Chapter 17: The Cavalry
"You t-took your t-time," Khalid murmured as he and four other armed, armoured and cloaked figures stepped into the kitchen, barely giving the unconscious servants on the floor a cursory glance.
Jaheira shut the door behind them firmly whilst fixing the half-elven warrior with a slightly evil glare. "There were… things to take care of," she insisted, gratefully accepting the scimitar one of the four armed Harpers passed her, though she would have killed for one of their cloaks right now.
Xanthus folded his arms across his chest, giving the five newcomers appraising glances. "If we'd been any faster, it would have been with all the guards in this house bearing down on us." He looked at the four mysterious cloaked Harpers, then decided to settle on the nervous Khalid to direct questions at – for, despite his manner, he was clearly in charge. "What is the plan from here?"
"We m-make our way t-to the c-cellars and f-find P-Ployer. Once we h-have him incapacitated, we're safe and c-can c-call for the Athkatlan g-guards." Khalid gave Jaheira a brief, sideways glance. "B-Belgrade and D-Darial will be dragging them over h-here, once Gorion m-manages to c-convince them that they n-need to act."
"Let us stop wasting time," came the melodious voice of one of the cloaked figures, who looked distinctly elven. "The more we sit around, the more likely they are to notice that there are unconscious guards and missing gladiators."
Khalid gave the other Harper a brief, mildly irked look before nodding firmly. "Y-yes. Quite." He looked at Jaheira and Xanthus. "Y-you memorised the l-layout of this h-house – show us t-to the c-cellars. We c-can handle it f-from there – you can g-get out."
Xanthus shook his head. "If she wants to go, then she can, but I'm going with you. There are people down there who need to be freed, and people down there who need to pay for what they've done."
Jaheira smiled tightly. "I'm going to make somebody pay for making me go through with this ridiculous plan. Better Ployer than you, don't you think?" she asked, all disconcerting sweetness and light.
Khalid shifted a little. "Ah, yes. Q-quite. Onwards, then."
Movement this time through the Ployer mansion was distinctly speedier. A guard suddenly come across could be silenced swiftly with a shot from the bow of the elven warrior, or with the throwing knife of the halfling rogue. With him, Khalid had brought a group of experienced Harpers who, even though they deferred to his leadership, for Gorion had put him in charge, knew exactly what they were doing, and did it well.
The guards standing at the top of the doors to the stairway to the cellar and the cells were speedily dispatched by the skilled Harpers, and they huddled around the door in a quick discussion of a plan of action.
Khalid looked at Xanthus. "Y-you know about this p-place, know about P-Ployer. What c-can we expect f-from down t-there?" he asked, frowning a little as he peered through the tiny crack in the door, slightly ajar and offering him little more than a vague view of the side of one of the cells. He could see the inmate, dressed in rags, pressed against the bars of the cell, watching something going on in the main area.
Xanthus thought a moment, chewing on his lower lip. "The evening practices. Ployer usually pits his fighters against each other in the training cell or in the arena. It's usually just Ployer, Warner his manservant, and about five or six guards. Today, though, Skorrid from the Copper Coronet will be there, but with the element of surprise, we can take them down quite easily."
Jaheira looked vaguely amused for a moment. "Charge in there, take them by surprise, and make sure we don't hit any slaves. Sound good?" the druid asked, gripping the hilt of her scimitar tightly and looking as if she wanted to split some skulls open.
Khalid frowned for a moment. "Well…"
Downstairs, Baron Ployer was quite happy with himself. His gladiators were shaping up to be fine fighters, he was raking in the money with this contract with Skorrid, and his prestige in the underworld was increasing. It seemed as if the only way was up.
Next to him, Warner shifted uncomfortably as he shifted his whip from his left hand to his right, watching the two hefty fighters they'd stuck in the training cell together as they sparred. "Xanthus should be back by now," the half-orc grunted.
Skorrid, on the other side of Ployer, laughed a fairly high-pitched and nasal laugh as he ran a hand over his bald head. "Lighten up, Warner. The boy's a gold-mine in himself; let him have a little bit of fun, hey, Geoffrey?" the rat-like owner of the Copper Coronet murmured cheerily.
"Yes, he deserves it," Ployer agreed, waving a hand vaguely to dismiss Warner's concerns. "If he knows that he wins excellent favours from me for doing well, it's nothing but an incentive to win fights, no?"
Warner mumbled something about death being quite enough of an incentive, but decided to keep that observation to himself as he stepped forward, growling threateningly at the two warriors and glaring at them until they continued sparring with the wooden swords.
Ployer ignored his manservant's discontent. The half-orc was often like that; it was simply a part of his heritage, and as such should simply be taken in stride. It was not anything to lose sleep over. He was in too good a mood for it to be disrupted by something that minor.
But his good mood was disrupted by the noise of the door to the cellar being thrown open heavily and unexpectedly. He turned around, ready to stare imperiously at whichever guard had dared to show his face this discourteously.
The expression turned into one of disbelieving horror as a cloaked figure landed at the bottom of the stairs, letting loose an arrow from his bow which flew through the air and lodged itself in the throat of one of his guards.
Before the others could react, the cloaked archer was suddenly joined by an armoured half-elf with a rather large sword, a slim human with a crossbow, a little cloaked halfling, an armoured woman with a mace… an angry-looking, scantily clad elven-looking woman gripping a scimitar rather forcefully… and a familiar pit-fighter who looked as if he had death on his mind.
Ployer screamed.
Khalid lunged forwards, his sword raised and ready to meet the first guard who stepped in his path, who raised his halberd falteringly, offering only a half-hearted and panicked resistance. The half-elf twisted to the side, the metal of the halberd only scraping his armour lightly, and brought his blade down just below the head of the polearm, on the wood. It wasn't enough to turn the weapon into little more than a stick, but it was enough to get the jumpy and obviously inexperienced guard to drop the weapon and go for his own sword instead, pulling it out jerkily and only just in time to block Khalid's slash at his mid-section.
Meanwhile, the Harper cleric and thief were bringing down another guard between them as their allies, the elven archer and the crossbow-wielding bard, hung back and rained arrows, crossbow bolts, and the occasional magic missile down upon the surprised guards of Ployer's.
One guard of Ployer's was a little more ready to cope with this intrusion, however, as his employee and Skorrid attempted to run – which wasn't easy when every slave in every cell was pelting anything they could get their hands on at them, mostly bowls of food or the occasional wooden sword.
Warner strode forwards, axe in one hand, whip in the other and lashed out, the leather of the whip wrapping itself around the neck of the halfling rogue, who fell with a gurgle, eyes bulging.
The half-orc let go of the whip, shifting his axe back into his right hand, and grinned toothily as a crossbow bolt deflected harmlessly off his helmet with nothing more than the ring of metal upon metal. Behind him, Khalid dispatched the guard he had been fighting, and rose to bring his sword down on the half-orc's unprotected back.
Until he was smashed in the face with the flat of Warner's axe and sent sprawling to the floor as the half-orc whirled around, adjusting the grip on his weapon so that he would strike this time with sharp blade, not dull blunt metal and raising his hand for the final blow.
This would have been a fairly swift death if it wasn't for the arrival of a small blur crashing into Warner's bulk and knocking the half-orc to one side, unbalancing him and presenting him with a slightly more important target as Aergoth Xanthus arrived, sword upraised and the light of battle in his eyes.
Behind them, Khalid could feel the blood flowing from his nose, and was still reeling, his vision having exploded before his eyes with the pain as he attempted to clamber to his feet. He managed to jerkily block the blow of one of the remaining guards, but it was a slow, cumbersome movement, and he was still barely aware of a figure arriving, kicking the guard in the knee, then slashing him across the chest with their scimitar.
Khalid sank back down to his knees, still blinded and dazed, until he felt delicate hands touch either side of his face, and he heard low, mystical-sounding words murmured in a feminine voice. Before he could attempt to ponder this development, there was a flash of blue light and the pain subsided distinctly, his vision clearing to show the slightly concerned yet mostly irritated face of Jaheira as she yanked him to his feet.
"Forget the guards," the druid said, nodding back to where the three remaining employees of Ployer were now in pitched combat with the three remaining Harpers, the elf having traded his bow for a sword, the bard his crossbow for an axe, and the cleric joining in the fray. It looked like it would be a short fight for the experienced Harpers.
"There's still Ployer and Skorrid," Jaheira continued, nodding to where the two pit-masters were running down the rows of cells, still being pelted with anything the slaves could get their hands on.
Xanthus, meanwhile, ducked a mid-level slash from Warner's axe which would have been too low for the usual bulky opponent to which the half-orc was accustomed to avoid, before retaliating with a swing from his short sword, a weapon which was distinctly smaller than the blades the gladiator was used to.
The metal deflected off Warner's heavy breastplate, proving the low quality of the sword, and Xanthus felt the shock run up his arm as the blade vibrated roughly in his grip. Warner laughed and swung his axe again, and Xanthus was still barely able to side-step it in time.
The gladiator paused for a moment, sword raised in a defensive position, as he attempted to consider his situation. The usual fight. The hulking mass of an opponent unused to fighting someone of your side. But this is Warner. You may know all of his tricks, but he knows all your tricks. He gave you a few of your tricks.
But that can be used as an advantage. You know how he's going to react to your tricks. So it's time to make up some new ones.
Xanthus knew all he had to do was survive. Once the Harpers had taken down the guards, they would and could band together for the formidable force of a half-orc, and take him down en masse. The gladiator just needed to keep him occupied long enough to stop him from turning on the Harpers. And needed to survive.
He lashed out with his foot, kicking Warner in the knee and hoping to break his leg, but the knee merely locked and the half-orc gave a grunt in pain as he staggered for a moment. This was enough of a distraction for Xanthus to make use of.
He stepped back, weaving his hands through complicated gestures as he murmured under his breath, hoping for a Burning Hands spell which would definitely give him the advantage in the fight.
Warner, however, was not going to let him do that, as his left fist swung out and caught Xanthus in the face, sending him flying back, disrupting the spell casting. He chuckled as the gladiator flew into the wall and slid to the ground, then shifted his grip on the axe and strode forwards menacingly.
Xanthus panted as he landed, guessing that at least one rib was broken, for every breath sent agony through him. But Warner had acted exactly as he'd expected. This wasn't necessarily a good thing, because it did mean he'd have to think quickly before his skull was split in two.
He acted on instinct, and threw his sword at the half-orc. Fortunately, the helmet he wore was one of the open-faced ones, and so a hilt smashing into his face definitely knocked Warner off balance.
What also knocked him off balance was Xanthus once again launching himself at the half-orc, this time wielding the dagger he and Jaheira had taken from the first guard. The two of them fell to the ground heavily, and Xanthus knew that Warner's extra weight gave him the definite advantage. But the gladiator was in perfect control of his senses as he gripped the half-orc by the chinks in the armour and drove the dagger again and again in any gap he could find as they rolled over and over, Xanthus too close for Warner to use his axe.
But all too soon, Xanthus felt an iron-strong grip latch itself to him as Warner seized him, holding tight, seeming as if he was going to squeeze the very life out of the gladiator. But even as he felt another rib crack, he continued to drive the dagger again and again into the half-orc's flesh.
Down the corridor of the cells, Ployer slipped in a pool of the slop he fed to his slaves as the bowl which had previously held it struck Skorrid on the forehead, and they both fell to the ground unceremoniously. Behind them, two half-elven Harpers hurtled in pursuit, and as the two slavers rolled over to stand up again, they found blades pointed at their throats threateningly.
"Don't," Khalid growled uncharacteristically threateningly, "move. At all."
"Just give us an excuse to run you through, and we will do," Jaheira agreed, then poked Skorrid a little harder in the neck with the edge of her scimitar as he noticed that, even when she could kill him in an instant, he still took time out to ogle her.
"W-what do you want?" Ployer stammered, backing off a little from Khalid's blade. "Money? We can give you money! I'm an important person! I have influence, I have ties! You name it! My investors will be here to give you anything you want within seconds!"
Jaheira and Khalid exchange knowing, cheerful glances. "Actually," Khalid replied lightly, "we're not interested in your money. And yes, your investors will be here within seconds, but I think it will be with the Athkatlan guard to take you to jail."
Ployer's expression darkened with fury as he shifted to stand, only the threatening point of Khalid's sword keeping him in place quickly. "The treacherous scum!" he barked angrily. "Those lying, deceiving, good-for-nothing… I was giving them everything! And this is how they repay me? Is this fair?"
"No," Jaheira replied, glancing over her shoulder to see the elven warrior and human bard attempt to drag the prone form of Warner off a barely conscious Xanthus was the cleric knelt over the halfling rogue, murmuring spells to attempt to being him back – whether he was dead or just passed out was unknown. She glanced back at the two slavers before them. "It's justice."
* *
Belgrade's eyes scanned the cellars, where hordes of Athkatlan guards shifted around, releasing slaves and generally poking around for evidence against Ployer – as if the cellar itself wasn't enough evidence. He had arrived fifteen minutes earlier with Darial and the guards themselves to find some very contained slavers and some rather overjoyed slaves. All in all, a very successful mission – although Ployer had yet to meet justice in the courts, the slaves were free, and the Harpers had done almost everything they could here.
To his left stood Khalid and the Captain of the Athkatlan Watch, next to where a pair of guards gripped Ployer and Skorrid. The half-elf seemed to be explaining perfectly confidently and assertively to the captain, and from the other man's expression, Khalid was telling him a thing or two as well. Belgrade smiled wryly. There was a lad who had come into his own from this mission. Gorion had been quite right after all.
The rogue glanced around to where Darial and the rest of the Harpers sat, drinking from flasks, along with a recently-mended Aergoth Xanthus, whose expression of utter delight spoke of the general feeling of all the freed slaves and warmed Belgrade's heart as it drove home just what they had done – not against Ployer, but for these people.
But these were not the people he was looking for. His work here was done, and now it was time to pick up a few pieces and set certain things right – make amends for his own stupidity, as it were.
He finally spotted Jaheira, standing a little to one side by one of the empty slaves, alone, watching the goings-on with a fairly contemplative air. He smirked a little as he took in what she was wearing, not envying Khalid for the duty of directing the druid to become a courtesan, then swallowed his nerves and headed over towards her. "Hello…"
Jerked out of her reverie, Jaheira hadn't quite had the chance to prepare a scathing retort or even a glare, and she just looked at him blankly for a moment until she managed a half-hearted glower. "Ah. So you're here."
Belgrade sighed, having expected this sort of thing. "Look, I…" He paused, looking at her for a moment, then pulled the heavy, warm cloak which was a part of his nobleman's disguise off and passed it to her. "Here, take this, and save yourself the stares of the guards," he murmured, glaring at any passing members of the Athkatlan Watch who dared let their eyes linger for a moment.
Despite herself, Jaheira accepted the cloak gratefully and wrapped it around herself with a shiver. She fixed Belgrade with an appraising look. "Thank you," she mumbled at last, distinctly happier now she was warmer and covered up. The druid raised an eyebrow quizzically, but not unkindly. "So let's talk?"