I

The Demise of Sir Ragnar

The door slammed back against the wall and a man clad in red robes strode imperiously into the tavern. He wore a closefitting, leather skullcap and carried numerous pouches, bags and packs about his person. In one hand he carried a long, gnarled staff, a strange stone embedded in its tip.

'Drink!' The man demanded. 'Bring me ale! Now, old fool!'

The bartender hurried to comply. As he served the man, his gaze met with the stranger's green eyes. They glowed intensely.

'Who are you, anyway? I'll have no trouble here, warlock.'

'My name is Siareth, and you will do well to remember it.' The warlock sat down at the bar and took a swig from the tankard before him. 'Here,' he said, leaning his staff against the wall and pulling out 3 gold crowns. 'No questions asked.'

'Right you are, gov'nor,' the bartender nodded his head eagerly. He swept up the gold and bustled away.

Siareth glanced casually around the room. A flamboyant outlaw was talking to a young girl with a nonchalant air and a cunning grin upon his face. Perhaps this young man could be of use…

'You there, boy!' Siareth gestured. 'Want to earn a little money?'

The rogue's head snapped around. Taking his leave of the girl, he walked briskly over and took a stool beside the warlock. His garments were those of a dashing adventurer, with open waistcoat and airy shirt, complemented with the usual breeches, boots and hat pierced with a small knife.

'What did you have in mind?'

'Siareth, formerly of Glintburg,' the warlock introduced himself.

'Kurt Waldheim, formerly of House Waldheim,' the youth responded, shaking the offered hand.

'How about two hundred gold crowns? For the return of Sir Ragnar whatshisface.' Siareth thumbed at the notice pinned to the wall.

'Hmmmm…quite a bit for the rescue of some nobody,' Kurt mused. 'Very well, I'm in.'

'Good. I assume you're skilled with those things?' Siareth's gaze took in Kurt's two sheathed swords.

'Oh indeed. I'm perhaps the best fighter out of Barak Varr.'

'Barak Varr, eh? Well…if you say so. My magic can support your skills.'

'Mind if I tag along?'

Siareth turned to see a large man wearing a combination of mail and plate armour approaching them. A longsword was scabbarded at his side and a strange scar was visible upon his unshaven face. He had presence…an aura of a sort that exuded something akin to royalty.

'And who exactly would you be?' Siareth rasped. 'Two hundred crowns doesn't split into three.'

'I'm sure something can be arranged. I am Magnus Glint, son and heir of the Border Prince of the same name. I couldn't help overhearing and I think my blade could be of use.'

A cold look came over Siareth's face, before disappearing completely.

'And why exactly should we share the reward with you?' Kurt was indignant.

'Ragnar is also of Glintburg. I believe I could benefit should I get that useless fop out of trouble.'

'Very well,' Siareth said. 'We're the best chance he's got. Let's get going.'

'This is the place?' Magnus was nervous. Before them, a great maw gaped in the mountainside, filled with the blackness of deepest night.

'What's the matter?' Siareth sneered. 'You'll be a hardened veteran before you know it, once you've gone through the deep.' He turned back to the cave entrance. 'Coming, Kurt?'

'Indeed. Can't wait to get that reward, eh?'

The trio descended down a set of slimy, stone steps. Following that, a long, twisting passage was cut into the rock. They navigated their way through the darkness, Magnus' lantern swinging gently and casting eerie shadows that leapt and danced about the walls.

As they penetrated deeper into the labyrinth, fully expecting every corner to hide a lurking monster, they began to hear sounds in the deep. At first they were faint, slight tremors that bordered on near silence. But with each step they grew louder, and were accompanied by a high-pitched shrieking.

'Goblins,' Magnus hissed. His sword slid from its scabbard. Kurt readied his own blades, and Siareth began chanting slowly in the Lingua Praestantia, the language of the arcane.

Before them a narrow cleft opened up into a vast chamber. The party crept through, coming out into a gallery of sorts, overlooking an ancient, Dwarven hall. Broken pillars lay upon the floor, statues of Dwarven gods sprawled, desecrated and covered in goblin dung, and a swarming mass of night goblins clustered below, fighting amongst themselves. Their shrill cries split the dank air.

'Right, this is it.' Magnus breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth, searching for a way down. There was a crumbling, stone staircase to the left, shadowed by a group of pointed stalactites. 'Kurt and I will take care of the goblins, you Siareth…do whatever it is you warlocks do.'

'I'll agree to that,' Kurt replied, a strange look coming into his eyes.

As the two warriors stepped lightly down, Siareth frowned.

'Fool,' he cursed. 'You will learn of my power soon enough.'

With a roar befitting a great lion or other creature, Magnus plunged into the battle. His sword leapt out, cutting goblin heads from shoulders. Blood sprayed in gouts, spattering the knight's armour. Kurt's blades whipped left and right, lopping limbs and severing arteries. The goblins fought back with spiteful aggression, but their spears and daggers clashed from Magnus' tassets and pauldrons with little affect. As the clamour of battle raged, Siareth unleashed his spell. A firebolt sprang from the tip of his staff, incinerating three goblins and setting fire to some others. Shrieking, the burning greenskins ran about, trying to put out the flames but only succeeding in setting others' robes alight.

'That's the way to go, wizard!' Magnus chuckled.

Within minutes the last of the goblins had fled back down into their tunnels.

But Kurt had not emerged unscathed. Pulling a dagger from his side, he gasped and threw the weapon clattering to the ground. Blood seeped from between his fingers.

'I need healing! Warlock!'

Siareth sighed.

'There, that should heal up within the day.' A soft white glow drifted around Kurt's wound.

'Now where?' Magnus was impatent. 'Over there, that's where the passage continues.'

'Are you battle-able? Or will that wound prevent you…'

'I can fight, damn it!' Kurt stood and wiped his swords on his tunic. 'Those bastards will pay for this!'

'Very well,' Siareth replied. 'Let us hope they are as cowardly as their reputation makes them out to be.'

The cavern stretched out for miles. Unsurprisingly, the night goblins had regrouped for another attack. The outsiders, the intruders, however, were unfazed by the goblins' numbers.

'They're only goblins,' Magnus spat. 'Let them come, and taste cold steel!'

With another roar, he charged into battle.

'Does that man have no lack of courage?' Kurt winced. He twirled his swords.

'It seems so.' Siareth raised his staff and prepared to blast the goblins. 'Time to die, goblins!'

Magnus slashed his sword across the front of the goblin chief's throat. The blow took its head from its shoulders in a spray of blood. Spears stabbed at him from all sides, the wave of black robes quickly outflanking him. Unperturbed, he swung his sword in huge arcs, each swing killing several of the greenskinned monsters. He bashed outwards with his shield, flinging more goblins from him and his boots crushed another underfoot. These goblins were a little too easy killing, he thought. Hardly worth the effort at all.

Kurt whirled his blades. Each blow took down a night goblin warrior. He parried a blow, and thrust with his other sword, taking the goblin in the chest. It shrieked hideously as it died. Another goblin tried to stab him in the back. Twisting, he dispatched it with a single stroke, before turning again and slaying another with an upwards cut.

Firebolts rained down on the goblin horde. Living torches screamed and ran, colliding with each other as they burned. A whitish, sheening shield formed around the warriors, protecting them even more from harm. Siareth grinned. Honing their combat skills, even against such pitiful things as goblins, was essential for his companions. Especially considering his future plans for them.

Suddenly, a jagged knife tore into the warlock's concentration, biting into his leg.

In the rush of combat, Magnus hacked and slashed. Kurt likewise did not notice the warlock's plight. The warriors fought on, killing greenskins left and right, and suffering only light wounds in return. Kurt realised that the rain of fireballs had ceased. Looking back at the entrance to the cavern, he saw the red-robed man struggling with a black-robed monster.

'Siareth!'

Kurt kicked a goblin with his boot. It flew from his path and he sliced another's head from its shoulders and shoved the corpse aside. Clearing a path, he ran back to the warlock.

Siareth was bleeding heavily and was fighting against a night goblin clinging to his throat.

'You will not strangle me, foul beast!'

'He certainly won't!' Kurt twirled his sword, raised it above his head and then plunged it into the goblin's back.

'Get that thing off me,' Siareth groaned, collapsing to the stone floor. He began mumbling a spell to heal himself. 'Thanks, anyway, for the aid.'

'Anytime, warlock.' Kurt wiped his sword on the goblin's robes. 'Anytime.'

Ragnar was a pitiful sight. He clung to the bars of the huge metal gate, as if willing them to break of their own accord. He had been a knight, but that didn't influence the bars at all.

'M-Magnus? Is that you?'

'It is,' Magnus replied. 'I've come to…well, rescue you.'

'But I thought…'

'We're wasting time,' Siareth spat. 'Let's get out of here.'

'Agreed,' Kurt said, his hand opening and closing about his sword hilt. 'Our glorious reward awaits.'

'Two hundred gold crowns, as promised,' the militia captain said as he flung the leather bag onto the table where Kurt, Siareth and Magnus sat, in a private room. He strode out and slammed the door as the outlaw emptied it out and began counting. Nearby, Sir Ragnar stood in leather travelling gear, provided by the militia.

'And now I demand, Magnus, that you escort me back to Glintburg. I will pay you…'

'You've got nothing here to pay me with,' Magnus snarled. 'I don't know why I bothered. I should've known you'd make such a demand. You have no gratitude after all.'

'It is true enough that I have naught to pay you, but when I return home, I will…'

'Enough!' The knight slammed his fist down on the table. 'I've known you a long time, Sir Ragnar.' He got up and faced the noble. 'You dishonest coward, what were you doing in the Worlds Edge Mountains anyway?'

'There were rumours of a magical flame, that had…well, properties that your father…'

'Damn you and all of Glintburg,' Magnus roared, pushing Sir Ragnar backwards. 'I will not escort you home, you would not pay me at all. Instead, you'd wait till you were safely within the city's gates and then denounce us!'

Siareth had risen and was pacing slowly around the room. As Magnus and Ragnar argued, the warlock pulled out a knife from his belt.

'Then I will return home and denounce you for the renegade you have become,' Ragnar declared. 'I will tell his Highness that his own son has fallen to the influence of the Ruinous Powers and begun worshipping them with a new zeal that was so lacking when he…'

Magnus was about to interrupt angrily, when Sir Ragnar coughed blood, spattering Magnus' face with crimson. Magnus glanced down, and saw the small blade protruding from the old knight's chest. Siareth withdrew the weapon and the corpse pitched forwards.

'Was that…really necessary?'

'I thought it was,' the warlock replied.

'Sixty-six gold crowns each,' Kurt said jovially, dividing up the gold. 'Take your share. The last two shall pay for…our accommodation.' His eyes twinkled, but Siareth made a show of ignoring it.

'Good,' the warlock swept up his gold and Magnus did likewise. 'Tomorrow, I set off to look for these magical flames our friend spoke of. If you're willing, you may even like to…come with me.'

Siareth's eyes gleamed with unspoken power.

4