25th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Scumslum
The Aerie, The Pomarj
Nesco's sword was already in motion- melted tip and all- but the fighter pulled back as the ranger's blade swept by inches from where his neck had just been.
"Nesco!" he shouted again, pulling off his gargoyle-winged helm and tossing it aside. "Lady Cynewine, it's me!"
Teal eyes regarded her under long, pale blond hair.
Recognition, shock and amazement flashed through Nesco's mind in an instant.
Unfortunately, all three were still one instant behind Yanigasawa Tojo.
The samurai was suddenly all over the new arrival. Tojo hooked his right leg behind the man's left before he could react, and a second later his back greeted the ground at no small speed.
"Tojo!" Nesco yelled. "Stop!"
The samurai's left foot was already descending towards his victim's face. Aborting the attack at the last second was so difficult that it threw the samurai off-balance and he would have stumbled if Elrohir, just now arriving, had not caught him.
Thank Zeus, thought Nesco with a feeling of relief that made her knees go weak. Thank Zeus that Tojo won't wield any swords other than his own. He'd have killed him.
The ranger helped the man to his feet, unconcerned with the rest of her companions gaping at her. For his part, the man winced from the pain coursing through his back and stared warily, and not a little fearfully, at Tojo, who returned his gaze with undisguised suspicion.
"Why did you stop Tojo, Nesco?" Elrohir asked sharply, frowning at the stranger. "Who is this man?"
Nesco did not immediately reply to her team leader's query. Instead she peered closer at the man, hoping that she was indeed looking at who she thought she was.
And not another deception.
"Sir Murtano?" she whispered.
The warrior nodded, an easy smile on his face now.
Now Lady Cynewine did turn to her fellow ranger. "Elrohir, this is-"
"-Sir Selzen Murtano, Knight of The Hart, Officer of the Azure Order and loyal servant of his Pious Majesty King Belvor, at your service!" the knight finished with a bow directed towards the entire party.
"Sir Murtano was the leader of the last expedition; the one which contained my brother, Sir Miles," Nesco explained, her voice dropping lower at the end.
"We were ambushed in Highport," Selzen said, turning his gaze back to Nesco now, his manner serious again. "The other five knights were slain, but I saw Miles disarmed and dragged inside the temple before I managed to flee."
He looked at Nesco helplessly now.
"I am sorry, Lady Cynewine. I hid in the city for a while, but I just wasn't able to sneak into the temple. I have no idea what-"
"Sir Murtano." Nesco laid a hand on the knight's shoulder. "It's all right. My brother is-"
She glanced for a moment over at Aslan.
"-beyond where pain or hurt of any kind can reach him now."
Selzen nodded in understanding, but the Knight of Furyondy kept his gaze focused on the ground beneath him. "I was responsible for him, Lady Cynewine." He spoke so quietly it was hard to hear him over the surrounding din. "All of them."
"You did what you had to do," Nesco said. "No one in Furyondy knew the true extant of what lay in The Pomarj, not even the king himself. My companions are the most powerful individuals I have ever known, but even we have known failure here. Failure, and death."
Selzen's teal eyes flickered over to Arwald's burden before coming back to rest on Nesco's face. They seemed to find something there which held them.
"How did you wind up here?" Elrohir asked.
Nesco could hear in her group leader's voice that he was not yet convinced.
And, she told herself, you shouldn't be either. Not yet. Don't disappoint Sir Damoscene's trust in you again.
Sir Murtano looked back over at Elrohir and then at Aslan, who stood nearby, arms crossed and light blue eyes looking intently at the knight.
A thin smile crossed Selzen's features. "I know that look, paladin. Do you detect anything untoward in me?"
"No," the paladin admitted without softening his glare, "but I wouldn't from a doppelganger, either."
"We encountered at least two of them in Highport," Elrohir added. "If you are one as well, it would be a simple matter for you to read Nesco's mind and assume a form that she'd want to see."
"To answer your first question, Elrohir," Sir Murtano answered with his own level gaze, "I followed a slaving party to the outskirts of Markessa's stockade. I overheard a slaver talking about Suderham and followed his party here through the same route you took."
"Alone?" Argo looked dubious as well.
Selzen gave the big ranger a surprisingly good imitation of his own pained smile.
"I was a bit of a street urchin before I joined the Azure Order, Bigfellow. The skills I picked up in my youth served me well during that time, though I must confess I never thought to have such an opportunity to stretch them again."
"Let's get to the point," Elrohir cut back in. "Can you prove you are who you say you are?"
Selzen slowly nodded.
"We've already met," the knight stated while slowly pulling something out of the leather pouch attached to his weapons belt and tossing it to the ranger.
Elrohir looked at the object in his hand.
It was a gold wheatshaff.
"I've not been idle," he heard Selzen say. "I've been doing what I can to aid you people and our common cause, ever since I arrived here."
Tojo's gaze suddenly leapt from the gold coin in Elrohir's hand to Murtano's face. The samurai snapped his fingers and then pointed at the knight.
"Beggar!" he nearly shouted. "You were beggar we met at front gate!"
"Our friend from the dungeons," Cygnus deduced. "The one who left us those scrolls."
"Let me try one," Zantac said. He regarded the knight with a wry smile. "The true leader behind Yeeton's rebellion?"
Sir Murtano bowed again, a smile on his weathered features once more.
"Guilty on all counts. I've a few cover identities I've created here in the past couple of months, not the least of which being this one." He gestured at his uniform while picking up his helm again. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to do more-"
"You can now," Aslan interrupted. "You can tell us where the Slave Lords are. You said in your note that they were getting ready to leave."
Selzen nodded and turned to point at the top of the galley that had seen earlier.
"That's the Water Dragon, The Nine's personal galley. All the surviving Slave Lords are getting ready to leave right now."
Tojo's violet eyes blazed hot. The samurai, still scowling, suddenly leaned into Sir Murtano's face, far closer than he normally would have.
"My daisho!" Tojo snapped at him. "Where are my daisho? At keep?"
Selzen shook his head slowly, a trace of his earlier fear returning to his eyes.
"I don't know what a daisho is," he said eventually, "but the Slave Lords have all of your possessions with them on their ship."
Even more shouts and screams erupted from the crowd around them as without further comment Yanigasawa Tojo plowed his way through them, heading directly for the dock.
"Tojo!" yelled Elrohir. "Dammit!"
Nesco stayed as close as she could to Sir Murtano in the rear as the party trailed Tojo. Although the samurai was easy to follow as he wasn't being at all concerned about the people he was knocking aside, a dozen people still moved slower than one.
"You said the surviving Slave Lords?" she yelled at him as they pushed their way through the mob.
Selzen nodded. "Part of Drachen Keep collapsed while we were loading supplies. I heard Ajakstu had been killed, and possibly others as well."
"Well, that's good news!" Sir Menn hollered back from in front of them.
"Yes, but unfortunately there's much more bad news than good." Murtano responded.
Seeing Nesco and Menn's questioning looks, he expounded. "Those few members of the Wizard's and Assassin's guilds who were able to flee The Aerie on their own have already done so, but when the rest learned Lamonsten and Nerelas weren't planning on taking them with them on the Water Dragon, they rebelled." Selzen shook his head. "We're heading towards a bloody massacre."
"That is bad," Nesco agreed.
"It gets worse," Sir Murtano continued. "The Slave Lords gave their private army leave to take any and all boats for themselves, by force if need be. Naturally, the town guard, and everyone else, didn't cotton to that idea. No matter what, we're going to have to fight our way through."
Nesco could feel the wound on the back of her head throbbing.
They broke through unexpectedly early.
The crowd of townspeople went no further than the very edge of this particular dock, which was quite long.
Their first glimpse of their samurai companion showed him halfway down the pier, battling two Slave Lord lieutenants, armed and armored as Sir Murtano was.
Unarmed, Tojo must have seemed like easy prey, but the samurai was dodging and weaving; fighting more defensively than Elrohir would have supposed, given his current state, and landing blow after punishing blow on his opponents.
Elrohir grimaced.
The entire length of the dock was strewn with dead bodies.
And at the end of the dock, someone was untying the last rope holding the large galley to the pier as the last of several leather armor-wearing men climbed aboard a rope ladder.
Elrohir recognized the man at the stern with the rope, and he could no longer begrudge Tojo his anger.
A rage suddenly swelled up in the ranger's breast and erupted from his throat in a scream.
"MORDRAMMO!"
The High Priest glanced up, startled.
The Voice of The Sacred Scaly One was not wearing his dragon helm, and even from here, Elrohir could see the look of astonishment spread across the cleric's face. He yelled something Elrohir couldn't quite make out, but the ranger and his companions continued to charge forward.
Tojo downed one of his adversaries. The other moved to strike from behind, but an arrow suddenly whistled through the air and plunged through the spot between the man's chainmail and the neck guard of his helm. Spouting a thin geyser of blood, the warrior collapsed.
"We've had enough deaths among our own today, thank you," Sitdale announced while pulling another arrow from his quiver.
They were close enough to hear now.
"John!" Mordrammo yelled out to the figure who was hanging in the rigging, making the final adjustments to the Water Dragon's mainsail. "Full sail! All rowers at full stroke! Lamonsten!" he bellowed at someone standing nearby. "Get us out of here!"
A wizard, who the party might have mistaken for Ajakstu if they had not been told earlier of his death, whirled around to glare at the party.
He wore green and white robes similar to his late peer, but with much shorter sleeves. A full green cloak encircled his body as he moved. His hat was long and pointed, but as it rose above his head it curled in on itself like a snail's shell. The man stroked his long, full beard for a moment before turning back towards the front of the boat and casting.
The ship's sail suddenly billowed out as a strong gust of wind hit it.
Slowly, under oar and sail, the galley pulled away from the dock.
Tojo might have leapt off the dock had not Aslan grabbed him at the last moment.
"Tojo, no!"
The samurai glared with undisguised anger at the paladin, but from the rear Nesco saw Aslan point down at the water.
Whatever Tojo saw apparently convinced him not to jump, but by the time Nesco arrived and looked down, she saw only a copious amount of blood in the water; but no bodies.
Mordrammo grinned and waved at them as his ship headed out into the lake.
Elrohir looked around.
The lake's surface was choppy from the quake. The water frothed as white capped waves tossed wildly back and forth, colliding with one another.
The far end of the lake, some half a league distant, seemed to tremble slightly as the ranger stared at it.
There were a number of boats already in the water. Most, being heinously overloaded, were making their way slowly and with great difficulty. One had already overturned, and those who had been fortunate enough to clamber onto the underside of its hull were trying to pull other survivors on board.
There were a number of people swimming in the water, but Elrohir didn't hold out hope for most of them. A mile and a half was a tough distance to swim under these conditions.
The worst of the screaming, yelling and fighting were coming from further north- by the three remaining docks, where the few remaining smaller boats were still anchored.
Elrohir looked south.
The yellow smoke was starting to slip over Suderham's north wall.
"Come on, people," Elrohir said, drawing his sword and letting all emotion slip out of his mind.
Even kindness.
"We have to get a ship."