Chapter One: Torrence

The air hung heavy, bringing lethargy almost unknown in this part of the year. Summer refused to yield its warm grip on the region, even though the tree's along the edge of the Dawnsbreak Mountains were beginning to show the brilliant browns, reds and gold of autumn. It made for a lazy morning, with many staying inside as the sun moved upwards from the cover of the trees. A few children gathered near the fountain at the center of the village, debating on whether or not to brave Old Man Gardner's ranch hands in a bid to go swimming in the pond down the slope from the rancher's barn.

Torrence was a small town, the twenty or so families that called the place home clustering their homes around inn that doubled as the town hall. Many of the men worked in a small ore mine a short distance north of the town, and the others, mostly young men not yet old enough to risk in the darkness of the mine, worked the large herds of cattle the Gardner family maintained in the small hill meadows. A garrison of cavalrymen was stationed outside Torrence, used to patrol the road from the border with Lycaster to the plains just south of Cord's Crossing.

The town's watch, which for the most part consisted of a deputy constable or one of the privates from the garrison, stood duty in the steeple of the church. From here there was a good view of the fields surrounding the town, in case a raiding party of orcs descended from the mountains in an attempt to wreak havoc. On this quiet morn the deputy, a lanky youth named Thame who had just been given his badge and shortsword, was leaning against the railing, bored stiff and longing to join his friends, who were clustered below.

"Yo Jaeg! What's up?" At his call one of the young men looked up from the conversation to where Thame stood.

"We're gonna go over to Darglan Falls for awhile." The tow-head Jaegar slipped his arm around one of the young ladies next to him. "How long you gotta stay up there?"

"Until noon."

"Good, you can bring the food!" Jaegar and the others broke into laughter at Thame's salute, and the lanky youth turned away to hide his own mirth. Looking out over the silent fields, the winter hay gently waving in the playful breeze, he silently prayed that the morning would go by quickly.

Even as that moved thought his thoughts the breeze brought the soft echo of a horn, the sound haunting in the echoes through the valley. Brow furrowing in puzzlement he turned to look up the road that led to the mine, as did his friends below. It was a sign known by young and old in the village: a horn blown three times in rapid succession, signaling a problem at the mine and for all to come as were able. He waited, but only that one call, now faded, reached his ears.

"Hey Thame, did you hear that?" Another of the boys called from below, and Thame turned to reply when a second clarion note rumbled through the valley. No soft echo of distance though, this call sounded much closer. Whirling back around, Thame's gaze moved to the tree line overlooking the fields, and more importantly the shadows moving underneath them'shadows that coalesced into a horde of figures, sprinting down the hill at speed toward the village.

The sight stopped the young man cold, in those seconds of indecision had the approaching tide a quarter ways across the fields by the time a trembling hand grabbed the rope to the steeple bell. Thame yanked on the heavy rope as hard as he could, and the clear sounds brought life to a standstill in the village, everyone looking toward the church steeple and the frantic Thame. He was screaming, but only his friends could hear him over the bell, the group turning to run toward their homes, relaying the watchman's terrified words"

"Barbarians! Northras at the field!?

He looked around the faces of the miners, noting the grim expressions and postures. "Think about tha' women and wee bairns, and what tha' winter'll do tae them without the menfolk."

"They'll starve with or without us!" An angry voice rang out from near the center of the grouped-up miners. "You bastards come in here and take our food and gold, and leave us with nothing!" The rest of the encircled men grumbled in agreement, and the barbarian held up a hand, as though warding away the accusation.

"We aint here for your food or shiney coins. We're here for the plains-boys." The barbarian stepped back and looked around to his kinsmen. "Bring "em on, boys. Whether it's on their feet or backs be their decision."

*****

There was little time to react, the townspeople slamming doors and barring them as best they could. The younger women bustled children into the basements, while their parents clutched whatever could come to hand for a weapon. On the lips of many, prayers to whatever gods could be thought of.

The Northras thundered into the village, sweeping like a brown tide toward the center square and the building housing the burgomiester's and constable's office. Three of the barbarians in the lead stumbled and fell from bowshot, only to have the ones behind leap over them and smash into the door, sending it flying off its hinges in a shower of splinters. The three men in the front room, constables of the district by virtue of past service to the dutchy, threw down their bows, unwilling to die to overwhelming numbers.

Outside, the barbarians were moving to block the ways into town, pulling wagons taken from nearby yards across the dirt roads to form barricades. Back at the square the three guards were taken outside and forced to kneel near the fountain, where they were soon joined by young Thame, the lad sporting an already-blackening bruise to his cheek, and the burgomiester Dunhelm Rohrig. Dunhelm looked in the direction of the garrison, but the black smoke pouring into the air left little doubt of what had occurred there.

"You are the leader here?" One of the Northras, wearing a heavy bearskin cloak and sporting intricate tattoos across his forehead, squatted next to the burgomiester. "Of course ye are. Good, ye can walk with me." Durnhelm started to protest, but the heavy hand of another barbarian hauling him to his feet stopped any words. The smaller man was forced to walk alongside the larger Northras, a chieftain he guessed by the raiment.

"We aint here for your food, or your treasures." The barbarian was saying, sweeping a hand around to encompass Torrence. "So don't worry about that. And we won't be putting the town to the torch." Dunhelm looked at the warrior, confused.

"I don't understand. Why have you attacked our town then?" His question brought a bark of laughter from the barbarian, who stopped to look over at him.

"Ye'll get the answers, when our warmaster arrives.?

"You can't be?that?" For a second words failed Dunhelm, the stories he had been told as a child echoing hauntingly as the figure in front of his desk slipped the greataxe from his back and sat down with the soft creak of wood and leather. The heavy weapon was leaned against the desk before Lucius sat back in the chair, fingertips pressed together before him.

"I can't be what, burgomiester?" A russet brow rose slightly, accompanied by a soft rumble of laughter. "Put the stories you have heard aside. We deal with the real today."

"I suppose it would be too much to demand that you and your people leave Torrence?" Dunhelm felt lightheaded as he settled into his chair, a hand moving to push away the thinning hair from his face. Behind Lucius the tall barbarian Dunhelm had spoken to earlier broke into laughter, though the third, in armor similar to Lucius's in design, remained silent, standing by the door and looking for all the world like a statue.

"Good. You're keeping an even head about yourself. That will make this easier." There was a trace of a smile as Lucius waved a hand toward the barbarian. "This is Javvik, war chief of the Lamoss Northras. The quiet one is Sir Herzog." Hazel eyes flicked to each in turn, and then returned to Lucius, Dunhelm nodding slightly in acknowledgement to the introductions. Lucius noted the man's silent nod and continued. "First, an explanation. By taking this village, I have declared open intentions against your former master."

"Lord Urevan." The ruler of the dutchy, known for his appetites. Latest of his line to sit on the throne of Cisroe, the current Urevan was generally thought of as a poor replacement for his father by many, though he enjoyed the backing of the ducal court and Cisran Council. Excesses, in both the lavish lifestyle and the inherent tax burden of the people, led to a simmering discontent. Something Lucius and Fiona found ripe for the exploit.

"Indeed. And for his insult, I plan to take away that which he loves the most." Any joviality feld from his features, as Lucius stared hard at Dunhelm.

"But what about my people" The villagers?" The burgomiester waved a hand toward the door, reminder of those who waited in their homes.

"They will not be harmed, unless they try to hinder us." Leaning forward, hands came to rest on armored knees as Lucius continued. "For now, Burgomiester Rohrig, we do not want your land. We do not want your gold, nor will we pillage your food stores. If it comes to needing livestock or ore from your mine, we will pay a fair price for them."

He paused for the time it took him to lean back in the chair again, his eyes never leaving Dunhelm's. "Later, when I have finished with Urevan, new laws will be put into place. Until then, as long as you stay out of our way, we will leave you be."

The words had caught Dunhelm by surprise. Not the rough syntax of the barbarians, but a more cultured phrasing. It had put him off guard, and the message took a second to sink into his whirling thoughts. "That sounds"a bit too good to be true." He said at last, casting a glance toward the hulking Javvik. The Northras caught the look and grinned, teeth flashing in the brown flow of his beard.

"If the Northras had wanted to merely raid, do you think the village would still be wholly intact?" Lucius replied, a brow arching slightly. "Torrence is the closest settlement with a garrison to Cords Crossing. I needed to remove the threat at my doorstep before I began to march." It made sense to Dunhelm, who knew the lay of the region as well as any.

"Alright. If you do not plan to steal from us, what exactly do you want from the village?" At Dunhelm's question Lucius rose to his feet, reaching out to take his greataxe in hand. Dunhelm also stood up, and at a wave of invitation the two headed for the door and the porch beyond, Javvik and Sir Herzog falling in behind them.

"I want you to calm your people, burgomiester. Tell them that as long as they do not try to aid Urevan or attack us, they will be left alone." Lucius looked toward the shorter Dunhelm, who was watching the other knights who had accompanied Lucius swing back into the saddle. "Go about your lives as normal. We will have patrols in the area, and Javvik will be making his camp in those woods there." He pointed toward the green treeline north of the village, beyond the fields of waving grain. "But they will not interfere with your people, as long as nothing is done toward them."

"I will'do my best." Dunhelm said, uncertainty creeping into his tone.

"That's all I ask. And if you have questions, send a runner to Javvik's camp. He'll be happy to answer, or pass it along." The skull helm was set back in place as Lucius walked down the porches steps and mounted the waiting nightmare. Looking to Javvik he said something in the guttural language of the Northras, who nodded in reply, a fist rose to tap his upper breast once.

"A new time is coming, burgomiester." Lucius again looked to Dunhelm, and raised Drachmel in salute. "How your village will fare, is up to you.?

Chapter 2 - Briarstone

"Man"can't see a damned thing?? Grumbling to himself, the young soldier walked along a small creek-bottom, clutching his spear in nervous hands as he looked from side to side. Trees to his left were indistinct shapes in the swirling vapors, a dark menace that did nothing to calm his fears. All within Briarstone knew of the gathering army in the hills west of the city, and had stories of demons coming from the deep forest to feed on the flesh and souls of mortal men. Stories that made many a young man, like Ewrin, dread having their name called for the dreaded sentry pickets.

Word of the initial surge from the mountains had filtered into Briarstone from those who had managed to flee the villages of Dailmar and Helvenya, and nearly created a panic in the small city. The occasional incursion by barbarians or goblinoids was expected, but what the refugee's were describing hadn't been seen in nearly two generations. The militia had been put on immediate alert, while the able-bodied men of the city were pressed into service to build an earthen berm across the western approaches, a hastily-drawn line in the sand.

And for the last two weeks, the militia and conscripted men of the city manned the earthworks, waiting for the attack that had, at first, seemed imminent, but now was appearing to be less likely. The mayor of the city had been out to the marketplace daily to extol the populous to remain calm, and that the Lord Urevan would see to the heathens. His words had been bolstered a week previous, when a small company of mercenaries had arrived, setting a camp to the east of the city. But, as day after day passed with no sign, the sell-swords were becoming increasingly peevish, with more than one spending a night in the local lockup for brawling. The mercenary commander refused to have his men scout the roads west of Briarstone, insisting that duty fall to the militia.

The white wall that encompassed Ewrin was brightening, heralding the welcome coming of the morning sun finally burning back the thick fog. Deciding he had gone far enough up the creek the young man turned to head back, and froze. A dark mass was moving through the fog in front of him, and now that he was paying attention again he could hear the muffled sounds of armor and leather, the lifting fog having muzzled the noise before. Coming out of his momentary freeze of shock, he hopped over the bank of the small creek and lay down, peering over the rim of the water-cut earth. A sizeable force was moving from the tree line into the clear area surrounding the creek, and he had walked directly in front of them unknowingly. Only the heavy fog had saved him from being seen by the approaching host.

He lay there for several minutes, watching rank after rank of Northras move down the trail toward Briarstone, finally followed by two warriors on horseback. Both clad in plate armor, both of ancient trappings and design, though one was of ornate ebon that almost seemed to drink in the morning light. The young man waited until they had disappeared around the bend, and then remained still for a moment longer before he rose and quickly started in the opposite direction.

Captain Ranulf Brand watched the approaching ranks with narrowed eyes, silently cursing as his archer's efforts were less than effective. The left had been thinned slightly, but the heavily-armored center continued unabated. If they could not stop at least some of those, they didn't stand a chance. "Concentrate fire on the center oblique!" Company commanders took up the call, and the angry buzz of arrows shifted toward the crimson warriors approaching. "Where are those damned mercenaries?"

He was unaware that those words had been spoken aloud until he heard a "Sir?" from beside him. His aide, a scrubbed-face youth who had recently joined the Briarstone militia, had stepped forward, awaiting his command. Brand absently noted that he had a wild-eye excitement, a tell-tale of this one's freshness to combat.

"Go and find out what?s keeping our hired "friends"." Sending the youth on his way with a wave of his hand, Brand returned his attention to the building battle. The sniping fire continued on both sides, and he walked down the line, giving encouragement to both the archers and the waiting men-at-arms crouched behind the berm. While some had seen battle before in driving back the periodic raids by the barbarians and orc tribes of the mountains, too many on that line were seeing the elephant for the first time.

Brand had returned to the center of the line when his aide returned, gasping for breath. "Gone"they're..gone.." He managed between breaths, holding his side as he heaved for air.

"What?? Brand whirled to look down the broad avenue that ran through the center of town. He saw pale faces at the windows of the building, the citizens trembling within their homes, hoping their militia could save them. But it was the cloud of dust on the other side of town that drew the curse, and he fumbled for the spyglass at his side. What he saw both chilled the blood and drew out another snarled epithet.

The mercenaries were riding hard down the road that led to Cisroe, cutting the armed defense of Briarstone by a quarter as well as leaving the back of the town defenseless in their retreat. Brand cursed again, bringing the glass down as he was bumped from the side. His temper boiling, Brand looked over to reprimand the young boy, but the words died upon seeing the black shaft protruding from either side of his neck. The young man was gasping, trying to speak, but only managed a croak as he slumped forward into Brand's arms. The veteran swiftly lowered him to the ground, even as he was looking toward the left, where panicked shouts were coming, something about a charge. Brand levied a hate-filled wish against mercenaries, barbarians and noblemen in general as the defenses started to fall apart around him.

As the knights crashed into the city's defenses the rest of the advancing line charged, a thousand ragged cries intermingling into a single roar. Bowmen let loose with a last flight before dropping their bows to snatch up their swords and hurrying forward to back those already in place. The militia was well-drilled, the swordsmen standing in close ranks, shields rising before them as the enemy crested the berm. In stark contrast, the Northras lines were more akin to an unruly mob as they slammed into the defenders of Briarstone.

Captain Brand had been moving toward the embattled left when the first barbarians descended. He met one's charge with bared steel, his longsword biting deep into the bared chest to pierce the heart. Even as the dying marauder continued past, he used the momentum to spin around and almost decapitate the next. The two kills were lightning quick, and for a second Brand lost track of the battle. Staggering back down the earthworks he was able to take a quick look about.

All around him was a swirling melee, as the militia fought against the numerically superior barbarians. Cries to heathen gods mingled with the yells of his men, and he added his own voice to the din as he waded back into the press, to be met by one of the armored warriors, a bloody axe held in either hand. With another shout Brand stepped close, sword flashing in the morning sun, only to have it glance aside against the broad face of one axe. The return blow vibrated his entire arm, forcing a grunt of pain from him as he again slashed, seeking a weak spot in the heavy armor.

Stepping back, Brand's foot caught on the leg of the first he had slain, and he momentarily lost his balance. As he fell back his opponent cried out in triumph and rushed forward, both axes raised to hammer the deathblow home, only to have fate, in the form of another soldier, step in. The militia-man, blood staining the front of his padded armor, bounced off the barbarian's side, breaking his momentum as he paused to throw the dying man aside, giving Brand the opening he needed. Lunging forward with no finesse whatsoever, the sharp blade found a crease in the armor and bit deep into his enemy's belly. The twin weapons dropped to the dusty ground as the marauder gripped at the blade protruding from his abdomen and slowly sank to his knees, falling beside the gasping veteran with a heavy thud.

Brand slowly got to his feet, chest heaving as he sucked in much-needed air. All around the battle swirled in a chaotic frenzy, and more Northras were coming over the crest. His men were holding for the moment, even with the left caving in under the attack there, and the veteran felt a brief flash of pride for his men. Again cursing the cowardly mercenaries, he plunged back into the fray, rallying the militia with his cries.

Another barbarian fell before Brand in a spray of arterial blood, allowing the captain a chance to glance around. His men were slowly giving back under the press of the Northras, despite their valiant effort to stop the horde. Realizing this, he had pulled one of his younger soldiers away from the press and sent him away toward Cisroe, with orders to report on what had befallen the city and the treachery of the mercenaries. He smiled grimly, taking a small comfort, for even if they failed the invaders were paying a heavy price for their victory.

Toward the center Brand heard a ragged shout go up, and the fleeting hope that his men were turning back the black tide had the captain running back in that direction, shouting for his men to keep up the fight. As he neared that part of the battle line though Brand saw his worst fears realized. The Northras had broken through, forcing the thinning line back into their fellows on the right, a slowly-tightening noose around the defenders of Briarstone.

Brand started forward, but quickly halted as two riders thundered over the berm, sending two soldiers tumbling from the heavy blows of their weapons. Ignoring the chill that washed over him, the captain raised his sword and shouted out a challenge. One of the riders, upon hearing that cry, looked toward Brand, crimson eyes narrowing before he slid from the saddle. Twirling the greataxe he held in his right hand as if it was a toy, he advanced on Brand, who gripped his shield tightly as he also moved forward.

Sword met axe-blade with a shower of sparks, and Brands second strike thudded against the wooden shaft of as his opponent continued the circle. Brand grunted as the axe whirled around to slam into his shield, driving him back from the sheer force of the blow. The warrior roared as he charged in, double-handing a slash that would have cleaved Brand in two, had he not ducked forward. He took advantage of the opening, slicing along the flank as he lunged past his heavily-armored opponent.

A growl of pain accompanied the splash of blood that gleamed wetly against the ebon armored hip, and the other stepped back, eyeing Brand cautiously. For his part the captain circled around, sending in careful strikes that were banged away by the ever-moving greataxe. Brand grimaced from the ache in his shield-arm, but continued to press his attacks home, waiting for a second opening. An opening that came a moment later, as one of his subordinates backed into the warrior while trying to escape two of the marauders.

Surprisingly quick despite the baroque armor the dark warrior spun, the axe glinting in the light as it spun around to bite deep into the soldier's shoulder. Just as quick the weapon was jerked back, but Brand had proved the faster. His sword slammed into the axe's shaft just above the warrior's right hand, forcing him to let go and drop the weapon. Using his momentum Brand shield-bashed the warrior back, then aimed a wicked slash to disembowel him. A jump back almost escaped the blow, with only the sword-tip slicing past the chain-mail and drawing more blood.

Chapter 3 - The Battle for Cisroe

"Damn this fog!" Captain Siemon Morgan of the Cisroe Duchal Guard swore to every god he could think of as he stared out at the undulating vapors obscuring the fields below the walls of the city. With the coming of spring, the weather had been clear and welcoming after the hard winter, until earlier when guards reported a wall of fog moving in from the bay. Watching the mist roll across the bare fields had chilled him to the bone, a feeling not wholly caused by the temperature. Now, he stalked over a sea grey, the massive walls surrounding the port city of Cisroe an island upon which he walked. Encouraging the nervous soldiers along the battlements, he headed for the watchtower overlooking the gatehouse. There, he stood for some moments simply staring out over the fields, not even realizing until he heard a short cough that someone had joined him.

"Now, isn't this an interesting turn." As always, the almost-sibilant voice of Helmund Deggarant made Morgan's skin crawl. He did not like the military liaison from The Empire of Terranth, but the troops he had brought from the Northern Empires had been a welcome boost to his own force. Wearing his customary close-knit scale mail, the Terranthi moved with an almost-unnatural grace that belied an aura of power and sent another shiver down Morgan's spine.

"It will make for a tense morning, until it burns off." Morgan returned his gaze to the fields and fog. "Midmorning, perhaps." A glance to the east confirmed his estimate of the time, as a warm glow was already breaking over the fog on the bay.

"Don't be a fool, Captain." The sneering tone brought Morgan around, bristling at the Terranthi. "Do you really think this fog is anything more than a natural phenomenon?" Deggarant looked over to the Cisran captain, not bothering to hide his contempt. "Please tell me you are not that stupid."

"Then what in the hell do you think it is?" Morgan growled, as his hand crept toward the pommel of his sword. Another moment, he swore silently, and he would wipe that sneer from Deggarant's face. Deggarant swept an arm out to indicate the fields before the wall, never breaking the locked gaze.

"You have an enemy army camped out before your gates all winter and most of the spring." Lowering his arm the Terranthi officer looked back to Morgan. "All spring the weather has been mild, with little mists in the morning and clear days to melt the snow. And now, we wake to a blinding fogbank?" With a snort, he looked over the fields again. "No, not likely." Morgan started to argue, but Deggarant ignored him and continued. "No, there is a weather spell at work here."

Morgan paused as he considered the words, and their meaning. His hands resting on the cool stone battlement, he finally shook his head slowly. "Can you be certain of this?"

"Will you risk your precious city that I am not?" Deggarant countered immediately. "They're coming, captain. Today, this siege ends."

"Load the trebuchets!" Captain Morgan cried out to the men below him in the inner bailey, waving an arm for unneeded emphasis. Soldiers labored to load large rocks into the leather slings of the war machines, preparing for the attack Deggarant insisted was coming. All along the walls, bowmen were taking position, giving the large pots of oil that were slowing coming to a roiling boil a wide berth. Bowstrings were checked, and some had dropped to one knee, muttering quiet prayers to their gods for protection in the upcoming fight.

The hurried preparations had not gone unnoticed by the citizens of the metropolis, who even now were streaming away from the walls toward the center of the city. Morgan had sent word to Urevan's palace of the preparations, but the count had yet to send any reply, a fact that disturbed the captain more than he would care to admit. "Are you sure all is in place?" He asked the Terranthi, taking his place on the watchtower and looking out over the fild of fog below.

"Captain Morgan, you worry too much." was the sneering reply. Deggarant stood where he had before, carefully-manicured fingernails tapping softly on the crenellation he leaned against. he had joined by a stony-faced warrior, also clad in the slick scale-mail of The Empire of Terranth, a hulking shadow to the ambassador/martial commander. "The fools have allowed us months to prepare. It will be a short assault."

"I only hope you are right." A horn sounded in the distance, drawing their attention back to the field, where the low-riding fog roiled against the stone walls of Cisroe, almost as if it was a living thing seeking to enter.

"Sound the horn." Lucius punctuated the command with a downward slash of his arm. Astride the nightmare Dante, he waited near the edge of the cliff leading to the plains below, looking out over the calls of Cisroe. Behind him Sir Herzog waited, the skeletal warrior as silent as the grave from which he had been resurrected. From here they would have a good view as the assault on Cisroe's walls commenced.

Beside the mounted pair, a young barbarian sucked in a lungful of air before bringing the mouthpiece of a large horn to his lips. The note that came from the horn was a low rumbling sound, echoing off the rocks and into the plains below. The youth maintained the blast for as long as he could, the sound trailing off as he finally had to gasp for a breath of air. As the sound faded Lucius looked to his left, where Indigo stood, arms outstretched to her sides. The Trueblood's eyes were closed, and her halo of hair whipped around her as she channeled power outward. At her unspoken command, the fog began to roll toward the bay, revealing the morning daybreak in all its glory. It also revealed the massed army of the Northras, pennants fluttering in the morning breeze. Lord Unthors armored warriors were in the lead, and the marauder's of Terrak and Jerrak's tribes following behind. The army stretched for almost a mile in its advance, a train of cavalry guarding the flanks at it neared the stone walls.

Behind his helm Lucius grinned ferally, watching the culminations of almost two years of work finally come to fruition. "And so it begins." He whispered softly.

*****

"Catapults!" One of the sergeants along the wall cried out, and Morgan indeed saw four of the machines being dragged across the plain behind the marching host revealed at the sudden rolling back of the grey fog. He cursed loudly, both for the appearance of the catapults, and the fickle weather that had hidden the approach until nearly the end.

"Interesting." Deggarant mused, fingers drumming on the battlement as he watched the beginnings of the battle unfold. "He actually is trying a assault along the wall." The foreignor's tone held the edge of disbelief at what he was observing.

"One I don't fathom." Morgan growled, moving to stand beside the Terranthi. "Surely he knows we can repel any trying to climb the wall. Even with catapults, his army has little hope of taking the city."

"This DeAuster is a foolish barbarian." Deggarant hissed softly, watching the crimson-armored warriors stop well out of bow range. "Our surprise will show him not to bother his betters."

Morgan glanced at the Terranthi, wondering again exactly what the man was talking about. Ever since the ships carrying the liaison, troops and equipment from the Empire had arrived, things had been anything but normal. Throughout the winter the newcomers had joined with the Cisran army to better fortify the gates of the city, as well as sending out patrols into the plain surrounding the city and bay. As scouts began to report encounters with the outrunners of the barbarian horde approaching the gates had been closed, sealing Cisroe off from land contact. Beyond the bay privateers lurked, harassing any ships attempting to enter the capitol. It was felt by the council that the presence of the Terranth was keeping the enemy at arms length. For the Cisran army, however, the Terranth were overbearing, considering themselves above the men and women serving the city directly. The misgivings had started quiet mutterings among the rank and file, but Morgan's hands were tied, as long as his lord count courted the graces of the distant Emperor. Deggerant was a prime example of the callousness of the foreigners, regarding the captain with a depreciating disdain. Trying to put his mind off such dark thoughts, Morgan glanced around at the preparations. It suddenly came to him, none of the Terranthi warriors was to be seen. "Deggarant, where are your men?" he asked in irritation.

"They are where they will do the most good." Deggarant clasped Morgan's shoulder, who promptly shrugged it off with a growl. Laughing softly, Deggarant pointed toward the field. "Worry about your own, Captain. I will see to mine."

A shout from the wall drew their attention just in time to see a large rock sail through the air to land near the bottom of the wall. "They're getting the range." Morgan watched as men worked the second catapult, and a moment later a second boulder was hurtled through the air, to slam into the wall with a solid thud, the rock under the men's hands vibrating with the impact.

"They're moving again." Deggarant noted, with apparent satisfaction. Morgan's eyes narrowed as the armored warriors again started forward, followed by fur-clad barbarians. More, importantly, he saw wisps of smoke from behind the catapults, and turned to look out over the inner bailey. "Ready water! And fire the trebuchets!" He missed the knowing look between Deggarant and his aid, and the slow nod that sent the aid hurrying down the walkway.

Lord Unthor, unaware of the ambush behind him, was nearing the walls of Cisroe. Large shields were raised by the front ranks to deflect the arrows starting to rain from the battlements as the host came within the range of the defenders along the top of the parapets. The slick granite barrier had no apparent openings, the gatehouse being almost a hundred yards further west. No matter.

"Sound the horn!" Unthor beckoned to a warrior standing next to the battle standard. The warrior raised the horn he carried to his lips, but no sound was issued from the ornate instrument. An ear-splitting explosion threw the horn-bearer and the four warriors nearest him into the air, bowling several of their comrades over as the bodies came to earth. Choking on the billowing dirt thrown up by the burst Unthor whipped around as another explosion rocked the line to his left. Bodies and pieces thereof were flying in all directions from another plume of fire and dust, and his men were shouting in panic, some starting to pull back, only to be pressed forward again, others yelling warnings of enemies in their midst. Confusion reigned, and the orderly battleline quickly started to fall apart.

"Form up!" Unthor screamed, shoving an armored warrior back into position near the standard. "Damn you, form up!" The barbarian he held pointed back toward the wall, his words unintelligible in the din. At the base of the wall planks had been thrown back, and as Unthor spun around to stare down the smooth bore of a cannon.

***

Something whined past Terrak's ear, and the man standing behind him fell back, his face a bloody ruin. Pain blossomed in the barbarian chief's shoulder as something tore into the muscle, and all around men fell, clutching at arms, legs, or abdomens as the attack washed over them. Unthors men fared a little better, while most were protected to a degree by the heavy armor they wore, several fell as weak areas were found and penetrated.

Grimacing in pain, Terrak gripped his wounded shoulder as the smoke started to clear. He saw men ahead, handing down something long to others crouched below the lip of the trench, and being handed another nearly identical weapon. The warlord had heard of black powder weapons, but had never seen them until now. "Get down!" He cried out, diving heavily to the ground behind a fallen marauder with a grunt of pain at the jarring landing. As the unknown warriors raised their weapons to fire, his men followed suit, trying to find what cover they could.

The volley was a staccato of pops, bullets whining overhead as the barbarians went to ground. The dead marauder jerked as bullets slammed into the corpse, and Terrak rolled onto his back, trying to present as small a target as possible. Glancing around, he tried to get some kind of accounting for his warband, unable to tell how many lay dead around him. Another volley thundered overhead, and for the first time in a long time, Terrak prayed.

"Gods dammit, where is that boy?" The sergeant cursed as he watched another trebuchet several yards away launch its deadly load high in the air, the stone arcing over the walls protecting Cisroe. Slamming his fist on the heavy wood crossbeam of his war machine, the sergeant turned to yell for the conscript, but blinked when no one was in sight at the supplies. "Where the hell did he go?"

"Maybe he ran back to his mommy?" one of the soldiers assigned to the sergeant suggested, doing his best to maintain an innocent expression. His joke brought a round of laughter from the other crewmembers, none of which had particularly liked the youth. The sergeant shot him a dirty look, not being in the mood for jests, and was about to berate the soldier when a high-pitched whistle drew everyone's attention to the dark alleyway.

A slight figure moved in those shadows, stepping away from the archway into the morning light. Dressed totally in black, the trench coat the newcomer wore obscured much of its form. Sunlight glinted off the many rings in the stranger's ears, ears that were much longer than any the sergeant had seen before, but the soldier's attention was drawn to the heavy coil of rope the stranger held.

"Hey, slag!" The voice was low, definitely male, and almost guttural as he held up the rope. "You were lookin" for this?" The rope was tossed down with an almost contemptuous gesture. The sergeant was shocked into a second's pause, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Get him!" His men were already starting to move, two snatching for crossbows, the others drawing swords as they started forward.

"Ohh, playtime!" The slight figure raised his hand, pointing a strange weapon toward one of the crossbowmen. A loud crack reverberated, and the soldier fell back, blood spraying from a suddenly larger eye socket. A minor shift of his hand, and one of the charging soldiers staggered as several wounds blossomed across his chest, the bullets tearing through the armor as though it was so much paper.

Coming in on his left, one of the Cisran's slashed across with his longsword, and staggered as the weapon arced through empty space. The man had dropped back with near inhuman speed as he holstered the gun and drew a gleaming sword and large knife from his belt, spinning to the right and away from the first solder, who had his throat slashed before he could recover. The third stopped short, weapon raised in a defensive posture as he gaped at the speed of the kill.

"C"mon, slag" " The elf taunted as he closed in, weapons weaving in a spiral pattern before him. "..time to be a hero." The soldier did not take the bait, instead slowly moving backward. The sergeant eased backward also, heading toward a covered entrance to the tower above, intending on getting help. The dark-clad elf slowly darted his eyes between the two before he growled softly. "Ah, screw this!" With that, he leaped forward, weapons almost buzzing through the air.

The soldier was good, getting his sword around to block each slash coming at him. He made not attempt to press an offensive attack on his own, instead giving ground before the frenzied elf. He edged around the trebuchet, where the other crossbowman knelt, weapon raised as he started to draw a bead on the elf.

The elf cut a quick look in that direction, and snarled as he saw the finger start to tighten on the trigger of the crossbow. The bolt never flew, though, as a jagged slash bloomed across the man's throat. Dropping the weapon, he clutched at his throat as he fell forward. The elf had a hint of a long ponytail and crimson eyes in the shadows, but it was put out of mind as he spun around, dropping into a crouch to slash out at his opponents legs. His blade bit deep into the knee, and as the soldier cried out in pain and fell he completed the spin to be facing the sergeant.

"Who the hell are you?" The older soldier asked his weapon shaking slightly as he continued to back away. The elf smirked, sheathing his sword and dagger, and again pulling the strange gun from its holster on his leg.

"Name's Lusiphur, drekhead." He growled, enjoying the look on the man's face as he brought up his gun. "Time ta say goodnight to the sandman." Seeing his death in those eyes, the soldier turned to run, trying to duck low as if to dodge the bullet. However, he was much to slow, the bark of the gun the last thing he heard, the bullet blowing through his head and sending a wash of gore over the grey wall. "Stupid idiot.? Lusiphur swore softly as he turned away, and looked straight into the eyes of the soldier he had taken down a moment before. The man had managed to regain his feet, and had his sword back to slash at Lusiphur's back.

As fast as he could move, and did, Lusiphur knew he could not get his sword out to block the blow. The sword started forward, time seeming to slow as it arced around to decapitate him. The blow went wide though, as the soldier was knocked off balance again, this time by a black-footed boot that slammed into his side. Lusiphur had a second's glimpse of a long black ponytail as he scrambled to his feet, The General flashing out and drawing a deep line across the soldiers throat.

Not waiting to see his enemy fall, Lusiphur turned and ran for the archway leading deeper into the city, looking to sow his own unique brand of chaos.

The sound of thunder nearly deafened Cieara DeAuster and Delana Sinclaire as they moved down the back alleys of Cisroe, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The two young women had sneaked into the city some days before as part of the stream of refugee's fleeing the advance of Lieance DeCort's army to the south, spending the days hiding in a small shack in the slums of Cisroe and scouting the ways to the manor houses of the nobility at night. Cieara would have preferred to use her familial gifts to facilitate the scouting, but Fiona had been adamant about her holding off until the morning of the attack. Urevan knew well the special abilities of his opponents, and while he had been unable to ward his manor against such modes of entry, he did employ mages to continually monitor for such a breach. With arms engaged, it was hoped that the wizards would be otherwise distracted.

Both girls had been grateful at hearing the horns of warning that morning, knowing the attack had finally started. "Jeez, can't they hold it down a bit?" Cieara rubbed her left ear, grimacing as the ringing failed to go away. Beside her Delana adjusted the bow slung over her shoulder and nodded slowly.

"At least it's not directed at us." She glanced upward, though the buildings blocked anything other than the sky directly overhead. Cieara crouched beside her, holding the end of her ponytail with a look of almost sorrow. Before the two had left to infiltrate the city Tasha had used a changing spell on Cieara, and now her auburn tresses were a chestnut brown, and her brilliant green eyes were also changed to a nondescript brown. Delana had been similarly altered, to better facilitate their cover story as sisters displaced by the war.

"That's true?" Cieara had to admit, as she peeked around the corner. The street was now deserted, but the young woman was not taking any chances. Nodding to herself, she turned back to Delana. "You ready?" Delana nodded , her short sword held tightly in her right hand as she took a quick breath. Cieara reached out to take her left hand, and called the shadows enfold the two of them. A second later the shadowy tendrils rolled away, depositing the two in another alleyway beside a high stone wall. Delana blinked, and quickly looked around, chestnut bangs whipping about.

"All clear!" she hissed, crouching as close to the wall as she could get. Cieara was looking the other way, dagger in hand. Vestia hissed softly, the bound imp sensing her mistress's eagerness and sharing the feeling. Seeing no one on the walls, she smiled slowly and leaned close to Delana, so she could keep her voice to a whisper.

"There's the gatehouse." She pointed to a small tower standing over the gate leading into the manor grounds they were near. "When we hear the signal, I'll get us in there, and we'll have to make certain the gate stay's open." Delana nodded once, making note of the squat brick tower, then looked upward, searching for signs of activity as she dared to lean out from the scant cover.

"I don't see any guards on the walls." Leaning back in, she turned her blade around to lie against her arm as she looked to her dear friend. "I can't believe he doesn't have in there."

"It's a large compound, De." Cieara glanced down the street again, and then leaned back against the cool mortar at her back. "Besides, we can take them." Delana giggled softly in reply, nodding her head once in agreement. Both girls were confident, as Fiona had worked with Cieara and Delana for months, teaching them to harness their natural abilities. Both had also showed a natural ability to work together, and in the end Lucius had, reluctantly, agreed to their plan.

Thoughts about that took Cieara's thoughts to her family. She could feel the burning anger of Lucius in the field beyond the walls, and Fiona's cold calculations as she moved along the walls dealing death to the enemy. Even her Aunt Belial was sending out waves of excitement, whatever she was currently doing. A slight frown came as she tried to feel her brother, and found little more than a dull throbbing of the emphatic link. Danny, you better be ok, or I'm gonna kick your ass when this is done!

"Fire!" A dropping arm punctuated the cry to the cannon's gunners, and the second man yanked back the clotharm, striking the pin of the massive cannon. Instead of the roiling boom of a successful firing, however, the cannon emitted a massive plume of smoke without discharging its deadly cargo. The gunnery crew was enveloped immediately, the acrid smoke bringing coughing fits as it burned into the lungs.

Staggering toward the stacked crated deeper in the cannon box, one of the crewmen barely registered a dark from materializing out of the smoke in front of him before blinding pain blossomed across his stomach. His hands reflexively went to the area of pain, his fingers meeting wet flesh. Even as he realized that he was holding part of his intestines in his hands, a slicing gleam caught his attention, and was the last thing he consciously saw as his windpipe was neatly severed.

The second of the four men was also taken by surprise, his first indication someone was about coming as a hand grabbed his shoulder, and a blade whipped across his throat, slicing it nearly halfway through. Throwing the dying man aside, his assailant crouched slightly, and then leaped into the air, clearing the smoking cannon easily and landing next to the third crewman. This one was already armed, and made a quick thrust toward the dark figure while crying out an alarm. Steel rang in a clarion call as his thrust was parried, the force of the blow sending the weapon out wide and to the right. Taking advantage of the opportunity his opponent dropped low, and two slashes parted armor, cloth and flesh across his stomach with equal ease.

As the eviscerated man fell to the side his killer leaped forward, rolling under the cannon and coming to his feet with a smooth movement, the heavy dagger intercepting a blow meant to cleave his head in two. With a shortsword in one hand and dagger in the other, the last of the cannoneers eased forward, making no abrupt moves. This soldier wore the jagged stripe of a sergeant, and his feints and parries were that of a seasoned veteran. His opponent's dagger was a blur as it parried strike after strike, the two circling around the cannon as they dueled.

As talented as he was, the sergeant made his mistake as he took a step over the first man killed, extending his center of gravity enough to make him stumble slightly as he slashed at the fast-moving figure. In an instant, a crimson flash of blood welled along his forearm, the chainmail covering it parted as easily as warm butter. Reflexively dropping the dagger held, he clutched the arm closer while trying to turn fast enough to keep the other in his sight. A second slash along his outer thigh dragged a grunt of pain from him and forced him to stumble. His enemy was too fast, a barely seen movement opening another jagged cut on his body.

Going to one knee, the Terranthi sergeant blinked rapidly as he tried to turn toward where he had last seen his assailant, but a heavy hand slammed down on his shoulder, halting his movement. "Too slow." Flaring agony shot along his back as he heard the softly hissed words, and any reply was choked off by gout of blood. His shoulder released, the seargant slowly fell forward with a dull thud.

Lorcain glanced around him at the four corpses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his thin lips. It had been too easy, barely even two minutes having passed. His blood sang with the clarion call of battle, and he slipped into the shadows cast by the wall, in search of more prey.

*****

"Crow!" Lusiphur growled as he ducked back behind the large crate that he had claimed as a temporary shelter. Bullets whined past, one ricocheting off the heavy wood to shatter a hanging pot above a doorway. He cursed yet again as potting soil and pieces of fern rained down on him, and cast an angry eye upward.

He raised his pistol over the rim of the crate and blindly fired across the courtyard, forcing the soldiers that had been chasing him to duck back around the corners and the large fountain that they were using for cover. The patrol had quickly gained a respect for the long-eared assassin's strange weapon, very different from the simpler black powder weapons. However, what they lacked in complexity, the rifle's more than made up for in sheer firepower.

Lusiphur leaned around the side of the crate to take a quick peek at the courtyard when movement caught the corner of his eye. A quick shift and squeeze of the trigger sent the soldier skulking along the rooftop flailing to the ground, landing in the street with a wet thud. "Shit!" Now a lace of worry started to gnaw at Lusiphur, for if the soldiers were to get men on the rooftops he would be a sitting duck.

Lusiphur took aim at a soldier who was bracing to fire, when the next second the rifle blew apart, sending its wielder falling to the ground screaming in agony. He writhed on the ground, clutching blackened hands to his chest as blood flowed from shrapnel wounds in his cheeks and forehead. Another gun on the other side if the square also misfired, killing its user outright. Lusiphur grunted in amusement as he sent a bullet into the writhing form to still the cries of agony.

Ducking back, his brow arched as he glanced at his weapon in puzzlement, then heard another explosion and shout of pain. "Well, hell.? He said simply, then leaned back to send several shots across the square, forcing the enemy to keep their heads down. He ducked back as a flower pot came sailing at him, and blinked several times again as dirt sprayed his hiding place.

"Gods damned pieces of crow's crap!" Snarling, Lusiphur hopped up, gun levelled toward the entrance of the courtyard. Before him the remnants of the patrol was gathering up, spears being leveled at him. Behind them he could see another patrol arriving, swords drawn and shields held at the ready.

"Oh frell..."

Prying open another crate in preparation for any wounded, Kaelyn looked up just as Myrialla returned from investigating the curious sounds of explosions drifting upwards from the battlefield. She was startled at the dark glower on her sister's face and became even more alarmed as Myrialla then started to pack things into a bundle. "What are ye doing?"

"Appears the other side got a hold of some black powder weapons. Plenty be unable to move so I shall simply go down there and offer aid." Myrialla glanced up as she cinched the bundle closed.

"Be that wise Myri" Ye could get hurt doing that!" Kaelyn exclaimed as her hand rose to catch her sister's arm and stay her movements.

"It's our jobs to heal Kaely. Nae matters where that is." Was the instant reply and she lightly tugged her arm free of the hold. "I'll take one of the guards Luc left here for us, and as I nae intend to go to deep into the battle, I am sure I'll be safe enough.? She did at least take a moment to slide her staff into the low slung belt, the deadly blades hidden within the curious design and in moments, Kaelyn watched as her sister set off down the incline towards the fighting below.

She didn't really have long to waste on worrying however, for the wounded were slowly starting to file in. Many were being dragged along by one of their fellow soldiers and soon she was simply too busy to fret. Time seemed to slow down somehow, a curious thing as she set about applying herbs and cleaning wounds, and only used small bits of her innate ability for the more critically wounded. Kaelyn didn't want to burn herself out to early, as it appeared that this battle would take longer then her powers could handle otherwise.

"Fall Back!" The normally low voice of Lucius rose above the din as the first arrows began to fall amongst the ragged ranks of his men. "Away from the walls!" Lord Unthor, looking back from the last of the cannon crew he and his entourage had just slaughtered, frowned slightly. The bloodlust that was the hallmark of the berserkers was in full bloom, and his soul cried out at the idea of retreating. However, managing to beat back the overwhelming urge to continue hacking the bodies apart, he started yelling for his men to start back, giving more than one a swift kick or hard shove to get them moving.

Terrak also started to pull his warband back, no so much because of the volleys of arrows but to give the Bloodbound room to maneuver. He recognized the glazed look in those eyes, and knew that at the moment they could attack their own to sate the bloodlust. Bodies jostled against one another as the barbarians began to give ground to the beat of the hide-covered drums. Pausing a moment to stare up at the battlements looming above, he raised a defiant fist, gritting back the pain of his wounded shoulder.

The bit of bravado done, he turned back to getting his warband back into a semblance of order. Many had taken advantage of the trench dug by the Terranth, with others starting to line up beyond. Down the line, he caught sight of his twin Jerrak helping a young barbarian scramble out of the trench. As if sensing the look Jerrak glanced up, and a smile split his features as he held up three fingers. Terrak snorted as he held up two fingers for his kills, and the scowl deepened at his twin's roar of laughter.

Reigning Dante up, Lucius also glared up at the walls, but his was a predatory snarl as he set the next part of his plan into motion.

Now!

Nothing happened.

For a second Maddock's expression was akin to a child who had just broken his favorite toy, but quickly changed to a look of determination. "Alright, plan B!" Throwing the plunger down he took off around the corner again, Daniel following close behind.

"What's Plan B?" He called out as he chased after the running Maddock.

"Watch!" He replied hurriedly, snatching up a small can and quickly unscrewing the cap. Fumes stung Daniel's sensitive nose again as the older man began to splash the liquid all about, concentrating on the small packages. "Thing about C-2 you have to remember, is that it'll detonate with a good enough kick!" Daniel nodded as he listened and watched, though most of Maddock's babbling was going over his head. Maddock threw the can he held aside as it ran empty, and grabbed another and opened it.

"Is this going to work?" Daniel had a worried look, as this was the linchpin for the whole siege. He felt the building rage of his father as the moments passed, and could only imagine the venue above. Maddock nodded with all confidence as he poured a small trail of the noxious liquid up the passage.

"Oh yeah, this'll work." He flashed Daniel a toothy grin. "Remember, when in doubt, fire works every time!" Heaving the can back down the passage, he started to fish in his pockets.

"I hope so." The young half-elf muttered in reply as he glanced toward the low ceiling, as though he could pierce the layers of rock above to see the battle waging above as well as say a quick prayer.

"Like I said, this is gonna be good." A soft click and a tiny point of flame leapt from the small lighter. Smile beaming, Maddock dropped the lighter onto the trail he had poured, and with a soft "whoosh' fire washed back along the trail, disappearing around the bend. Daniel started to crouch down and cover his ears, but Maddock grabbed his shoulder to stop him. "Bert said we better run." His tone brooked no argument, and the two sprinted down the corridor. Behind them, the fire reached the pile, leaping high as it hit the pools of gasoline Maddock had spread about the drums. Flash-heated by the sudden flame-up the C-2 exploded with the roar of a waking predator. The detonations split open the drums of fuel as well as sending shock-waves into the timbers holding up the cavern roof, each rolling burst of flame and sound greater than the last.

The shock of the first explosions hurled Daniel and Maddock to the ground, each curling into as small a ball as possible as flames roared down the passage. The timbers that were not shattered outright caught fire, white-hot flames eating at the sturdy wood quickly. Even more significant, two large cracks sprouted in the cavern ceiling, one spidering along the ceiling while the other split a short passage into another cavern abutting the first. As Daniel and Maddock started to regain their feet a low rumbling sound was growing, heralding the first falling rocks from above.

"C"mon, let's get out of here!" Daniel yelled to be heard over the growing din, holding an arm up to ward away falling stones. Maddock, however, seemed intent on trying to move back down the corridor. Growling, Daniel grabbed Maddocks shoulder and pulled hard, causing the two to tumble back against the wall and disappear into a patch of shadow.

"Well I'll be damned. The bastard actually pulled it off. " Lieance DeCort sat in the saddle, holding a spyglass and watching the fight to the north. Situated on a hillock just off the road heading south into Malirid he and his force had a good view of the city and bay. Many could see the smoke rising over the buildings and walls, and those who had not known the plans of DeAuster wondered what fate had befallen the city. Lieance himself had expressed doubts when Lucius had explained his ambitious plan, remembering his own grandfather's attempt at taking the port city.

"Aye, milord. His men should be entering the city now." Jarrevik DuBoise was a grizzled veteran of many smaller wars of territory, and sat impassively beside DeCort. Like his lord, DuBoise was clad in full plate mail, prepared for combat in this, the taking of his leigelord's enemy. Unlike DeCort, however, he did not seem impressed with the breaching of the wall. Off in the distance, a horn sounded, a low keening that rolled through the valleys around the city.

With the prearranged signal that the wall had been successfully breached, DeCort lowered the spyglass and turned in the saddle to nod to a young knight beside him. "Sound the advance." The knight raised a horn and blew a long clear note, the sound fading as men along the Malirid battleline took up the commands of the general. Behind DeCort and DuBoise the column of men-at-arms started forward, swords drawn and shields gripped determinedly. Behind the footmen cavalry in gleaming armor rode slowly with lances braced into stirrups, their pennants fluttered in the low breeze.

"Milord!" DeCort's and Duboise's slowed as a runner came running down the road toward the column. The young man was breathing heavy from his run, and it took a second to get his breath enough to speak. "Milord, scouts report a line of warriors in front of us, commanding the intersection."

"Who are they?" DuBoise snapped, and the runner shook his head.

"Unknown milord. They have no livery' DuBoise glanced to DeCort, who shook his head slowly.

"Tell Reynelf to prepare his archers. We move forward." The runner quickly saluted, and turned to run back into the lines, weaving between the slowly-moving knights. "I wonder where Urevan managed to get help."

"No doubt a mercenary company, Milord." Jarrevik spat in disgust. Like most in the myriad knightly orders, he had a low opinion of men who would not fight for honor, but for gold. "Paid to guard the back door." The craggy warrior half-turned in the saddle to look to DeCort. "My lord DeCort, I request permission to lead your knights forward."

Not even bothering to hide his smile at the formality his second displayed at the request DeCort nodded in reply. "Permission granted, Commander." His gaze moved back to the city, and the plume of dust rising into the angry clouds above. "Clear me a path to Cisroe."

"Crow! F%@ker! S&#t! Crow!" A steady stream of cursing filled the small courtyard as Lusiphur lashed out at the city guard pressing against him. Each curse came as a new cut opened on an arm or leg, the elvin assassin already bearing several such small wounds. Many guardsmen paid the price for such small victories, either falling back clutching at a wound or lying still on the cobblestones.

Lusiphur was a small island of whirling motion among the soldiers, darting and weaving almost too fast for the eye to follow. He was acting on pure instinct, and never even saw the spear that he ducked under, the tip grazing one long upturned ear. His furious assault carried him across the alley, where he put his back to the cool brick and readied for the next attack. It was about this time he realized a new player had entered the game.

Or several new players, to be precise. The small courtyard he had become trapped in was filled with a swirling melee, militiamen locked in battle with a ragtag mob. Outnumbered nearly three to one, the militia was quickly overwhelmed by the Cisran citizens, several throwing down their weapons and running rather than fight their fellow townspeople. As the skirmish dwindled several of the now-armed citizens patted Lusiphur on a shoulder as he watched in surprised wonder, congratulating him on the fight..."Heh. Well I'll be damned?" he muttered to himself at the turn of events.

"The wall! They breached the wall!" The cry brought everyone's attention to a young boy running down the street, his arms waving wildly as he ran past the courtyard. The news roused the men and women milling about, and as one the mob surged forward, heading for the curtain wall surrounding the city proper. Lusiphur, having been trying to make his way back around the edge of the courtyard, found himself swept along by the wave of bodies, his renewed cursing lost in the din of the roused citizenry.

******

It was wild. It was crazy as well, but Tasha was also starting to find this rather fun as bolts flew in rapid succession from her crossbow. Having figured out fast that most were heavily protected, she simply aimed higher, towards any exposed skin she could find and impale. Later she reminded herself to remember the one who went down with one of her deadly little darts sticking out of an eye socket under a helm, as that had been one of her best shots ever! A glance upwards and she then squeaked and ducked, as a rather large fellow swung towards her with a huge sword, diving fast in a tumbling roll right into his legs. His bellowing just before he toppled over hadn't brought him any help however, as several of the gore adorned healers and guards started lashing at him with their own various weapons.

"So far, so good!" she thought as she darted out of the fray to get her bearings and catch a few deep breaths of less blood-tainted air. The smell was starting to really bug her but she refused to admit it, even as her tummy rolled with a touch of nausea. The sight mingled with the falling rain and mud wasn't to hard to take, since it all sort of started to blend into each other, but that still didn't fully cover the stink of the stuff.

Then, just as fast as it had started, all the action dwindled to a stop and she blinked curiously. Behind them, the cries of the wounded could be heard, but none seemed to notice. Attention obviously caught by something going on ahead. Tasha tried jumping to see what had caught so many in its hold, but most towered over her. Swiping a mud caked hand against her leathers, she muttered at her lack of stature, and then moved around the edge to find out just what the heck was going on and in moments, she stumbled to a stop to see Indigo facing off against a rather nasty looking soldier.

Even though it hadn't seemed possible, Tasha was sure the sky had grown even darker with another threatening rumble of thunder high above and all she could do was watch and worry. The slow dance began with the large one lunging out with one of the two blades he was wielding, but the weight of his armor was little match against the light step of the willowy woman. She sidestepped back gracefully, almost floating and then her own rapier darted in. The glowing tip sliced like butter into that thick heavy mail, drawing a growl from the beast and a careless swinging of an arm.

Blood dotted silver and blue hair fluttered wildly with the chilled wind as Indigo spun neatly out of the way of that attempt and simply dropped without a single warning and the Elven blade slammed home into the side of his leg, again the dense protection covering him seemed to show little resistance to it's bite. "I gotta get one of those." Tasha muttered to herself and got a nod beside her by one of the guards thinking the very same thing.

A howl of rage cut that unsettling silence as the man lunged in hard and driven by rage, managing to knock the slight female back. Blood seeping from her arm, she merely tossed the rapier into the other hand and before she even rose up, deftly parried another blow and sent both boots into her opponent's legs.

Tasha was nearly ready to chew on dirty nails as the fight progressed, and every injury Indi took made her wince, but she couldn't seem to drag her eyes away. It was a curious sight. Both well matched for skill, but soon the one wearing the heavy cumbersome mail started to look winded. Where as Indigo was still moving with liquid grace, and gave no mercy, pressing her advantage and her speed to the limits. Becoming aware of this, the large warrior made one last attempt to take her down, charging at her full force with blades swinging and sent her stumbling back with a hiss and a sudden shrieking cry that made every one watching wince at the sharp pain in their ears. Gasping as she saw the blood and tears in the black leather, Tasha just squinted, while nails bit into the palms of her hands. She wanted to stop this, take the enemy down, but knew that this was a matter of honor so forced herself to stay still.

In a sudden blurring of motion, the Elven woman sprang forward, snarling with the feral flashing of near black eyes and the glowing rapier weaving patterns into the dim air. What followed, to Tasha as she watched, was as if everything slowed down, every second was more like a minute. First, the head sailed clean off, rolling and bouncing like a ball and finally stopped just in front of the watching spectators, red eyes fading under the hard face shield. It was only then, the body teetered, slowly rocking before it finally crashed down beside the swaying form of Indi, who was pressing a bloody hand to her own neck and looking like a satisfied cat.

The silence was then broken by the sudden cheer which finally shook Tasha from her own moment of stunned awe. She quickly ran towards her fellow Trueblood and fumbling for some Goldenrod. She reached Indi just as the sky above opened up and caught the taller woman before she went face first to the ground. "Oh bloody Hell!"

Staggering under the weight, she didn't suffer too long as some of the healers hurried over to help. Of course Tasha stayed near, making sure they didn't make things worse and forcing them to use the salve so common for her kind. So wrapped up in trying to help Indi, she very nearly missed the signal. The growling of her own waiting forces finally drew her attention and much to the relief of those seeking to render assistance to Indigo, the small elf ran off towards the Cliff edge again, while swarms of her undead army flowed like glowing water down the incline and right into the raging forces below.

Lucius walked in a sea of bloodshed, striking out to either side as he slowly moved through the press of bodies. All around his men slammed into the defenders of the city, and the sheer scale of the battle brought a snarl of pleasure from him. The Beast within reveled in the energies being released, drawing it in and filling him with coursing power. Pausing in his hunt, his eyes caught a flash of movement, a splash of green amongst the browns of the Cisran defenders. Nearby was one wearing a form-fitting suit of scale mail, also wading through the tumult. With each measured blow of his fists, a marauder fell back, clutching at their chest or suddenly useless arm. Eyes narrowing behind the full helm, Lucius started in that direction, bringing his axe up as he charged. The other saw him coming, and a smile grew in the face of the pandemonium lord's approach. Lucius swung as he neared, a blow designed to cleave the Terranthi officer in twain.

His target's left hand shot out, catching Drachmel's haft and stopping the blow cold. Lucius's eyes widened in shock, the only reaction he had time to make before his opponent's free hand came up to slam into his chest, the force of the blow ripping the greataxe from his hands as he was flung back several feet, bowling over combatants as he slid and rolled across the turf before coming to a hard stop at the base of the watchtower. Groaning, Lucius slowly rolled up to one knee, his hands struggling to undo the clasps holding his helm in place as the Terranthi casually tossed Drachmel aside and started toward him.

Stopping a few feet away, he crouched slightly with fingers tightened into a clawing shape as Lucius came to his feet. Tossing his helm aside the champion of Pandemonium also dropped into a ready stance, twin blades snapping into place from the back of his ensorcelled battle-gauntlets as his fists closed. The Terranthi smiled, a finger crooking to beckon Lucius forward. "Come, barbarian."

With a roar Lucius did just that, one fist coming in a haymaker toward his enemy's jaw, the left fist jabbing just after toward the solar plexus. His opponent grabbed his right wrist, stopping it in an iron grip, while batting away the left with a fast forearm block. Lucius turned the move into a snatch-grab of his own, and the two spun in place, heaving and twisting in the other's grip.

"Your Excellency, we are ready to cast off." Deggarant slowly turned his hooded gaze to the nearby captain of the Terranthi warship Helm's Victory. He nodded slowly in acknowledgment, the piercing glare turning back to the city. Nearly a mile from the breach, the harbor only afforded a view of the dust rising above the roofs toward the storm clouds hanging over the battlefield. Only the faintest of sounds of battle, the calling of horns, could be heard over the lapping of water against the piers, and people still moved about the streets of the ward, albeit warily.

"Set sail immediately, Captain." He commanded, still looking out over the rooftops. The Victory's captain scowled slightly, but held firm at his position.

"What about Garis?" Again, slowly, Deggarant moved his gaze to the captain, eyes narrowed slightly in his displeasure at the captain's impertinence.

"He is engaging the enemy, captain." The answer did nothing to satisfy the captain, but Deggarant would not give him time to argue. "Sir, I am aboard. It's time to cast off."

"Aye, Excellency." Snapping stiffly to attention, the captain saluted smartly, and turned away, shouting commands to the Victory's crew. As they started to bustle about, preparing to cast off from the pier, Deggarant looked back to the city, sneering softly as he considered the fates of the day. Cisroe could fall for all he cared. Indeed, he couldn't fathom why the fate of one of the realms of Kaylieth would bother the Emperor, or even attract his notice. But it was not his to wonder about such things. Emperor Terranth would make his mind known should he wish it. For now, his job was done, and Deggarant now looked to return home with some satisfaction.

Blinking rapidly, he tried to regain focus as Garis slowly walked toward him, shaking his left arm from where Lucius had managed to connect during the brief trading of blows. He slowed just long enough to pick up a heavy post, part of one of the ruined trebuchets, as he stalked forward. His eyes met Lucius's own, and death was promised in that bloodshot stare as he raised his arm, intent on bashing in the fallen man's skull. His hand rose as if to ward away the blow, but Lucius was acting on another plan of action. From his fingertips a noxious combination of fluids and filth sprayed, catching Garis full in the face. The foul mess drove him back, sputtering and spitting as he tried to block his face from the attack.

The stream ended almost as quickly as he called it, as Lucius's concentration wavered, still struggling to shake of the effects of the blows Garis had inflicted. The Terranthi, meanwhile, was desperately trying to wipe his vision clear when a smaller form slammed into him, rocking him back on his heels and sending him off-balance. Blinking again as he half-turned to grab the wall and haul himself to his feet, Lucius was surprised to see his son facing off with the foreign warrior.

Daniel had watched alongside Maddock as the barbarians started to flow through the breech into the inner bailey. The two men had separated as the two armies clashed, with Maddock slipping into the city itself and Daniel striking out into the bailey. Two had faced off against him as he worked along the edges of the battle, the first being taken quickly. The second put up a better fight, forcing Daniel into a protracted duel before he could cut the feet from under the other and move on. He had spotted his father amongst the melee, and had watched as the two men fought. It was when his father had been driven back against the wall that he had charged in, to buy Lucius time to recover.

Steel bit cleanly into the heavy wood, sending wood splinters flying from the impact. Daniel wielded the longsword with skill against the larger Terranthi as Garis fell back, using the remains of the post to block Deathlight and sending occasional jabs toward the youth, but never following up when it was batted away. Daniel pressed his attack, seeking a quick cut to try to put the other at a disadvantage. Garis feinted left, then right, each time ducking back as the gleaming longsword arced through the spot where he should have been, and only Daniel's quickness got his weapon back around in time to keep the larger man from taking advantage.

The younger DeAuster slashed out, spinning the weapon around and quickly jabbing toward Garis's solar plexus. Turning to the side, the warrior sidestepped the thrust and swung his arm around, catching Daniel across his upper chest and sending him flying. Lucius had shaken out the cobwebs as Garis leaped to the side, landing near Daniel's sprawled form. The young man had been slow in trying to stand, opening himself dangerously, and with a sadistic grin of delight Garis brought his boot down hard on Daniel's chest. Blood burst from his mouth and nose, and Daniel's cry of pain was choked off as his breath was forced from him in a sheet of blinding agony.

A red haze dropped across Lucius's vision, and he didn't consciously register the howl that rang across the battlefield. Men on both sides nearest them paused, looking back at the inhuman cry that was both anguish and pure rage.

The Beast was unleashed.

"Ships ho!" The watch in the crow's nest brought Kitian Albaelia's attention toward the opening of Cisroe's bay. Two galleons were coming into view, oars working the water hard. Peering through her spyglass the young woman could see the crews swarming over the masts, preparing to hoist sails. Both were sporting the colors of the Empire of Terranth, and if her information was correct these would be the Helm's Victory and the Covenant. "Looks like Lucius may have been right to worry' Karl, the Enyala Kuru's pilot for many years merely grunted as Kitian turned toward the main deck. "Kar, get ready!" Her younger brother and first mate Karenthesis waved to her from his position near the fore deck, and then turned to start barking orders to the crew of the Kuru. The men and women hopped to their tasks immediately, having been ready for the call for some time. The cannon were loaded and primed, and Karenthesis helped two crewmen prepare the forward-mounted ballista.

"Captain, the Axe" Karl was pointing starboard, where the Axe, under the command of the pirate Lynch, had been sitting. The ship had dropped oars and was starting forward to meet the closer of the two Terranthi ships. "What the hell is he doing?" Kitian cursed silently, and leaned over the poop deck railing. "Kar, hoist the mizzen's! We're moving in!" "We're WHAT?" Karenthesis's started cry was ignored as Kitian again brought the spyglass up to get a better view of the two ships. Karenthesis nether less had the crew up from the cannons and a few moments later heavy canvas was raised along the smaller of the Kuru's two masts. Billowing as they caught the winds of the unnatural storm, the agile ship fairly leaped forward, following the larger Axe. Lynch was angling into the Covenant from port and for a second both ships were obscured by billowing clouds of smoke as each galleon fired cannon on each other. Wood flew as the heavy cannonballs smashed into the ships, though the hits were not enough to seriously damage either ship. The Terranthi captain shouted orders, ordering his men to take arms as the Axe closed in. He looked on with horror as the pirate ship plowed into the side of the galleon, the steel-reinforced bow splintering the heavy timbers with a sickening crunching sound. The crew of the Axe swarmed over the railings and swung down on ropes to the deck of the Terranthi ship, sending the deck into swirling chaos.

Kitian growled softly as smoke billowed from the side of the Victory, two of the cannonballs smashing into the upper planks of her beloved ship. Her crew, well trained and practiced in ship-to-ship warfare, held their fire, waiting for the distance to close between them and their prey. She gripped the railing as the Kuru tilted into a sweeping turn behind the galleon, canvas billowing as the Kuru moved parallel with the Victory. At this distance she could see the cannon crews working feverishly to reload the cannon, and a grim smile came to her as she turned to lean over the rail again. "Fire!" "Fire port batteries!? Karenthesis slashed his arm down, and the Kuru shuddered as its cannon roared to life. Holes appeared in the side of the Victory, and the ship visibly shook as flames roared suddenly from amidships, testament to one of her munitions stores being set off by the Kuru's barrage. The explosion sent many on the deck tumbling, and the Victory veered sharply to starboard, slamming into the Kuru's side.

Fighting to keep her balance Kitian screamed orders to the crew, many of which were already drawing weapons to repel the foreign sailors starting to leap over the railings. She saw a brief flash of red hair as Karenthesis led the charge, and then she was jumping into the fray, her cutlass flashing in the morning light peeking through the storm clouds. She lashed out left and right through the enemy, standing her ground at the foot of the stairs leading to the poop deck. Karenthesis stood near the bow, back to back with another of the Kuru's crewmen as the Terranthis tried to swarm them. Luckily for the smaller galleon only part of the Victory's crew had crossed over, the others remaining to try to disengage the two ships. The creaking of the hulls was nearly drowned out by the shouts and screams of the fight, but he, and Kitian near the aft deck, winced at the sound even as they fought to save the Kuru.

Fiona faded into view by the wall and immediately knelt beside Daniel, resting his head on her lap. "Breath, Daniel, breath?" As she worked to calm her son, Fiona pulled a softly glowing gem from a belt pouch. The sounds of battle faded from her consciousness as she concentrated, crushing the gem between her fingers and letting the mist trapped within to flow over Daniel. A faint sound, akin to a faraway scream, touched her ears as the mist settled over Daniel's chest, fading through clothing and skin as his body absorbed the vapors.

Daniel gasped immediately, a ragged inhale of much-needed breath as the gem's powers kick-started his own regenerative powers. Clouded blue eyes found her ice-green as fine fingers smoothed his hair back from his brow. "Don't move." She whispered to him, continuing her calming tone, ignoring those few daring to come closer. "Let your body heal." Daniel nodded silently, his eyes closing as the pain started to abate. Noting that his body was easing out of its rigid tightness, Fiona looked up, sending the curious back with an icy glare. Her attention, however, was focused on her husband.

Lucius and Garis were locked together, trading blow for blow on the stairs. The Terranthi's left eye was already swollen shut, and blood flowed from a gash across Lucius's cheek, smoking where it dripped on the stone. A raised arm blocked the foreign soldier's fist, and the Lord of Pandemonium suddenly pressed close, hands grabbing at his opponent as he drove the other back up the stairs. Garis clawed at Lucius's face in desperation, but failed to stop the headlong charge up the stairs, stairs that ended abruptly near the top for the rest had been torn away by the collapse of the wall.

Garis felt his foot leave the stone, and scrabbled for any kind of handhold. Growling like a wounded animal Lucius pumped his legs, forcing Garis backward over the drop. His own momentum carried him over the edge also, wings snapping open at the last second to keep him aloft, where he watched his enemy crash to the stones below. Not content with merely watching Garis fall, leathery wings folded closer, sending Lucius plummeting downward where his boots slammed into the Terranthi's battered body, forcing the chest to collapse with an audible popping sound.

Chest heaving, he stared at the corpse for a long second, before raising his face to the sky and letting out a howl of triumph. The call was joined a second later by the nearest Northras, who had watched the fight in awed silence. More joined in, and soon the inner bailey rang with the cries of the barbarians, the cries echoing off the walls and roofs beyond.

Leaving the corpse in the rubble Lucius began to stalk toward where Fiona crouched with Daniel, but a large shadow made him draw back in time to avoid being flattened by the guillaersk. The infernal beast loomed over Lucius, sizzling spittle falling from bared fangs as it snarled down at him. He growled in return, his talons flexing as he prepared to attack, but movement behind the beast gave him pause. From out of the guillaersk's shadow strode a form clad in blue billowing robes, its hands hidden within the voluminous sleeves and features obscured by a drawn hood. It moved to stand sedately beside the slavering demonoid as a second figure moved opposite. Similarly clad in all-encompassing robes of deep amethyst, this one moved with a languid grace that was a marked contrast with the last to emerge. Shuffling as though each step was agonizing, the body twisted and hunched under its green robes as it came to stand beside it's blue-robed compatriot.

The quartet arrayed themselves in a semicircle around Lucius, who looked slowly at each in turn. There was a feel of familiarity with the newcomers, and he only stepped back when, as one, the four bowed slowly to him. As they did so each dissolved into a mist that wrapped around the Pandemonium Lord, surrounding him in a vortex of dust and multicolored motes of light. Those nearest stepped back as the winds howled higher and faster, shielding their eyes from the uplifted dust caught in the unnatural tornado. Fiona threw up an arm to guard her eyes as she leaned over Daniel while others turned away to ward off the grit pelting them.

The twisting funnel lifted finally into the air and dissipating in a slow fall of dust and small debris around those within the bailey, revealing Lucius still standing where he had been, eyes closed and arms held at his sides as though in benediction. Slowly he took in a deep breath and then exhaled, the air seeming to expand and then contract around him with the innocuous movement. His eyes snapped open, the crimson gaze locking on his wife and son, and he started in that direction at a jog. Fiona looked up as he approached, and her eyes narrowed slightly as she felt the primal rage radiating from her husband. "Lucius?" When he did not reply her eyes narrowed more, and again she said his name, this time putting the power of her will behind the word. He stopped short, towering over her and Daniel, slitted eyes glowing in the morning light. "Lucius, finish it." Her gaze never wavered from his, and slowly Lucius nodded to her.

"My Lady." His words were soft, growled as his gaze shifted to Daniel. Fiona brought a hand up and gently touched his forearm, and he turned away, bellowing for his commanders. Lord Unthor and his berzerkers would defend the break in the wall while Terrak led his warband around the inner bailey toward the southern gate. Jerrak fell in beside Lucius as the Pandemonium lord headed for the archway leading into the city proper, slowing only to scoop Drachmel from where it had been tossed by Garis earlier.

"They're running!" DuBoise's cry of triumph mirrored the savage grin on DeCort's features as the mercenary troops broke ranks, fleeing toward the woods beyond. They had put up a hard struggle, standing in the face of concentrated volleys from his bowmen, but the charge of the Malirid knights had shaken their resolve. The regimented blocks of infantry bearing down on them had sent many into flight, most being run down by the circling cavalry. Lieance had joined that second push, slashed down with his glowing longsword, nearly separating an arm from a shoulder, and then kicked out to send his assailant spinning away, blood spraying into the air.

Twisting in his saddle, DeCort looked back behind him, where the bowmen were moving forward to join the footmen. DuBoise led another charge into the fleeing mercenaries, the heavily armored knights wielding their swords with deadly, practiced precision. His footmen, leaving the pursuit for the faster horsemen, were rebuilding their ranks, commanders shouting orders to be heard over the cries of the wounded and sporadic clash of arms.

"Commander!" he held his sword up as he called out, and in a moment DuBoise galloped to him, his horse rearing as he reigned it to a quick stop beside DeCort.

"Your Grace, the sellswords are fleeing toward the bay." he reported breathlessly, raising his sword in salute to his liegelord. DeCort nodded, and looked to the north again and the walls that loomed close as DuBoise continued. "The road is now open!" DeCort held fast to his reigns as he looked back around the lines of his troops again.

"Commander, lead the army forward." He used his blade to point toward the main gates of the city, and the makeshift barriers that had been erected before them. "It's time to join DeAuster in the city."

***

"Sire, we must go." The head of Nickolas Urevan's personal guard stood at attention behind his lord, as both watched the chaos unfold in the front yards of his manor house from one of the upper story balconies. Urevan had ordered the gates sealed long ago, but somehow a small group of enemy snipers had infiltrated the gatehouse, pinning his men down until an unruly rabble could invade the grounds of his manor. Now, his personal guard was fighting hard to hold the mob at bay, but with fur-clad barbarians starting to join the fray, defeat seemed certain. "Sire?"

"Yes, yes, I heard you!" Urevan snapped, whirling back toward the guard captain, and then passing him as he headed down the hallway. The portraits of Urevan's past stared accusingly down at the scion of the House Urevan, silently mocking the impending fall of the proud man. Urevan paid them no heed, his thoughts on making his escape from the jaws of the trap closing around him. Curses were leveled against the DeAusters, the Decorts of Malirid, The Terranthi, and the ungrateful peons assaulting his home. Now, he had to flee, like a beggar in the night.

Urevan's plan was simple: escape to the holdings of his ally Argus Torvien to the north and begin planning the reconquering of his realm. It had been some time since he had truly practiced the politics of war, as his jiggling belly attested, but this uncouth barbarian would learn he had been trained by the best. And then, what he would do to that bitch wife of his would make the orb that he had received some months before pale by comparison. Even now he couldn't help the sadistic smile that grew at the thought of the DeAuster woman laid out on the torturer's table, waiting for his eager "pleasures". Oh yes, she would scream"until her mouth and tongue was put to other uses"

Pressing a latch cleverly hidden within the frame of the portrait of his grandfather, Urevan waited for a small section of the wall to slide aside and he followed the captain down a narrow staircase into the bowels of the manor house. He had planned on this eventuality, and below was a small chamber, with a sealed passage leading to an escape route through the drainage system. Two servants waited for the two in the chamber, each laden with a heavy sack. Such a small pittance of his personal wealth, but it would be enough for the bribes and payments needed to start his revenge.

"Captain, when I am safely away, you will see to the escape of my wife and children." Urevan did not wait for a reply, and expected none, so used to being obeyed without question. A distasteful look came over the captain's face, but he said nothing as he moved to the door to begin opening it. Urevan waited impatiently as the myriad locks were undone, his fingers flexing as the captain straightened from the bottom lock and opened the door in preparation to step beyond. That wait grew longer, and finally his temper boiled over as the captain just stood there in the doorway. "Damnation, what are you?"

He trailed off as the captain slumped to the floor, and Urevan's eyes widened in shock and fear at the crimson gleam at the throat of his handpicked man. A soft white glow from a well-worn gauntlet illuminated a bloody blade in the darkness beyond, and the nobleman took a hasty step back as a stranger moved into the small chamber, his coal-black hair framing a lean body clad in black leathers. His hard eyes were locked on Urevan's, and a sinister half-smile crossed the lean pale features of the intruder.

"Greetin's, "Yer Majesty?"" That soft voice sent a shiver down the noble's back as the intruder mockingly half-bowed, and in his haste to back away Urevan tripped over a chest, falling to the floor where he continued to crawl backward. The two servants, being in no way desirous of a fight, dropped the bags they held and ran up the stairs, leaving Urevan by himself. The intruder stalked slowly forward, the blade twirling in his fingers. "Don' thin' tae be leavin" so soon. M'sister be lookin" forwar' tae meetin" yeh again.?

Epilogue

The fight at the south gate was a bloody affair. The soldiers tasked with holding the gate had prepared well for an attack from the outside, with overturned wagons staggered along the road to break up the movement of cavalry or large infantry formations and tiger traps along the road's edge to force the approaching enemy into a narrow corridor. The warriors of Malirid were forced to approach slowly, shields held high by the outer ranks to try to protect the inner soldiers carrying an oaken ram from the hail of arrows coming from the walls.

The Cisran defenders were unprepared for the Northras coming from the northwest, the wily Terrak ordering his men to remain quiet until the first of the columns slammed into the rear ranks of the defenders manning the trebuchets. The defense quickly dissolved into chaos, the captain on site ordering his men to barricade the gatetowers to protect the counterweight system operating the gates. The tactic worked for over an hour, until the remnants of Tasha's spectral army swept along the top of the walls killing the militia holding overwatch. Terrak quickly sent several barbarians up an adjacent tower and along the wall in a second assault. In another bloody hour the gatetowers were cleared, and Leiance led his men into the city.

Out on the water an uneasy stalemate had settled. Three frigates of the Cisran navy sallied from the dock, forcing the Axe to disengage from its fight with the Covenant. The pirate galleon limped for the open water while the Enyala Kuru huddled next to its larger cousin the Valorous. The captains of the frigates seemed unwilling to engage the warship from Dragons Land, instead moving into formation with the Covenant as the galleon slowly moved back toward the docks. With the mouth of the bay effectively blockaded for the moment, Karenthesis and Lynch saw to the hurried repairs of their respective ships while Kitian ferried over to the Valorous to speak to her captain.

With the wild magic unleashed by Tasha and Indigo still playing havoc with the black powder weapons the Terranthi had armed the militia the fighting in the streets bogged down into a protracted melee. With the two battle lines of Northras and Malirid converging on the edge of the manor district the commander overseeing the defense of the city ceded the western and southern districts to the invaders, setting their lines with an anchor on the walls separating the manor district from the mercantile district. For nearly four hours the two forces gave no quarter, battering each other in the deadliest of combat environs. Slowly the Northras started to curl the defenders lines back on itself, Lord Unthor's berserkers pushing from the northwest while Lucius and Leiance led a second strong thrust from the south.

As the afternoon shadows began to lengthen word began to filter back that a white flag had been spotted, and within the hour a meeting was arranged, to be held in Dauphin Plaza, the largest square of Cisroe's mercantile district. Dominated by a fountain dedicated to Lorina, the Kayliethian goddess of the sea, the plaza made the ideal spot for parley. Warriors from both sides lined the edges of the plaza, watching as the Cisran representatives moved with their flagbearer to stand beside the fountain.

"The shorter of the two is Author Crane, the mayor of Cisroe." Lucius and Leiance looked to the man standing to the left of the Pandemonium Lord, then back toward the fountain and the men standing there. Johan Farriss rested a hand on his sword pommel as he slowly moved behind Lucius to stand between the two. "The one in plate looks to be Jonathan Harte, the Duke of Blackcrest."

"Makes sense. Blackcrest is the closest ducal seat to Cisroe." Leiance slowly looked over to Lucius, then to Farriss. "What about the flagman' He looks to be a bit high up the food chain."

"That would be William Gerard, the official commander of Cisroe's militia and constabulary." There was no mistaking the stream of venom in Farriss's tone, and both looked to him as he spit on the ground. "He's Urevan's hand-picked bully-boy and the one that sent me and my men to Duke Torvien." Leather creaked as Lucius's grip on Drachmel's haft tightened, but his voice was carefully controlled.

"Let's get this over with." He nodded to the young man Farriss had picked to carry their own flag of parley, and the three fell in behind. It was strangely quiet as they walked toward the fountain, almost as though the air itself was holding its breath during this meeting. There was a long moment of silence after the two groups arrived at the fountain, each sizing up the other.

Antetion Palace, Cisroe, Mercivya The main audience hall was filled with the soft sounds of conversation between the gathered nobles of Mercivya. It had been nearly a week since the invasion, and most had been kept within their manors under watch from the soldiers of Malirid. The various nobles had been kept abreast of the talks between The Duke of Blackcrest and the leader of the barbarians by messenger, while servants were allowed to venture to the markets for food, bringing back stories and rumors of their own. Each day grew more tales, from foreign armadas filling the bay to gibbets of sacrifices being erected in the market squares, each holding an empty noose for a royal neck.

As dawn rose brilliant over the waters of Cisroe Bay pages began to arrive at doors throughout the manor district. "Your presence is requested and directed for this afternoon by the fifteenth hour in the Halls of Antetion." While undersigned by the Duke of Blackcrest, the wording gave many pause and new fear. But, the conclave had been called, and they were honor bound to attend. And thus, under a bright afternoon sun carriages clattered down the cobblestone streets toward the palace that dominated the northern corner of the manor district. Each was escorted by four knights of Malirid, their armor and weapons, having been reconditioned after the battle days prior, gleaming in the sunlight.

Gathering in the main audience hall, the ruling elite were able to finally talk to their peers and begin to gather nuggets of truthful news. For one, there was no armada sitting off the coast, but rather the Valorous remained on station near the mouth of the bay. The bodies of those killed during the street battles had been cleared away, and none of the reported blood madness was in evidence. Two of the barons that had been trapped within Cisroe refused to attend, and were being kept under tight house arrest. Of the nobility that had been outside the city when the battle had broken out outside only two had refused to come in the intervening days. One, Baron Clynne of Rosecliff, had already fled by galleon with what wealth he and his family could pack. The Duke of Valdell, Roger Chamberlayne, had reportedly closed himself within Valdell Keep, which was even now being surrounded by the Black Tiger clan.

Of more immediate interest were the changes to the audience hall itself. The banners that bore the crest of Urevan's family arms had been removed, replaced by black and green-edged livery bearing a stylized armored fist clutching an eight-pointed ring. The courtyard and outer halls were guarded by the soldiers of Malirid, but the men-at-arms stationed near the door and at points along the perimeter of the room bore the same livery. In the past Urevan sat alone on the dais at the end of the hall, his wife relegated to a simple seat at the foot of the stairs, subservient to her husband's power when allowed to attend him in court at all. Now, that gilded throne had been removed and replaced by a simpler heavy oak chair, two smaller chairs of the same material on either side.

Movement near the arched entry to the hall first gained the attention of those nearest it, and the subtle fading of conversation took hold within the room as the gathering turned toward the doors. A court page stood at attention his ceremonial staff coming down three times to call for silence. "His Grace The Duke of Cyprien Drathwar, Leiance DeCort of Malirid and Captain Reginald Martyn of Dragons Land." Leiance fought hard to suppress the soft chuckle at the looks as he and his companions entered the hall. To his left was Captain Martyn, dressed in the brown and white uniform of the naval arm of Dragons Land's military and contrasting with the sky blue and silver doublet he had changed into after the battles and subsequent negotiations. Behind the two walked DeCort's second, Commander Jarrevik DuBoise, his armor repaired and buffed to a brilliant sheen. The quartet moved down the aisle created by the gathered nobles to a spot prepared near the front, where they joined Johan Farriss.

"Greetings, Your Grace." Johan nodded slowly as they settled beside him, the commander's eyes flicking slowly over the subdued crowd. He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable in the doublet he wore, a hand resting near his belt as though ready to grasp the hilt that wasn't there. "This should be interesting, to say the least."

"The endgames usually are." Leiance replied, movement spotted in his peripheral vision bringing his attention back toward the doors where the page again struck his ornate staff against the marble floor.

"The Right Honorable The Earl of Falldale Lorcain DeWil and The Lady Kitian Albaelia." The taller of the two standing in the doorway was all black, though the well-worn leather armor had been put aside for a rich silk doublet and overcoat. Lorcain's hair was pulled back in a ponytail that gleamed in the light coming in from the windows, a severe look that contrasted with the more conservative styles currently in fashion with the court. Kitian stood with her arm entwined with his, resplendent in a blue velvet dress, the silver trim matching her hair in the afternoon sun. While she would have preferred to be overseeing the last of the repairs to the Enyara Kuru her older brother Morguian had requested that she represent the Albaelia family for this event. Fiona and Myrialla had stepped in to help her prepare since her wardrobe on-board the Kuru was limited and Lorcain had, in his own style, offered to escort her. She now offered a soft smile to those they passed as they walked along the carpet to take their spot beside Leiance, the small group exchanging the quiet greetings of friends forged on the field as the soft murmurs again filled the hall.

"I don't see any of the Northras." Kitian leaned closer to Leiance while softly speaking, her eyes darting about the parts of the crowd she could see without being blatant. Leiance chuckled softly, and leaned her way, their heads almost touching.

"DeAuster thought it best that they not be here, so as not to upset the nobles unduly." His gaze cut to the solemn Farriss as he continued. "They have been moved to the outskirts and outside the city and Commander Farriss's men have been brought forward to take over the duties of security."

"All fer tha air of civility?" Lorcain grumbled softly from the other side of Kitian, drawing a raised brow from Leiance and an amused soft chuckle from Kitian who patted his arm gently. She leaned closer into him for a second, all watching the doors again as several pike-wielding men-at-arms entered and moved up the central aisle to take positions along its edge. The page rapped the butt of his ornate staff against the marble tile, glanced to the doorway once, then looked back to the assemblage.

"The Lord Marshal of Raven's Fast, former ambassador and Bellor Perdifictor of the church of Leorn, Member of the Order of Maestelle and Orklar Okaalkec, Lord Lucius DeAuster." The figure that stepped into the doorway started a new round of whispers, for it was not the butcher that had been widely speculated about for the last several days. The armor had been left behind in the camp outside the city, set aside for a black silk shirt and overcoat, the edges lined with the green that made up part of his heraldry. His auburn hair was pulled back and tied by a beaded leather strap, a gift from Jerrak's wife on the eve of the battle that took the city. The one constant, however, was the great-axe slung across his back, the haft angling over his left shoulder

Lucius stood quietly for several seconds, his arms folded behind him as his steel-gray eyes flicking over the assembled as they took him in. The thought of the use of those titles and the sour taste it would bring the representatives of the religious orders amused him, and in fact was a carefully-calculated move, to impress upon the peerage gathered that each newcomer belonged amongst their number. The right corner of his mouth twitched upward in a sardonic smile as he slowly brought up his right hand to chest level, palm upward, prompting the page to speak again. "Arch-Mage of the Eleventh Tier of Carowyn, Knight of the Obsidian Blade for the Courts of Zymire, and Marchioness of Crystalshade Coast, The Most Honorable Marchioness Fiona Juree DeWil DeAuster." Fiona glided into view from the right side of the doorway, her gloved fingers curling around Lucius's as she took her place beside him. Her dress was a polar opposite of Lucius's outfit, the green velvet being offset with a fall of diamonds that, like the diadem she wore, caught the light as she moved. Lucius and Fiona shared a glance, her lips curling in a smile that held just a touch of warmth, and he brought up his left hand in mirror of the right.

"The Lady Myrialla Tamsina VasDailar." Peach silk rustled softly as Myrialla joined Lucius and Fiona, a vibrant counterpoint to their muted colors that flowed out behind her in a train of cloth. Her smile was serene as she looked about those nearest the trio, a disarming gesture that came so easy to the woman the Northras had christened their angel. Exchanging last glance between the two Lucius looked ahead and as one the three stepped forward, moving down the aisle toward the dais. The room had quieted as they walked, and as they passed the last two guardsmen the eight turned as one to face the dais. Fiona glanced to the side as they passed their gathered friends, and the smile she wore mirrored that of her brother Lorcain.

Lucius stopped at the bottom of the dais, extending his arms as Fiona and Myrialla continued upward to stand before the two smaller chairs and releasing their hands as they turned to face the assemblage. Lucius paused for a few seconds more, then reached back and drew Drachmel from its harness, spinning the weapon effortlessly and bringing the butt of the haft down hard, sending marble chips flying as the spikes ringing the base of the haft bit deep to hold the greataxe in a standing position when his hand left it. The act was a statement as loud as it had been shouted, the same sentiments that had rang out over the myriad realms and multiverses for time immemorial:

With this axe, do I rule.

((Reader advisory for adult situations. NSFW))

Looking over to cursing Urevan Lucius smirked, shaking his head in mock sorrow before his gaze moved back to his daughter. "Anne-Eliece, your reputation precedes you." He made to bow slightly as the young woman drew herself up, bringing a soft rumbling chuckle. "And am I correct in presuming that you expect a similar disposition as your mother has received?"

"I have done nothing against you or yours, sir." Anne-Eliece's voice held no fear as she returned Lucius's gaze evenly. "Given that, as well as to the humane and generous way you have treated my mother, I would hope to also avail myself on your mercy." A russet brow rose fractionally as Lucius regarded her, prompting the young woman to continue. "After all, you are not the barbarian that rumor and courtly innuendo has made you out to be."

And just how many naive young men have been seduced by that glib tongue" The thought sprang into Lucius's mind before he could stop it, and the haunting echo of Fiona's mental laughter somehow kept him from chortling openly himself. Outwardly he made no movement for several seconds, finally nodding once, slowly. "Well spoken, Your Royal Highness." He watched Anne-Eliece carefully, caught the shadow of a smile and again had to resist the urge to laugh aloud. "Well spoken indeed." He stepped forward; coming off the dais to stand slightly to Anne-Eliece's left and turning his head to look at her. "It's too bad though, that you are wrong."

At that verbal cue the guards shifted, the Maliridian soldiers stepping back, one pulling Marlon with him, as the Gharnholmian men-at-arms left Urevan and grabbed Anne-Eliece by the arms. Steel flashed in the light streaming through the bay windows as keen-edged daggers were brought to bear. The screams of Urevan's daughter mingled with those of shock coming from the watching ladies in the hall as the daggers descended, cutting the dress away from her as skillful as a hunter skinning a stag. The dress and chemise underneath was quickly reduced to a pile of torn cloth around the struggling woman's feet, even the delicate stockings being sliced from kicking legs to leave her naked before the eyes of the room.

Lucius had watched the assembled nobles in his peripheral vision, and noted that while several of the men had shouted their outrage none had dared the ready guards that lined the aisle and perimeter. Urevan had tried to lunge forward again, but Sir Herzog had stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, forcing the defeated monarch to fall onto his side with a scream of agony as the unnatural chill bit deep. Writhing on the marble floor he could only watch as Anne-Eliece was held in place, her arms held outward to prevent her from saving her last vestiges of modesty. Even Kitian was surprised by the display, though behind and above Lucius Fiona and Myrialla watched the proceedings as though it was nothing more than a recalcitrant slave being punished, and Lorcain held a decidedly and staged bored expression.

"You are indeed beautiful, just as the stories have said." Lucius admitted as he stepped in front of the struggling Anne-Eliece. The young woman hissed at him and lashed forward, a glob of spittle landing on Lucius's neck in the act. He chuckled softly, a hand rising up so two fingers could wipe away the offensive saliva. "And spirited. Good, that will serve you well where you are going." He stepped closer, chest to breast with Anne-Eliece, and she suddenly screamed and twisted at feeling his hand covering her mons, a finger slipping between her labia and deeper within. After a second he stepped back, holding up his hand to show the gleam of moisture staining the leather-clad fingertips. "Such a pity though, that you are not pure. It will cut the final price somewhat." His gaze left her shocked features, looking to the guards holding her. "I want her collared and on her way to Ivory Flails by sunrise."

"Bastard! Mongrel!" Urevan struggled up to one knee as his daughter was dragged screaming toward the doors, only to be forced down again by Sir Herzog. He was practically frothing as he raged, putting to voice the shock and outrage radiating in the room. His words were cut short as Lucius whirled on him, crimson flashing in his eyes as he pointed toward the bound noble.

"Spare me your indignant hypocrisy, Urevan!" Lucius snarled, but his next words were cut off by a voice from behind him. It was loud enough to catch everyone's attention and bring it to Myrialla who now held a crumpled piece of parchment in her hands. Her gaze flitted between the paper and Urevan as she read aloud the letter, and those who knew her could not quite recall ever seeing her eyes look so cold.

"I do believe the loss of the two would be a mortal strike in the hearts of our shared enemy. While the boy is of no use and can be disposed at your leisure, the girl holds some beauty and grace and will fetch a fine price in Ivory Flails or Darkovan." Lowering the parchment Myrialla glared at the fallen Urevan. "Your own words, "my lord", in correspondence with your ally Argus Torvien of Bastien." Farriss did not attempt to hide his smile as Lucius stepped closer to Urevan, his hands slowly flexing as they felt the need to grapple Urevan's throat. As for Fiona, her expression was unreadable and that was perhaps even worse, for the ones who knew her had seen the same expression in times past during her years as an assassin for the various guilds and Duibh Order.

"Remember what I told you when all this began, Urevan." Lucius's voice had dropped in timbre as he stared down at the chained nobleman. In truth he was struggling to keep The Beast in check and not become what Urevan had claimed. "I told you I would do to you what you wished of me." Lucius turned his head slightly to look toward the Lady Eliane, standing beside and supported by her brother, as well as the young Marlon. His expression hardened as he looked back to his enemy. "And, as I remember, you wanted to take my lands, take my wife as your personal slave, sell my daughter into slavery?" A hand had been held up where most could see, a finger curling into the palm with each item on his list. He paused for effect before growling the last of the sentence, the final finger dropping to form a clenched fist. ?"and you wanted to kill my boy.?

Kitian looked toward Lorcain as the hall filled with the buzz of whispered conversation. For his part Fiona's brother held a stoic expression, though when he returned the gaze she could see an emotional fire twinkling in the depths of his eyes. Leiance was softly laughing, having started when Urevan was dragged out of the halls. "Lucius thinks this be a safe way of dealing with the likes of him?" "If Urevan were to be executed, he becomes a martyr." The duke from Malirid looked to Kitian as he spoke, though his eyes roamed along the gathered nobles as he sought to gauge their demeanor. "This way, not only does he demonstrate mercy, but he can quietly hold the well-being of Urevan over the heads of any supporters he doesn't yet know."

"And keep them at bay, should they be planning anything." She nodded slowly in reply as she looked back to the dais where Lucius, Fiona and Myrialla sat whispering among themselves. "Your idea, I'm guessing?" Leiance merely smirked in reply, having overheard the growl from Kitian's other side. It was obvious that Lorcain had other ideas when dealing with Urevan.

"My lords and ladies?" Lucius's strong voice brought their attention back to the front where he had once again come to his feet, his arms spread and palms upward as if in benediction. "You have seen my judgment, and now we have a decision to make, you and I." Slowly he stepped down, coming to the floor and placing himself level with the assemblage. "Contrary to the rumors that have been prevalent about myself and my motives, I have no desire to take from you your titles, lands or wealth. Just the opposite, I would hope that together, you and I can mold this realm and guide it forward for the betterment of ourselves and the people that rely on us for protection and guidance." Looking to the side Lucius made a quick gesture prompting two pages to bring a chest forward. The chest was set in the aisle before Lucius, and he waited for the pages to retreat back to their positions before speaking again.

"In the spirit of new beginnings, I give you this." He motioned to the chest with his right hand as he spoke, his eyes roaming over those gathered. "In this chest are the collected materials that Urevan held to ensure your cooperation and loyalty." Pausing for a few seconds, he let a wry half-smile cross his features as the mood of the nobles shifted, a darker pall falling over the emotional wash of the room. He would have to thank Urevan later for this gift. "Therefore, I give this to you as a symbol of my commitment to the future." Lucius's hand closed into a fist, and a wave of astonishment rippled through the gathered nobility as a black cloud formed over the chest, boiling for several seconds before falling away like a morning mist and leaving an empty spot where the chest had rested.

"To be honest, I am not interested in the skeletons that may be in your closets, nor am I interested in the intrigues that invariably surround the court." Lucius had to raise his voice to be heard over the din, and he again stopped for a moment to let the assemblage regain a semblance of calm. When he spoke next however Lucius's timbre held a thread of iron. "I do, however, expect your loyalty to the throne and the realm."

Slowly he looked around the room, taking in the somber faces that regarded him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Leiance nodding slightly in approval, while Kitian also looked around those standing by Lorcain and herself. "I do not want any pretentious displays of fealty. All I ask is that you show your loyalty to the throne." Lucius half-turned and looked toward the dais, the smile taking a hint of warmth when it was only Fiona and Myrialla who could see it.

After an eternity of a moment it was The Duke of Blackcrest that first moved, slowly dropping to a knee with his head bowed. His sister Eliane followed suit, dropping into a courtesy, one hand holding her skirts while the other urged her son Marlon to do the same, the young boy awkwardly aping his uncle. First in pairs then more the assemblage showed courtesy toward the dais, the only sound in the hall being the rustling of fabric and the occasional grunt coming from those older noblemen. Leiance dropped into a half-bow as Kitian curtseyed, until only Lorcain remained standing upright. He folded his arms as he nodded once toward his sister and Myrialla, and neither could truly hide the amusement at his blatantly disrespectful behavior.

None of the three on the dais would have it any other way.

"My friends, please rise." Lucius's voice rang out as he turned back around, his hands motioning for the nobles to stand. "Over the next weeks I will be meeting with each of you to discuss your individual needs and desires, and we will look to chart a new future for Mercivya and its people.?