14th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
Highport, the Pomarj
Maybe retirement wasn't so bad after all...
The thought flashed through Elrohir's head as he ducked, letting the slaver's blade flash over it.
Rather than counterattacking immediately, the ranger backed up a few step, so that he now had a building wall to his rear. There were so many combatants around; he hadn't had the opportunity to get back-to-back with any of his party before they were on him. He'd taken two down with his bow before drawing his sword and shield. They were coming so fast now that Elrohir wasn't even bothering to keep count anymore, or what an individual opponent might look like; only what he needed to know to kill them.
The slaver snarled and followed the ranger, thrusting his sword in what he hoped was an unexpected angle.
It wasn't. Elrohir took the blow on his shield and pushed away hard to the left, moving the slaver's sword along with it. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough for his torso to be exposed to Gokasillion's gleaming blade, which swiftly sunk into his stomach and protruded out his lower back before being withdrawn just as quickly. The man looked down in stupefaction at the gaping wound, then up at Elrohir.
"You know," the ranger said, "It's considered common courtesy to fall down when you're dead."
He smashed his metal shield into the slaver's face, causing the man to stagger back a few steps and then, apparently, to remember his manners.
A movement out of the corner of his left eye was all the warning Elrohir had as an orc, who had silently slunk around the side of the building, suddenly charged the last remaining twenty feet, leading with a dagger aimed straight at the ranger's throat. The ranger was able to move just enough so that the blow, while painful, was not serious. Elrohir swung Gokasillion around in an arc, but his position was not optimal, and the humanoid had plenty of time to avoid the blade. He moved directly in front of Elrohir and slammed him back against the wall. The back of Elrohir's helm struck stone, the echoes of the impact filling his ears. The orc was right in his face now, his pig-like snout inches from the ranger's nose. The orc's left hand kept Elrohir's head pressed against the wall while his right one moved the dagger in again, seeking a chink in his plate mail to penetrate.
"Poor human," the orc sneered. "Can't use pretty sword now, can it?"
"Let's find out," replied the poor human.
Elrohir thrust out his right arm over the orc's left shoulder, let Gokasillion's hilt rotate in his hand until the sword was pointing straight down, and then let the blade slide down behind the orc's left shoulder blade. The creature smiled at the human's useless attack, then frowned as he felt the blade slide in underneath his weapon's belt and catch.
The ranger smiled, dropped his shield so he could grab Gokasillion's pommel with both hands, rotated the sword ninety degrees and pulled forward on it like a lever. The blade cut through the orc's rear armor, shoulder blade, left lung and other now-superfluous organs before coming out the front. The creature slowly slid to the ground as Elrohir bent down to retrieve his shield.
"I hope you were taking notes", he said to the dead orc as he sidled along the building wall to the right.
The ranger flinched as a crossbow bolt exploded into the wall a few inches from his head, sending small splinters of stone flying. He looked for the source of the missile fire but saw nothing. A fair number of slavers, guards and what-not had used ranged weapons at the start of the melee, but unfortunately had managed to hit only the backs of their charging compatriots if that, so the arrows and bolts had pretty much tapered off after that.
Not completely though, Elrohir thought ruefully. He again scanned his line of vision, then saw the crossbowman about two hundred feet away as the man pointed his weapon at him again. A small black speck grew instantly into a shaft that clipped the top of Elrohir's wall, about five feet to the right and ten feet above his current position. The ranger debated drawing his bow again, but he could see the man's companion draw his sword and start running in his direction. Utilizing the next few free seconds to take a deep breath and prepare for his next fight, Elrohir looked around, checking out how his allies were doing.
His wife was closest, about thirty feet away and off a little to the right. She was standing over a dead slaver, battling an orc of her own. Elrohir almost shouted out "Dearest!" but realized at the last moment how odd such an expression might sound in the heat of battle, so he settled for the conventional.
"Talass!" he yelled. "Do you need a hand?"
"Oh, not at all!" she shouted back. "I was just remembering how much I didn't miss this!" She winced as the orc's blade cut across her chainmail, then retaliated with a war hammer swing that caught the humanoid on the right side of its head. He went down, stunned, and Talass finished him off without a pause. She stood up again, breathing heavily, then whirled around as a half-orc charged her from behind. The cleric waited until he was almost on top of her, then thrust out her holy symbol at her attacker.
"STOP!"
The half-orc froze in place, every muscle momentarily locked. Talass lined up her war hammer. Elrohir was glad for the distraction of his own charging opponent, as he was able to miss the sight of the half-orc's face turning into a mass of blood-soaked gristle from Talass' strike.
Now it was Talass' turn to look around, while taking a breather. Her husband now had another attacker, but it didn't look like anything he couldn't handle. About thirty feet further on, Argo and his wife were fighting back-to-back, each engaged with two attackers. Thinking safety in numbers, Talass began to move towards them, but got only halfway before a guard or a mercenary or whatever-he-was lunged at her, sword upraised. She dodged his blow, then yelled over to Argo.
"And exactly how are we supposed to take on the whole city again?"
Bigfellow actually managed his pained smile while not missing a beat in combat.
"I'm working on that, my good lady!"
"Work faster!" Caroline yelled, then cried out in pain as a hand axe, one of two wielded by one of her attackers, cut into her left side, drawing blood.
Her husband's eyes whipped around. "Love?" he shouted, not at all concerned about the incongruousness of his address. "Are you all right?"
By way of reply, Caroline snarled and swung her sword, yelling, "You'll pay for that!" The axe wielder's companion, a tall, ruddy-faced youth, had smiled with distracted glee when his ally's strike had hit home. Now he gasped, realizing only after Caroline's sword had struck home that he had been the target of the attack, if not the prediction. His eyes rolled up in his head as the blood gushed forth from the gash in his neck, and he toppled backwards to the dusty ground. His companion looked at him for a moment, then again eyed Caroline, who was now gazing at him with a tight, sinister smile.
"Whoops," she said. "I missed."
She swung her sword again, but he blocked the blow and their battle continued.
Argo, apparently satisfied that his wife was okay for the moment, turned his attention back to his assailants. "Say something formidable, Harve!" he yelled as he feinted with his longsword, then came up to gouge one opponent through his chain link shirt. He grimaced but stayed up.
"Er... die!" the sword shouted.
It wasn't a very big speech, but it was enough to throw both of Argo's opponents' attacks off-stride. Enough for the ranger to exploit, as a quick thrust took out the fighter in the chain shirt.
"That's it?" yelled Argo. "Die? That's the best you could come up with? You getting rusty on me, Harve?"
"HEY" the sword shouted back. "You know I don't like that word!"
"Sorry," Bigfellow said, hearty grin in place even as he parried his remaining attacker's latest strike. "I just meant to ask if your razor-sharp wit had gone dull, that's all!"
"Everybody's a jester," the sword lamented. "I should have stuck with Dak. At least he was always too grumpy to try and make bad puns. Besides, I'm a sword! What do you expect me to say? Live? Laugh? Cry? Pee? I was made for one purpose Bigfellow, and it wasn't for slicing bread!"
"You could try it," the ranger grunted, as his latest swing bounced off his opponent's shield. "Your armor-slicing skills today certainly don't seem to be cutting it."
"AARGH! Snap me in half, somebody! May the gods save me from would-be bards!"
"You may get that chance yet, Harve," Argo said, his voice uncharacteristically solemn.
Ten fighters were moving quickly towards them from the far side of the open area. Behind them, Argo could see that the slaves that they had earlier intervened to save had been rounded up and were being hustled away from the combat. The approaching warriors all wore blue sashes across their armor, and the same grim, determined expressions on their faces. Elite troops, the ranger thought sourly. He redoubled his attacks on his assailant, but the man just would not drop.
As the men reached a distance of about thirty feet from the Bigfellows, half of them suddenly dropped to the ground. The other half stopped and bent down over their fallen comrades.
"Hey!" One of them shouted. They've fallen-"
That was as far as he got before the remaining five quickly crumpled to the ground next to their unconscious brethren. Two yells of triumph came from a ways off, almost eighty feet away to the right. Cygnus and Zantac waved to their companions and gave them a thumbs-up.
"Gotta love the classics!" Zantac yelled.
"Nesco looks like she's in trouble," Cygnus muttered, pointing at their newest ally.
"Better be sure," Zantac replied. "Every spell you use now is-"
"I know!" Cygnus snapped, "but she and Aslan have been our meat shields long enough. Time to earn our keep." He moved his hand slightly, so that it was now pointed at one of the two guards who were flanking the ranger and muttered some arcane syllables.
Only fifteen feet away, Nesco was indeed not feeling so great. Early in the battle, she had decided that she would protect the mages and had begun backing towards them when an attacker she hadn't noticed had stabbed her from behind with a short sword. Her armor had taken most of the impact, but there had been some penetration, and it was starting to hurt fairly bad now. Worse, although she'd taken quite a few slavers out early on, she hadn't been able to seriously hurt either of her two most recent foes for some time now.
Suddenly, the man with the short sword cried out in agony as several short streaks of white light tore into him from behind. The man toppled over as Nesco turned her full attention to her remaining attacker, while muttering a silent prayer of thanks to Cygnus. She had decided early on that pride would take a distant second place to survival here.
But not if it puts others at risk, she thought as she momentarily locked gazes with Aslan, who was fighting three attackers of his own about ten feet away. She marveled at how fast and fluid the paladin was in battle. It was at odds with his overall appearance, and even though he might not have killed as many of the enemy thus far as some of the others had, Aslan was clearly no slouch on the battlefield, even without using his Talent. Aslan's shield seemed to move of its own accord, blocking blows coming from foes he wasn't even looking at. Nesco didn't know if it was magic, faith or just plain skill, but she was impressed.
Aslan could see the answer in Nesco's eyes to his questioning gaze. She still didn't want him to heal her, although he was a bit pressed right now to determine her actual condition.
As usual, the paladin was fighting defensively, trying to intercept attackers before they reached the two mages, while keeping an eye out for anyone who might need emergency healing. Of course, the drawback to this particular strategy was that he himself was starting to accumulate attackers faster than he was dropping them. He had already been hit several times, although not seriously. If this trend continued however, he might be in need of healing himself.
Aslan took a deep breath and switched tactics, launching a furious attack on one of his foes. The half-orc dropped his sword (mainly because the arm holding it had just been severed) and ran off, screaming in pain. The other two, humans, continued to press their attack. Aslan was pretty sure he could take them, but he'd have to keep up this level of offense, which necessitated taking his attention off his friends for a few moments. He-
The paladin sniffed, frowning. Even in the heat of battle, he could smell the stink. He turned left, facing eastwards.
Six, maybe seven gnolls were running towards him. No, not him. Towards Cygnus and Zantac. The humanoids were waving an assortment of flails, axes and swords. They were coming. Coming fast. The wizards had seen, or smelled, this newest threat, and were pointing at them, no doubt readying spells. This was just driving home to Aslan how untenable their overall situation was. Their enemies just kept coming. Sooner or later, they were going to be overwhelmed. It was only a matter of time.
"Hold it!" Zantac yelled to Cygnus just before the latter was about to start incanting. The red-robed wizard pointed towards the approaching gnolls, and Cygnus followed his finger, squinting. Then, he saw him.
With a bloodcurdling battle cry, Tojo tore into the gnolls from behind, having apparently snuck around the building Elrohir was backed up against. A canine head went flying, followed by another. The remaining creatures closed in upon the samurai, and he was lost to view.
"TOJO!" yelled Aslan. He whirled back to face the two wizards. "Cygnus, Zantac! You're on your own!" And with that, the paladin disappeared. His two attackers stood in stunned silence just long enough for Zantac's magic missiles to take them out.
Aslan's sword was already in motion even as he materialized next to the knot of gnolls. As the one he hit dropped, the paladin was relieved to see Tojo's katana erupt from the back of another of the humanoids. When that gnoll fell, Aslan got a look at the samurai. He was covered in blood, most of which was gnoll blood, but not all. The two of them continued to focus their full attacks on their opponents, who continued to attack with an animal ferocity.
Another gnoll dropped, but while lying on the ground managed to slash Tojo up the length of his right leg before being dispatched. The remaining two gnolls fled west, towards the center of the battle, Tojo in somewhat limping pursuit. Aslan would have called him back, but he knew it was useless. That was just the way Tojo was. He could only hope, not for the first time, that the samurai's sense of honor wasn't going to get him killed.
Aslan turned back to the east just in time to see an orc with a large axe charging at him. The paladin managed to catch his attacker's blow on his shield, but he could still feel a shockwave of pain travel up from his hand to his shoulder. It occurred to Aslan that he might be hurting a bit more than he originally thought. With a roar of anger, he counterattacked. The orc parried, but Aslan's blade cut right through the haft of his axe. His opponent stared at the stub in his hand for a moment, then dropped it and ran off. Aslan caught his breath again as he watched the orc run to the temple complex and disappear through a set of double doors.
"Aslan! Are you all right?"
That was Nesco. She and Elrohir came running up to him, both breathing hard. Nesco looked in fair shape, Elrohir somewhat better. He pointed back the way they had come. "Tojo just ran by, screaming like a banshee. He was chasing a couple of gnolls. We should-"
Aslan held up his hand. "Wait! Wait a minute!"
The two rangers looked at him curiously.
Aslan frowned, trying to think. His gaze turned back to the temple complex, replaying the image of the orc fleeing.
Those doors! They weren't locked!
He turned back to the others. "Follow me!" he yelled, then pointed back westwards. "Tell the others!"
As the paladin began to move, the others turned back to yell at the top of their lungs, "This way! Follow us! This way!" Then, they too were off, keeping close to Aslan.
Argo and Caroline had just dropped their remaining attackers when they heard a voice nearby.
"Argo! Caroline!"
It was Cygnus. He and Zantac looked exhausted as they hustled over to them, but mostly none the worse for wear.
Zantac pointed eastwards. "I heard Elrohir and Nesco yelling something, but I couldn't make it out, and now I can't see them! Or Aslan!"
Argo looked. Way back east, towards where they had come in, more warriors, at least thirty or forty strong, were massing. He couldn't see his friends either.
Caroline started yelling. "Talass! Come on! We've got to get out of here! What in Hades are you doing?"
Her husband glanced over to where Caroline was shouting. About twenty feet away, Talass was kneeling over her latest downed foe. The man, a guardsman wearing a blue sash, was still alive, although obviously no longer a threat. Talass, holy symbol in hand, seemed to be having a conversation with him, although the ranger couldn't hear any of it from here. The cleric glanced up at Caroline's voice, seemingly annoyed about something, but then rose up to her feet and came over to them. As she did her left arm shot out to point towards the northeast.
'There's an abandoned temple that's been rededicated to the orc god Gruumsh over there. We passed by it on the way in. According to him, one of the Slave Lords is in there!"
Caroline looked dubious. "That doesn't make sense. He must have been lying to you."
Talass glared at the younger woman, ice in her eyes.
"Not to me."
The priestess began to move off in that direction. "Let's go," she said.
Caroline looked back at Argo, who shrugged. "Good a plan as any. Besides, Aslan and the others may have gone that way, as well. Let's move!"
"Wait!" Caroline said, looking around. "Where's Tojo?"
Her answer came almost immediately as the samurai staggered back up to them.
Tojo looked a fright. He was entirely covered in blood and gore, and his breath came in ragged gasps. His topknot was gone, apparently sliced clean off his head. He looked around at the others, then addressed Argo, while pointing back to the southwest, where he had come from.
"Our probrems... grow roger... Argo-san."
Bigfellow looked. He didn't like what he saw.
To both south and west, forces were massing. Humans, orcs, half-orcs, goblins, kobolds, hobgoblins, a few gnolls; there were easily two hundred of them, and they were all getting ready for a massive rush. Over their heads could be seen the upper bodies of several larger humanoids. Ogres.
Argo's face went pale.
"Double-time, people," he said softly. "Let's move."
As they came around to the temple complex, they began to move parallel to the wall that surrounded it. A small stone shed was set into the wall, its pair of double doors standing open. Sounds of combat came from within.
"Sounds like our brand of diplomacy," Argo said with a grin. "Let's go!" Weapons at the ready, the sextet entered.
Inside, they found Aslan, Elrohir and Nesco standing over the dead bodies of six orcs. They whirled as the others appeared in the doorway, then relaxed with weary sighs. "Getting tired of the party out there?" asked Elrohir.
Argo motioned the others inside, went to the far side of the small room, took off a wooden beam that was barring the far door and carried it back to the set of double doors in front, which thankfully also had hooks for the beam. "The party is coming here," he said grimly as he barred the door. "It won't take them long to figure out where we've gone, and once they do, this won't give us more than one extra minute. Two, tops."
Talass was kneeling over the dead orcs. "Look at this," she said. "Every one of them has a different unholy symbol. Gruumsh, Wee Jas, Procan, Beltar..." She stood up and eyed all the symbols nailed to the walls. "These guys were afraid of something." She walked over to the now unbarred door, opened it a crack and peered out. "Just as I thought," she said, sighing. "The temple graveyard." She gestured again, this time at the various old chisels and stone working tools scattered around the room. "This must have been the room where they made the tombstones and such, and they set it up as a guard post."
Caroline looked nervous. "Guarding against which side?" she asked quietly, indicating both doors.
"Probably both," said Elrohir.
His wife nodded in assent.
"Our options are limited, people," said Cygnus soberly, going over to the interior door, opening it wide and slowly moving out. "Let's go."
As the party slowly began to exit, Nesco asked Aslan, who was in front of her. "Do you think there really are..." and she gestured towards the cemetery.
"Undead?" returned the paladin, with a small, grim smile. "I wouldn't be too surprised."
"Come on, Aslan," Argo, just ahead, interjected. "Just because we've never been to a graveyard without being attacked by them doesn't mean it won't happen again."
"You all right, Nesco?" asked Aslan.
The ranger nodded grimly. "Fine," she whispered.
"Glad to hear it," said Zantac, who was bringing up the rear behind her. "Myself, I plan on going utterly mad from panic."