Prag was dreaming. He was dreaming one of his favourite dreams, he had it often when he was in a comfortable bed. He was walking. With each step he'd travel miles across the landscape. He'd move through fields and forests, across rivers and mountains. The whole world was his to explore and nothing could slow him down. Eventually he would stride up through the sky and wander through the silence among the stars. Tonight however, a strange and urgent voice was interrupting his repose and pulling him back towards the unpleasantness of reality.
Prag woke slowly and groggily with his sword at another man's throat.
The voice from his dream came again. "Prag!" It whispered desperately. "Prag! It's me! Warlis! For the love of drink, don't kill me!" "Warlis?" Prag mumbled blearily. "Didn't I shoot you?"
Warlis had attempted to sneak in and wake Prag quietly and, much to his chagrin, ended up pinned against a wall with a knife at his throat, a knee in his groin and his own sword arm very nearly broken. "Yes, you shot me in the leg. It's much better now. Why don't we laugh about it over a round of ale, eh?" Warlis was nearly in tears trying to talk down the half-conscious mercenary.
"I was having a very nice dream." Prag looked like he was quite willing to kill for the interruption of his good night's sleep.
"Yeah?" Warlis's voice was becoming hoarse as Prag unconsciously pressed the knife harder against the thief 's throat. "What was so nice about it?" He choked. He then smiled in the most passive manner he could muster.
"You weren't in it." Prag tossed Warlis to the ground while disarming him and nicking his purse all at once. He gave the prostrate burglar a swift kick in the ribs for good measure and considered going back to bed.
"You slit my throat Prag, you piece of toad's stool." Warlis spat out between coughs.
Prag was entirely awake now and was very much annoyed at that fact. "I did not slit your throat. I cut you neck. There's a world of difference. I could show you if you like." Prag sat down and started counting the money he'd just earned.
"This is a lot of cash to have on hand." Prag levelled a suspicious gaze at his foul-weather friend. "What's going on Warlis?"
Warlis, while trying to bandage his neck without strangling himself, was slow to reply. "It's for you Prag. I'm here to hire you."
That was not the answer Prag had expected. Nor was it an answer he was finding easy to accept. He bounced around the possibility of it being a lie, but it seemed too implausible to be invented. "Why in the hells would you want to hire me?"
"Not me Prag—Us." Warlis's voice became low and sober. "We got double crossed. We've had to go to ground and we need someone to take the fight to the two-faced-bastard-son-of-a-mule."
"Who is it?" Prag weighed the bag in his hand. It was sizable, but not so much as to pay for the death of anyone powerful or important.
"You know the shadow cloaks? Well, we've always paid for them in-kind. The old wizard that makes them would exchange them to us in return for gathering trinkets and oddities for him. It's never been anything particularly big or dangerous that he's wanted in the past. This time, though, he was looking for happened to be the dead body of the Emperor and the living body of a certain princess."
Prag was sceptical. "Kidnapping isn't exactly your normal fare. Why would Vinsen agree to it?"
"The boss didn't have much choice. Mr. Mercury, the wizard, had secretly put a contingency spell on the cloaks. He said he could turn them off whenever he wanted. Without those cloaks, we're just a rabble of catburglars and cut-purses. So Vinsen gave in and Mr. Mercury promised great rewards for the successful completion of the task."
A flare went off in Prag's mind but he couldn't catch what it was trying to illuminate. "So why are you trying to get me to off this wizard Mercury? Is that really his name?"
"I suspect as much as Prag is yours," Warlis said cynically "Whatever his real name is, he fancies himself above our little code of business ethics. Two days ago when he figured out that we had failed miserably to catch your little princess in there, he snapped his fingers and not only did our cloaks turn off, they turned against us. The clasps locked down and they shrank. Anyone who was wearing their cloaks got strangled to death. Of the ten of us up here, only three of us survived: me, cause you stole my cloak, Mert, cause he wasn't wearing his, and Figgs cause his was wet and that made it shrink slow enough for him to cut it off."
"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that the only reason we're still alive is 'cause we were soaked?" Prag wasn't sure if he was grateful or annoyed at the number of times dumb luck had saved him in the past two weeks.
Warlis was too depressed to answer and continued with his explanation. "We couldn't contact Antiq either. Either nobody was answering or nobody was there to answer. We had to assume that most of them were corpsed too. So we pooled our cash and I came to hire you to dish out some retribution."
"You should know that this isn't enough to hire me to kill someone." Prag tossed the bag back to Warlis a few coins light. "And no where near enough to send me up against a wizard. What made you think I'd take this job."
"Cause he put a hit out on you." Warlis said with a sly grin. "I figured that might lower your price a little."
Prag got deadly serious. "How do you know this?"
"I have your attention now, Sir? Word went out in Antiq the day after you shot me. We got word of it through the usual channels. The contract is to kill you and then bring the kid and the girls you're travelling with back to Antiq."
Cogs were turning in Prag's mind "Who took the contract?" "No one. Fastest contract to get turned down ever. Nobody in
Antiq is gonna take a contract against you, except maybe Syd, but he's already out on work. Besides, the money looked too good. It was a shady deal. Mercury got blacklisted for it. Basically thrown right out of Antiq. "
The flare in Prag's mind went off again and the cogs in his mind screeched to a halt. "How did you find me so quickly, Warlis?" He asked with a growing sense of dread.
"Oh, we can always tell where the other Shadow Thieves are. We've got these little cape compass... oh gods I'm thick."
Prag dove under the bed grabbing for his shrunken shadow cloak. His plan bounced between burning them, and strapping them to a horse and sending it galloping of into the night. He also did a quick run of the numbers on the feasibility of sending a burning horse galloping off into the night with them strapped to it. He didn't get a chance to finish the calculations. Just as he had the cape in hand, the most terrible scream he could have ever imagined shook the house.
The boy had not been sleeping well. Something he had eaten at dinner wasn't agreeing with him. He had never had an upset stomach before, so he wasn't really sure what to do about it. He tried eating something else, but the horsehair stuffing from the chair was dry and unpleasant and certainly didn't help.
Eventually he decided to get up off the floor where he had fallen asleep and go outside for fresh air. He didn't really like being indoors.
This was a nicer indoors than the other one he had been in—warmer and softer. But it was still stuffy.
Once outside he started to cough and heave. A guard looked out of his covered watch posts, but ducked back out of the rain as soon as he was sure it was just someone who had drunk too much.
It took a good couple of minutes, but eventually he coughed up all of the cutlery that he had consumed. After that he felt much better.
He looked over the remains of the silver fork and spoon and added them to the short list of things not to eat. He had thought it might have been the chicken—the bones had been hard to swallow. He was glad it was the metal that was bad food. The chicken was tasty.
After purging himself of the mangled silverware, he found himself a little hungry again. He thought that he might like another chicken. Conveniently enough, a number of them hopped quietly over the back wall of the compound. The chicken he had eaten had been cut up and cooked, but he figured they'd probably taste just as good raw. One of them was even bounding right up to him.
It was a bit bigger than the one he had eaten earlier, and it still had all its limbs attached. It was quite a bit greener than he expected it to be, but he knew that a very white rabbit looked rather brown after Prag had cooked it, so he didn't question it. The chicken's legs were awfully long.
It mostly kept them kind of folded up except when it jumped. Chickens seemed to jump really high. They climbed well too, probably because of the long clawed fingers on their feet and their nimble little hands.
He grabbed the one that was bounding straight at him by its enormous ears and tore off its head. He thought that prudent as it seemed to have rather pointy teeth and it might have bit him if he hadn't. He then sat and calmly devoured his chicken.
He saw a couple of them leap into the guard posts. But the guards must not have been hungry because the chickens left shortly afterwards. Then even more leaped over the walls and bounded around to the front of the house.
When he reached the long leathery tail of the chicken, he found a small knife hanging from it by a chain. He carefully removed it and set it with the remains of his spoon and fork. Feeling proud that he'd learned something he finished the last remnants of his chicken happily. It wasn't quite as tasty as the cooked one, but it made him feel much more sated and a little bit bouncy.
Once finished, he started to hear a lot of chittering and some scraping in the courtyard on the other side of the house. He wandered around to see what all the chickens were up to.
He was very upset to see what they had done. The guards that were on watch were lying dead in the yard. He ran up to one and saw that his throat had been cut wide open. The chickens heard him moving and some turned their attention towards him. The others continued wrestling with the heavy bar that kept the main gate closed.
Three of the green-skinned creatures charged at him. As the first one made it within striking distance, it threw its feet in the air and whipped its tail out in front of it. The small blade attached to it would have slashed the boy's neck wide open had he not caught the thing.
He grabbed it by the knife and swung it around. The chicken made a very quiet and very high pitched squeal as it was whipped around and used as a club to smash its already airborne comrade to the ground. The third made its mark, It slashed the boy's cheek wide open then latched onto his head with all four sets of claws and prepared to bite open his throat before he could scream. Instead it found itself screaming as its large muscular legs were torn ungraciously from its hips.
The boy tossed his last opponent to the ground as the newly repaired main gate swung open. On the far side of those doors stood a horrible thing. It was almost as tall as the walls themselves. It was dripping with mud, moss, and weeds. Its long arms went all the way to the ground, dragging its long talons along the cobblestone. Its gaping mouth was filled with jagged and blackened teeth and a variety of fungi grew within his reeking maw. The stench it exuded was enough to make a man wretch and the ravenous gaze that landed on the boy was the most horrifying thing he'd ever seen in his very short life.
The kid screamed. He screamed with all his might. It was so loud that all the creatures in the yard threw their hands to their ears in pain, as did the boy. The monstrous piece of walking swamp, however, seemed only angered by the noise and it charged.
The kid's ears hurt so badly from his own cry that he failed completely to defend himself from the wall of swamp thundering towards him. The creature pulled back one of its massive arms and delivered a fist as big as a man at terrible speeds to the self-deafened boy. He flew backward, crashed through an outer wall and into the dining room. The enormous creature let out an enormous bellow and dozens more of the agile little creatures leaped over the walls. It roared again and some similar creatures raced in through the breached gate riding on the backs of boars and shaking spears.
The scream had woken everyone. The thunderous crash had them on their feet. The cacophonous bellow of the beast had them at their windows.
As Cariolta flung open her shutters she saw the throng of green-skinned monsters swarming the yard. "What in the hells are those?" she shouted.
From the window next to hers, Prag replied with all the reservation and poise required by such a situation. "What in the name of all the gods and devils did I do to deserve this. One night's rest. One! Is that too much? Warlis, I hate you. I thought you should know that before I die."
Kish, from slightly behind Cariolta added her much more focused assessment. "Close the shutters, those little things with the big ears are ravids. They can jump high enough to get in here. The ones on the boars are gremlins—nasty little things. The big thing is a swamp troll, a very large and angry swamp troll. It shouldn't be here. None of them should be. This is far from their homes and they do not get along with each other."
Kish was entirely right about the ravids being able to jump up to the windows. One of them was kind enough to demonstrate. It leapt up and grabbed hold of the window sill and was in the process of whipping its tail over its head to slash at Warlis when Prag, ungrateful for the display of jumping prowess, slammed the shutters on the creature's fingers.
"These shutters won't stop a troll if it decides it wants in." Prag shouted through the wall separating the two rooms. "Grab something sharp and let's get the hells out of here."
The four met in the lushly carpeted hallway as ready for battle as they could be. Cariolta was wearing a heavy sleeping gown which succeeded in concealing what little figure she had. Her golden locks were wrapped up in curlers and her thick layers of face whitener and rouge were still perfectly applied.
Kish was quite the opposite. Her long dark hair looked like she had already endured several hours of battle. She had managed to throw her still-wet riding jacket over her shoulders and had wrapped a sheet loosely around her waist. She was struggling to fasten enough buttons with a sword in each hand to be decent. Prag and Warlis glanced at each other with the miserable and mutual understanding that neither had enough time to savour the quantity of dark skin being displayed by the foreign princess. With great resignation, they drew their respective blades and headed for the stairs.
The Baron entered a moment later. He had pulled on some breeches and hefted a finely crafted short-spear. The Baroness followed, moving with grace and elegance to shame the two half dressed princesses. Her satin sleeping gown was covered by a long and equally luxurious robe which flowed behind her as she swept into the hallway. Her striped familiar followed close behind, both of them crackling with magical energy.
Baron Taimon stretched his neck, loosened his shoulders and fell into stance at the top of the stairs beside Warlis. He paused for a moment, and then a moment longer. "Where did you come from?" He asked to the wiry stranger with the hunting knife standing beside him.
"I'm with him," replied Warlis quickly, avoiding eye contact.
"The hells you are," Prag whispered, as he was trying to hear what might be going on downstairs. "You're about as useful as a sword made of manure right now. Get the hells out of the way and let someone competent take your place before you get yourself killed."
"Didn't we shoot you last week?" Cariolta interrupted.
"Did you?" Replied the nervous thief. "Not to worry, I won't let it ruin our friendship."
"Move!" said Prag again, as the thief continued to occupy a key point in their front line. "You can talk the gremlins to death just as well from the back."
Warlis slunk back and joined the three women, one of which immediately took his place, which only served to increase the insult.
The Baron, now flanked by Prag and Cariolta began to speak crisply as he advanced down the wide flight of stairs. "Prag. I hereby charge you with the protection of the princess and her companions." He continued to speak as he shoved a well-stuffed purse into Prag's hands.
"If I refuse?" Prag mused.
"Then I'll kill you here and now." The Baron was cold and focused on his advance. "I'll double what's in that bag if I somehow survive this night."
As they neared the bottom of the stairs they found that Kazé had already engaged the enemy. He was growling and panting heavily. Three ravids were laid out, shredded at his feet and more than a dozen others encircled him waiting for an opening. The fighters at the front of the human line charged the ravids closest to the stairs and the battle was joined. The quick little ravids wasted no time in counter-charging. They leaped easily over the ferocious wolf and descended on the new assailants.
Prag did his best to fight off the exhausting onslaught. The creatures were too fast for Prag to land a solid hit with his shortsword. He was able to protect his vitals from the tiny daggers whipping around the tails of the beasts, but he was quickly getting covered in small cuts on his unprotected arms and they were cutting through his leather breeches relatively quickly. He knew that he could defend himself like this for some time, but he would eventually be worn down. He adopted a new strategy quickly. He took the incoming attacks square on and cut down the ravids as they recovered from their bounding assaults. The wounds were deeper and some would need stitches, but his opponents were falling and those standing were becoming much less confident in their attacks.
Once he felt that he had gained ground on the ravids swarming around the grand hall, he answered the Taimon's charge. "Very well, Baron. I accept your assignment under the following terms: For the duration of one week, starting immediately, I shall act to the best of my abilities as Bodyguard to Princess Cariolta Mendrana dur Hael, Princess Desida Kish, and High Alpha Tsukinokazé, for exactly twice the sum found in this satchel. The balance of payment is to be delivered by you and cannot be collected from any secondary parties. In the circumstance that my life be ended in the servicing of this contract, the balance of the payment is to be delivered to my only secondary agent present at this meeting, Warlis Thatchman of Antiq. Should I fail in my aforementioned duties despite due diligence I shall be required to return three-fifths of the initial payment as is laid out in the Charter of Antiq Mercenary Labour. Should I fail to perform assigned duties with due diligence, I shall be expected to pay a fine to the employer equal to one-quarter the agreed payment in addition to any penalties deemed appropriate for the resulting losses caused by my negligence by a tribunal of the four seats of Antiq."
The Baron was astonished at the severity of the mercenary's tone and the unflappable professionalism of the man who delivered the terms of a fair and binding contract while at the same time being stabbed repeatedly by tiny knives. "Agreed!" the Baron shouted, much less composed than the blood-soaked man beside him.
Prag, too, was impressed. He had seen Cariolta fight. Her stance and form had seemed well-polished. Now she appeared as a child imitating the movements of an adult. The Baron had been trained properly and he had excelled at the art. His stance was relaxed to the point of appearing unbalanced. His spear rested lightly in his hands in the brief moments when it was still. His eyes seemed to focus on nothing, but see everything. He would coil up defensively and then strike out like a viper using the length of the spear to its full advantage. Cariolta was skilful enough to keep the ravids away from her; the Baron was so much more skilled as to draw the chittering little monsters in with a feint and then strike them dead with a single blow.
The Baroness Verena was showing her worth as well. A half-dozen ravids bounded through the door and were instantly shredded by a rain of glass shards. The enchantress had pulled the ornate cut glass chandelier apart with her mind and was pelting the incoming enemies with crystalline daggers. Once her ammunition had been exhausted, she conjured a small tornado, used it to gather the scattered broken glass, and proceeded to chase the hopping little green creatures around the room.
The tide of the defence of the Manor was turning in their favour. Suddenly the large ears of the few remaining ravids in the house perked up and in unison they retreated. There was a moment of pause when the defenders were left to wonder if they had actually achieved some form of victory. Their question was soon answered as a huge moss-covered fist crashed through the second-story windows of the manor sending wood, plaster and glass raining down into the main hall.
"Out the back!" Taimon yelled over the crashing timbers. "That thing will bring the whole house down."
All seven raced for the back of the building as plaster fell from the ceiling all around them. The supports of the glamourous manor shook and split as the troll pounded against it again and again. They cleared the servants' door in the back, but the house started to list severely backwards as the troll out front roared and put its full weight against it. As the house reached the point of certain collapse, it stopped. The sound of pounding and smashing ceased and the group was left standing, thankful and confused, beneath the dangerously slanted outer wall of the manor.
The boy had woken up to the sound of crashing wood and breaking glass. He was in pain. It was not a feeling he liked and one that he had previously decided to avoid. He unfolded his crumpled body from the pile of broken wood and books that had abruptly ended his brief and destructive flight. He felt very light-headed, dizzy, and a little bouncy. He noticed that he hadn't put his sword on so he scrounged around in a daze trying to remember where he had left it. He found it lying safely beneath a large slab of the ceiling. He clumsily clasped the heavy metal buckle with satisfaction at his own blossoming competence.
The house creaked and shook around him, but he paid little attention to that. There was a roar and that sparked a memory. He remembered something awful. It was scary and it had hit him very hard. He didn't like that thing. He turned and looked out through the holes that his body had made upon re-entry to the building. He saw a large slimy mass outside of those holes. He drew his sword and started to trudge towards the causer of unpleasant sensations. He stepped out of the nearly demolished mansion and slashed straight out at the troll's knee.
It bellowed in pain and lurched backwards, but was unharmed by the assault. The soggy moss-covered flesh of the troll squelched back together, sealing the wound almost instantly. It swung its massive clawed hand in a wide arc at the troublesome youth.
He saw the hand coming. It was big.
It was moving very fast.
It was going to hurt a lot when it hit him. It was whooshing harmlessly beneath him.
Just as the troll was about to slam him for a second time, the boy's legs buckled of their own volition and then launched him high into the air. So enthralled was he with the experience, he failed entirely to maintain any semblance of balance and came crashing down face first onto the damp cobblestone.
The troll, not clever enough to be surprised by the boy's remarkable reaction, took advantage of the situation and slammed its open palm down onto him.
Trolls, as a matter of interest, are not well known for the depth of their strategic planning. They are much better known, in fact, for being large, stupid and dreadfully difficult to kill. It is necessary to mention this for it explains why the troll would be foolish enough to slam its hand directly onto a very shiny, very sharp, and very pointy object.
By chance, the boy had landed with his sword pointing straight up and the less than brilliant troll had decided to slam its palm straight down. It recoiled as fast as it had attacked. It stepped back, crushing an unwary gremlin and his boar mount while it shook the sharp pain out of its hand.
The boy stood, now soaked and stinking of the walking swamp that had hit him.. He hurt again. Again this thing had caused him pain. He was not happy. He leaped.
He threw himself high in the sky and came down hard, slashing across the torso of the beast. It roared with horrendous pain and anger and swung again at the boy.
He was ready now. He jumped carelessly over the raking claws and slashed at the troll's arm. Again and again the troll swung and the boy cut. It was a seemingly endless battle. The troll was too big and slow to land a blow, and every cut the boy delivered sealed back up an instant later.
The troll swatted more and more vigorously at the pestering insect of a boy. The blows were easily dodged by the unnaturally agile youth, but the fury of the beast was wreaking havoc among the boar-riders as the two thrashed about the courtyard.
The confusion caused by the hurricane movements of the troll gave the Baron's guards the precious seconds needed to form up. They had been split by the initial assault of the ravids. Some were cut down while they still slept. The others were left isolated, fighting each for themselves. The boy's scream had woken them in time to retake the barracks from the chittering assassins, but they had been trapped within by an organized group of gremlins. Those gremlins had scattered in the troll's rampage and now a spear-wall was being formed by the half-dressed soldiers in the courtyard. Though there were only thirty men still in fighting condition, they were pushing forward an aggressive counterattack.
Prag rounded the building to witness the glory of a well trained Haelian military unit in action. They would press forward as a wall, spears twisting and winding in front of them in a dizzying dance. Whenever an enemy would find a way behind them, with a single motion they would move into independent units of three or four men, each back against another. Their short-spears never stopped moving, yet never did one cross another. Their delicately choreographed dance formed a near impenetrable cloud of sharpened steel. Prag stood in awe of the intricate integration of movements before him as he stuck a boar and beheaded its panicked rider.
As the group came running into full view of the courtyard, hounded by ravids, a call went up through the soldiers. Their movements became focused and in moments there was a copse of spears surrounding the royalty.
With his men at his side, the Baron began barking unintelligible military utterances. The soldiers snapped to formation and the battle turned. With Cariolta and the Baron in their number, the arc of spearheads marched forwards again, cutting down any creature foolish enough to attack them. Prag, no longer needed on the front lines, sheathed his sword and loaded his crossbow. He started to pick off any gremlin or ravid that looked as though it might have a clever idea. Kazé dashed about chasing down any ravid brave enough to try to get behind the line. Verena concentrated on turning away javelins as they were tossed in. Kish stood as rearguard, obviously uncomfortable in that position but standing firm. There was a moment of hope; a brief belief that the night could be won. Then Warlis ran away.
Kish was furious. She had already been angry. A very comfortable and satisfied sleep had been rudely interrupted and only a great deal of killing was likely to remedy that. But now a spy, who had hounded them for weeks, had shown up out of nowhere, followed by a legion of unpleasantness and in the heat of battle he had slapped her on the ass and run away. This she could not tolerate. She gave chase.
Kish saw the rogue immediately run for cover. There was a building near the back of the compound which had been relatively untouched and he ducked in there. She charged after him with a taste for blood on her lips. She burst through the wide door ready to kill.
"Oh good! You followed me," chirped Warlis with pleasure. "I apologize for my methods of persuasion, but I didn't have time to explain myself."
Kish stared with rage at Warlis as he casually handed her the reins to a horse. "Places like this always keep two horses saddled to carry emergency messages," said Warlis as he slid open the stable doors cautiously. "You can ride, can't you?"
The rage washed away from Kish's eyes as she came face to face with her steed. A windmare of Haelund. One of the enchanted horses of the God Emperor. Its black coat was barely visible in the moonlight and its vibrant blue eyes seemed to glow. It snorted and stomped on the floor, eager to escape the confines of the cramped stable and run freely. The sounds of battle died in her ears as she felt the muscles twitch beneath the animal's midnight coat. She mounted swiftly. She could feel the strength and passion of the animal beneath her. "Oh yes, I can ride."
The battle had turned again. The boy and the troll had moved off to demolish the barracks, allowing the ravids and gremlins to rally. The gremlins formed up, ready to charge their boars into the line of spears— suicide if not for their superior numbers. Ravids gathered on the walls and prepared to leap down on the melee once the line of soldiers had broken. Taimon knew that his men could not withstand that assault. "Cariolta, you need to run," he said coldly.
"I can't leave you here. There's no way you'll survive this." Cariolta stood steadfast.
Taimon was annoyed. "We'll have a better chance if we don't have to protect you and as it stands, if you stay, you'll die and the country will descend into civil war. I won't have that on my soul when I meet your father. Now get the hells gone!"
She raised her voice to argue again, but was cut off by the clatter of horseshoes pounding on cobblestone, coming fast from behind. Half of the spearmen turned to rebuff the new assailants. Spears dropped and men hurled themselves out of the way as Kish crashed through the line. She barely slowed as she dipped down and grabbed Cariolta about the waist, dragging her into the saddle behind her.
A few hooves behind followed Warlis who reached out a hand and shouted, "Prag! Mount left!"
Prag let fly an arrow, then spun and mounted the galloping horse in a single motion, landing squarely behind his comrade.
The two horses pounded towards the line of boars and javelins that stood between them and the shattered gates of the villa. The gremlins began a counter charge, but Verena summoned all of her strength, shouted a few words in the archaic tongue of magic, threw her arms apart and the two central boars flew to the side, clearing a path. The two horses dashed through the gates and into the night, followed closely by an enormous wolf, which served only to redouble their flight.
Most of the gremlins turned to give chase. They spurred their boars into a fury and roared southward over the hills. The horses could normally have outpaced their porcine pursuers with ease but the extra rider on each and the muddy ground meant that they were slowly losing ground.
Warlis and Prag shifted in the saddle. They sat back to back, each with one foot on the seat and one in a stirrup. Warlis held the reins while Prag loaded his crossbow.
Prag downed the nearest boar in a single shot, but his second shot sailed wide of his mark. "Can't you keep this thing steady?" he shouted at his half seated driver.
"Terribly sorry,sir. would you like me to slow down so as to not jostle you so?" Warlis jeered back in his best footman's impersonation.
"I suppose that we can't afford to do so," Prag shot back as he slid another bolt into a boar's eye. "Not if we're going to make it to Aunties in time for tea tomorrow" He grinned.
To Cariolta, who was clinging for dear life to Kish's back, it appeared that Prag and Warlis were the very definition of skilled and professional mercenaries. For the first time, she was truly glad that they were allies, even if it was only temporary. She, of course, couldn't hear a word they were saying to each other.
Prag lowered his bow and squinted. The gremlin riders were nearly upon them, but in the distance, he could see something following. It was a dim white spot on the darkened landscape scampering on all fours.
The flight of the royals had turned the tide of battle once again in the walled manor. Without the support of the boar-back riders, the ravids were unwilling to make any strong offensive movements and so they stood high on top of the walls, well out of reach of the spearmen, throwing stones and javelins and chittering madly. The stalemate held for about a minute, before the very large and very angry trump card of the invading force shattered the peace.
The boy had seen his friends leave without him. He fought on for a short while, but the feelings of anger that he had towards the swamp troll had faded. The thing now seemed slow and unthinking. It didn't seem to want to hurt him, it just wanted him to go away. So the boy left. He sheathed his sword, leapt over the wall and chased off after his friends.
Without the pestering insect slashing at it, the troll's rage refocused on the men in the courtyard. It charged, gaining terrible speed as it stomped towards the manor. The men scattered and the ravids attacked. At least three of the jumping little beasts fell upon each man as the troll smashed into the manor house, finally breaking the last of its supports and sending it crashing down.
Verena threw up a small ward around herself and the Baron, keeping the ravids at arm's reach, where the skilled tip of Taimon's spear could easily pierce them. However, Verena's cat, her familiar and source of power, had been separated in the charge of the troll. She realized the separation as a clever ravid descended on the striped cat and tore out its throat.
The Baroness fell, clutching at her own neck. The dying sensations of the slaughtered tabby were being transmitted through the spiritual life it shared with its master. Verena lay sobbing in shock, as a small part of her soul perished with her lifelong partner.
Taimon stood over his shattered wife, defending her shuddering body from the emboldened ravids. He stood his ground, even as the massive troll stomped towards him. The troll reached out and wrapped a clawed hand as big as the Baron around his arm and lifted him high into the air. Taimon could hear the bones shattering in his right arm as the monster squeezed its fist shut. He felt no pain, though. He was focused. He drew back, and using his broken arm as leverage shot forward with a final desperate strike, burying his spear deep into the chest of the behemoth. The troll screamed and thrashed. The sinew in Taimon's shoulder shredded and he was sent flying through the air. As his broken body crashed to the stony ground, he could see the monster stumble and fall. Then everything went very white and the blood draining from the Baron's empty shoulder drew with it his consciousness.
The lead boars had almost reached the riders, but Kazé had fallen back to keep them away. He snapped at the flanks of the boars and pulled gremlins from their seats. He was quickly being surrounded, though.
Prag did his best to defend the lone wolf. With the boars clumped together, he shot the lead animal, its dying body creating an unexpected obstacle for those behind. He landed two shots, each ending the pursuit of three animals, but there were still nearly a dozen following and Prag's quiver was empty. "You don't feel like making a noble sacrifice today, do you?" he shouted to Warlis.
"Sadly, I have plans for next week, so I can't. Why do you ask.?" "I'm out of bolts but I'm not out of pigs to shoot." Prag drew his sword and prepared to defend.
"I see." Warlis pulled to the side to veer away from a boar.
"So either you jump off this horse or come up with a brilliant plan." Prag slashed at a gremlin which easily pulled away from the attack.
"Why don't you jump off the horse?" Warlis turned and grabbed
Prag's belt to give him better balance.
"That's not a brilliant plan." Prag leaned way over and slashed the flank of a surprised boar.
"Okay, how about we cross a rickety-looking bridge over a fastmoving river and cut the support ropes when we get to the far side?" Warlis pulled Prag back into the saddle just in time for the mercenary's head to not impact the upright pole supporting the bridge.
"That would be a brilliant plan," Prag replied as he readied himself to cut the ropes.
The boar riders saw the danger ahead. They did not have to arrange themselves in single file to cross the bridge and none of them wanted to be on it when the ropes were inevitably cut. They pulled to a frustrated halt as Kazé flew across the bridge and Prag and Kish cut through the supports.
As the bridge fell into the rapids below, Prag's eyes were again drawn to the north by a brilliant flash of white light. It appeared to have emanated from the manor. His eyes then fell to the running white spot in the distance. It was growing quickly and taking the clear shape of a young man running on all fours. An uncomfortable sense of guilt shot through Prag as the last of the wooden planks fell into the water and washed downstream. He knew that there was no other way to save themselves, but he did not savour the idea of having abandoned such a hapless innocent to the gremlins.
As the boy ran forward, he saw his friends across the river, and a group of unfriendly looking animals on the near side. He took a few more steps and his legs threw him. He flew high into the air, clearing the entire river and crashing gracefully into the ground on the other side.
Kish and Cariolta rushed to help him up.
Prag grudgingly admitted relief at the idiot boy's safe, if impossibly acrobatic, return. He sighed heavily. The two princesses had escaped without a scratch. Warlis looked like he was about to die, but regrettably fear wouldn't actually kill him. Kazé was limping from an unfortunate altercation with a boar, but would make a full recovery if ever the damn clouds broke. The idiot boy was grinning happily at the fond reunion with his friends, totally unaware of the significance of the evening's events.
Prag watched the gremlins on the far bank disperse. They seemed to have accepted that their quarry had eluded them and they headed northward again. Satisfied with their immediate safety, Prag promptly passed out from massive blood loss.