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The Contender - Chapter 6

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The Contender

By speculative-one

Chapter 6:  Rising Tides

     Wrachek wiped her blade on the moneymaker’s shirt.
     “By Delnar’s description, that looks like Belroth,” Sharken said.  “Now, we only have to track down Johnkoan, and we’ll be done with them.”
     “Where to now?” Wrachek asked Sharken.
     “If this crowd is roaming the halls, then there are probably more of them.  We should find Rathazan and Sekoth.  If they’re not dead, then they’re probably being held somewhere.  Let’s head up to the second floor.  I bet that’s where we’ll find Johnkoan as well.”
     Wrachek retrieved her stars, and they crept through the hallways toward the staircase leading up to the second story.
     Suddenly, Sharken grabbed Wrachek by her belly and held her back as they were about to round a corner.  He held up two fingers, and then pointed around the corner.  Wrachek inched forward until she could see two guards standing on the staircase about half way up.  They both wore the black armbands.  Each had a crossbow and a short sword.
     “Wish I had Karnov’s crossbow right about now,” Sharken said.
     “I’ll take care of these two,” Wrachek stated coldly.  
     There was a vast length of open floor between Sharken, Wrachek, and the staircase.  Plenty of time for those guards to get off a shot, and perhaps two if they were unusually quick reloading.
     “If you say you can, I guess I’ll have to believe you.  Be careful, Wrachek.”
     Wrachek (scabbarded?) her wakizashi and backed up a few feet before running past Sharken and out into the empty floorspace before the staircase.  The guards spotted her instantly, and aimed their crossbows but didn’t fire.  She was amazingly quick.
     “She’s almost unnaturally quick,” Sharken thought.  “I wonder what more there is to her than I’ve been told…”
     Wrachek threw one of her stars as she sprinted across the floor.  It struck the first guard in the chest, and he clutched his chest in pain as he toppled to the ground.  He rolled down twenty stairs and landed in a puddle of bruises and broken bones.  His compatriot saw the guard’s quick death and fired his crossbow at Wrachek.  She stopped as soon as she saw him preparing to fire and set herself, her feet spread widely on the shining marble floor.  Just before the bolt left its crossbow in a quick journey of spinning death, Wrachek drew her straight black sword.  She kneeled down on the slick floor and drew her sword in one fell swoop.  Holding it up straight in front of her, she moved it to the left about three inches.  The crossbow bolt zoomed toward her, making a yellowish “zing” as it flew through the air in half a second.  It struck her sword and bounced off, flying wide of its mark.  Wrachek put a star into the body of the second bowman and motioned for Sharken to follow.
     “For all its unapologetic (plain-jaining it), you’ve got to admit, the Mekorians have good taste,” he said, watching his reflection in the floor.
     Sharken thought of pulling the guard’s bodies over into a corner underneath the stairs in order to confused the enemy, but then better thought best of it.
     “With all the blood we’ve spilled today, anyone who sees it would have to be a fool not to think that that was the end of those guards,” Sharken thought.
     “C’mon, no time to waste!”
     They bounded up the staircase, and Sharken grabbed the guard’s crossbow on the way up.
     “This might come in handy,” he said.
     They entered the main hallway, and peered around the corner.
     “The Keeper’s office should be around here somewhere,” Wrachek said.
     “I’ll bet that’s where Johnkoan is; I’m not sure where they’d keep Rathazan and Sekoth,” Sharken replied.
     The hallways were quiet.  They crept around a bend, and Sharken stuck his eye around the corner.  He pulled back suddenly.
     “There are two of them,” he said, “Guarding a door.  It’s not the Keeper’s office, so I bet that’s where they’re keeping the loyalists.  Are you read?”
     “Yes,” Wrachek replied.
     Sharken cocked the crossbow and inched it around the edge of the wall.  “Ssssthock!” went the crossbow bolt as it stuck with a plunk into the guard on the far right.
     The other guard called out for help as Sharken pulled himself back and tight against the wall.  A crossbow bolt glanced off the wall where his head had been and skittered down the stone floor of the hallway.  Sharken reloaded the crossbow.
     “Run across the hallway to the corridor opposite us on my signal,” he said to Wrachek.
     He creeped against he edge of the wall.
     “Now!”
     Wrachek took off and careened across the hallway, ducking as she went.  Sharken stuck his left eye around the corner and watched as the lone guard moved from his cover behind the doorway to shoot at Wrachek.  As soon as he had loosed his bolt, Sharken stuck his crossbow out from behind the corner and released its bolt.  The bolt flew through the air, spiraling slightly, and struck the guard in the chest, knocking him back against the doorway.
     “Come!” Sharken ordered.
     They ran up to the guard before he could reach his crossbow and reload it.
     “Not so fast,” Sharken said as the man reached for the weapon.
     “Who… are you?” the man sputtered with his dying breath.
     Blood bubbled up out of a hole in the guard’s lungs, and he slumped to the floor.
     “We have to get this door open,” Wrachek said, reaching for her lockpicking tool.
     “No, that will take too long.  Here, let me,” Sharken said.
     He took his sword and leveled its tip at the door’s keyhole.  The sword glowed a dull red, and slowly he pressed it against the keyhole.  The metal doorknob began to glow a hot red, and then it began to melt as Sharken pushed the sword’s tip through the keyhole to the other side.  He twisted the blade inside the lock mechanism, and he heard a mushy clicking sound.  Sharken withdrew the blade.
     “Don’t grab the doorknob; it’s hot as a forge,” he warned Wrachek.
     Sharken pressed his hand against a wooden panel on the door and pushed inward.  The door’s latch gave way, and they entered the room.  Tied up in a corner were Rathazan and Sekoth, bound and gagged.  Rathazan’s uniform clearly marked him as the leader of Mekor’s city guards.  A golden crest of wheat was emblazoned upon a cloth garment that covered the armor on his chest.  Sekoth wore the garb of nobility, complete with a triangular hat flying a tall white feather out its top.
     “Who are you?”  Rathazan asked.
     “I recognize them,” Sekoth stated.  “They were with Stroneh, the knight from Calghan.  They were at the banquet.”
     “We’ve come to free you,” Sharken said, as he cut their bonds with his dagger.  
     There were five other people tied up with Rathazan and Sekoth, and Sharken and Wrachek freed them all.  They were loyalists to Delnar; two moneymen, the only ones not aligned with the barons, and three high-ranking officers in the city guards.
     “What’s the situation?” Rathazan asked.
     “Well, we’re the only ones left in the hall, besides the citizens down in the basement, and some roaming guards that are on the moneymaker’s side.  They wear slightly different uniforms and have a black armband around their arms.  Does that mean anything to you?”
     “Yes.  They are thugs of the moneymen, plain and simple,” Sekoth replied.  “In our bank, they wear the black armband to denote their position.  They are the ones that transport money upriver to Bereth and downriver to Calghan.”
     “How many do you think the moneymen have?” Sharken asked.
     “I can only guess, but I’d say in total about fifty.”
     “So, that means there are about thirty-five left,” Sharken said, turning to Wrachek.
     Sharken addressed Rathazan.
     “Here’s the situation from a military standpoint:  there is a Grelgar army, led by witches, marching on Mekor as we speak.  They may not have arrived yet; or, they may be at the city gate.  They are close, very close.  The northern army has not yet arrived.  We have spoken with Delnar.  His timetable puts the Grelgar in Mekor before the northern army.”
     “It will be a trap,” Rathazan stated, flexing his hands that were sore from the tight ropes.
     “Yes, planned or not, I do not know, but it will be a trap.  However!  Delnar has escaped through the secret tunnel under the basement, and has ridden north with Karnov to bring a portion of the Berethian warriors into the hall in secrecy, through the tunnel.”
     “That could work.  Unfortunately, most of the guards in the hall had been sent out to watch the gates, what with the arrival of the northern army.  Tolok,” Rathazan said, motioning to one of the officers, “Take Relndor and go out into the city and round up anyone who’s not keeping watch in the towers and bring them back here to the hall.  If you don’t make contact with us, find Johnkoan and kill him.  Then, wait for Delnar to return.  Uenold, come with me.”
     “A man who prepares for the worst, but hopes for the best,” Sharken thought, looking at Rathazan’s steely gaze.
     “I can wield a sword as well,” Sekoth said.  “I’m coming with you, Rathazan.”
     “I have a more important task for you, Sekoth.  Well, to be honest, not more important, but assuredly as important as our task.  I need you to go into the basement and round up whomever you feel can fight if we arm them, and stand them at the ready for our signal.  We will need all the help we can get in the defense of Mekor; the city guards will have a rough go of it if those monsters arrive before the Berethians.”
     Rathazan walked over the dead guard slumped in the doorway and took his scabbard and sword and handed them to Sekoth.
     “Here, take this, and go quietly,” Rathazan commanded.
     Sekoth buckled on the scabbard and tightened the buckle.
     “I don’t know if it’s still clear, but we came up the spiraling staircase, and before that we passed through the main courtyard,” Sharken said.  “We left none alive.”
     “Thanks for the tip,” Sekoth said, drawing the sword out of its scabbard an inch and then slamming it back in to test its grip.
     Sharken and Wrachek stood guard in the hall as the others ran out towards the spiral staircase leading down to the main floor.  Rathazan and his captain, Uenold, joined the Contender and the woman from the far south lands.
     “Where is Johnkoan?” Sharken asked.
     “Johnkoan isn’t the man who’s responsible for this coupe,” Rathazan said.  “But he’s probably with the man who is.”
     “Madrigan!” Sharken cursed.
     “Yes, that is his name.  He showed up in town about a month ago, and had dealings with the moneymakers.  We suspected he was up to no good, but he brought a sizeable amount of goods with him, so he appeared to be a legitimate trader and we couldn’t hold him on anything,” Rathazan recounted.
     “Why would he work for the other side, I thought you were brothers?” Wrachek asked.
     Sharken looked into her confused eyes.
     “To her, it would obviously be a disgrace to have a brother who was working for your enemy.”
     “My brother honors himself and our kingdom by passing his Trials, whatever they may be,” Sharken replied.
     “So, you’re a Contender!” Rathazan muttered under his breath.
     “Yes, I am a Contender for the Throne of Visin,” Sharken replied.  “Do you know our customs?”
     “I know enough.  So, you are sworn to help Delnar?”
     “I have a course to chart… even I am not certain of its destination.  Our Trials are not always clear at the outset, and sometimes, uncertainty is part of the Trial,” Sharken replied.
     “Where will the blossom petal fall?  Only the wind knows,” Wrachek said.
     “Yes, but flower petals don’t kill other flower petals,” Rathazan said.
     It was clear to Sharken that Rathazan wouldn’t proceed further or face Madrigan without feeling him out.     
     “Doesn’t this mean that you’ll have to face your own brother, Sharken?” Rathazan asked.
     Sharken could tell Rathazan was impressed.  He didn’t want to leave that impression with him.
     “No, we never face each other in direct combat, unless instructed to do so by the Trials.  Besides, it would be pointless for us to duel,” Sharken said.
     “Why is that?” Wrachek asked.
     “I can’t talk about that; it is not permitted by the Trials,” Sharken replied.  “But you can be assured that I will do everything that I can to stop him, short of killing him.  That is my duty.”
     Wrachek’s eyes seemed to stop glaring quite as piercingly at him then, but it was hard to tell.
     “Those eyes are inscrutable sometime.,”
     “Okay, let’s go do our worst, then.  Madrigan and Johnkoan would be in the Keeper’s office.  It’s down the hall and to the left from here.  Let’s go,” Rathazan said.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

     The cool prairie night was dimly lit by the sliver of a moon that hung in the night sky.  Numena was an old hag; one of the older witches, in fact, who had seen the Battle of the Three Nights when she was a teenager.  Her sashes were crisp and ruffled as she rode across the hard ground.  She wore the yellows and greens of a circle leader, even though circles had long since fallen out of practice for casting, they were still very much in effect for (consecrating) the soil.  At her side was a large leather bag filled with soil, larger than the bags that witches normally carried.  Numena had a large dagger stuck in a scabbard hidden inside her sashes.  Long brunette hair was tied up in a bun of sorts that sat lopsided on the top of her head.
     Grass, weeks devoid of its green color and preparing for a hard winter, rose up out of the ground to swallow her horse’s feet.  It couldn’t swallow the Grelgar loping along before her, though, or the stench of their sweaty scales.  Numena had fifteen companions riding alongside her in the darkness.  Each wore sashes of different colors, though yellow was the predominant color in each.  Some rode ahead of the others, as though that might place them in a position of authority over them.
     “Even now, see how they struggle for position,” Numena told Aleta.
     “Yes, I have been watching that, and other things, since we left, just like you said, teacher,” Aleta, a soft-spoken woman riding alongside Numena, replied.
     “You see, when you get older, you can always ride like that, always a little faster than the person next to you.  You can always try harder, or jump higher.  But, no matter what, there is always going be someone who can do something better than you can,” Numena recounted as they galloped across the prairie.
     “What do you mean, teacher?” Aleta asked.
     “Well, there will always be someone who can write better than you can.  Who can perform the (consecrating) rituals better than you can.  Or, who can persuade people more.  You see, no one is perfect, but there are people in this world who most consider near-perfect.  These people have a power over others that cannot be explained.  Why do they have this power?  Ask yourself:  how am I riding?  Now look at how you are riding, Aleta,” Numena ordered her apprentice.
     Aleta looked Numena over from head to toe, but couldn’t find anything unusual about the horse or its rider.
     “I don’t understand, teacher,” Aleta said after a few moments.
     “I am riding at the same steady pace now that I have always been riding at, Aleta.  I don’t fall back, and I don’t jump ahead.  Someone who is always jumping ahead will always be the first to spring a trap.  Someone who is lagging behind will be picked off.”
     Numena pointed to the thrayzors weaving in and out of the riders and running amongst the Grelgar.
     “There are always those in this world who would take advantage of opportunities,” Numena stated.  “You must take great care so that you do not look like an opportunity.”
     “And does Mekor look like an opportunity?” came a voice from behind them.
     The Baron Perez rode up beside Numena and Aleta.  His armor was thick and made mainly of steel plates banded together in an interlocking weave that contracted and expanded when he moved his arms.  He rode with his helmet visor raised, but when lowered it would cover his entire face in steel bars that would protect his head.  Perez was the representative for the barony in this endeavor.
     “Where I don’t see an opportunity, I make one,” Numena replied to Perez.  “Is your man on the inside all set?”
     “The last we heard from him, it would be a piece of cake to take the Hall.  That fool Delnar thinks that the northern army is going to come and everyone is going to live happily ever after.  What he doesn’t know is that we’ll get there just before, and set up a nice welcome party for them.  A thousand Grelgar make one hell of a surprise present.”
     Perez chuckled to himself.
     Numena thought to herself that Perez was a man who made himself out to be an opportunity and didn’t care.  He laughed in the face of danger.  Numena wondered what type of danger he had ever come to face.
     “Fools can kill with a sharp blade from behind as well as a swordmaster can,” Numena stated.
     To that, Perez replied, “Why should the fool kill at all, when he can have someone else do it for him?”
     Numena gave up; she had been exasperated with Perez since they had started their long ride two days ago.  They had ridden from the south, through the King’s Woods and up into the prairie over the course of two days.  The horses had little rest, and the Grelgar needed little, with the help of the witches’ enchantments.  Numena could see them before her, running in the darkness with long, lanky arms swinging through the tall grass.  Their long claws sliced through the grass and tufts of the thin green plants flew into the air like little clouds of dust behind their passing.
     “We should be there soon,” Numena observed.
     The prairie stretched before them, and Numena wished for a tree or a landmark.  Time was their only guide; for all she knew, they could be halfway to Bereth by now, or turned completely around.  Thankfully, the moon, although a sliver in the sky, was bright enough to allow them to get their navigation bearings.
     “There it is, Mekor.  And there is the river, and the gate,” Perez said over the clatter of their horses’ hooves.  “What do we do, just go up and knock on the door?”
     “Yes, but with a very big fist.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

     Sharken lead them out of the room and down the hallway.  He peered around the corner when they reached the next junction in the hallway.  He saw four armed guards.
     “There are four guards around the corner,” Sharken told them.  “Two have crossbows, and the other two have swords.  They’re at the end of a long hall, and it looks like there aren’t many rooms on either side of the hallway.”
     “Yes, that is the Keeper’s office.  It’s at the end of a long hallway just like you described.  Are there big wooden double doors there?”
     Sharken nodded.
     “Yes, then that is the correct door.  And you say it’s being guarded by four guards?  Then this must be where Madrigan is holed up.”
     “What’s behind the door?” Sharken asked.
     “Not too much; it’s a normal office.  There is a large desk just inside, and a couple of chairs for people to sit in while they meet with Delnar.”
     “Think there would be guards inside?”
     “There could be guards inside the room as well as outside, but the room itself isn’t too large.  The courtyard is what Delnar uses for meeting large numbers of guests.  He prefers to do his business in the open, you see.  When there is an issue of a more delicate nature, then he uses his office to meet with Mekorians and hear their troubles or concerns.  Other than that, he does some writing in there and signs forms.”
     “Sounds like a standard room then.  What about the doors?”
     “They’re really pretty thick I’m afraid.  We’d have a hard time bashing them in; whoever’s in there is going to hear us out here long before we get past those guards.”
     “There’s not other entrance or exit beside this door though?”
     “No, in fact I see!  That may work to our advantage; we can trap them in there.”
     “Okay then, two of the soldiers have crossbows, the other two have swords,” Sharken said.
     “Any sign of that witch?” Rathazan asked.  “They had a witch with them when they captured us.  Otherwise, I still think we may have fought them off.”
     “The witch I saw in the window as we rode into town…” Sharken thought.
     “I only see the four guards; she must be inside with Madrigan,” Sharken replied.
     “How far are the guards?” Wrachek asked.
     “It’s a long hallway; about forty paces I’d say.”
     “I can take out at least one guard,” Wrachek said.  “Beyond that, we would need to rush them.”
     “Uenold, how good a shot are you with that crossbow,” Sharken asked.
     “I can take out one guard as well,” Uenold stated confidently.  “I compete in archery tournaments every year.”
     “Ever win anything?”
     “No, but I’ve placed every time.  And I don’t miss the mark on the battlefield,” Uenold replied.
     “Wrachek, can you roll across to the other wall and take out the one on the front left?” Sharken asked.
     “Yes,” she said, straigtening her hood.
     “And can you jump out from around this corner for a clear shot?” Sharken asked Uenold.
     “Yes, I can hit him from here no problem.”
     Uenold pulled back the locking mechanism on the crossbow and prepared it to fire quickly after he drew a bead on the guard.
     “After they take out the front two guards, we must rush the door.  Otherwise; the remaining guards will simply pick up the crossbows and pick us off,” Sharken warned.
     Sharken could hear his heart pumping in his chest, and feel its warm beat flutter beneath his ribs.
     “Why do I feel so… uneasy about this?  Is it because I have to face my brother?  Is it because his death would confirm what I fear about my own?”
     “Is everyone clear and ready?”
     Everyone nodded.  Wrachek took a few steps backwards behind the corner.  Sharken held up three fingers and put one down, then two down, and then finally, put his index finger down.
     Wrachek leaped out into the hallway and tumbled to the ground, coming up to rest against the wall behind a potted plant.  She zinged a star down the hallway toward the guard and struck him in the top of his helmet.  No sooner had that star went astray than another was spinning into his throat.  He dropped to the ground as the other guard kneeled to the ground and aimed his weapon at Wrachek.  Then Uenold swung out from around the corner and let a bolt fly at the guard positioned on the right side of the hallway.  It knocked him back into the guard behind him as it sliced through his gut and lodged there under his ribcage.
     “Now!” Sharken yelled, but as his legs surged and his lungs gasped for air, it came out more like a ghost’s whisper.
     Rathazan didn’t need Sharken’s signal anyway.  Wrachek was nearly five paces down the hallway by the time Sharken’s feet found traction and propelled him forward.  He ran for what seemed an eternity, and only put one foot forward in front of the other as time stood still.  One of the remaining guards whipped out a dagger and threw it straight for Wrachek, but she ducked and let fly with another two stars.  They hit their mark true, leaving only one guard left.  Sharken thought it odd that the guard hadn’t drawn his sword yet.  Neither had he gone for the crossbows lying on the stone floor.
     Suddenly, Sharken’s stomach tied knots around a sea of acid.
     “That guard is wearing their armband on the wrong arm.  Why aren’t they reaching for their sword?”
     Suddenly, Sharken saw something which made him go numb.  Where a sword had sat on the guard’s belt only a few moments before, now a small pouch had replace it.  A leather pouch, with a red drawstring and symbols painted on the side.
     “Stop!  She’s a witch!” Sharken yelled.
     At that point, he was about twenty paces from the witch disguised as Mekorian guard, but Wrachek was closer, nearly 15 paces.  The guard reached into her pouch and threw something in the air.  Sharken saw a sparkle there for a split second, and then a small winged lizard rode the glittering motes as it shot towards them.
     “Duck!” Sharken yelled
     Sharken hit the floor and covered his head with his hands and arms.  Rathazan lay flat against the wall.  Uenold was trying to reload the crossbow, kneeling on the floor.  The winged lizard had a wingspan of only four feet, but its talons were razor-sharp.  They cut into Uenold’s head, and he dropped to the floor, screaming out in pain.  Rathazan scuttled to his feet and spun around.
     “I’ve got this one,” he said, spitting on the ground.
     The lizard alighted on the ground and, perched there, breathed a thin line of flame down the length of the hallway.  Sharken and Rathazan backed up flat against the wall, sweat dripping off their brow.
     “I think maybe I’ll let you give me a hand though,” Rathazan said, changing his mind.
     In the instant that Sharken had said “duck,” Wrachek had instead leaped to the floor and rolled forward.  As the lizard passed overhead, she sprang up out of her roll and found herself face to face with the guard.  The wrinkled face of an old woman was beginning to show through the false exterior.  Wrachek saw her scraggly hand reach for the pouch at her side.  The diminutive assassin drew her sword, and sliced through the witch’s arm just as her hand reached into the bag.
     The old hag screamed and Wrachek thought the ground would crack and swallow them whole for it.  The severed hand that was dangling from the pouch was slowly being sucked into the pouch as a bright glow began to emanate from within.  Knocked back against the corner, and with Wrachek standing over her, she did the only thing she could:  she reached into the bag with her other hand.  After she had grabbed a handful of dust she braced herself against the wall and raised her fist in the air.
     Wrachek had seen, for a split second, what might happen by reading the witch’s eyes.  She was replacing her sword in its scabbard even as the witch was reaching into her bag to pull out a nasty trick.  Wrachek reached inside her robes to pull out a trick of her own.  The witch, emboldened by Wrachek’s move, made a flesh “0” ring out of her hand, placed it on her lips, and blew.
     Wrachek then produced the object she had dug out of her robes.  It was a slender black stick about ten inches long and flat.  As the witch blew the dust out through her hand towards Wrachek, the (ninja) opened the two sticks with the fingers of her right hand to reveal a paper fan, spred wide between the sticks.  She threw it up in front of her, between the witch and herself, and most of the dust blew back into the witch’s face.  Wrachek sensed something then, and dropped the fan and backflipped once, turning herself in the air and running down the hallway.
     As she did, she saw the winged creature.
     “Surrounded!” Wrachek thought.
     She turned around only to find that a terrible energy was eating the witch’s face; it was a fate she had narrowly escaped.  But also in her dust bag something was happening.
     “Move it now!” Wrachek shouted, running down the hall toward the flying lizard.
     Sharken and Rathazan had no clue what Wrachek had seen, but Sharken knew that if Wrachek was running she had a damn good reason so he launched up off the floor and ran for the corridor ahead.  The winged beast flapped its wings twice as Wrachek approached and puffed itself up.  Suddenly, it spewed forth a thin line of fire.
     “If I see one more fire-breathing lizard in my life,” Wrachek thought.  “If only I had a shield.  I’ve got to start carrying a shield.”
     Then, it dawned on Sharken to use his sword.  Wrachek had a slight head start on him, but he distracted the lizard by waving the (firesword).  The line of fire turned toward him and he held the sword aloft in front of it.  Fire deflected to either side around the sword, but none touched Sharken.
     “It worked!”
     The flames died suddenly as the lizard took a breath.  It shook its head slightly, apparently confused.  It puffed up to take another shot as a dark shadow passed over its head.  The lizard began to build up a flame but it sputtered out as the lizard’s head slid off its shoulders.
     “Run, Come!” Wrachek yelled, not missing a beat and not even looking back to see if she had nicked the lizard or not.
     Sharken didn’t even stop to ponder his ingenious discovery with the sword but instead followed Wrachek around the corner.  Rathazan was behind them both, but close behind.  As they rounded the corner, Wrachek dove to the floor and they all heard a giant explosion.  It rocked the entire hallway like an earthquake.
     When the dust had settled, Sharken picked himself up off the ground and asked, “What was that?”
     “That’s the last we’ll see of the witch,” Wrachek stated.
     “Ever the enigmatic one,” Sharken said with a sigh.  “I bet we can get through that door now!”
     They peered through the settling dust and debris around the corner and down the hall.  The double doors were still standing, but one was askew on its hinges and the other was missing a large section in the middle through which they could see daylight on the other side.
     They walked through the rubble, and Sharken kicked open the door to the Keeper’s chamber.  
(continuity – previously no Rathazan!)
There, behind Delnar’s long oak desk, sat Madrigan.  He seemed unnaturally calm, with his hands folded and his sword in its scabbard.
     “It would seem we are at odds after all, Madrigan,” Sharken stated, leveling his sword at Madrigan’s throat.
     “It would appear so, yes.  Oh, don’t look at me like that.  After all, I told you the truth when I filled you in on Delnar’s plans, didn’t I?”  (I did feed you a little information for free.)
     “Yes, but that information wasn’t exactly correct,” Sharken replied.
     “Well, it was mostly correct.  Okay, half.  On the other hand, perhaps it was only partially correct after all.” (continuity)
     “No matter, we have you now,” Sharken stated.
     “Almost,” Madrigan said, and he turned toward the window.
     “Grab him!” Sharken shouted to Wrachek.
     Sharken and Wrachek lunged at Madrigan as he leaped toward the window.  Ornate colored glass shattered into a thousand pieces as Madrigan’s form struck its surface and exerted enough force and surface pressure to break the glass.
     “No!” Sharken shouted.
     Peering out over the window ledge, Sharken and Wrachek watched as the glass and man tumbled downward.  The spinning shards reflected the light of a nearby torch, bursting like fireworks in the night.  Madrigan’s form fell like a deadweight straight down, and in those few seconds he was at the ground, smashing head-first into the cobblestones.  Only, Madrigan didn’t crumble into a pool of jumbled bone and flesh.  As he hit the ground, he disintegrated into a ball of flame.  In a flash of red fire devils dancing on the ground, Madrigan was gone.  All that remained was a pile of ashes.
     “What in the name of Tzun-Li!” Wrachek exclaimed.
     “I had hoped we could capture him, but it appears he chose this spot for its easy escape route,” Sharken replied.  “Now, we don’t know where he will go next, or what he will do.  He has become a very dangerous man once again.”
     “Has become?”
     “I’ll explain it to you later.  For now, we’ve got to get down to those gates!  If the Grelgar get into the city, Mekor will be in ruins by sunup.  Come!”
     “I’m not your servant, nor your (charge).  I’ll go when I want to go, and where.  You will tell me now; I won’t move from this spot until you do,” Wrachek replied, taking the stance of a stone.
     “Then we will remain in this place until we turn to dust and blow away in the wind,” Sharken stated.  “The Trials forbid me from speaking about it.  We have spoke before of our legends.  Ours are not so distant as yours.”
     Wrachek’s eyes spoke nothing, peering out from beneath the black hood.  She could have been joyous, or outraged, and Sharken doubted he would have been able to tell the difference.  She was inscrutable most of the time; yet that only made him the more curious.
     “I will accept that answer, because I must,” she replied.
     “Thank god,” Sharken thought.  “I can’t deal with this right now.”
     “Thank you.  Let’s get down there,” Sharken said.
     He ran beside Wrachek down the hallway.  The upper floor was completely deserted; everyone had fled into the lower halls.  They entered the courtyard on the main floor, where there was a large assembly of farmers and guards.  It appeared they had emptied the hall armory; there were nearly three-hundred men gathered, and each held a weapon.  There were pikes, spears, and swords.  A man in a tattered cloak and filthy, hole-covered boots even even brandished an axe.  Rathazan was addressing them.
(/continuity)
     “The moneymen allied themselves with the barons,” Rathazan said.  “They have tried to take Mekor for themselves.  They have brought an army of Grelgar to our gates, and witches holding their leashes.  This is greed at its worst.  They would have thrown into the gutter everything we Mekorians have fought long and hard to build, with the toil of our hands and the blood of our hearts.  These are the moneymen that have held power in this land for too long.  What have the moneymen done for us?  They have bought and sold us and our lands as though we were slaves.”
     There was a general din from the crowd then.  
     “Moneymen aren’t popular in Mekor,” Sharken thought.  “Rathazan is rallying them not only to Mekor, but to Delnar.  He needs personal support in this time of chaos in order to fight this threat, and rebuild Mekor when this is finished.”
     “Even now, our Keeper of the Hall, Delnar, has ridden out into the night with Karnov, a loyal subject of King Vladmer, to bring aid,” Rathazan continued.  “Delnar will deliver us; have faith!    And our friends from foreign lands join the fight.”
     Rathazan pointed to Sharken and Wrachek.
     “We’ve got to hold the inner Hall within the city,” Rathazan stated.  “ Fear not; we do have a plan set in motion that will liberate us from the Grelgar, but it will take time.  We need to buy time.  Your families are in these halls.  Your brothers and friends stand beside you now; do not let them fall alone to the Grelgar’s claws.”
     Just then, a captain of the guards hauled Myrna in through the large double doors at the front of the hall.
     “Rathazan!  We caught her snooping around the city gate and working some kind of fiendish charms,” the captain said, gripping Myrna’s arm tightly.
     “Release her, Rathazan; she is with us.”
     Rathazan motioned to the captain to let Myrna go, and she rejoined Sharken and Wrachek.
     “I need to tell you something,” she said.  “I have set up a loop at the city gate.  None can leave through the gate, and none can enter.”
     “Rathazan,” Sharken said.  “Tell your men that the city gate has a spell cast upon it, and that none can pass through, either in or out, or they shall meet a horrible fate.”
     “Did you hear that?  Our friends have enchanted our city gate to capture the Grelgar as they enter.  Do not pass through it, but remain on this side of the gate, lest you get caught as well.  We have powerful allies!  We will prevail,” Rathazan said.
     “We’ll divide into three groups of one-hundred men each.  Archers will comprise the first group.  The archers will go to the city wall, and especially the city gate area.  They will be the first line of defense against the Grelgar.  The second group of one-hundred men will take both pole-arms and swords and will engage the enemy in open ground in the middle of the city, to harry their progress.  The remaining one-hundred will stay here and guard the last bastion of defense, the walls of this hall.”
     Myrna said, “Try to have the archers distract the Grelgar.  That way, as many as possible will fall into our trap at the gate.  The witches will most likely stay back, out of range of the fighting and out of the range of the archers on the walls.”
     “Right,” Rathazan agreed.  “Remember as well that some of the Berethian forces will be arriving at the front gate soon as well to take on whatever they find there, witch or monster alike.  So remember, we’ll have them surrounded.  In the end, we will be the ones who will have the advantage.  We just have to hold the city until the Berethians arrive.”
     “Tolok will take the archers to the city wall.  We’ve supplied them with munitions from the Hall stores.  I will lead the defense of the Hall, with the last one-hundred men.  If the Berethians will be arriving soon, I will need to coordinate our efforts from here.  Unfortunately, this leaves me with no one to command the third group that will go out into the city and face the enemy head-on.”
     There was silence in the room as Rathazan froze his composure.  He hoped that someone would respond before it melted.
     “I will lead them out, Rathazan,” Sharken said, stepping forward.
     “Do you think you can handle it?” Rathazan asked.
     “I have just come from six months of fighting the Grelgar,” Sharken replied.
     Sharken showed Rathazan a couple of the scars on his left arm; they were just the right size for Grelgar claws to have made their marks.
     “Where did you get that?” Rathazan asked.
     “While I was fighting in Dargoth alongside the Barbarians,” Sharken replied.
     A low murmur arose amongst the crowd of farmers and Mekorian guards.  Sharken could see a farmer turn to his friend and whisper something inaudibly as his friend’s eyes grew wide.
     “Who knows what stories they’re telling,” Sharken thought.  “Who can know their thoughts?  The Dargoth have a reputation in almost every land, no matter how far or how near.”
     “I have also fought the Grelgar and their Thrayzors (big cats) in the valleys of my kingdom in Visin.  Those monsters will send in their Thrayzors first, to break our lines.  The archers must get as many of the Thrayzors as they can before those cats get into the city.  Once they are inside, the archers need to fall back to the Hall quickly.  We will guard their retreat.  Once they get inside, they’ll need to provide more cover for our forces out in the city.”
     More than a few farmers set their jaw that were in Sharken’s group of one-hundred men.
     “No one ever said it would be easy,” Sharken told them, “But it’s sure a lot easier than watching your children get ripped to shreds by a Thrayzor.”
     “Thank you, Sharken,” Rathazan stated.  “You will lead the second group out into the city.  Thank you for your advice, and we value your experience in battle and with the Grelgar.”
     “I’m going to go with the archers,” Myna told Wrachek and Sharken as Rathazan continued with his speech.  “I need to keep an eye on the gate, and perhaps I can find a little fun tonight besides that.”
     “I you must, but fall back as soon as the Grelgar get through the gate and into the city,” Sharken told her firmly, “Things will move fast once they breach the city wall.  My soldiers may even be overrun.  We simply don’t know how many their numbers are.”
     “Don’t worry about me,” Myrna said, “I’ve seen a few wars, and some before you were born.  I can fend for myself.”
     Myrna turned and joined the archers streaming out the doors and into the city streets.  She turned to look back over her should at Sharken and Wrachek standing together, and there seemed to be understanding in her eyes, as though she had solved a giant riddle.
     
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

     Numena addressed her fellow witches:
     “We will hold back here, and send the Grelgar in.  My apprentice, Aleta, will go with them as an extra precaution.  Our scouts have no signs of the northern army yet, but they are no doubt close by and on their way as I speak.  We do not know what kind of state that Mekor is in.  Hopefully, Madrigan’s people will have taken control of the city by  now.  That is the best we can hope for.  The worst we can hope for, is that a very nasty man has taken over the city who may or may not be very welcoming to strangers.”
     “We’ll just have to make our own welcome mat and lay it at the city gates if they won’t listen to reason,” Aleta commented.
     “Yes, my apprentice, that is indeed what we would have to do,” Numena stated.
     “We’ll let the Grelgar go first so they can get through the gate.  Then, we’ll send in the thrayzor before sending in more soldiers,” Numena continued.  “Ready yourselves.”
     The Grelgar were arranged in crooked lines in front of the river.  The city gate lay nearly one-hundred yards away.  The creatures were stamping their feet and beating their chests with long, hairy, ape-like arms.  Their claws were long as well, and thick too.  Their eyes shone a deep blood red in their sockets.  One of the beasts cried out in boredom and desire to reach the fight.  It’s teeth weren’t nearly as large as those of a thrayzor or Berethian hound, but the jaw was long below the long nose, and powerful muscles rippled around it.  
     “I hope we’re doing the right thing here,” Numena said to herself.
     Numena remembered another instance where the witches had tried to get someone to do their fighting for them.  She had been a teenager during the Battle of the Three Knights.  They had vowed never to raise the dead again, never to do battle with monsters.  Yet, here they were, controlling the Grelgar for the barons.  Sometimes Numena didn’t know which were worse: the barons or the Grelgar.
     “Okay, begin the march now,” Numena said.
     A few brief moments passed, and then in unison 500 Grelgar began to march forward, following the river to the bridge that led into Mekor.  The witches worked their magic with the dust, sprinkling it on the ground in a circle around themselves for protection.  The Grelgar wanted to hunt the Mekorians anyway; controlling them for their own purposes had been fairly simple.
     “What happens when they reach the gate,” Perez asked.
     “I don’t see anything unusual yet,” Numena stated.  “Basically, if Madrigan took the city, we should see the signal soon.  They may end up waiting at the gates for a time, but with luck they’ll open right up for us.”
     “And if they don’t?” Perez asked.
     “That’s when we’ll make our own welcome mat,” she replied.
This is getting ugly. Now chapter 6 wants custody of the introduction with visitation rights to the glossay. :o
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