First off, I'd like to thank my latest reviewer for his efforts to help improve my work. Hopefully this chapter will have enough action, and as for clichés, well, in my defense, it's almost impossible not to have one of those nowadays. But I see your point. Enjoy the show.
Zak Crimsonleaf ran, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and his red headband soaked through with sweat. His heartbeat pounded like thunder in his ears, and he was dripping blood from a dozen cuts, some of which had sliced clear through his tough leather jacket and the chain shirt beneath. Just ahead of him, Jemic was keeping up the pace with somewhat less trouble, but he could still tell she was pushing it. Abandoning the effort, Zak turned and called,
"Stop here! We'll stand and fight! Take as many down as you can!"
"It's suicide to stop, Zak! Come on!" She tried to pull him after her, but he threw off the ranger's efforts and lifted his sword to high guard. He could hear the clatter of his enemies feet on the rough stone floor of the cavern. Transferring the torch he was holding in his shield hand to his teeth, he wished fervently for his flaming sword and it's powers. His spare sword, the leaf-bladed one he was holding now was already notched in several places and he didn't expect it to last much longer. The first of his foes rounded the corner, and Zak Crimsonleaf faced down the Army of Steel.
A short while ago…
"Well?" Zak inquired to Arakanzar. "Explain then." The half-drow considered and shook his head.
"There's too much to explain. Let me sum up. I'd like to hire you to kill a man who's after me. How's fifty gold sound?" The sellsword flashed a grin. He could do with some action.
"Deal," he agreed, sheathing his sword, not even bothering to barter. "Where is the man?"
"At the Silverstar Inn, in the north part of town, though I don't know for how much longer."
"Just give me a half hour." The half-elf jogged off into the night.
Coming to the door of the inn in question, he slowed up, not intending to be taken by a surprise attack. Drawing his sword again with a quiet rasp, and unlimbering his shield, he advanced cautiously towards the door. A hideously powerful blow from behind sent him sprawling forward onto the cobbles. Rolling over, spitting curses, he stopped at the sight of the person who had dealt it. An enormous orc, holding an equally enormous greatsword in his meaty hands, grinned down at him through two yellowed tusks.
"I've got my orders," he offered as an explanation. "Nobody goes in and nobody comes out 'til my master says." Still a little stunned that he hadn't heard a thing before the orc struck, the sellsword got to his feet, his stomach knotting up at what would have happened if his opposition had decided to use the edge of the greatsword rather than the flat. Then his temper returned.
"Well how 'bout I just cram that overgrown toothpick down your throat!" he spat, hurling himself forward, holding his weapon at a deadly angle. The big orc's grin grew wider, and he brought that huge cleaver of his down so fast it made the air whistle. Rolling to the right to avoid the blow, Zak came up with the intent of laying open his enemy's side. But he never got that far. Letting go of his weapon with one hand, the orc caught the sellsword's attack in the other, ignoring the attempts to twist it free, and delivered a bone-crushing kick to Zak's midsection, sending him flying backwards again, his sword clattering to the cobbles. Ignoring the dark blood welling up from his hand, he grounded his sword and leaned on it insolently.
"I said no one goes in, runt. You have a hearing problem?" Getting to his feet again, and grimacing at the pain in his midsection, the half-elf managed to return.
"I'm gonna rip your tongue out and feed it to you!" Drawing his crossbow as fast as he could, he loosed a bolt at point-blank range…and the orc brought his blade across in time for the projectile to spend itself against the steel. Beside himself with rage, Zak drew dagger after dagger, hurling them overhand the source of the mockery. Each one was deflected handily, though it boggled his mind to see that sword move so fast. When he finally ran out of daggers, the orc advanced again, kicking away Zak's sword as he came forward.
"When you get to hell, tell'em Dram sent you, runt!" He started in on the attack, and it was all Zak could do to stay out of the way, slowly giving ground back across the street. Finally, there was nowhere else to go, and the half-elf made a last desperate attempt to dart past him, which met with an elbow in the face. Bloodied and bent, the sellsword employed his last option. He pushed off the wall, running up and along the stonework, then pushed out, lashing out with a spinning kick of his own, connecting with the tusked jaw, and like a mountain, Dram crashed backwards to the ground, stunned. Without waiting to see if the orc recovered or not, the sellsword ran over and retrieved his sword, then dashed through the doorway, nearly running into Armand as he came out of the inn. Blocking Zak's quick slash with his armored forearm, he drew his own sword, punching the pommel into the half-elf's face as it cleared the scabbard.
"Who are you?" the blackguard demanded, looking with some surprise at Dram as the orc struggled back to his feet. Spinning his sword in a full circle, first one way and then the other, Zak bowed slightly.
"Zak Crimsonleaf, sellsword legend. You may have heard of me. And who are you, exactly?" Lifting his own blade in a knight's salute, the other took up the same high guard position that the half-elf usually started off with.
"Armand Lennox. Perhaps you've heard of me, self-proclaimed legend." Zak's throat went dry. He had heard a little of Armand's reputation, and what he had heard was the stuff that nightmares are made of. But his own fierce pride refused to let him quake at the sight of the infamous man, and he tightened his grip on his sword. A strange calm fell over him as he switched his stance into the beginning pose of Sunlight On Water, a preliminary attack sequence that was begun with an intent to provoke an attack, then defend when pressed, to open the way for other moves. Armand's eyes widened as he recognized the stance. A slight smile crossed his face as he moved into the first pose of the traditional counter for the sequence, The Seed Takes Root, which primarily utilized thrusting attacks, and was useful for getting past an overcautious opponent's guard.
Zak had no idea where Armand had learned the traditional elven sword style, which he had learned at great expense from the elves of Cormanthor, but he didn't much care. If the man was truly a master at the style, he wasn't at all sure he could match him. But he could try, for he had developed a bit of his own school of fighting over the years, and he had a shield. Shouting his battle cry, the sellsword lunged forward to clash against Armand's iron defense. The sound of the two duelists echoed through the empty streets. Dram had regained his feet and his sword, nursing his jaw, but did not engage in the fight, no doubt waiting for his master to order it so.
Unable to sleep after her brief fight, Jemic finally gave up the ghost and went downstairs, with the intention of playing cards or dice with Zak. Upon descending into the common room, she found not the half-elf, but Arakanzar and Devlar lounging about, with the latter casting nervous glances towards the door every so often.
"Where'd Zak go?" she asked, cursing the day she had joined up with the sellsword. The wizard gestured vaguely to the north.
"I hired him to kill somebody for me."
"You what?" Arakanzar frowned.
"What's so difficult to understand? Sellswords do that kind of thing."
"I know, but it's just…he told me he had gotten out of that kind of work." The half-drow chuckled indulgently.
"Dear girl, you should know by now that mercenaries will do anything for coin." The ranger scowled, and murmured,
"When I catch up to him, he and I are going to have a long talk. Where exactly did you send him?" Getting up with a sigh, the wizard gestured for Devlar to rise as well.
"I suppose I may as well take you there myself so I won't have to deal with your inferior intellect getting my directions wrong."
Zak was losing the fight. Armand's mastery of swordsmanship was astounding. From early on in the fight, he had let the half-elf take the initiative in order to analyze his technique, then come back at him with attacks that seemed to come from everywhere. His sword was beginning to feel like an anvil in his hand, and his shield was the only reason he had survived this long. He tried again, falling into the rarely used form of The Wind Howls Among The Mountains, which most found too difficult to sustain more than a few moves in. At his best, Zak himself had been known to come within two moves of completing the sequence without dropping his sword, but as it was, he had barely begun the fourth attack when he felt his grip began to slip on the hilt.
"You're not bad, Crimsonleaf," Armand grunted as he forced Zak to give up the attempt in favor of The Trapped Horse Kicks Out, a last-ditch attack that while it offered the best chance of killing the opponent, also offered the best chance for his own death. And Armand took it. As Zak lunged forward, the point of his blade dipping under his enemy's guard, the blackguard deflected it towards the ground and, stepping in close, clubbed the sellsword in the head, then as Zak fell backwards onto the ground, planted his boot on the half-elf's sword, trapping it against the ground.
"Plenty of style, but not enough substance," he remarked conversationally, motioning for Dram to come forward. As the big orc lumbered up behind him, Armand turned about, commanding,
"Kill this fool for me, please." Dram raised his sword, but a hissing noise was heard, followed by a thock!, and the orc whirled around, roaring in pain and anger, revealing an arrow protruding from a gap in his armor where the torso met the arm. Looking in the direction of the arrow's origin, Zak saw Jemic, grim-faced, nocking another arrow to her shortbow. Rolling away, he scrambled up and beat a hasty retreat, noticing Arakanzar and Devlar standing behind the ranger. The wizard looked disgusted at the half-elf's defeat.
"Remind me not to hire you for a job like this again, Crimsonleaf," he said, his voice laden with contempt. Too tired to argue, Zak took up a position beside Jemic, murmuring,
"I owe you one." Armand noticed Arakanzar and called out.
"Your hireling has failed, Z'tran. Come out and fight honorably, if you think yourself capable of handling that concept." The half-drow glared fiercely at him.
"I can at least manage this concept!" he retorted, and began chanting a spell. Armand and Dram swept forward, ready to kill. Devlar drew his rapier, though it was obvious he would have no chance against either of them, and Jemic squinted along the arrow's shaft, taking aim at Dram again. At the last second, before both sides met, Arakanzar finished his spell. A massive fireball bloomed in the air, flattening everyone who wasn't fast enough to dive for cover. As the smoke cleared, it was revealed that Arakanzar had been just beyond the blast radius, Devlar had come through without even a singe, Jemic and Zak were both scorched, and Dram and Armand were burned, though neither seriously. Jemic had lost her arrow, and drew her saber, dropping the shortbow to the ground. Arakanzar, noticing that Armand was still coming towards him, knocking aside Zak's weak attempts to wound him, and Dram was easily holding off Jemic and Devlar, swatting away their much lighter weapons like twigs, decided the time had come for a rapid retreat. With a sinking heart, he called,
"Devlar, to me!" and began casting a teleportation spell, intending to leave the sellsword and the ranger to their fate. But while Zak was weary nearly unto death, he still suspected that the half-drow was planning for a fast getaway, and retreated in the wizard's direction, calling for Jemic to join him. Dram came on like a landslide, swinging his massive weapon before him. Taking hold of Devlar's hand with his own, Arakanzar reached the final syllables of his spell, but Zak, catching hold of Jemic's wrist, dived for the wizard and snagged his ankle, wheezing,
"You'll not leave us behind!" Then all four of them blinked out of existence, leaving Armand and Dram staring at empty cobblestones. The orc swore in his own gutteral tongue, and tugged out Jemic's arrow without wincing.
"They fight well, master. What now?" Sheathing his sword again, Armand turned to the east, and the lightening sky.
"We head east. I don't know where he's gone to, but I can find out. Drow blood this far north is extremely rare. He'll show himself soon enough, and next time I intend to ensure he has nobody to hide behind."
In a dark and dripping cavern, far beneath the surface of Faerun, Arakanzar and his passengers blinked into existence with a small pop! of displaced air. The wizard immediately jerked his leg free of Zak's grasp and swore,
"By Loviatar's bloody lash! What were you thinking?" He winced reflexively as the echoes resonated within the small space, disappearing into the distance. Zak was too tired to answer, standing up slowly and leaning against the wall. In an angry whisper, Jemic answered,
"I don't know who you are, but when you try and leave both of us to die, I'd say it's no more than you deserve!" Locating Zak by touch, she busied herself with casting a small healing spell on the half-elf, the last of her magic.
"Where are we, boss?" Devlar wanted to know.
"The Underdark, Dev. We're a few miles northeast and about a half-mile beneath Ankhapur, by the Lake of Steam. I maintain a small study here. Unfortunately, I haven't visited it in years, but it should still be all right."
"I can't see a thing, boss. Where are you?"
"Relax. I can see you, so just hold still while I break out a torch." There was a sound of rustling and then an "Aha!" from Arakanzar. At the word 'Light' in the dark-elven speech, a soft blue glow filled the cavern, emenating from an obviously magical torch the half-drow held. Finishing with Zak, Jemic turned to face the wizard again.
"So now what do we do?" Arakanzar snorted derisively.
"You can wander about until a giant spider or deep dragon finds you. I'm going to find my study and stay there until I feel like coming out. C'mon, Dev."
"Stay where you are!" Zak's voice seemed much louder in the silence, though it was still weak. "You're not going to just walk away," the half-elf went on. "If you don't teleport us where we want to go, I'll-"
"Gods, Crimsonleaf, you're nearly dead. Don't think you can order me about, even when you're not. Here." The sellsword caught an ordinary torch that was tossed in his direction. "Deal with that. I've no further use for you or your little friend." The half-drow walked out of the cavern, Devlar following behind. Hurredly getting out her tinderbox, Jemic managed to light the torch before the light had completely faded, and the two of them faced the uncanny silence of the Underdark. But before long, faint sounds began to reach Zak's keen hearing. Confused, he pushed off the wall and squinted into the darkness. The noises grew louder, and he could clearly identify them as the din of battle. The time passed, with neither of them speaking, afraid to draw attention, and the torch burned lower, and the noise got louder and louder. When the clatter of booted feet sounded along the stone, it was almost a relief. As the first of the dwarves rounded the corner, Zak first was relieved, thinking he had found a friend. Then he looked closer and swore softly in elven. The duergar grinned evilly at his good fortune, though surprised to find it here and hollered back down the tunnel,
"'Ware foe! Rally to me! To me!" With that, Zak and Jemic finally got started running.