended before you get there, hopefully for the good, but the more information I can get the better."
Jean-Paul agreed that it was a noble cause, to help the powerless folk of the stricken city, and also to assist Aranon recover his helpless daughter from the hordes.
"You will leave at first light tomorrow so best get some sleep. You will all be accompanied by a friend of mine, Sergeant Dwirin, who is a scout in the Fax's Foreign Legion."
Jean-Paul had heard of this Foreign Legion - an effective force of shock-troops, all rogues, scoundrels and scum of the earth. They were feared and renowned, but lacked proper leadership and respect for authority. He bid Thoggin goodnight and left for his room, to wash and get a few hours troubled sleep.

In too little time Jean-Paul was awakened by the ever-faithful Frederikson, who had polished and oiled his armour, and readied all the knight's other equipment, as well as replacing rations and other spent goods. Frederikson would be staying at Axewood in the meantime, so a valet led Jean-Paul downstairs to the library where the others were waiting, and the introductions followed.
After a short while the door opened and a tall, at least Olven male, of some years, entered the library. Jean-Paul assumed this was Fimuth's magist, Zarn Varnt.
"People, if you could join together, holding hands in a circle I will send you on your way!"
The party assembled in a ring. The elf, who was dressed as a mage, approached them, and began the incantation. All around, the light shimmered, his words grew louder, resonating in their ears. The image of the library flickered and then disappeared, an instant later to be replaced with an unoccupied market square of a city Jean-Paul had never seen before - Fax.

Nearby there was a large building, what appeared to be some sort of cathedral and a small keep, all enclosed by city walls - they could barely see over the walls to the east, where the sun was rising over the sea, which presumably was Woolly Bay. Immediately the clawing smells of death and fire, the scent of warfare, filled their nostrils!
A horn sounded, then another, and then the whole city seemed alive with horns and bells. People were pouring out of every doorway, running aimlessly around, hefting weapons and putting on armour.
"The alarm," Dwirin said, "the city under attack! Come with me!"
They headed up towards the seaward wall, and up a set of stairs to the battlements. Dwirin spoke with a guard there, then turned to the party.
"There," he said, pointing out to sea, where in the distance they could see a group of ships, perhaps six or seven in number. "They Pomarj ships - they come attack us, as their hordes attack on the south wall this moment. I thing we are in trouble!"
All around men were running, setting up ballistae, loading crossbows, drawing swords. To the south, a great pounding noise came from the gate there.
"Zut!" Mordekei declared, with an excited look on his face. "I must assist! At a time like this, well-placed spells can make the difference. I have such means, and will implement them. Will you accompany me?"
Jean-Paul shook his head.
"Friends, though my heart is heavy mentioning this, our fight is not here. Our goal is to ride on to Oakhart. I suggest that we find or commandeer mounts and make our way there. With the grace of the gods these good people will repel the hordes for the moment."
Dwirin's face was turning redder by the minute as the paladin spoke.
"Not fight - no doubt then how the Shield Lands fall - the Knights, you are all cowards!"
The Sergeant stormed off away from the party. Mordekei and Hamman also showed their disdain before running after him.
"I'll go with you, J-P," Akhan said. "And I think I know just where to go."

Mordekei followed Dwirin through the open gates in the wall which separated the old town from the new town, into which they headed. Dwirin sent Hamman, more versed in naval matters, south to the docks to help repel the Pomarj marine attack. Along the massively wide Darkover Road, past the new town square, they went on, seeing the troops of Fax gathered before the southern gate, known locally as the Darkgate.
Above the Darkgate, archers fired down on the other side from the parapets. Every so often one of them would drop as he was struck by a missile. The wall itself was shaking every couple of minutes, and as the dust flew from the very cracks of the walls, Mordekei guessed some sort of battering ram was being used on the gate.
Dwirin led him into the inn on the corner facing the gate, simply named the 'Wayfarer's Welcome'. They had to push past what seemed like hundreds of men, mostly dressed in some sort of uniform, crowding the tavern. At the front, a man dressed as a cavalry officer was dealing out orders to the crowds.
"Colonel Hax D'Aggrio," Dwirin told Mordekei. "He leads us now that the Chevalier Kh'Marra is killed."
Mordekei listened, and quickly gathered that the Colonel's sole plan seemed to revolve around filling any breach in the walls with enough bodies to stop the invaders.
"If I may," Mordekei interrupted, being subjected to several glares by the military men around him as he did so. "I may be able to help with some magic, Colonel. I am pretty sure that I could seal any gap in your defences, after allowing enough of the enemy through to cut down their numbers somewhat."
"The boy is right, Colonel," a soft voice confirmed from behind.
All turned to see who spoke now, and Mordekei saw an elderly elf, short in stature and moving slowly toward them. His shimmering cloak and gnarled staff matched his long, wild hair, and Mordekei knew beyond all doubt that he was a wizard.
"You will do better if aided by our magics," the elf continued, making his way toward Mordekei through the crowd. "You will live a short while longer before being cut down in the glory of battle."
There was silence as the Colonel pondered this.
"Very well," he said. "You will all await my signal to attack, allowing them through so they may be trapped."
As the room started to empty, the Colonel walked over to speak to the mage and Mordekei.
"I will trust you Garthanyel, and your companion, but do not let us down. Signal me when the breach is plugged."
Mordekei nodded and the Colonel went out side to his men.
The olven mage turned to Mordekei, extending a slender right hand in greeting as he leaned heavily on his staff with the left.
"I am Garthanyel Giltholian, sir," he said with a slight nod.
Mordekei smiled and introduced himself.
"Well then, young Mordekei," Garthanyel pronounced. "To work it is - If you block the breach, I will help them to fight whatever comes through, and from there we must see what occurs."
He turned to leave, muttering as he shuffled to the door.
"I will be across the road in the facing building."
Dwirin smiled another ugly grin at Mordekei, then took his arm and led him over to a door, then upstairs to one of the tavern's rooms, which faced onto the gate. They opened a shutter to look onto the scene below, and Mordekei saw all the soldiers, and a few hundred ordinary townsfolk who would soon be fighting for their very lives, running around and getting into rank where they should be. Garthanyel was still shuffling slowly towards the other side.
As the pounding grew louder, only the officers' orders could be heard above the thunderous din. Then, the archers started to run from the parapets as a mighty crack ran up from the gate below. The Darkgate was falling!

Jean-Paul stared across the moat and wooden bridge to the small, crumbling keep Akhan had brought him to. The keep was positioned next to the outer wall of the town of Fax, and had undoubtedly once formed part of its defences, but was much older than the well-maintained wall.
As they walked across the rotting bridge, over the moat which was filled with murky water and a variety of assorted refuse, they saw the battered sign, hanging lopsided from only one chain, which declared this place to be the 'Old Sentinel'. Akhan felt sure that the paladin had not even noticed the rat's head on the sign, never mind comprehended the true nature of this thieves' guild safehouse.
Through an arch and past the yard and stables they went, entering the main room of the inn by the thick wooden door there. Jean-Paul did note the thickness of the walls, which would make this place a formidable building to attack.
The inn was not very busy, perhaps four customers and a few staff within. It was dimly lit, and to the left hand side of the room there was a large round table of oak, with nine fine padded chairs about it, and nobody sitting thereon. As Jean-Paul made his way over there to be seated, Akhan put a hand to his arm, guiding him over to the bar and away from the table.
Behind the bar a man with a leather patch over his right eye was drying a tankard with a filthy rag.
"You know, I knew there was someone I reminded me of lately," Akhan said to the man, who looked up.
It took a second, but he did seem to recognise the half-elf.
"Never thought we'd see you about here again, Akhan," the man replied. He looked over to Jean-Paul, who seemed most uncomfortable in this room.
"And in such high faluting company too!" he continued.
"Ahhh, let me introduce you. Jean-Paul, meet Jahkras Thane, known to his friends as 'Patch'," Akhan declared.
Jean-Paul presented his muckle hand across the bar, then withdrew it when he realised that Patch had no intention of shaking hands with him.
Finally setting down the tankard, Jahkras smiled at Akhan.
"Good to see you anyway," he commented. "To what do we owe this pleasure, or is it merely a social visit in the middle of a siege?"
Akhan laughed.
"Is Fra-Lan in?" he asked.
Patch nodded. He spoke quietly as though confiding a dark secret in Akhan.
"Rarely to be found elsewhere these days. He retired you know - just in charge of this place now."
"Well, we'll have two beers, and if he will see us, I do have some needs to discuss."
Patch pointed over to a nearby table, and Akhan walked over there, Jean-Paul following behind.
They were barely seated when a gaunt looking young man with a limp brought over their drinks.
At another table, a knightly-looking man, still in plate mail armour, lay slumped over the table while a bard sat strumming his lute across from him. The bard was Baklunish in appearance, but cosmopolitan in dress, much like the fine young nobles in nearby Greyhawk were adorned these days. On the contrary the armoured man was dishevelled and worn-looking, with several days growth, and they could both smell his odour from ten feet away.
The bard was singing a bawdy rhyme about five sailors and a drunken halfling priestess with a scourge and a bucket of whipped cream. Even Jean-Paul seemed to find his skilful rhyme amusing.
Before the song had finished a short man, wearing leather armour over fine silks and a well-kept colourful cotton headband, walked from the door behind the bar and over to their table. Jean-Paul was pleased to see that the man smiling.
As he seated himself next to Akhan, the limping servant brought over a large glass of brandy for him, then returned behind the bar.
"Well, well - look what the war's dragged in," the man said, reaching over the table to greet Akhan. As he introduced Jean-Paul to Fra-Lan, the paladin was made to feel slightly more comfortable by the fact that at least this man had the manners to shake his hand.
The bard had finished playing his tune, and wandered over to the bar for another drink.
"I'll cut to the point, Fra-Lan," Akhan said in a serious tone. "Our friend, Lord Aranon Silverlief is in need of our help. We need to leave the town discretely, and find horses for the journey to Oakhart."
Fra-Lan laughed, shaking his head.
"Horses you'll not find for love or money," he said. "And I would help you to leave, but we have a problem with security."
He glanced over at Jean-Paul.
"I can speak for him," Akhan replied. "And we will pay well."
Akhan nodded to the paladin, who placed a leather purse on the table with a cheerful clink.
Fra-Lan raised his eyebrows.
"Then I think our problem is solved. The way things are going my friend, I may soon be following you out of Fax!"

The street was silent as the assembled troops awaited the next blow on the mighty gates.
With a crash, the massive ogre's head battering ram smashed through the wooden gates. Splinters of wood and stone flew in all directions, some so large that the ywould crush a man. For a second all was quiet - then the battering ram was withdrawn, and in its place hordes of screaming Jebli filled the breach.
Well-marshalled, the soldiers of Fax waited as the Jebli rushed toward them. Mordekei began his spell, and as enough had run through he cast the powdered diamonds in the air.
Immediately, the Euroz following the Jebli ran into a shimmering wall of magic as they tried to enter the breach. The remaining archers fired their arrows over the waiting infantry, and the first few ranks of Jebli fell.
From the back, they started to realise they were alone, and the charge slowly spluttered out as they were but thirty feet from the Faxians. Some at the back tried to run out of the town's confines, but also met Mordekei's magical wall. In a blind panic, as the soldiers of Fax descended upon them, the Jebli were routed.
Dwirin noticed a small group of them who were better ordered, running for the cover of the buildings on their side of the street - running straight for the inn they were hiding in!
Among the Jebli, three Ogre Magi suddenly appeared in their midst, as though conjured from thin air. The Jebli seemed to gain heart at this for a moment, but as the conjured monsters began tearing the heads from the Jebli shoulders, they caused another panic and any chance the Jebli might have had to fight their attackers was gone. Mordekei felt sure that Garthanyel was behind this magical attack.
Dwirin ran over and began to blockade the door.
"Goblins," he cried out. "They come inside, we must to leave!"
As he heard the sound of booted feet clumping up the stairs, Mordekei searched frantically, and pointlessly, for an escape route.
There was no other way out of this room - except the window.
The first boot crashed against the door, but it held. Dwirin looked to the mage for a plan.
"To me, Dwirin," Mordekei shouted.
Dwirin ran over to him, wondering how the mage planned to escape. He wondered even more as the mage began to step out the window. Then he gasped in amazement as Mordekei stood in thin air, hovering just outside the window!
"Grab hold of me!" Mordekei said.
Dwirin seemed confused, and looked back at the door just as a battle axe smashed through its centre. Without another thought he stood on the window sill and leaned out, firmly grabbing hold of Mordekei's waist.
Giving thanks for Gastanykk's fine tutelage in the arts of the mind, Mordekei willed himself lighter than air, and both he and the sergeant floated upwards into the sky. As they drew level with the rooftop, Mordekei reached his foot over and pulled them safely onto the sloping roof, before setting them down.
Suddenly pain wracked through Mordekei's body as three magic missiles plunged into him. Looking below, he saw a Euroz shaman who had been trapped by his wall of force, and had cast his spell at the obvious target the two floating men had presented. The shaman himself then flinched as an arrow struck his chest, and again as a roaring wall of flame sprang up about him and he caught fire.
Mordekei looked over to Garthanyel and nodded his thanks, before pulling back as a Jebli arrow whizzed past his head.
The two men clambered up, slipping somewhat, onto the peak of the roof. On the other side, in the back courts and yards that made it obvious why the Maze area was called so, they could see some of the Jebli had escaped through the inn.
Mordekei's nose twitched.
"Can you smell smoke?" he asked Dwirin.
The sergeant began to shake his head, then stopped. He nodded unenthusiastically.
Then they saw the first black clouds pouring up from the room they had just left!
Without speaking, both men got to their feet and began scrambling over the roofs to the next building in that block. They were two buildings away when Mordekei grabbed hold of the sergeant.
"Hold tight again," he commanded. "And relax - trust me!"
Mordekei sounded about as convincing to himself as he did to Dwirin.
They sat on the roof, and as Dwirin took hold, slid off onto the street side. Thankfully, as they went over the edge, Mordekei's psionic talent slowed them, and they floated down to the ground, now behind Fax soldiers.
But for some strange reason, the cavalry were forming in a line, and they were facing towards the two men, away from where the Jebli had come.
A strange noise behind him caused Mordekei to turn around.
From the north, along the wide Darkover Road, hundreds of screaming Hordelings, monsters of every type and size, were running towards them!

As they sat waiting for Fra-Lan to make the arrangements, the bard wandered over to their table.
He pointed to the empty seat next to Akhan, who nodded and the bard seated himself there.
"I am Tumbry Fasthand," he said, holding out a strong hand to Akhan.
They shook, as the three introduced themselves.
"You will forgive me for overhearing brother," he said, "but is my friend Aranon of Oakhart in some sort of trouble?"
Akhan paused as though unsure whether to tell him anything, and the bard seemed to realise this.
"We have adventured together many times, Lord Aranon and I," he continued. "Through our mutual friend, Sheyr Bn'Griz."
Akhan had never heard mention of this Tumbry, but he knew the barbarian Sheyr well. In fact, as he recalled, Sheyr had at one time lived in Fax along with a bard of some sort.
"He is," Akhan said. "Perhaps in the direst of troubles. His daughter is missing."
"Elouera?!" the bard asked rhetorically.
Akhan nodded.
"Do you go to Oakhart? I have been there many times and would be glad to guide you there."
Akhan pretended to consider it, but really there was no question - neither he nor Jean-Paul had ever been there, and to err in the Suss, even at the edges, could spell their doom.
With a smile, he nodded.
"We would welcome your company, Tumbry Fasthand," he said.

They both sprinted closer to the troops, led by Colonel D'Aggrio, who was now trying to marshal his officers into some form of line for a cavalry charge!
"Dwirin, my spells will only be of limited use from now on. I fear a fight where I will have to rely on you for protection!" Mordekei shouted excitedly as they sprinted for cover behind the soldiers. They were running as though for their lives, although the Hordes were still a few hundred yards away. Mordekei was not for taking any chances.
Dwirin turned to him with a large grin - he looked exceedingly ugly!
"Do not worry," he said. "Death and battle, mage, my special talent!
"Wait!" Mordekei yelled at the Colonel. He held his men back, and the mage ran up to him. "A moment if you please."
Turning to the horde, Mordekei saw they had run over a bridge crossing a small river, and past some sort of garrison-type building. They ran ever closer, screaming and waving their weapons, but as soon as they were close enough, the mage began his evocation. The air seemed charged, and the swords and armour of the cavalrymen hummed for a split second before the lightning bolt flew from his fingertips, sparking through the first eight or so ranks of the Hordelings.
When the acrid blue smoke drifted off, about fifty humanoids lay silent on the ground, but almost immediately there were others clambering over the corpses, continuing the charge towards them!
The Colonel gathered up his reins, and screamed out, "For Fax! For Fax! For the Count!"
Spurring on his fine horse, he led his cavalry hurtling towards the oncoming Hordes. The infantrymen around Mordekei, including Sergeant Dwirin, ran on behind them.
Mordekei was left with a dozen or so others, injured men - as he turned around to survey the scene, he noticed Garthanyel standing behind him.
"They must have their glory, Mordekei," he said. "A battle would not be complete for them without carnage!"
He beckoned Mordekei over, saying, "Come, let us shelter in this building."
He pointed to a tavern on the east side of the street with the sign of a Dog and Devil outside.
"Your magyks have been well-placed so far," he told Mordekei as they walked. "Let us see if we can work a few more dweomers before they get us!"
The charging soldiers were almost upon the Hordes, which still outnumbered them four or five times. A couple of hundred infantrymen, released from the south wall by Mordekei's spell, were running to join their colleagues in death.
As Garthanyel led him across the street, Mordekei heard the screams and roars of battle, and saw clearly the fierce fighting going on in the town square and beyond. The Faxians were desperately overrun, and there were still more Hordelings running down from many directions. From the north, a burst of fire exploded, probably a fireball from some Hordeling mage.
Suddenly, something hurt Mordekei's head, there was a dull light dazzling his mind's eye, his vision wavered, and then, as suddenly as it happened, Mordekei recovered. He looked at Garthanyel, who was standing outside the door, holding onto it for balance.
As he raised his head, Garthanyel muttered something spontaneously. It was almost lost in the battle noise, but Mordekei could have sworn it sounded like "Damn him!", or its equivalent in Olven anyway.
Garthanyel pushed the door open and they both went inside - there was a man slumped over the bar who raised his head as they entered
"It's got lumppsshh alllll overrr itt, mannn!" he slurred, then promptly fell off the bar stool.
Garthanyel shuffled over to another set of doors, and Mordekei jogged over to him as he opened them and started up the stairs beyond. As he shuffled up the stairs he constantly muttered to himself in some arcane old-sounding language that seemed to be some form of Olven, but Mordekei, for all his proficiencies in the Olven tongue, did not quite recognise the profanities he was uttering.
As he stepped through the door at the top of the stairs, something moved to their left, and all too late Mordekei saw a sword flash and smite Garthanyel across the head, sending his frail form reeling to the floor.
Then he saw the human, dressed in black leather armour, and with a black cloak, standing in the hallway before him.
With a mere thought, Mordekei scrambled the man's head, and he appeared shocked as the mage stepped up to him, and drove his magical dagger into the man's chest. Still with a glazed look over his eyes, he stumbled back, clutching his chest, and bleeding his life away all over the wooden floor.
With him out of the way, Mordekei stooped to tend to Garthanyel. He seemed in a bad way, a pretty bad blow to the head. His face was pale and cold, and he was frothing at the mouth.
"And by the Gods," thought Mordekei, for the first time getting a close look at the elf's face, "He is old as the Crystalmists!"
As he wiped the blood from Garthanyel's wound, Mordekei noticed the scratch on his own hand.
"Damn, the man's sword must have nicked me!" he thought.
There was a strange numbness creeping up his arm!
Glancing at the sword which lay at his feet, Mordekei noticed the pale green residue along its blade. As the word 'Poison' formed in his mind, the numbness spread throughout his body, something hurt his head, and there was a dull light in his mind's eye. His vision went slightly fuzzy and there was darkness.

As Akhan stared in disbelief at the objects floating through the sewer, brushing against his fine trews, he almost wished that Fra-Lan had refused their request.
As they came out of the tunnel, Akhan saw, through the mist and smoke of battle, that they were outwith the town walls, between them and the wide moat that surrounded Fax. To this side, in fact, the moat was the course of the River Fax, flowing from the west to the sea nearby. Staying to the side of the moat, Akhan led Jean-Paul and Tumbry upstream, allowing himself the luxury of bathing for a minute to be rid of the worst of the sewer smells.
As they paused, Tumbry pointed up to where a lot of the smoke was coming from.
"Greyvarn Village - they have set it alight! Perhaps we will find horses there, though I doubt it. Anyway, the smoke will give us cover."
Glad to be away from the smell of himself, Akhan immersed himself in the river, and began to swim slowly over to the other side, towards the village.

Mordekei was standing outside the tavern, with Garthanyel standing beside the door!
His head felt light, and he was most distressed as Garthanyel opened the door and beckoned him in, almost like a long 'deja vu' experience. As he entered, he looked to where he somehow knew the bar must be, and there was the drunk as he somehow expected. The drunk spoke the slurred words that Mordekei knew he would, then fell to the floor as he knew would happen!
"Is this some perverse dream?" Mordekei mused. As Garthanyel predictably started up the stairs, muttering his endless profanities, Mordekei was very confused.
"What on Oerth is going on?"

Akhan beckoned them into the garden of one of the village houses.
"I suggest you scout ahead for horses and trouble, Akhan," Jean-Paul said. "You seem to be best at it."
Akhan shrugged and tried, without any luck, to think up an excuse not to go.
"Okay," he said, then turned and ran off into the smoke.
"Hmmmm, they'll be sorry when I'm dead! That'll teach them!" he thought as he slowed down his jog, the smoke becoming thick and clawing.
Soon he realised the folly of their situation - the smoke was too thick in most places, and he was walking into all sorts of obstacles, not to mention that he was having difficulty breathing!
Several times, Akhan found himself standing too close to several orcs and goblins for comfort, and even when he decided the game was over, it took him almost half an hour to find his starting point again.
"It's no good," he told the others. "I can see fuck all - I hear the Euroz and Jebli, but in this smoke I'm likely to walk in on their dinner party. I doubt they'll have horses anyway, we're better off on foot!"
"It is about twenty-five miles to Oakhart," Tumbry said. "We could make it in a day, but we may need to take some chances and walk on the road. I know the way, but if you want to get there before nightfall we will have to travel by road, and be fast. Remember most humanoids, which means most of Turrosh Mak's troops, travel by night!"
As they moved on, they soon found the road, and after they were a good mile clear Jean-Paul asked if Tumbry knew any fine battle tunes to raise their morale.
Tumbry said to Jean-Paul, "There is a popular ditty of our friend Lord Aranon, and the Battle of Galden Field."
In a quiet yet hearty voice he began to sing a tale of Lord Aranon's splendour at the battle. Jean-Paul was impressed, but Akhan was not - he much preferred the bard's tune in the 'Old Sentinel' about the five sailors and the drunken halfling priestess with the scourge and a bucket of whipped cream!
Akhan smiled politely and walked off briskly, muttering, "If you need me I'll be scouting ahead."
He ran off, laughing at the others, finding it hard to keep to the road due to the drifting smoke. He had only been moving a minute, when he heard shouting and the sound of clashing swords behind you. Then he heard the bard's voice, screaming in pain.

As he saw Garthanyel approach the top of the stairs, Mordekei went to shout out a warning to him, but saw that the mage was prepared for his would-be assailant. As the black-clad man made his swing, Garthanyel had finished his spell, and thrust both hands at the man's stomach.
With nothing more than a blue glow the man faded and disappeared completely.
Completely bewildered, Mordekei stood rooted to the spot. He had never seen such magic!
"Come on man," Garthanyel commanded. "We have work to finish, and not much time to do it!" he declared.
By the time Mordekei had caught up to Garthanyel, he was within one of the inn's rooms that looked out onto the street, where they could hear the battle raging.
Garthanyel opened the shutters, and they saw the line of battle was now below them as the men of Fax retreated towards the Darkgate. They were trapped.
Before they could do anything, both men were hurled across the room and flames filled the air as a fireball exploded in front of them - they had been seen.
Badly burned, his robes on fire, Mordekei saw Garthanyel pull himself to his feet as the darkness came over him.

Denying his gut reaction to make a 'tactical withdrawal' towards Oakhart, Akhan drew his sword and ran back, following the sounds of battle.
As the smoke cleared, he saw the paladin and the bard, swords drawn, fighting a half-dozen orcs. They were standing back to back, and Tumbry was swinging wildly and awkwardly. Then he noticed the glinting light in his eyes, and realised that he had been blinded by a spell. As the smoke swirled, Akhan saw, to the left, on orc shaman standing ten feet away.
It seemed to Akhan that neither the orcs, the shaman nor the party had noticed him yet.
With the stealth of many years' practice, he crept around behind the shaman, who still had not noticed his would-be assassin as he prepared to cast another spell.
As Akhan loomed behind him, shortsword poised dagger-style to cut him down, the mists swirled out and he saw Jean-Paul and the bard, surrounded by the six orcs. The orcs' attacks were bouncing off JP's armour, but Tumbry was not faring so well.
Jean-Paul ran through one of the orcs in a single blow, and the others facing him backed off slightly, perhaps becoming aware that they had bitten off more than they can chew!
Akhan brought Kagnstir sword down on the unsuspecting shaman, and it passed through him like a hot knife through butter. As he dropped to the ground in a gurgling heap, Akhan stepped over him and made towards the orcs facing the paladin, who, with their backs to him were still unaware of his presence.
With a soft-shoe shimmy that Akhan thought would impress even Raven, he skewered the first unsuspecting orc with hardly a second thought, save for a quick side-step to avoid getting black blood on his fine silk blouson. Jean-Paul, with all the finesse of an Amedian Ollyphant, hacked into the other orc, and with the crunch of splintering bones, Akhan saw his longsword bite deep into the monster's torso.
Without waiting to see it fall, Akhan turned to the three attacking the bard, whom he saw now was badly injured.
With a bloodcurdling yell, he launched himself at them.
"Paaaaaaaannnnnnnnntttttttttsssss!"
His swing missed wildly, as did his orc opponent's. The middle orc turned and ran like his pants were on fire, which, from the amount of yellow liquid flowing therefrom they could not possibly be. To the other side of Tumbry, the paladin despatched the other orc with another crushing swipe.
As Akhan prepared to strike the final orc, he turned and sprinted off into the smoke after his companion. With a startling burst of speed, Akhan caught him in an instant, and one blow across his back brought its flight to an end. The other one was nowhere to be seen.
He returned to the others. Jean-Paul attended to the Bard's wounds. The light in his eyes, however, was still shining.
"Continual light," Tumbry said. "I cannot dispel this blinding myself - unless you gents have any magic to help I must continue blind or we must return!"
Akhan warned them that the final orc had escaped, possibly to get help!
"Then there is naught for it but to return," Jean-Paul declared.
"I'll see if we can get back in," Akhan declared. "Look after him 'til I get back!"
With a final glance, he ran off into the smoke. A minute later, he ran back past, heading in the right direction!

"So its a bit hot out there - well it may be worse in here - I believe the Darkgate has fallen to the Hordes, and the corsairs have landed at the harbour unchallenged," he said. "We may have to use the tunnel ourselves before the day is through. What ails your friend?"
"Magical light," Jean-Paul replied, "from an orc shaman, damn him. This delay may risk the girl's life!"
Fra-Lan shrugged and said, "You will be useless out there without the bard's sight. Do you want me to get him some magical help? It will cost, mind you!"
"I have money!" Tumbry snapped. "Just get me my sight back."
Jean-Paul did not seem happy. He rose to his feet, pushing past the guildmaster, and strode over to the door, saying, "We have work to do - come Akhan, to the battle!"
"Ah shit," Akhan thought, reluctantly rising to his feet. "I'd hoped he wouldn't say that!"

"The Westgate, the Westgate, they broke through it, they comin', they comin'," the man babbled incessantly, scurrying around like a headless chicken.
"This could mean trouble," a wounded soldier told Jean-Paul. "With the corsairs at the harbour, the soldiers fighting at the Darkgate, if the Hordes are within and heading to them they will be badly trapped."
Appointing himself 'Morale Officer', Akhan stepped behind the frantic man and knocked him senseless in one blow from the pommel of his dagger. He dropped to the ground, and Akhan smiled at Jean-Paul as he put away the dagger.
"Nonsense," he declared. "The man's delirious, anyone can see it! Anyway, I think you had a plan JP??!"
Akhan and Jean-Paul were standing at the Newgate, which divided the Old Town of Fax from the larger, more recently built New Town. Refugees and wounded soldiers from the fighting within the New Town were trickling in through this gate.
Jean-Paul, realising his friend was not so daft, nodded.
"We must warn the troops to retreat to the Old Town before they are cut off."
With added haste they set off, making speed towards the Darkgate, hoping to reach the soldiers there before the Hordes. As they made along the Oldtown Road, suddenly hundreds of troops from the west came spilling onto the road, some coming their way, but most charging to the south, to the Darkgate!
The Hordes!
"Oh fuck!" Akhan exclaimed, involuntarily.
There were about a hundred Fax soldiers scattered about this street in front of them, the farthest ones running from the oncoming Hordes.
Surveying the situation quickly, Jean-Paul raised his sword in the air, and shouted, "To me, to me. Rally to me, men of Fax!"
Some of the men who were faltering seemed to turn back at his words - slowly they gathered around him. There did not seem to be many officers, but there were about a hundred men about him - a number of archers and cavalry, but mostly infantry. Here and there are a few loose war horses ran around.
The street was extremely wide, about fifty yards, and opened out to the two-hundred yard wide market place where the Hordes currently grouped. There were many side-streets to either side.
The humanoids must have outnumbered the soldiers Jean-Paul had gathered by three to one as the Hordes started running, screaming at them, before the paladin had a chance to direct them, in any way. Thankfully, many of the Hordelings ran south, towards the Darkgate.
On the far side of the Hordes, they saw a blue flash, probably a lightning bolt, sweeping through their ranks - but as soon as the humanoids hit the ground, others ran over them towards the soldiers near the Darkgate. There did not seem to be any Hordelings coming from the Darkgate side itself though, which was a blessing.
As the men rallied around, one of the younger soldiers looked at Jean-Paul, tears of mixed fear and anger streaming down his face. The knight smiled briefly at him.
"Heironeous be with you, son - we shall drink together tonight, in this town or by His side!"
Without a second glance, he turned and ran towards the charging enemy, screaming, "D'Appignon! D'Appignon!"
"So much for a brilliant plan," Akhan thought out loud.
He ran after the fool, his magical boots allowing him to catch the walking scrap yard in seconds.
"Fuck this for a laugh!" Akhan screamed at the top of his voice - war cries were not his speciality!
From behind they heard the men run also, shouting, "For Fax!" and "The Count! The Count!", desperate to hide their fear.
As they ran, Akhan picked out one of the smaller groups of humanoids, a few Jebli and Celbit on the far side, and guided Jean-Paul towards them. A few arrows from behind landed among the humanoids, bringing some down, and Akhan engaged the first kobold, armed with an axe, and the two goblins with spears who ran with him.
The first Jebli's spear glanced punily off his armour, but the second caught his arm, ripping it badly. The kobold's wild swing missed completely.
He was repaid by Akhan bludgeoning his head to a pulp, hardly pausing to retrieve the blade before skewering the nearest Jebli on the end of Kagnstir. But Akhan was now surrounded by humanoids of all sorts, and the people of Fax, all fighting to the death. Blows glanced off his armour, and magics flew in from all directions.
Jean-Paul fought to his left, screaming something out and cleaving his way through a group of goblins towards an ogre with his longsword. He seemed to have taken few hits, and was fighting like a madman.
The other Jebli prodded hopelessly at Akhan before he ended its worthless life in seconds. Stepping over them, Akhan came face to face with an Eiger of some size, armed with a massive club.
As he drew breath, Akhan gulped at the size of this monster.
It staggered from the blow as Akhan swiftly swiped his blade across its forehead - after a feeble return, then another pathetic strike which was easily blocked, Akhan gave it a slash in its fat belly to think about. Behind him, Akhan felt blows striking off his magical armour, but the Lady Istus was on his side today, and none cut through to his mortal flesh.
Akhan cursed his foolish pride as the ogre's club rattled his thick skull, but with his euphoria knocked out of him, he swiftly regained his battle sense. With a well-placed strike, Kagnstir hacked off the ogre's left arm, the stump gushing blood as the monster fell dying to the ground.
Momentarily free to glance up, there seemed to be no end to this swarm of humanoids, and all around Akhan saw the Faxians falling under the weight of numbers of their enemy. Men cut down three or four humanoids before falling to a fifth, or sixth, and the constant cuts and slashes they received in this close battle.
Seeing a gap, Akhan moved through a barrage of blows to Jean-Paul, who was fighting on without noticing the bad situation they were getting into.
"Fall back, Jean-Paul, we must fall back!"
Akhan grabbed the paladin's right arm and dragged him back a bit, striking down a Euroz in their path. As they moved back, they had to step over the many bodies as they went - mostly humanoids, but many Faxians too!
Cutting down another pair of Jebli, Akhan took another bad blow to his sword arm. Looking to Jean-Paul, who was no longer so oblivious to the situation, Akhan noticed the body they had just stumbled over was that of the young man he spoke to before the fight. He lay with a spear in his guts, still clutching his sword before him, but with a twisted smile on his face now.
Akhan briefly wondered if the boy would enjoy the food at Heironeous' table!
A spear-point whizzing past his head brought him back to his senses, and he thanked the Euroz who gave it with a new abdominal orifice.
Jean-Paul had now pressed his back to Akhan's as the Hordelings had overrun them and blocked their retreat - all around they could see pockets of Faxians backed against the wall, fighting, and dying in their own streets.
As he downed another Jebli, there was an explosion of fire from behind, to the south. It was so close they could feel the heat of the fireball.
There was a gap, where the unfortunate humanoids lay smouldering in some mage's work, and the paladin nudged Akhan before running south into the gap, pushing past a stunned kobold, who was all that stood in Akhan's way. As he ran past, Akhan effortlessly spiked it in the face, and it dropped satisfactorily to the ground.
They were then sprinting down the street, towards the Darkgate, where they were sure Mordekei would be. Akhan soon overtook the lumbering knight, running past him, over to the west side of the street, and on towards a clear alleyway.
Suddenly Akhan stopped.
Teeming down the alley were scores of Hordelings, bristling with weapons, running towards him! He backed slowly into the street. Jean-Paul and another soldier, a strong looking older man with a touch of silver in his moustache, caught up, and then halted at the sight.
From the north, from where they had run, there were more humanoids running at them, and the south too, where they seemed to have recovered from the mage's fireball.
The three men resigned themselves to what was about to happen.
As an ogre ran over, the older man charged with his spear, and lunged at the beast, who side-stepped his blow, and then cleft off his head in one mighty blow of its huge axe.
The ogre then faced Akhan and Jean-Paul, tapping its axe expectantly into its huge hand.
Tap, tap, tap!
Something hurt Akhan's head, and there was a dull light inside it, his vision going slightly fuzzy, and then he recovered. As he looked up again he could see from his grimace that Jean-Paul had also experienced the pain, so it wasn't the Eye!
The ogre stood there before them, one foot on the headless soldier. Behind him, other humanoids walked towards them, and Jean-Paul stepped up to face the ogre. They could hear the other Hordelings behind, and to the right yet more continued rushing towards you.
With an inspired grin, Akhan dipped a hand into one of his belt pouches and threw a handful of dust over himself and the paladin.
As they faded out of vision, Akhan yelled at him.
"Grab my cloak and follow me," he cried.
As they disappeared, the ogre looked very puzzled, and the Hordelings around them stopped in shock for a moment. Seizing the chance Akhan ran off, the armoured oaf's weight dragging on his cloak behind him, and they slipped down another alley nearby. As they ran on, the sounds of battle behind them grew furious and frenzied - Akhan for one was glad not to be there!

They came to a cross-roads, and too late Akhan shouted for Jean-Paul to stop as he clumsily collided into the back of the thief. Ahead there were sounds of more Hordelings coming towards them, but there was an open door to a house just five yards on their left. To the left and right the alleyways twisted and turned away, but there was no sound of others coming from these ways.
"What do you think?", Akhan asked.
Thinking quickly, Jean-Paul replied, "Might I suggest we carry on down the alley, now is not the time to get caught indoors."
As he started to speak, Akhan muttered something about finding Mordekei, and dragged the invisible knight on by the cloak and further up the alley. As they passed the doorway, a short man peered out from behind the door, but they were soon past him.
About ten feet further on, they saw the first of the screaming hordes coming down towards them - dozens of them, filling the alley from end to end - even invisible they would never get past them!
Jean-Paul turned tail, dragging the thief by his cloak, and ran back towards the cross-roads - they could not even make it there as the hordes from the Oldtown Road were piling along this alley towards them in identical fashion to their colleagues.
They stopped at the doorway, and, cut off on both sides, Akhan tried desperately to enter, but the man seemed to have somehow bolted the door. Akhan banged quickly on it, but before they had the chance to see whether it would be opened, the wave of humanoids rushed past, catching Jean-Paul and then Akhan in their rush.
Snatching Akhan's cloak from his grasp, the knight was thrown along with the turmoil for a few moments before falling to the ground, trampled by countless feet. He was badly injured within seconds from the masses of pounding feet, and he had lost any idea he had of where Akhan was now. Suddenly, they seemed to stop and clear, but as he lay close to unconsciousness Jean-Paul heard the din of many humanoid voices, and suddenly several hands tore at him from all around. He was stunned and confused, blinded by the blood running into his eyes from a deep gash to his head. Several hands seemed to hold him pinned down to the ground.
As the orc thrust his blade into the paladin's back, he felt the warm thick blood spurting from the deep wound for a while, before it became cold and dark.

Something hurt Jean-Paul's head, and there was a dull light inside it. His vision went slightly fuzzy, and then, instantly, he recovered.
He was standing in the Oldtown Road with a horrendously strong feeling of deja vu!
The ogre still stood there before him, one foot on the headless soldier.
A brief look behind him, and he saw a very visible Akhan, who looked disturbed and was pawing at his neck with his free hand, as though to check that it was still in one piece. All around them other humanoids ran towards them.
A glance showed that there was an alleyway clear to the left, but somehow Jean-Paul knew that it would be!
"Mmmm, I somehow get the feeling I have been here before," the paladin thought.
"Can I suggest," he yelled to Akhan, "that you sprinkle that dust you have on your person onto both of us, and let us be off down that alley. Soon as you like please."
As though they had rehearsed it all before, Akhan and Jean-Paul soon found themselves at the cross-roads. This time, Akhan did not stop, and the knight felt the less encumbered and faster Akhan pulling on his cloak as he sprinted ahead.
As they reached the door, Jean-Paul saw it fly wide open, and the short man they saw before, who was actually a tall Dwarf, was pushed to the side, presumably by Akhan.
They ran noisily into his home, a dark and musty smelling townhouse, and Jean-Paul turned and bolted the door behind them. The Dwarf regained his footing and turned, a shortsword in his hand, and a very shocked and frightened look on his face.
"I warn you demons," the Dwarf bellowed in a voice larger than he was. "I will cut you down with my magical blade!"
From the rust around the hilt, they somehow doubted it was a magical blade, unless it was a blade of rusting!
Jean-Paul heard Akhan's voice to his right.
"Relax my friend, we mean you no harm. We seek shelter from the Hordes running amok through the city. I fear we cannot reveal ourselves to you, such is the nature of the magic we have taken. Please, can you lead us to where we may seek a better view of the fighting?"
The Dwarf relaxed somewhat, then said, "Fine - but no trickery, or I will cut you down, be sure of that."
From the way he held the sword, Jean-Paul doubted he had ever cut more than a loaf of bread in his life. He led them through this room to a door at the back, which in turn led onto a hall and stairway. Up the stairway they went, still very dark as he had thick shutters closed on every window. As they passed one door which was partly open, Akhan saw inside to a workshop, with drills, bits and lathes of varying sizes. On the worktop were several gems and stones of many types.
Two floors, up he showed them into a very dusty room, a bedroom of sorts, which had obviously not been used for many years. He stopped by a window and forced open the stiff, creaking shutter there, letting the daylight spill into the room.
After the darkness it took a moment for their eyes to adjust, but the sounds of fighting immediately drifted up to their ears. The clash of swords, the screams of dying men, and monsters, the war-cries of the doomed. Akhan felt glad, but Jean-Paul knew in his anger that he should not be here! He should have been be dying with the wretches below, not cowering in a dark house, in fear of his mortal soul!
Stepping closer they looked out over the town.
"You'll not get a finer view in this quarter I'll wager," the Dwarf said, as though he were trying to rent the room to them.
As they scanned what they could see of the streets, the fighting seemed to be everywhere. To the east there were lots of ships in the harbour, many more than they had seen from the Old City walls at daybreak. They were long, thin ships, with dark sails, and couldn't look any more like pirate ships.
In the street they had run from, the central promenade, the fighting went on - the men they had fought with had formed a loose semicircle, and were holding off against the Hordes, but slowly they were losing the fight.
Suddenly, a horn sounded - and another - then another, and there were many horns sounding all over, to the east. The fighting slowed, and men and beast alike stood pondering the horns.
Then they heard the murmur, turning to a shout, then a scream, from the men of Fax.
"The Legion, the Legion has come! The Legion!"
The fighting resumed, the Hordes taken by surprise momentarily at the ferocity of the renewed attack. Then from every street along the promenade, Akhan and Jean-Paul saw soldiers spilling - wild, crazed men fighting as though they knew no fear - the Legion!
Jean-Paul could stand it no longer and ran from the room, leaping down the stairs and out of the house into the street below, drawing his sword as he did so.
He ran out into the screaming Hordes, who seemed in confusion now, not knowing where to turn. From the left, uphill, the fresh troops of the hordes ran down to join the battle. From the right they ran from the promenade, from the easy kills they had to face who were now aided by the unknown berserkers.
As Jean-Paul began his own killing, they seemed not even to notice him in their confusion. An orc, two kobolds, another orc, a fleeing ogre - the bodies piled around him and they did not even see their death before it came.
He was tiring, and the stream of monsters from the left had stopped, wounded and dying beasts from the right now flooding to join their routed companions.
Behind them came the men of the Legion, and as they acknowledged him, Jean-Paul realised that the effects of Akhan's dust must have worn off. The feeble blows of the Hordelings bounced off his armour as he downed those beasts who still had the strength to fight.
To his left, Akhan was slowly appearing in front of his eyes, as his dust was wearing off too. The paladin saw that he was picking off the beasts from behind with his shortsword, and as he becomes aware of his visibility the thief shrunk back into a doorway gaining cover for his efforts.
Jean-Paul smelled smoke as he fought, and then a thick, black, acrid smoke started to drift across the street - like the smoke from the burning farm barn in Keoland. He was forced to rest in a doorway - there are few Hordelings passing by now, and they were mostly injured beyond concern. The Legionnaires were chasing them west along the streets.
The smoke was getting thicker now, and Akhan had come over to talk with Jean-Paul.
"I don't know if its just me, but it seems a mite warmer around here!" he told the thief.
"I hope I am not getting ahead of myself, but I do believe there may be a fire nearby, and it seems to be headed our way!"
The smoke seems to be coming from the south, where the Hordes' initial attack came from, and where they last knew the bold Mordekei was.
Jean-Paul slapped the closest Legionnaire on the back in a friendly gesture.
"Well met comrade your timing is nothing short of impeccable. I fear if you had not arrived the city would be lost."
He turned to Akhan.
"My friend, well fought, that powder of yours was a masterstroke. I fear we would surely have died had it not been for your quick thinking. I owe you a great debt. However, did you have the same sense of deja vu, that I had. I somehow feel that Heironeous has given us a second chance, we have returned from the dead my friend! I suggest that we find Mordekei and then find the old dwarf that appears to be behind this great deed. I wish to know more about what happened"
Before he had a chance to reply, Jean-Paul headed south towards the smoke in the hope that he would find Mordekei in one piece and in good health, and Akhan reluctantly followed. The smoke became steadily thicker until they were having great difficulty breathing. And it seemed to be getting a lot warmer too!
After a few minutes, Jean-Paul tugged on Akhan's shirt sleeve.
"Best go back, my friend, we'll skirt around the fire, eh?"
They turned back, but the heat and smoke seem to follow them - this fire was fierce and moving fast. By the time they had escaped the smoke they were almost back at the wall separating the Old Town from the New.
All around there were men running out of the smoke, coughing and choking.
From what they saw, the fire also seemed to have leapt across the large central promenade - this was a big fire!
Every so often, a humanoid stumbled out of the smoke, only to be beaten to death by the waiting folk of Fax. They stood for a second, wondering what to do, but as the heat rose and the smoke started to whirl about them again, they realised that there was nothing left but to retreat behind the wall.
"If Mordy's in there, JP, he's toast!" Akhan said, showing his usual talent for the descriptive.

"Let us go up onto the walls, see what's going on," Jean-Paul suggested once they were through the gates.
Akhan nodded, and the knight led the way up, past the guards who seemed to assume that he was one of their leaders. As they reached the top of the stairs, the devastation was revealed - the fire seemed to have been started in several sites, probably intentionally. In the New Town, all quarters except the south-east, which Akhan told Jean-Paul was the slum quarter known as the 'Maze', seemed to be fully ablaze. Even the Count's Keep was on fire - perhaps fitting considering the young Count was now dead, and his line with him.
"Typical," the paladin thought. "The scum survive and the good folk suffer!"
As the fire approached the harbour, the ships which were docked there were being moved out to sea - two of them had collided, and one was sinking fast, its men jumping overboard. They could still see that there were many soldiers all over the town, when the smoke cleared for long enough. They too seemed to be making their way away from the fire, towards one gate or another. To the west and south they saw a growing number of beings leaving the city and heading further away - the Hordes were retreating! Or regrouping!
Akhan saw someone, and started shouting to him. Glancing down to the gate, Jean-Paul also recognised Hamman, coming out of the smoke there. He did not hear Akhan at first, who ran back down the stairs to greet him.
The soldiers on the ground seemed to be rounding up the survivors and sending them to the north. Jean-Paul stopped one of the guards nearby, and asked him what was going on.
"We're taking the injured and homeless to the Chapel and the Rustic Hostel," he said, pointing to the hill where they had arrived from Axewood.
"Of course," he thought. "Maybe Mordekei is there!"
He ran down to his friends, and greeted Hamman.
"We'd best get up to the Rustic Hostel - all the people are being sent there or to the Chapel. I imagine that's where Mordekei would go."
Silently they joined the long queue of stragglers walking up the road to the Rustic Hostel, to start searching through the dead, dying and desperate for the missing Mordekei.

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