14th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
Highport, The Pomarj

Despite their injuries, the three fighters drew their weapons and stepped forward to meet their attackers head-on. Three of the dire weasels received gaping sword wounds as soon as their front paws touched the platform surface. They continued to attack however, alongside their uninjured kin. Elrohir managed to avoid the jaws of the creature attacking him. Aslan had two weasel opponents, but for now was also able to keep away from their sharp teeth.

Nesco also was attacked by two of the large animals. The one she had wounded grabbed her shield in its mouth, and with a tremendous twist, tore it out of the ranger's hands. It cracked in two, both halves falling to the platform floor. The other one managed to get behind her and sank its teeth into the back of her neck. She gasped out in pain, but worse than that was the fact that the creature was now pushing down on her back, trying to force her slowly down to the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Elrohir saw the Slave Lord slowly rise from behind the table and walk around it to the side. He still made no move to draw his weapon, but his gaze was fixed firmly on the battle unfolding before him. His smile began to slowly turn into a frown as he watched the blood spurt out of his beloved attack animals.

Elrohir swung again, and the dire weasel he had wounded earlier dropped at his feet, dead. Aslan likewise killed his injured opponent, while his other attacker continued to try to find a vulnerable area to bite down on.

Nesco killed her wounded weasel, but then heard a horrible sucking sound, followed by a tremendous pulling on the back of her neck.

The other weasel was sucking her blood out. The ranger tried to attack the creature pushing her down, but without success.

Suddenly, just as she swore she couldn't take any more, Nesco felt the sucking stop. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the weasel's head slowly release its grip on her neck and roll down off her back, landing beside its headless corpse. Elrohir and Aslan had, together, slain the beast.

It wasn't over, though. The remaining weasels again attacked Aslan and Nesco, and this time it was the paladin who cried out in pain as his attacker bit through the armor on his right arm and fastened its teeth on his flesh. Elrohir moved to assist, but Nesco suddenly pointed behind them, her eyes wide.

"Look!" She cried.

Elrohir spun around just in time to see the Slave Lord, sword now in hand, put a small vial to his lips.

A vial of gray liquid.

"Damn it!" Elrohir yelled as the man smiled at them and vanished. Without stopping to think, the ranger began to charge over the nearest bridge connecting the platform to the ledge.

All ten orcs fired their readied crossbows. In his enraged state, Elrohir took no notice of those bolts that bounced off of him, merely assuming that his plate mail had done the job that it had been designed to do.

It was only when he reached the other side, and about to attack the two orcs who were blocking his path, did he spare a glance and noticed all of the orcs staring at him in wonder while reloading their weapons. Every bolt had bounced off him without him feeling so much as a prick.

Got to have Cygnus and Zantac brew up some of that black stuff, the ranger thought while swinging at one of the orcs, whose attempt to parry with his crossbow did not save his life.

Meanwhile, both Aslan and Nesco attacked the dire weasel that was clamped onto the paladin's arm, slicing the creature in two. The remaining weasel however, sensing the fresh blood still trickling down the back of Nesco's neck, grabbed hold of the ranger there, forcing a short scream from her throat. She buckled and went down on her knees.

Elrohir cut the other orc down, but two more stepped over the bodies of their fallen brethren and attacked, although not successfully. Fine by me, The ranger thought. As long as they stay in front of me, our invisible friend can't-

"You fools!" cried out the voice of the Slave Lord to his orc minions. "Two of you- come at him from behind! The rest of you, finish off the two on the platform! They may not have the same protection as he does!"

Elrohir gritted his teeth. Rats, he thought.

Two orcs ran across another bridge, then skirted along the edge of the platform on their way towards the bridge where Elrohir was battling. Meanwhile, four crossbow bolts sped towards the battling duo. One caught Aslan on his left thigh, the projectile punching right through his plate mail and into the flesh underneath. The paladin gasped out in pain. He tried to remain standing, but his left leg gave out and he went down on his knees, and then toppled over onto his left side.

Two bolts narrowly missed Nesco, but the fourth struck the dire weasel in the back of the head. A growling noise came from the animal, but it did not release its grip on Lady Cynewine's neck.

Gokasillion cut through the air again and an orc went down, feebly attempting to stop the flow of blood from its throat. The ranger whirled and stabbed one of the oncoming orcs through the heart. The humanoid dropped to the bridge and rolled off into the sewage moat. Elrohir managed to parry the other charging orc's attack, but the remaining orc's blade cut down through the ranger's plate mail into his right shoulder. Elrohir cried out in pain. He could feel his grip on Gokasillion's hilt starting to loosen. He had almost nothing left.

Despite her best efforts, Nesco slumped forward, face down onto the platform. The weasel went with her; it's body almost completely covering her now at it drew yet more blood out of her body. Darkness danced at the edge of the ranger's vision. Unconsciousness, a beckoning gift. A release from pain. So hard to refuse...

Tears of pain forced themselves out of Aslan's eyes. He couldn't keep fighting. It wasn't a matter of bravery or determination or skill, or resolution. The paladin's body was simply being cut, shot or bitten to pieces. He wasn't used to this level of pain. His eyes closed of their own volition, and he heard the woosh of crossbow bolts- he couldn't tell how many, fly by him. None hit him- or perhaps they did, and he couldn't tell anymore. All the sounds of battle seemed to be receding away. No one could fault him, he reasoned. He had fought to the bitter end, and at least could, as Tojo had said, die with honor. A better fate awaited him in the next life anyway; he knew that. There was no shame in this. He heard a final groan that he knew was the sound of someone dying, and he knew it was his own.

Or was it? Just to be sure, he opened one eye.

Nesco was lying on her stomach about five feet from him. Her eyes were closed, and the last dire weasel (which seemed to have taken another errant crossbow bolt, although not a lethal one) was still covering her like a blanket. Its suckling at the back of Nesco's neck somehow reminding Aslan of a young animal weaning at its mother's teats. Nesco was still conscious however, if only barely, and was holding her sword behind her at an odd angle, blindly sawing back and forth at the weasel's neck. Blood was coming down the blade, but Aslan knew between the two of them, Nesco was going to die first, her blood replenishing the weasel's own. As odd as the thought (his last one, possibly) seemed to the paladin, he had to admire the creature's toughness. It relentlessly continued on, the bolts sticking out of its fur not even penetrating its skin. Even at the brink of death, this creature had-

Not even penetrated?

Aslan opened his other eye.

A pebble of strength.

That was all Nesco had left, and in her mind's eye (she was too tired to keep her real ones open), she could see it cracking, as if the heel of a giant was pressing down upon it. Guilt, determination, loyalty; all of that had already fled her body, riding along with her blood like a boat upon a crimson tide. She was just about to let the tide take her away when there came a loud screech from very close by. The weight of the large animal on her was momentarily lifted, and then came back down on her even harder as the weasel rose up in a spasm of death agonies, then crashed back down on top of her.

Nesco was annoyed. Someone had interrupted her peaceful dying and prevented her pebble from being smashed. Even worse, now she could feel someone's hot breath on her face. She frowned. Was there another dire weasel? Had she lost count?

She opened her eyes, only to stare directly into Aslan's light blue ones, less than twelve inches away. He was absolutely drenched in blood, as if he had struck the last weasel to death with his sword and it had spouted its blood, along with Nesco's, all over him. Maybe he did, Nesco thought from somewhere far away. Wish I had that kind of strength.

Aslan was pulling the dead weasel over the two of them. She continued to stare blankly into his eyes.

The thought occurred to Nesco that they were now close enough to kiss.

Aslan smiled weakly at her.

"Cozy", he mumbled, so softly Nesco could barely hear him.

Nesco was far too weak to cry. If she could have though, she would have.

"Aslan, she whispered.

"Nesco," the paladin replied in his own whisper. "Take a few deep breaths, and then do exactly as I tell you..."

Do not submit. You shall not leave me of your own accord.

Elrohir's grip tightened again on his sword's hilt, but it was not his doing.

"Gokasillion?"

The sword's powerful voice flooded into his mind, quenching the fires of his injuries. The wounds remained, but the pain was lessened somewhat.

Triumph or die, Elrohir of Aarde.

"You'd make a lousy healer, Gokasillion". Elrohir smiled grimly, then let the two of them, sword and human, act as one.

The orc barely had time to notice his right arm dropping to the floor before he was suddenly flying across the chamber. As the orc's perception faded, he noticed his own headless body still standing on the bridge below, slowly beginning to topple over.

The four orcs still wielding crossbows had come together in a tight knot, watching with grim smiles as the two humans on the platform fell. They had then turned their attention to the lone human on the bridge, who was faring much better than his companions. Orcs were dropping left and right. Only one remained, frantically parrying attacks that seemed to be coming faster and faster now from the human's glowing sword.

"His protection has worn off by now!" Their leader's disembodied voice came to them. "Shoot him! Kill him!"

As they raised their weapons to fire, one of the orcs saw, out of the corner of his eye, the surviving weasel slowly rise up and began to head across the bridge towards the four of them. That didn't bother him. The weasels were all well trained never to attack orcs. It just seemed that the creature was moving somewhat- oddly.

His eyes widened. Beneath the weasel he could see two pairs of crouched legs.

"It's the humans!" he yelled at his fellow warriors. "Shoot!"

The orcs pivoted and fired. All four crossbow bolts struck the dead weasel. They lodged in the creature's fur, but it kept coming. The orcs dropped their missile weapons and were drawing swords when the beast plowed into them. Two orcs were knocked off into the moat. The third orc grabbed the weasel's mouth with his left hand and yanked the jaws open. He peered inside; his right hand ready to thrust his sword down the creature's throat to slay the human he would see within.

A bloody, gauntleted fist erupted from between the weasel's teeth, slamming into the orc's snout. He staggered back while the fourth orc tried to slash underneath the creature's corpse at the humans' legs. He missed, however. His blade stuck in the animal's hide instead, and as the two humans underneath rose up and threw off the dead weasel, the orc's sword was ripped out of his hand.

Elrohir had dispatched his last opponent and was heading to assist his friends when he heard the voice of the Slave Lord.

"Hold them off! I'll get help!"

Elrohir whirled. The voice had come from within the alcove. The ranger spun on his heel and half-ran, half-staggered in that direction. I figured him for a coward, he thought while gritting his teeth against the ever-present pain.

Aslan swung his sword and the orc he was facing let out a pitiable cry and collapsed to the ground, clutching his stomach. Nesco's attacker, deprived of his weapon, grabbed the ranger around her throat, determined to strangle her. That lasted only until Lady Cynewine's blade slashed across and into his back, severing his spine.

Elrohir reached the base of the ladder. There was no sign of the trapdoor above opening, but Elrohir knew as his body suddenly jerked and stiffened up, that he had just fallen for the oldest distraction of all.

And he was going to pay for it with his life.

Elrohir slowly turned his head. The Slave Lord was standing right behind him, his childish face glowing in savage delight as he twisted further the sword he had just driven into Elrohir's back. The ranger turned back to look at his two friends. Miles away, their expressions were frozen into portraits of horror.

"I'm sorry," he whispered at them, even though he knew they couldn't hear him. "Tell Talass... that..."

He collapsed to the floor and lay still.

The Slave Lord couldn't believe how fast two humans, wounded to within an inch of their lives, could move so fast. In the blink of an eye they were upon him however, their swords coming at him from every conceivable angle, their roars of rage drowning out all other sounds. He batted one strike away and dodged another, but he wasn't as experienced as they were in a fair fight. One stroke cut him and then another, and another. Soon he was knocked flat on his back, the two figures above raising their weapons for the kill.

He dropped his sword. "I surrender!" He squealed. "Spare me my life! I beg of you! Spare me, please! Show mercy!"

Ignoring him, Aslan bent over Elrohir's crumpled form. He grabbed the ranger's arm and squeezed, trying to wring just one drop, just one drop of Talent out of himself. "Please, Mighty Odin", he whispered. "Please."

Nesco dropped to one knee by the Slave Lord and grabbed him by the chest, lifting his upper body off the floor. "Show mercy? Like you did!" she snarled in a low voice, then glanced over at the paladin.

"Aslan," she said, almost pleading. "Please don't tell me we have to keep this... weasel alive!" She looked down at him with such rage that he cowered again. "Those animals back there deserved life more than you do!" Nesco's voice was rising again. "King Belvor told us to put a stop to these slavers, so I say we do it!" She raised her sword again as the prisoner covered his eyes and shrieked again.

Aslan grabbed Nesco by the shoulders and spun her around. His eyes burned into hers. "Elrohir clings to life, Lady Cynewine!"

She blinked at him.

The paladin moved his face closer to hers. "I don't know any of the healing arts, Nesco. See what you can do." With that, Aslan bent over the Slave Lord and began going through his belt pouches. "There's something else that Cygnus taught me", Aslan mumbled as his gauntleted fingers moved quickly. When he took one of the pouches from his belt, the prisoner reached out and grabbed it.

"Please," he said weakly. "I am hurt, and need th-"

The paladin backhanded him across the face with his gauntlet.

"Not as much as you will be! Keep silent! Keep still!"

Nesco was frantically working on Elrohir. To all her senses, he was dead, but she trusted Aslan's judgment because- well, she didn't really know why she did.

Perhaps because it was easier to believe than the alternative.

Suddenly, Aslan was kneeling beside her, uncorking a thin vial and massaging the liquid within down Elrohir's throat. A milky white liquid.

Aslan glanced over at Nesco. "Filth like that always keep some type of healing in reserve, he said." He then looked back down at Elrohir, as did Nesco.

For several seconds there was no reaction. Then Elrohir abruptly coughed. Blood dribbled out of his mouth, and he began spasming, as if he was having trouble breathing. His two friends moved him into a sitting position. Nesco checked his mouth, and then pounded him on the back several times. Elrohir took in a strangled gasp of air, and then (between aborted attempts) several deep breaths. He looked absolutely terrible.

But absolutely alive.

As it turned out, the door set into the ledge led to a corridor that wound back to the door the trio had been heading for when the stairs had dropped out underneath them. It took some doing, but eventually all the slaves were assembled together again in the chamber.

Most of them, that is. Apparently, they had been involved in some combat of their own while Elrohir, Aslan and Nesco had been engaged in their own life-and-death struggle. Sarkos, a fresh wound visible on his chest, recounted the details.

"Orcs. They came at us from behind after you fell away. We beat them back, but Sir Enkos…" his eyes looked at Nesco, sadly. "He was swept up in the fighting. The last I saw of him; he was trying to escape several orcs. I don't know if-"

"That's all right, Sarkos," Nesco said quietly. "Thank you for your help. These slaves might not still be with us if not for you."

Sarkos shrugged off the praise. "We have reached this far only due to your efforts, not mine." The large man grew grim. "Have you discovered a way out?"

"Elrohir is checking out a corridor we discovered above a trapdoor set in the ceiling", she replied. "He will report back to us."

Sarkos nodded, then looked over to where Aslan was keeping watch over the Slave Lord. His eyes flashed steel.

"Why do you keep that one alive?" he growled.

Nesco's voice indicated her unspoken understanding. "We need information out of him."

The hirsute warrior crossed his arms. "Once you have it, give him to me." He then turned away to look after his fellow slaves.

Nesco sighed as she slowly went over to rejoin Aslan. To have found Sir Enkos, and then lost him again so quickly… It was true she had not known him well. Certainly not well enough to count him as a friend. And it was also true that he had already given Nesco all the information he knew about Sir Miles. Still, she thought sadly, he was a Knight of The Hart.

I should have found the time to listen to what he wanted to tell me privately. I hope the others will not suffer for that mistake of mine.

The boxes in the alcove turned out to contain not only some coins and gems, but also provisions for the slaves' journey to the stockade that would now not take place. A length of hemp rope found within was quickly put to use, binding the Slave Lord's hands behind him.

Elrohir's head reappeared through the trapdoor opening. His expression did not look encouraging.

"The corridor leads to stairs going upward, but they end inside a crypt of some kind. I think it's the one where the ghouls were hiding in the temple cemetery. Can't be sure, though; I didn't try the door. There's some kind of noise coming from the other side, but I can't make it out."

Aslan sighed, exchanged weary glances with Nesco and then addressed his team leader again.

"Did you see any side passages? Any other possible way out?"

Elrohir slowly shook his head. The paladin turned to their prisoner.

"Is there any other way out of here?"

He shook his head. "Through the main doors of the temple courtyard, the stables, or through the guard post. This is our land. Why would we need to sneak out?"

"Aslan", Elrohir called out. "Don't waste your breath on him. I'd be leery about taking any route he mentioned anyway. If Talass still has a zone of truth spell available once we regroup, we'll get more out of this one."

The Slave Lord looked thoughtful, but otherwise showed no reaction.

"How about a sword to the throat spell?" Nesco mumbled to herself, then addressed the mass of slaves. "We're going up this ladder and will rejoin our allies above! Sarkos, get them ready to leave!"

Slowly the crowd, with the trio in front with their prisoner, and the slaves and Sarkos bringing up the rear, left the chamber behind.