The Fourth Realm

by Kris Kramer

A former soldier, branded as a coward, and banished from service in the Army, has a chance encounter with an enemy that leads him on a journey with some unlikely allies as they seek to uncover a mystery deep in the war-ravaged frontiers of their land. See the updated story at /portfolio/the-rise-of-cithria-the-chosen/

2. The Hibernia Storyline

Prologue

In a time long since passed, the three great realms of Albion, Hibernia and Midgard lived in an uneasy peace, brokered by the sheer strength of will of Albion's King Arthur. From his home in Camelot, the capital city of Albion, Arthur presided over an era of prosperity that was unprecedented in the history of the three realms. But it was also a time for resentments and rivalries to simmer below the surface. Arthur's era of peace was about to end...

Albion was the fertile land of the Britons and Highlanders, led by the great King Arthur himself. Along with their mystical Avalonian allies, as well as the Saracens, dark-skinned warriors from the south whom Arthur himself had recruited to the cause, the people of Albion sought to become a mighty kingdom that would bring order to their corner of the world. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with Arthur's vision.

Midgard was the frozen land of the north, home of the Norsemen, Trolls, Dwarves and Kobolds. The Norsemen were viking raiders, led by King Eiric, who sought to find new lands where they could stake their claim. The hardy Dwarves were their allies, as were the giant, stone-skinned Trolls from the mountains and the small, blue-skinned Kobolds from the Undercity.

These races of Midgard, unable to live off the land of their birth, needed to expand their reach, but Albion, and Arthur, blocked their way.

Hibernia was the magical land of the Celts, fierce warriors who had long been subjugated by their more powerful neighbor, Albion. The Celts, led by Lug Lamfhota allied themselves with the 'old races' of Hibernia, the mighty Firbolgs, the diminutive Lurikeen and the haughty Elves, to free themselves of Albion's long-standing dominion over them. All they needed was an opportunity to show their strength.

On Arthur's death, the realms mourned, for they knew times were about to change for the worse. War came shortly after as Midgard invaded, looking for new lands, Hibernia threw off the yoke of their Albion masters, and Albion sought to defend their homeland against two great aggressors. At stake was not only the future of the realms, but of the frontier lands between them, where powerful magical artifacts known as Relics were housed. Whoever controlled these Relics, controlled the strength and power that their magic provided to an entire realm.

For thirty years now these realms have fought, trading lands, Relics, and lives. The balance of power has shifted back and forth among them, but none of the three realms has ever been able to strike a blow decisive enough to claim a final victory. But times are changing. Midgard's ageing armies have been slowly dwindling in numbers, and Hibernia's forces have suffered several notable defeats. Albion, long under siege, is slowly but surely reaching the brink of victory.

But old enemies lurk beneath the surface, waiting for the right time to strike. And the three realms, weakened by decades of war, are at their most vulnerable. The fate of the realms, and their people, is at stake.

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Book 1 – The Gathering

by Alistair McIntyre

Chapter 1

The wide stone corridor rumbled underfoot, causing a trickle of small rocks from the ceiling in some places, a burst of cloudy dust in others. Ancient walls displayed what were once expertly crafted symbols from floor to ceiling. The worn markings had cracked and split over the years, the meanings now indecipherable to all but the most dedicated archeologists. In these dark days, most travelers at these depths underground had no interest in the history of the Labyrinth's original occupants.

A young Celt Warden sat on what she discerned to be a useful pile of rubble, the remains of a fallen statue older than her ancestors. Her recently acquired scale armor still felt weighty and ungainly on her slight frame. A bright sword hung sheathed on her belt and a green arcanite shield lay at her feet as she rested her weary head against the artfully crafted wall.

Eilidh closed her eyes and tried to relax her shoulders, overly tense from supporting the heft of her new protective wear. The hauberk had only a few scratches and dents from the previous owner, but the chest piece was still not appealing to the eye. Her boyfriend had given it to her as a gift the previous week, gleeful to be providing such a fancy gift to his beloved.

The young woman had smiled and accepted the gift graciously, as any upstanding young lady would, at least in the first couple of months of a relationship. Inwardly she balked at the grotesque display of a Minotaur's head etched in crude relief in the center of the piece of armor. Obviously Ruaidhri had killed a small Minotaur, possibly a female youth, in the Labyrinth and robbed the body.

"Beggars can't be choosers," her mother had said, just glad to finally have her daughter out of the family's small house. Eilidh had thought the old woman had been talking about the ugly armor, but the sentiment went far deeper than the naïve young woman could see.

Behind her resting head, the sound of Ruaidhri's mallet resonated along the wall. A cry of delight indicated yet another conquest. Eilidh loved this young Champion that she had met only months ago. It felt like they were destined for each other: the amazing fighter and his lovely companion.

She smiled and stiffly stood up, anxious to see the result of Ruaidhri's latest fight. A look at her chest reminded her of just how hideous the armor was, but functionally it was far superior to the reinforced chest piece that it replaced. Yes, it was heavier, but that meant it would offer more protection. Right?

Her father told her not to worry about the scale sagging on her frame. He had promised that if she turned out anything like her mother, finding any clothing too large would be a difficult task. A slap to the back of the head had caused a raucous laughter from her older brothers. They fought in the realm wars frequently, so she did not see them nearly enough. They still had not even met Ruaidhri yet, but they were not too happy that she spent her time with a man who did not spend his time defending the realm of Hibernia.

"He's teaching me how to fight. That's something neither of you ever took the time to do!" she had retorted angrily before stomping off outside. As a Warden, spending time in nature always soothed her soul.

Unfortunately, she had spent much of her time recently in the damp tunnels of the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. The natural life force that she absorbed from the sunlit fields and dense forests of Hibernia had started to wane, slowly affecting her usually spritely demeanor. But she was with the love of her life, and that mattered most.

The dismembered carcasses of two cave spiders the size of wolfhounds lay sprawled on the tunnel floor. Ruaidhri stood over them, grinning like a small boy through streams of sweat emanating from under his shiny helmet. Eilidh's heart leapt at the sight of him. He was so amazing. What a strong man! Not one, but two spiders at once! She could not dream of achieving that level of valor.

Valor was everything to a Champion, so of course Ruaidhri had plenty of it.

"It's your turn again, sweetheart," he called to her.

Eilidh did not know what she would do without his constant moral encouragement. She certainly did not get any support from her family, so she would probably be a mere housewife instead of a Warden-in-training if not for Ruaidhri. Having said that, the idea of staying at home and taking care of this man did sound nice.

The Warden quickly shook away that notion. The housewife of such an active fighter could never rest easy, always worrying about the fate of her husband. No, it was far better to train as a Warden in order to support and help Ruaidhri. After all, he was standing inside of her protective aura while fighting these spiders. She took quiet gratification for her role in his success.

"Okay, Ruaidhri," she replied cautiously as she unsheathed the cheap blade that she had stolen from a werewolf in the Coruscating Mines a couple of months ago. The blade had been sharpened by a smith recently, but she could tell it was time to revisit the craftsman again for repairs.

The tense moments before a fight always terrified Eilidh, no matter how many times Ruaidhri coached her through them. She had defeated many monsters during her combat training with Ruaidhri, but she knew that her love chose targets far easier than ones he would choose for himself. Eilidh appreciated this. He was so patient with her, so understanding that a Warden of her level could not vanquish the same foes as a mighty Champion.

Having Ruaidhri at her back gave Eilidh a small boost of confidence as she inched her way down the narrowing tunnel. Magical torches placed at intervals of approximately twenty yards illuminated her path while casting eerie, flickering shadows all around her. In fact, her own shadow bounced before her in a spastically unnatural dance.

"Eilidh, keep your eyes up. You won't know what is ahead if you stare at your feet."

Now at full attention, Eilidh pressed on, faster now, her shield and sword feeling lighter as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. She focused on the more positive aspects of combat as a Warden. Ruaidhri had explained that although she was weaker than he, with time she would be able to swing her sword tirelessly, unrelentingly, fearlessly. These words echoed in her head now as she heard a cave spider snarl in the gloomy shadows between two of the torch lights.

She charged the sound, shield held just high enough in front of her that she could see over the top, already bracing for the large spider leaping at her.

Then she paused suddenly, stopping in her tracks. Ruaidhri watched her, detached, performing the role of coach, observing her actions.

The thought that brought her to a halt now filled her mind.

Cave spiders don't snarl!

The large Minotaur roared, charging at Eilidh from a hidden side tunnel cut into the shadowy section of the wall. The monster stood taller than any man, with shoulders more than double the width of Eilidh's. The oversized humanoid body supported a giant bull head, complete with ceremonial nose ring and flared nostrils. A fearsome two-handed hammer appeared in the firelight, careening towards the Warden's head. Before Eilidh could even raise her shield in defense, the mighty hammer rebounded off of Eilidh's blade-turn aura, the trademark of all Wardens.

Now staggering back to the wall, the Minotaur looked up in shock at this small human who had magically deflected his tremendous blow. Eilidh failed to capitalize on his lack of balance, still trying to renew her bubble-like aura. Ruaidhri said this process would become second nature with time, that she would be able to protect multiple nearby friends without a second thought.

But in the present, Eilidh's fear battled with her concentration. The Minotaur rushed her again, crashing its hammer off of her shield, violently throwing her small form towards the tunnel wall. She took the impact with her shoulder, causing a jolting pain across her back. Now down on one knee, she did not even see the Minotaur's next strike bearing down on her.

The blade-turn surrounded her once more, deflecting the blow, but fatiguing the young woman even more in the process. The realization that this fight was far more difficult than any she had ever encountered started to sink in. Why didn't Ruaidhri help her?

Obviously he knew that she could win alone.

With a burst of strength from her legs, Eilidh leapt at the recoiling Minotaur and slammed her shield into its exposed gut. The large beast banged against the opposite tunnel wall in a daze. Eilidh rushed forward, blade drawn back. Her foe's eyesight steadied in time to see the Celt's nicked sword drive solidly into its throat, just above its dirty breastplate, pinning the thick neck against the wall.

The gush of blood spewed out in a red stream above Eilidh's head, leaving a splatter on her lowered helmet. It had sunk forward on her forehead during her final thrust. The pair stood frozen in time. The bull-like creature's life drained slowly from its ruptured neck as Eilidh held the sword in place, staring at the ground, not wanting to see the damage.

"Finish it quickly, Eilidh," said the voice of reason beside her.

Knowing the meaning of the words, Eilidh twisted the sword in the beast's throat and withdrew it quickly, stepping to the side to avoid the teetering Minotaur. It collapsed in the middle of the hallway, facedown, blood pooling around its head.

Eilidh also collapsed, falling onto her backside clumsily. Shield and sword dropped to the stone floor. Her head hung low, her whole body momentarily exhausted. In the depths of the Earth it seemed like her energy regenerated far slower than out in the forests near her home, but she could already feel her strength returning.

Ruaidhri's hand rested on her shoulder as he crouched next to her.

"That is the way that we kill, my love. They should not suffer more than necessary. This is their home and they will defend it against us."

Eilidh nodded then looked up at her companion.

"I could not have done that without you, Ruaidhri."

He smiled broadly. "I did nothing to aid you, Eilidh. You did that alone."

She shook her head. "That is not what I mean. Your encouragement, your confidence in me. These things won that fight."

Ruaidhri helped her to her feet and gave her as close a hug as their armor allowed. "Whatever it takes. I must tell you, sweetheart. That was amazing. You have the spirit of a Champion in you."

Eilidh pushed back and winked, saying, "Not yet, I don't."

Ruaidhri blushed at this, as any good Champion should.

"Oh, I didn't mean to embarrass you, my love," Eilidh said, reinstating their hug.

Her fighting partner withdrew from her, uneasy. Eilidh cursed herself inwardly for being so forward. Ruaidhri was not some promiscuous Valewalker; he was a Champion of the realm. They held themselves to a much higher standard than she had just implied. Now it was her turn to blush.

"Let's continue the training, Eilidh," Ruaidhri said, moving down the passageway.

Eilidh stood there, still as a statue, mortally embarrassed at her faux pas, so consumed with her own thoughts that she did not notice the increasing rumble under her feet and in the walls around her. The first of the ceiling bricks had started their descent to the floor when Eilidh snapped out of her trance, in time to see Ruaidhri turning back to her, a look of concern spreading rapidly across his face.

The trickle of falling rocks grew into a torrent before either Celt had taken more than two steps towards each other. The ground rocked violently enough to throw Eilidh from one wall to the other, never quite able to regain her balance. She crashed to the floor and tried in vain to get back up as the stones continued to fill the void before her.

As the floor settled, Eilidh surged to her feet and, to her dismay, observed a solid rock wall where a clear view of her love had just been. The Labyrinthine tunnels were difficult enough to traverse without impromptu blockades. She could only hope that he was not under this immense, immovable pile of rubble.

She placed both hands on the large stones and cried, "Ruaidhri!"

No response.

Eilidh looked around feverishly, panic rising, grim realization setting in.

She did not know the way out.

Chapter 2

With the dust still settling around the cave-in, light from the few remaining lit torches created an eerie, powdery aura throughout the hallway. With such limited visibility, Eilidh could barely even make out the body of the fallen Minotaur just a few yards in front of her. The ground trembled slightly again, but this time just in aftershock. The falling particles of debris swirled in response.

Stepping carefully through the orange-lit dust clouds, Eilidh focused on the task at hand and not on the plight of her situation. She had to find another way to Ruaidhri. Surely he was seeking a path to her also. In fact, she knew that was precisely what her brave Ruaidhri would be doing, so she needed to return the favor.

A sharp and sudden inhalation of breath caught Eilidh by surprise, reminding her that she had been holding her breath in panic. The dirty air clogged her throat and caused a small coughing fit that echoed loudly in the dim tunnel. The dust fled from her face as she coughed out its brethren.

At least the Minotaurs will know someone is still alive in here, Eilidh thought to herself, trying to find some humor in her predicament.

Traversing the unstable hallway proved precarious. With each careful step, the chance of finding a weak spot in the floor always loomed. On more than one occasion, Eilidh's heavy boot cracked a floor tile, causing her heart rate to soar instantly. One wrong move could spell death for her, could plummet her fragile body through the tunnel floor, into a deep abyss formed by the quake.

"Optimism would be nice at a time like this," she muttered as she stepped over a decent-sized fissure in the ground.

At the end of the hallway, Eilidh faced her first decision. Did she need to go left or right?

Ruaidhri had led her all the way down, so she admittedly had not paid nearly enough attention to their constant twists and turns through the Labyrinth's maze-like tunnel system. Both of her options looked very similar and offered no hints as to their identity. Eilidh moved a little ways down each hallway and looked back towards the entrance to the tunnel where the cave-in had occurred.

A missing wall tile sparked a vivid memory within her subconscious. Yes, she had noticed that missing tile because it disrupted a grim picture of a Minotaur sacrificing an unlucky human over a flaming pyre. Not exactly what she would consider a work of art, but the image had etched itself into her brain well enough. Hope welled up within her. She would find a way out of this maze, as long as her memory stayed sharp.

She stopped in her tracks.

"Find a way out?" she asked to no one in particular. "A way out? No, I have to find Ruaidhri!"

Already Eilidh had lost sight of her true mission. She had to find her love and not just selfishly save herself. The young Warden chastised herself with a scowl, staring down at her feet, her cheeks reddening with an embarrassment displayed only for herself. She felt as if her face glowed brightly enough to imbue a crimson reflection on the floor before her.

The red shadow before her feet slowly separated in front of her, half moving to the right and half moving to the left. Eilidh tilted her head curiously, embarrassment forgotten. What was this?

Eilidh knelt and reached out a hand to the rightmost half of the shifting red glow. The color continued its slow path to the edge of the floor and started to ascend the wall at a slow creep. When her hand touched the patch of crimson, a dark shadow from her right hand stretched out to the left.

She froze, eyes each as wide as a hunter's moon.

The source of the red light was behind her.

As if reading her mind, the red glow rapidly shot up the wall and then began a quick downward descent as Eilidh twisted around to see a burly Norseman bringing down a red flaming sword towards her head. An enemy of the realm of Hibernia had snuck up behind her while she pouted. Now her moment of self-pity would cost her everything that she had. Instinctively she reached out a hand and closed her eyes, praying for a fast release from this life, foregoing all of her training.

"I'm sorry, Ruaidhri," she whispered.

Eilidh opened her eyes, befuddled to still have that ability.

The Norseman was running away, chasing after his giant sword as it clattered loudly down the dim tunnel.

Of course! Her blade-turn. Ruaidhri had been correct. Eilidh had not even thought about producing the protective bubble around herself, and yet obviously she had summoned the aura automatically as a defense mechanism. The Norseman's wicked blade had rebounded off of Eilidh's bubble with enough force to wrench it from his hands.

The Warden clambered to her feet and drew her cheap sword, its weight giving her mind some peace. This Norseman obviously had less experience in fighting than Eilidh. She had not dropped a weapon in over a month! The thought brought a grin to her face.

She rushed down the tunnel after what she suspected must be a Shadowblade of Midgard. Those assassins moved with such stealth that a Warden like Eilidh would never hear them coming. The man's choice in weaponry had given him away at the last minute, allowing Eilidh to subconsciously summon her defenses.

Now the Hibernian's confident footsteps alerted the Shadowblade, who had bent down to retrieve his wayward sword. The assassin leered at the approaching Celt and then disappeared before Eilidh's eyes. She ground to a halt and slowly walked backwards in the direction she had come from, bracing herself, readying her shield.

Ruaidhri had told her that all assassins were masters of the stealthy arts. They used extreme concentration to blend in with their surroundings, which explained why some were more adept at hiding and sneaking than others. He had mentioned that they move slower than normal while magically hidden, probably about as fast as Eilidh could walk backwards. She could not allow the assassin to get behind her, allowing him an easy target.

Some of the elite assassins could stay hidden even while standing one foot in front of a soldier like Eilidh. As the blurry shadowy shape of a tall man materialized a couple of feet in front of Eilidh, she thanked her lucky stars that this man had not mastered his art quite yet. She rushed forward, leading with her shield. The overly confident Norseman, caught off guard, took the full brunt of the Warden's large shield right in the face.

The Norseman lost his balance as his stealth skills completely failed him. Now in plain sight, the man reached up a hand to his broken nose, paying far too much attention to the damage done and not enough attention to the damage yet to come. Eilidh raised her shield and lunged at him once more, making solid contact with his unguarded torso.

The pair toppled to the floor, with Eilidh straddling the Norseman's waist as the man tried in vain to gain any leverage to swing his oversized glowing sword. Despite her foe's vigorous twisting and yells of rage, the moments passed fluidly and ethereally for Eilidh. Maintaining her powerful position seemed effortless as she drew back her sword and stared into the blood soaked face.

The writhing fury beneath her stopped as the Norseman's eyes accepted the inevitable. Not known for brute strength, the agile Shadowblade had been overcome by a small female Celt. Eilidh drove her blade straight through the novice assassin's throat as he stretched out an arm in protest, mouth gaping in dispute.

Blood pooled in his throat, spilled over the corners of his open mouth as his head wrenched back in momentary agony. Remembering Ruaidhri's words, Eilidh turned the blade sharply and withdrew her weapon, leaving a ragged hole, the man's life streaming forth. After a single drawn out convulsion, her foe's body flopped lifelessly and remained still. His eyes stared horribly into nothingness.

Eilidh had never killed an enemy of the realm. She had slain demons, wild animals, and bandits within her own lands, but never a citizen of Midgard or Albion. Now a Norseman of Midgard lay dead at her hands. She had spilled the blood of one of the Viking races.

And with this step she had become a defender of the realm, just like her two older brothers. The calm sensation in her bones gave way to a powerful rush of adrenaline. Her hands shook so much that she had a difficult time cleaning her sword on the Norseman's brown cloak. Without anyone to tell her otherwise, this seemed like the most logical way to clean her soiled weapon.

The exhilaration thrilled the young Celt. Never before had she felt so alive. This kill had purpose, it had meaning. This man had tried to kill her in the spirit of hate that drove his people to such violence, but she had defended herself impassively, totally detached. This was a just kill.

She beamed with pride and collected herself once more, ready to take on the world.

This foe had been a novice like herself, and she had dispatched him handily, but the next opponent could be far fiercer. Her smile faded and a grim resolution crossed her pale face. Too much time in the underground reaches of the Labyrinth had faded her skin's sun-kissed hue. She deeply longed for the green grasses of the surface, but her mission in the depths required completion.

She had to find Ruaidhri.

Sword drawn and shield at the ready, Eilidh strode with purpose, navigating the intricately carved tunnels with superhuman clarity. The adrenaline charged blood coursing through her whole being kept her mind sharp and her wits on edge. Two more Minotaurs fell to her blade, each more easily than the last. The Warden could feel her strength growing with each step in the dark recesses.

Eilidh stopped at the entrance of a dark tunnel. Her sense of direction indicated that she needed to head this way. She could feel that Ruaidhri lay beyond the utter darkness of the unlit passageway. Fear tried to edge its way into her mind, but sheer determination and desire forced the fright out. Eilidh grabbed one of the torches off of the wall of the tunnel she had just traversed and held it in her left hand, having mounted her shield on her back for the time being. The torch felt light in her grip compared to the mass of her shield, but the lack of protection left Eilidh feeling almost unbearably vulnerable.

Her resolve took over. She marched into the sheer darkness, torch leading the way, sword at the ready to offer a swift conclusion to any disagreements. Despite the blackness around her, the Warden's feet told her that the tunnel angled down farther into the Island of Agramon, the isle that lay atop the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. The silence loomed and pounded inside her head as she forced herself on, with a stony gaze that looked frightful in the flickering torch light.

The sound of a boot scuffing the ground and a tiny pebble skittering across the tunnel floor beside her foot told Eilidh everything she needed to know.

She was not alone.

Chapter 3

The first arrow sailed towards Eilidh's back and ricocheted harmlessly off of her pulsing blade-turn. Before she could even think of summoning another magical shield, a second arrow slammed into her physical shield, still mounted firmly to her back. The impact knocked the breath from her, pitching her forward onto one knee and throwing the torch from her grasp.

Still gasping for precious air, Eilidh furiously pulled at her shield, trying to dislodge it. It would not budge.

That second arrow must have pinned the shield to my armor, Eilidh realized with horror.

Her soul's dismay intensified when Eilidh caught a glimpse of her helm lying on the ground next to the fallen torch. There was no time to retrieve it! She had to take the offensive quickly.

A third arrow rebounded off of a freshly summoned blade-turn as Eilidh rose and rushed at her shadowy enemy. With the light of the torch now lying behind her, Eilidh's own long shadow blocked her view of the assailant. Out of the darkness, pain erupted in Eilidh's left arm as an arrow found its mark, knocking the poor girl off balance.

The pain soared to heights that Eilidh had never thought imaginable. The simple task of running became arduous to the point of hopelessness. The injured Warden stumbled forward, still seeking the enemy ahead. Yet another arrow appeared from the gloom, missing Eilidh's cheek by a fraction of an inch, sailing through her exposed red hair like a cool breeze. The missile's flights scratched at her ear on their way past.

The archer strode towards Eilidh, confident that the Warden had been sufficiently weakened. In truth, Eilidh looked miserable, leaning against the wall, breathing deeply, agony wrenching her lifeless arm. The enemy's lapse in professionalism cleared Eilidh's mind. The archer should have finished her off from a safe distance when they had the chance. The arrogant bastard had unwittingly just given Eilidh a chance to recover.

The Warden dropped her sword to the ground with a clank. She reached up and yanked out the arrow from her arm in one sudden motion, the excruciating pain causing her eyesight to fail momentarily. Her mind fought against the physical distress and released a calming sensation in defense. Eilidh felt oddly at peace.

Closing her eyes softly, Eilidh reached down through her feet into the ground they stood on, calling forth the Earth's healing powers. The living Earth below and around her responded quickly, flowing through the Warden's body like the warmth of a good bath. Eilidh chanted the words to release the magical healing power through her right hand and gently touched her wounded arm.

The transformation took less than a second. The wounded girl became a fully energized fighting machine in an instant. Eilidh grabbed her sword off the ground and struck out at the cocky archer who now stood within her reach. The glint of two blades materialized from the darkness, illuminated by the torch down the hallway. The wicked orange reflected off of the swift steel, but the suddenness of Eilidh's attack had obviously caught her foe by surprise. The archer's weapons failed to catch Eilidh's sword in time, yet her blade infuriatingly missed its desired target in a sloppy uppercut motion.

Fortunately, Eilidh's fist, still wrapped around the sword, caught the archer directly under the chin. The gut wrenching sound of shattering teeth resounded in the quiet tunnel, and a high-pitched keening wail filled the air with the sound of pure suffering as the archer's mouth fell open once more. The impact knocked the poor archer's blades from their hands as they fell forward onto both knees, groping futilely at their destroyed mouth.

In the heat of the moment, Eilidh drove an armored punch into the side of the archer's head, sending a crimson spray of fragmented teeth to the ground. The emotional release of vengeance tingled in her bones, but Eilidh did not think she should beat down a defeated opponent like she would a wild dog. It did not seem right.

Eilidh stood above the fallen adversary, the blunt sword pointed at the downcast head.

And she hesitated. What was she supposed to do? Execute the enemy? Leave them to wallow in their anguish? Provide a healing spell to ease their suffering?

"Where are you, Ruaidhri?" she moped quietly.

The complexity of the decision increased tenfold when the archer's battered face finally lifted to Eilidh's.

An Elf!

"Wha—? What are—?" Eilidh stammered, now taking a few steps back.

Why would an Elf ever ambush an ally such as a Celt?

Confusion fell victim to misguided understanding.

Obviously this Hibernian sister of hers had mistaken Eilidh for an enemy. Eilidh could see how that mistake could happen, especially with a novice Ranger, which she concluded the archer must be. Only Rangers used a bow so proficiently in the realm of Hibernia.

But upon closer inspection of the Elf's armor, Eilidh saw that she held the rank of Silver Hand. But that was impossible.

How could such a high ranking Ranger make such an error?

The realization hurt Eilidh's fragile heart.

There was no error.

Fiery anger replaced all other emotions.

"Why did you attack me, Elf?" she yelled.

Eilidh approached, sword now directed at the Ranger's exposed throat, the tip of the sword pushing on the pale skin, but not breaking it. Blood dripped from the Elf's open mouth. The sight of the broken teeth turned Eilidh's stomach, but her fury remained in control.

"I could've killed you!"

Upon further reflection, Eilidh realized that the Elf could easily have killed her, too.

But what happened next?

Something in the Elf's clear blue eyes changed. The penetrating stare had picked up on Eilidh's indecision, her failure to act. Resolution filled those burning eyes. The Elf slowly stood up, Eilidh's sword still held uneasily against the Ranger's throat. The Celt gave up at least six inches in height to the slender Elf, but that physical difference did not concern Eilidh.

Her only concern was what this Elf was thinking. Why did she have to stand up? Did she desire Eilidh's assistance in finding the release of death?

"How can I kill an ally, Ruaidhri? Even one who attacked me first," Eilidh whispered, so unsure of herself.

Her outstretched arm started to twinge with exertion from holding up the sword. She did not know how much longer she could face this standoff, emotionally or physically. The overwhelming stress filled her mind with doubt.

Fatigued to failure, the sword arm dropped and the Elf quickly grabbed at the weapon. Survival instincts kicked in for both fighters as the Elf's hands gripped Eilidh's wrist. The Warden twisted her arm back and forth, trying to break the vice-like grip of the Elf, but the taller female held on for dear life. Knowing the fight was over if she lost her sword, Eilidh gripped it with all her might.

Thoughts of why an Elf would attack a Celt slipped far into the back of Eilidh's mind as she wrestled with her opponent. The Elf drove into Eilidh suddenly, forcing the small woman up against the tunnel wall, where she smacked the back of her head. Stars bloomed before her eyes, obscuring her view of the Ranger. Not knowing what else to do, Eilidh brought her knee up hard between the Elf's legs. The result of this attack on a man would have been more effective, but the Elf loosened her grip on Eilidh's wrist just enough for Eilidh to break free.

In one clumsy movement, Eilidh grabbed the hilt with both hands and drove the bottom of the sword's handle down onto the Elf's head.

The Ranger crumpled wordlessly. Eilidh breathed hard, hands on knees. The Ranger lay motionless, but Eilidh did not have the heart to check for a pulse. She just wanted to leave. If she had just killed a realm mate, she did not want to know about it.

Eilidh staggered towards the dimming torch and her helm, considered pressing on down into the pitch black tunnel, but then thought the better of it. The fierce struggle had left her feeling weak and drained of energy, and her growling stomach reminded her that she had not eaten all day. She would certainly need sustenance to continue down through the dangerous tunnels.

I can't survive another attack like this, she thought hopelessly, still breathing hard. I need to find Ruaidhri, but I can't do it alone.

She resolved to head back up to the Labyrinth entrance, to find some allies in her journey to find Ruaidhri. Eilidh felt bad that Ruaidhri would still be down there, searching tirelessly for her when she was fearfully running away to the surface, but what else could she do?

Surely it is better that I live to find him later than to get myself killed on my quest?

Before leaving the downed Elf, Eilidh managed to remove the arrow and shield from her back. In the firelight she could see the deep scar that the arrow had etched into her shield. The next time she saw one of her brothers, they would have to fix it for her. She smiled as she thought about how impressed they would both be with her stories of valor and bravery. Finally, she had acted in a way that she could find pride in.

She worked her way quickly through the maze of the Labyrinth, seeking the exit. The deserted corridors helped speed her progress. While jogging through yet another tunnel, she thought about how her brothers had never encouraged her in her desire to become a Warden. They both thought that she would fail miserably. How she had proved them wrong!

Of course, here she was, running away from her mission.

As she left the depths of the Labyrinth behind, Ruaidhri could be dead or dying, screaming for Eilidh to find and help him. The image brought a tear to Eilidh's eye, but there was no other option. She had to leave in order to return stronger, bolstered with help from friendly allies.

"Oh, Ruaidhri, please don't die," Eilidh prayed fervently.

She repeated the chant over and over, the repetition easing her mind's frantic worry. The mantra stopped when a fiery red tuft of hair shot across the tunnel intersection ahead of her.

Could it be?

"Ruaidhri!" she yelled.

Eilidh ran down the gloomy tunnel faster than she had ever thought possible. The air itself seemed to assist her, pushing her forward with supernatural speed. Rounding each corner brought a new pang of disappointment as her red-headed companion continued to evade her. Did he even know she was chasing him?

The sound of stamping hooves and collective snorting greeted Eilidh around one brightly lit corner. There she stood in great contrast to her surroundings, a small Celt in a large hallway. At least ten giant Minotaurs now faced her, beating the ground and walls with their hammers, building up an unstoppable rage. Their eyes burned ferociously, murderous intent blatantly apparent.

Frozen in time and space, Eilidh could swear that she saw plumes of smoke flowing from the angered nostrils. The group of bullish creatures now moved as one, stampeding towards the terrified woman.

Terror gave way to common sense as she turned on her heels and galloped back through the tunnels. Even with fear driving her feet onwards, Eilidh's mind filled with visions of the Minotaurs catching her. Seeing her small body stomped to a bloody pulp forced her legs to pump harder. The deep snarling behind her invaded her body, more of a feeling than a sound. The ground under her feet rumbled under the hooves of the gaining stampede.

In desperation, Eilidh prayed aloud for her legs to move faster. And that they did. The feeling at once confused and elated Eilidh. The power flowing through her legs felt natural, but she could not discern its origin. At that particular moment, she could not care less where the encouragement came from.

The tunnels passed by in a flurry and the irritated Minotaurs reluctantly gave up their pursuit. Eilidh did not give up on her flight. She felt far more invigorated than ever before. Gravity struggled to keep her tethered to the ground as she flew down one tunnel after another.

The familiar sounds of Hibernians fighting Minotaurs floated down a tunnel towards her. Eilidh slowed down to a careful walk. On one hand, she yearned for friendly faces to assist in her mission, but on the other hand, a friendly face had just shot her in the back. The Warden pulled up short at the intersection from where the cries and roars of battle resounded.

Did she dare step into the light, into the open for the Hibernians to see? What if they no longer honored their allegiance to the Celtic king? Had the Elves deserted man? The unanswerable questions spiraled through her mind, adding and multiplying endlessly.

"Ruaidhri, I need you," she whispered.

Chapter 4

"Brian, stop swinging those swords like floppy, wet fish!"

Liam, a trainer for those seeking mastery in the ways of blades, watched in horror as his new apprentice attempted to fend off a medium-sized cave spider in the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Blademasters trained in the ways of fighting with a weapon in each hand, but Brian might as well have been poking at the spider with a pointy stick.

"Brian, you are trying to kill it, not trim its hair. Keep your wrists loose, but swing those arms with some machismo," Liam instructed, starting to get exasperated with the young Firbolg.

In general, Firbolgs made fantastic Blademasters, so Liam had been overjoyed to receive one as a student, finally. Brian was well over seven feet tall and had broad shoulders that a Celt like Liam would love to have. At first glance, this trainee represented all of the physical traits that formed one of the great Blademasters, the greats who killed seemingly limitless numbers of enemies with deft strokes of their swords and an air of well-earned self-confidence. The teacher of such a powerful Blademaster would surely receive endless accolades and praise, quickly moving into the position of Master Trainer. Liam had salivated at the opportunity.

Unfortunately, Liam's overhyped hopes faced a grim realization: Brian could not fight his way out of a damp wicker basket. He would have had better luck just kicking the spider than with flailing his arms around with all the grace and coordination of a three year old, one-legged girl learning how to dance. Liam had hoped the trip out to the Labyrinth would excite and inspire his young follower into showing some hidden talent for extreme greatness, but the journey had proved fruitless so far.

And, mercifully, the fight ended. The odds were good that swinging two large swords at a target long enough would eventually result in hitting and killing that target. When the target was a mostly decrepit and harmless spider, the odds increased dramatically for most people, but apparently not for poor Brian.

Liam's dreams of grandeur had all but slipped away.

One look at the Firbolg told Liam that reality had started to attack Brian's self-confidence. The slump of the gigantic shoulders, the sadness on his wide face (Firbolgs were not known as a particularly happy race, but Brian looked that much sadder), and Brian's words gave it all away.

"Maybe I am not a Blademaster," he whined with the trademark deep, bass voice.

"With that kind of attitude you certainly are not," Liam stated with perfectly choreographed hand gestures.

Brian's whole body seemed to slump at these words from his own teacher.

"Yet," Liam added, marveling at his own timing.

The Firbolg's face lifted, his large eyes meeting Liam's.

"You have all the makings of a Blademaster, Brian, but you have got to find that swashbuckling, adventurous spirit within you!" Liam declared.

For added emphasis, Liam bounded towards the tunnel wall and leapt into the air, performing a series of jumps and spins off of the wall.

"We are a proud class of Hibernian's guardians, some might say too proud, but I say 'too proud' does not exist!"

As with all of Liam's intense displays of physical prowess, Brian looked thoroughly impressed.

As he should be! Liam thought to himself in the middle of an inverted spin.

Liam stuck the landing with a flourish and a flashy smile, only to see his trainee staring down towards the opposite end of the tunnel. The smile disintegrated. Why wasn't this peon worshipping his grand feats of agility?

"What's so interesting, Brian?" he asked politely. A gallant Blademaster was always polite.

"Um… I think some Lurikeens are in trouble down there," Brian said, a little unsure of himself. "Can't you hear it?" he added cautiously.

Despite hearing nothing of the sort, Liam could not help himself.

"Of course! Let us save the day, young one," he exclaimed, charging in the supposed direction of the supposed altercation.

The startled cries of a pair of Lurikeens did indeed meet Liam's apparently inferior ears about halfway down the tunnel. So the student did have at least some small advantage over the teacher. Interesting, but of course superb hearing did nothing to increase proficiency with a pair of sharpened blades of death. That much was painfully apparent each time Brian tried to clobber a monster.

The leprechaun-like Lurikeens shrieked and danced around a wild pack of adolescent cave spiders that were intent on devouring the diminutive humanoids. Liam immediately noticed that both screaming 'Keens wielded two swords, but he used the word 'wielded' loosely. These were no Blademasters. No, these were merely Rangers, far inferior to the Blademaster in weapon skill, and also apparently about as brave as the dancing three year old girl aforementioned.

In Liam's mind, one of the trademarks of any good melee fighter involved the correct and appropriate use of catchphrases. For example, to mark the occasion of charging into battle, Liam had coined the phrase, "I'm flyin' in!" Brian had not reached the stage in his training yet where he deserved the use of such exclamations of intent, at least, not in Liam's estimations. Of course, Liam already had a collection of suggestions for Brian to use, such as, "I'm going deep!" Yes, that was a solid suggestion.

With his well-practiced war cry and a totally unnecessary burst of speed, Liam roared through the cave spiders, hacking and slashing in a blur of motion usually reserved for Celts running to the outhouse after a close encounter with Firbolg cuisine. Within seconds, a gory mess of twitching spider remains lay strewn across the tunnel floor, walls, and ceiling. The two blood-splattered Lurikeens stood in what Liam assumed must be complete and unadulterated awe.

Without waiting for the two to snap out of their worshipful trance, Liam sheathed one of his shiny blades and used the other to remove a few intact spider legs to sell to the witches back on the Hibernian mainland. Those crazy old hags were always looking for such ingredients to stir into those foul-smelling (and tasting) stews of theirs.

A sharp object poked the crouching Celt in the buttocks. Liam turned to stare into the eyes of a bloodied and fuming Lurikeen. Their physical appearance always put a smile on Liam's face. They had such small and fragile bodies which were topped off with a disproportionately large head. Sitting on his haunches, Liam stood eye-to-eye with the diminutive Ranger.

"Just what in the bloody hell do you think you're doing, mate?" asked the scowling Lurikeen.

Confused, the noble Blademaster replied, "How do you do, Lurikeen? I am Liam and I am just collecting my fee."

The scowl turned furious.

"Your fee? Your fee for what exactly, mate?"

Liam did not have much experience chatting with Lurikeens, but he suspected that the Ranger did not mean "mate" in a literal sense, or in any positive sense for that matter. Confusing creature.

"For saving you and your companion, of course."

"You've lost the plot, you have!" exclaimed the Lurikeen. "You believe this, Gil? This bloke says he saved us. Like we needed savin'!"

"Aye, pile of shite that is, Bruce" added the second Lurikeen, Gil apparently.

The pair continued to babble in increasingly incomprehensible language that Liam recognized less and less. Coming from a noble birth had left the Blademaster a bit out of touch with commoners like these, but no matter what, the protocol was clear. If no reward was offered for services rendered, then no reward would be taken. Also, Liam had to remain honorable and polite, despite the Lurikeens' rudeness. Well, he suspected they were being rude. It was hard to tell anymore.

"Of course you are correct, little masters. We will be on our way now. Come on, Brian," he said, walking back the way they had come.

Liam could hear the continued verbal foray as he and Brian wandered off.

"Who is he calling 'little masters'? I have a good mind to brain that blockhead."

"Aye, right you are, Bruce."

"The pair on that guy, thinking he can steal from us!"

"Aye, can't believe it myself, Bruce."

Their ungrateful animosity perplexed Liam. Surely they should appreciate his help. As far as he had seen at the time, those spiders had held the upper hand against the outmatched and undersized Lurikeens. The feisty little Rangers certainly had heart, but they seemed to lack the necessary combat skills to succeed in battle. Despite having heart, the pair certainly lacked manners. A rescued person should always show their appreciation to the rescuer, preferably with money, but spider legs would also suffice. How would word of his altruistic exploits gain him fame if the recipients of his aid did not praise his name from the rooftops, or at least yell his name in the tunnels of the Minotaur Labyrinth?

"LIAM! HELP!"

The high-pitched scream piqued Liam's curiosity. Obviously a damsel in distress had heard of his grand accomplishments and in her darkest hour had called out his name through the tunnels. He stopped in the tunnel and looked around for connecting passageways. Now, where could she be?

"Liam, those Lurikeens are coming," Brian said.

The interruption broke Liam from his search for his endangered fair maiden. Irritated at his presumptuous student, he looked back down the tunnel and saw the pair of Rangers sprinting their big hearts out and screaming their little lungs out. So that at least explained the woman like squeals for help. Liam was sorely disappointed. He had not rescued a lady in a while and they always offered a reward, and not always in gold pieces.

Unfortunately Liam had no time to reminisce about his past female conquests. The diminutive Lurikeens ran with good reason. A hoard of armor-clad, bloodthirsty Minotaurs was stomping after them. Torchlight reflected off all of the shiny armor and weaponry as the bull-like creatures made up ground on the Rangers, whose tiny legs moved in a blur.

A less honorable Celt would have definitely yelled something along the lines of, "Wait, so now you need my help, Rangers?"

Liam just looked at Brian and smiled. Brian carefully smiled back, not sure what to think. Ah, what a treat the young Firbolg was in for. It was not every day that Liam encountered a mass of foes who would stress his fighting ability to its very limit.

"Watch and learn, my young apprentice," Liam announced, drawing both of his swords from the sheaths that protected the rest of the world from them.

Legs pumping with adrenaline-charged power, Liam charged directly towards his incoming victims, yelling, "I'm flyin' in!"

He leapt over the fleeing Lurikeens, one of whom may have said, "What the bloody hell?"

All but one of the Minotaurs slowed to a cautious canter at the fearless approach of the smiling Celt, a little unsure what to make of this heroic man, Liam was sure. Only one, obviously the leader, continued his stampede towards Liam. The beast brayed loudly and hefted a giant two-handed sword over its head. The large jagged blade did not faze Liam. He had fought larger and more jagged swords in his time.

The two combatants closed in and the Minotaur chief's sword plummeted to the ground on which Liam stood. The Celt gracefully evaded to the left and thrust a blade towards the Minotaur's exposed side. The sword slid off of the Minotaur's armor, indicating to Liam that this Minotaur was not the run-of-the-mill bull that he had fought in the past. Liam easily gave up at least one foot in height and one hundred and fifty pounds in weight to his furious adversary, whose raging red eyes now found their target.

The large sword moved sideways with amazing speed, performing a wicked cross-cut as Liam ducked and evaded once more. Parrying the blow seemed a bit out of the question considering the heft behind the weapon. As the Minotaur's blade caused a rush of air over his head, Liam looked up to see the bull's legs open before him. A crease in the enemy's armor exposed flesh on the inside thigh. Liam's sword found the spot, slicing through the relatively soft piece of hide down to the bone.

Without waiting for the Minotaur's cry of panic to reach his ears, Liam jumped straight up and grabbed the bull's gaudy nose ring with his left hand. Pulling down hard enough on the ring to keep his own feet floating off the ground, Liam sliced at the beast's leathery neck.

The blade slid right off, not even causing a nick in the tough skin. A shake from the Minotaur's head sent Liam sprawling to the floor. The Minotaur's sword swung above its head once more, ready to finish its dazed opponent. Liam looked up in a haze, now a little worried about the outcome of the fight. Victory had seemed assured, but now he had fallen behind.

Before the mighty sword could start its deadly descent, a pair of arrows ripped into the Minotaur's face, right between the eyes. The animal collapsed backwards immediately, a fountain of blood spraying the ceiling in a messy arc. Liam closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his nerves feeling a little shot by his brush with near-death.

"It's about time you moved your arse out of the way," declared a high voice behind Liam.

Liam rolled his eyes and thought to himself, "Such gentlemen."

But they had saved him, so did that make them even? Did he owe them anything? Surely not. The thought of owing anyone anything made Liam's head hurt.

He muttered, "Well this cannot get any worse."

A small herd of Minotaurs nearby seemed to believe otherwise.

Chapter 5

Life in the fire-lit Labyrinth tunnel stood still for a moment. The flickering light from the sporadically placed torches illuminated figures as stiff as statues. One body in particular lay more still than all of the others. In fact, the only movement around the recently killed Minotaur chieftain was the pulsating flow of blood still pouring from its broken face. After a brief pause in the action, chaos ensued.

Over his shoulder, Liam could see Bruce and Gil nock another arrow each. The ground trembled again and Liam's thoughts of the fight being won left in a hurry. Some races gave up fighting as soon as their leader died, but apparently the Minotaurs did not ascribe to that school of thought.

Liam flipped off his back and onto his feet as a torrent of arrows passed by his head, hurtling towards the incoming stampede. Snarls and grunts echoed off the walls of the tunnel as Liam spun through his assailants, slashing out at any exposed weaknesses. A few of the lesser beasts fell quickly to his strikes, but the larger breed's hide kept Liam's blade at bay.

The Minotaurs seemed to completely ignore the Rangers raining down pain upon them from a distance. These bulls had just watched their chief die and apparently blamed Liam for it, because they spun around him in a circle of furious and untamed violence. That suited the brave Blademaster just fine. He parried heroically, struck out forcefully, and then cocked his head to the side when he thought he heard a deep voice yell, "I'm flyin' in!"

He really hoped that he had misheard and that Brian was not joining the fray. More importantly, that had better not have been Brian using Liam's signature battle cry!

Now completely surrounded by thrashing Minotaurs, the dodging Celt found himself in the deep shadow of the stampede. His blades glowed in a faint red as they sliced through the darkness, piercing their targets over and over. His magical sword ripped into the arm of one beast, unleashing the blade's power in the form of a burning eruption of searing pain. The resulting flame burned out quickly, but the enemy toppled into one of its own, crashing both to the floor. Not one to wait for an invitation, Liam flipped forward and drove a blade into the throat of each bull, ending their brays for help.

Liam felt the shadow around him deepen. He turned to see a dark form flying across the tunnel towards him. The collision pinned Liam to the wall, winding him momentarily. He freed one of his arms and raised a sword, ready to impale his assailant, but then saw Brian's large head in the dim light.

"Brian! Get off me! I need to lay waste to these brigands!" Liam yelled, trying to wrestle his way out from underneath the large Firbolg.

With a deep grunt, Brian rolled out of the way and Liam stood, collecting himself. After a quick check that his chest plate still looked shiny and impressive in the torchlight of the tunnel, Liam put up his blades and rushed the few Minotaurs remaining on their feet. The closest beast rumbled towards Liam and abruptly crashed to the floor with a growl. Liam could see no less than fourteen arrows peppering the massive bull's back.

The last two enemies saw defeat and ran, stumbling over their fallen brothers in their haste. One dropped to a barrage of arrows from the Lurikeens and the other escaped into the gloom, braying loudly. As much as Liam felt good about his performance in the battle, he would definitely appreciate the survivor not rounding up all of his friends and returning any time soon. Liam was fairly certain that his armor was severely damaged in a few places and to be perfectly honest, he was exhausted.

Such an admission of fatigue did not come easily to the proud Blademaster. The tales of old told of his legendary predecessors handling similar fights without the help of two little archers. Of course, it was Liam's extraordinary courage that had produced the victory. The Rangers had run away from a fight that Liam had heartily embraced with gusto. As required, Liam struck a pose worthy of his triumph: hands on hips, elbows out, chest high, and one eyebrow arched up perfectly. He even thought about putting one of his boots on top of a fallen foe. Where was a sketch artist when he needed one? He made a note to hire an artist before his next expedition. Fame did not come to those who did not advertise.

"Oi, numpty!"

Disturbed from his celebration, Liam turned to the Lurikeen called Bruce (or was it Booze?) with an appropriately irritated look.

"Aye, you," continued the Ranger. "You're off in the clouds while your mate is lying here in a pile of his own guts. Shame on you!"

True enough, Brian lay on his side, where Liam had pushed him over, with a deep groove sliced into the armor covering his abdomen. The boy's eyes were closed, but not with the straining force of a mortally injured Firbolg. If not for the growing stream of red on the floor tiles, Liam would have sworn the boy was asleep. Gil crouched next to Brian, checking for a pulse.

"He's knocking on Death's door, Bruce," he reported gloomily.

Lurikeens fought angrily, spoke angrily, and drank angrily, but they had soft hearts for fallen realm mates. Even Liam could see the true sadness growing in both Rangers at the sight of the dying Firbolg that they had not even officially met. Liam had always found it strange that Lurikeens were among the few races of the world that had never mastered the healing arts.

Liam could not heal any more than the Rangers could, but he was a valiant fighter. Surely they did not expect him to be able to repair wounds and slay enemies by the dozen?

These distracting thoughts faded as panic set in. What if Brian really died? How would Liam tell Brian's parents? The boy was everything to them. How would Liam pay his rent? He had not had a student for more than a year (inexplicably) before Brian showed up, having been cast aside by all of the other trainers. The clumsy Firbolg had happily followed along with the soon-to-be world-renowned Liam, but now he would die in the dirty depths of the Minotaur Labyrinth.

It was a sad payment for the valor that Brian had finally shown in battle. Liam would never have guessed that the tall, muscular, and completely uncoordinated Firbolg actually had such bravery to charge a mad herd of Minotaurs. A smile spread across Liam's face at the thought. He alone had taken this boy that no one else could train. He alone had molded Brian into a true warrior, a true Blademaster.

"Have you lost the plot, mate?" demanded Bruce, poking the distant Liam in the thigh with his curved falcata. "Your boy is dying here! This is not a flippin' joke, Celt! You have to do something!"

Why did the Lurikeen have to be so insistent and confrontational all of the time? It was hardly the proper way to act, especially in the presence of a gentleman such as Liam. Not quite sure what to do next (Liam usually did the killing, not the reviving), Liam looked down the tunnel with his best thinker's pose.

And he saw a pale apparition appear from the gloom. Before he could help himself, a small scream squeaked out from his lips, his hand belatedly cutting off the sound. Fighting Minotaurs was one thing, but Liam had no desire to fight off a ghost. They were already dead and hence, unstoppable!

Both Lurikeens observed the Celt with confusion as he started to backpedal away from the latest player in the bizarre scene.

"Gil, what's his problem?" asked Bruce.

"I have no clue, Bruce."

To Liam's dismay, Bruce beckoned the ghost closer.

"Are you out of your mind, Lurikeen?" he snapped in a harsh whisper, not wanting to displease the ghastly apparition.

"Are you out of your mind, you prat?" replied Bruce. Then to the pale, armored ghost, Bruce said, "Hey, are you a naturalist?"

Now panic stricken, Liam said, "What difference does it make? It will devour all of our souls if we do not flee now!"

"Gil, I think he is now completely off his flippin' rocker."

"Aye, he's a complete nutter, so he is, Bruce"

Liam fought to hold back the redness of embarrassment from his face as the apparition drew closer. This was no ghost, just a very, very pale woman in some of the worst fitting (and looking) armor Liam had ever seen. Now the scene made sense to the previously and unnecessarily perplexed Blademaster.

The lady had been creeping cautiously down the tunnel, but now she started running, causing Liam to twitch involuntarily, despite knowing now that she was no ghost. Bruce shook his head.

"Flippin' ants in his pants, Gil."

"Aye, Bruce."

The woman knelt down over Brian and started the familiar chant that Liam had heard many times after a battle. Her hands started to glow with pure regenerative energy, the bluish light casting a long shadow behind her. The gaping wound sealed shut at her touch as the energy transferred from her healing hands to Brian's broken body. After three repetitions of this process, Liam started to wonder if she had appeared too late. The young woman had no instrument, like a Bard, and she had no pet following her, like a Druid. He deduced that she must be a Warden, which also meant that her healing powers were far from perfect. Also, judging from the tacky state of her appearance, Brian's life did not rest in the competent hands of an expert.

"Better to die gloriously in battle, than to live a peaceful life and die of old age," Liam said proudly.

Bruce shot a glance at him in response and Liam could see the little archer shaking, veritably twitching, all over. Had his profound phrase affected the Ranger that much? When the Ranger stomped towards him, Liam realized that perhaps he had misjudged. Perhaps the Lurikeen was actually seething and boiling over with rage.

"WHAT IS WRONG WI' YOUR HEID, MATE?" Bruce screamed at a shockingly high volume for such a small creature.

Liam frowned and refused to answer such a ridiculous question. There was nothing wrong with his head.

"You just don't get it do you, mate?" Bruce continued, but before he could add anymore to his diatribe, Brian coughed and sat up like a shot.

"Thank you, Celt," he said weakly, panting to catch his breath. Running away from Death could really take the wind out of a person.

The young lady blushed.

"You're welcome, but I need all of your help," she said. She stood up and faced the group. "My name is Eilidh. I came down here with my friend Ruaidhri and we got separated. You have to help me find him. Please."

"No thank you, miss," said Bruce. "Sadly, we have business at the surface to attend to."

Gil frowned slightly at his friend and then nodded in agreement.

The pair of Rangers now looked at Liam, waiting for his response. He examined the young woman. In the right light, she was actually very pretty. She had spent far too much time in the dark halls of the Labyrinth, but that was nothing some sunlight on the surface could not fix. Yes, she could be very beautiful if she had a few hearty meals and filled out a little. And she needed him. How could Liam possibly refuse such an offer from a potentially pretty girl? Although, he did wonder if this Ruaidhri was more than a friend. Well, that dalliance would not last long after this Eilidh girl had spent some quality time in the presence of a courageous Blademaster.

And to top it all, off-the-cuff adventuring always earned far greater notoriety than futilely educating a hopeless student. As far as Liam was concerned, his choice was as crystal clear as his gorgeous eyes.

"Of course I will take you and rescue your fallen friend," Liam said. "Lurikeens, as payment for my spectacular fighting services, I require that you take Brian back to the surface. He is of no use on such a quest, as we saw in that previous fight. And the pair of you are borderline useless, running scared at the first signs of a stampeding herd of Minotaurs."

Bruce and Gil looked at each other in disbelief. Liam saw their response and laughed heartily. Perhaps too heartily, but was there such a thing as having too much heart?

"Oh, come now, Rangers. Don't get all bent out of shape. You use two blades in an inferiorly similar fashion to a Blademaster, so perhaps you can give Brian a few pointers on your way out of the Labyrinth," Liam suggested.

He slapped Bruce on the back for good measure, showing the woman his good rapport with creatures big and small. After all, he had already established dominance and leadership by delegating Brian's training to the Lurikeens. Now he was showing his more personable side.

Bruce's face turned red in fury and Gil held the small archer at bay, whispering in his ear. Liam appreciated Gil protecting his friend from a hasty defeat at Liam's hand, should Bruce force a confrontation. The Lurikeen's anger seemed to fade.

"Okay, Celt. We'll take your boy off of your precious hands so that you can help your damsel in distress. But know this: he will learn more from us in an hour than he has learned from you in a month."

"I find that difficult to believe based upon your recent performances," Liam responded politely, smiling for effect.

Bruce ignored him. The pair of Rangers helped pull Brian to his unstable feet. Liam did not appreciate the Lurikeen's tone at all, especially not in front of a pretty lady. Brian had learned immense bravery, obviously all from Liam's instruction. A mere Ranger could not teach this trait. Even two Rangers could not, for that matter.

Brian, Bruce, and Gil started walking away from the new companions. Bruce said over his shoulder, "Miss, you'd be wise to keep an eye on this one. Don't let him get you killed."

Liam could hear Gil agree faintly, "Quite right, Bruce."

Eilidh turned to Liam with a look of concern. Liam now welcomed the challenge that the Lurikeen had set up for him. Now he was escorting a vulnerable damsel in distress who also did not trust in his supreme melee skills. In due time, he would prove himself a master of the swords and win her over. He felt impressed with his abilities just thinking about them.

"Well, let's be off then, shall we?" Liam said.

Eilidh nodded slowly. The pair wandered after the trio before them, but did not follow when the trio turned off of the main path. What nerve these short people had! Liam had ordered them to take Brian straight to the surface. Why on Earth were they heading in that direction?

Eilidh looked a little unsure.

"Um, the Rangers turned back there. We need to head towards the surface also to recruit more help. Do you know where you are going, Liam?"

Liam laughed, booming echoes off the walls.

"Of course, I do. Have no fear. They are the ones who have made the wrong turn."

Aren't they? He thought to himself. He quickly distracted himself from self-doubt by dismissing Eilidh's desire to find more adventurers. Liam the Blademaster could handle this small quest all on his own.

Chapter 6

What on Earth had she gotten herself into now? Here she was, a young, relatively inexperienced Warden of Hibernia, traipsing around in the dingy subterranean corridors of the dilapidated Labyrinth of the Minotaur with a man she had just met. A man that she suspected might actually be crazy.

"Eilidh, have I told you about the time when I saved two Rangers from an enraged herd of twenty Minotaurs?" Liam asked.

He had insisted on walking ahead of Eilidh, leading her nowhere in particular as far as she could tell. Every now and then he would call back to her over his shoulder to recount some tale of his bravery and courage. With each entry into his verbal journey of achievements, Eilidh lost more and more respect for his credibility. She started to wonder if the Rangers had in fact saved Liam in the fight that he now had referenced for the third time.

"You have told me about first saving the Rangers from a group of eight, and then twelve Minotaurs, Blademaster," she said with a roll of her eyes.

So now we are at twenty. Great.

The thought made her wonder bitterly why she had agreed to his help. Well, because no one else was around and the Rangers both had business elsewhere. The idiot kept bringing up the story of thirty minutes ago as if it was a historic and well-documented moment of fame for him. Eilidh prayed that Liam would run them into some more Hibernians to join their group. She did not think that she could handle much more of this man one-on-one.

Also, the one Ranger's warning still resounded loudly in her head. Don't let Liam get her killed. Ominous.

Ruaidhri spoke of great accomplishments, but Eilidh had seen him perform plenty of worthy feats to prove his valor. This Blademaster just spoke and spoke and spoke. What if he did not know how to fight at all?

"Please help me survive this man, Ruaidhri," she whispered quietly.

"What was that, Eilidh?" Liam called back.

How had he heard that?

"I was just muttering to myself, Blademaster."

And this title business really irked Eilidh. He called her by name, yet insisted that she refer to him as Blademaster, as if to constantly remind her of his profession. She got it alright. Liam was a cocky bastard who needed to be constantly reaffirmed by those around him. Eilidh may not have been the greatest fighter or the best healer, but she had enough going on between her ears to see insecurity staring her in the face.

And that poor Firbolg, Brian. The trainee had fallen in combat and his oblivious trainer had just stood over him. What if Brian's soul had actually passed on? What if Eilidh had not come at that exact moment to rescue him? It had taken every ounce of her power to retrieve his receding soul. She had never done anything like it before, reaching deep inside the wounds of an injured realm mate to convince their spirit not to flee, not yet. She had healed her own injuries in the past and once or twice fixed up a moderate cut or bruise on Ruaidhri, but she had no experience with fatal wounds.

Well, now she certainly did. The ordeal had greatly drained her power, but at the same time energized her spiritually. She had saved someone's life! How could her brothers not be proud now? They had never brought someone back from the brink of the deep abyss.

So if Brian had actually died on the tunnel floor, would Liam have had the integrity to carry the corpse back to the bind stone at the Labyrinth entrance? Judging by his current navigational skills, Eilidh highly doubted that the overconfident man would ever have made it. Where were they headed anyway? She did not recognize any of these tunnels.

No, Liam would not have deigned to carry his dead trainee. Liam would have done exactly what he did with the living Brian: pawn him off on the Rangers. Eilidh was sure that dragging Brian's body back up to the surface to rejoin it with its soul would be far beneath Liam's deluded sense of grandeur and importance. Even when she totally ignored his incessant storytelling, thoughts about him irritated the fire out of her.

As they walked down yet another unfamiliar corridor, Eilidh saw a trickle of water forcing its way out from between two large bricks in the wall to her left. She did not bother telling Mister Wonderful that she had stopped to investigate. He would work it out soon enough. Or maybe he wouldn't. She absolutely did not care at this point.

Yes, as she suspected, the water flowed down to the tunnel floor and then proceeded to carve a narrow canal in the same direction that Liam now walked. He was taking her deeper into the Labyrinth, not up to the surface. Eilidh sat on her haunches, contemplating his actions. Either he thought he was heading towards the surface and was just incompetent, or he knew fine well that they were not heading to the surface and he had an agenda of his own.

For the first time, Eilidh looked up and down the tight corridor and felt the isolation. She was alone with this man. Could he be luring her deep down to some secluded spot where he could do with her as he pleased? Eilidh had been around long enough to have heard the terrible stories that circulated. Ruaidhri had explained to her in grave detail the consequences of falling into the hands of a Norseman of Midgard. She had never heard of such atrocities before that. Did this Liam fellow think he could take advantage of this young woman?

Well if so, he had chosen the wrong woman to ensnare in his web.

She stood and fell back into step behind the Blademaster, who still babbled on endlessly, unaware that she had ever stopped. Eilidh let the distance between them increase just a little. Blademasters were renowned for their ability to charge with great speed into battle. If the need arose, she wanted time to brace herself. After all, Eilidh had already been attacked by one realm mate that day, so proceeding cautiously seemed prudent.

The tunnel walls in front of Liam appeared to flex slightly as the floor started to rumble underfoot. Liam stopped and drew both of his blades, the metal glowing faintly red. His head darted back and forth, checking for incoming danger, his face a little confused, as if he expected such a tremor to be caused by stampeding Minotaurs. But Eilidh had felt this before. She knew this was no stampede.

"Watch out, Liam!" she yelled. "The ceiling is cracking."

Liam looked straight up and saw what Eilidh had noticed. With the corridor quaking more and more violently now, a deep crevasse etched its way across the ceiling above Liam's head. As the first sections collapsed, Liam shot backwards towards the wall and launched himself off of it, flipping through the air. Eilidh looked on in disbelief as he completed at least four back-flips with arms outstretched, still holding his shining blades.

He hit the ground behind Eilidh and executed a perfect landing. With his swords now up and facing Eilidh and with his face displaying a creepy grin, Liam did not look particularly welcoming to Eilidh. She raised her shield in his direction and fumbled to release her blade from its sheath on her belt.

Liam started walking towards her now, causing Eilidh to take a step back as her sword refused to cooperate. She started to panic as the dark images from Ruaidhri's story filled her mind. A deep-seated fear gripped her and she gave up on the sword and held her shield with both hands, ready to strike at the Blademaster with all her might. He stepped closer still, his eyes staring straight through Eilidh with bewildering detachment.

As Liam drew with a couple of feet of Eilidh, he sheathed his swords and continued on his predetermined path. She carefully stepped out of his way, still holding the shield up in defense, not trusting the man at all. Liam did not even seem to notice her, or her fearfulness.

What was going on here?

Now drenched with the salty sweat of fright, Eilidh watched Liam walk away from her, towards the cave-in. Now she could understand. Sort of.

The ceiling had given way to the tremor and formed a loose stairway into a dark space above. Apparently the brush with death and the idea of adventuring in a new area had captivated Liam to the point of scaring Eilidh half to death.

She yelled angrily, "What is wrong with you, Liam?"

All of her panic and fear and tension unraveled verbally as she lowered her shield. He paused and turned, looking confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Eilidh stomped towards him and pulled out her blade, which now had suddenly decided to comply with her demands. To his credit, Liam did not even so much as flinch when she held the point to his throat. Even worse, he smiled.

"Alright Eilidh, can you explain what is going on, please?"

"You are the one who has some explaining to do, Liam," she said, emphasizing the use of his name instead of his professional title. "You scared me half to death and then just walked away."

Now the smile dropped and Liam looked incredibly concerned.

"Scared you? When? Just now? You were supposed to be highly impressed with my aerial acrobatics, not scared."

Now it was Eilidh's turn to be dumbfounded.

"No, you twit! Not the flips or whatever you did. Pulling your swords and walking towards me with a devilish look on your face scared me," she explained while slowly withdrawing her sword from his neck.

"Devilish look, you say? Well, we Blademasters do train in the use of many excellent facial expressions depending on the situation, but I did not realize that I had a devilish look in my repertoire. Thank you for noticing," he said, smiling again.

"This is not funny, Liam. I thought you were going to do something… horrible."

Eilidh blushed at the word, but not nearly as much as Liam did. He turned his face away quickly, trying to hide his shame at catching her meaning.

Still not facing her, he said, "Eilidh, I do not know what made you think of me as such a barbarian."

Now Eilidh looked down at her feet, his insult making her feel worse and worse as each second ticked by. A hand gently touched her face and lifted her eyes to his.

"I am a Blademaster of Hibernia, Eilidh. I gave a solemn promise to protect and defend all Hibernians. We are a proud realm and proudly stand on our integrity and principles. You have nothing to fear from me in this regard that worries you."

Were her brothers not Blademasters of the realm also? Why had they never shown her such respect?

"I did not mean to offend you, but consider my situation, Liam. I do not think erring on the side of caution was a mistake."

A grand smile filled his whole face.

"Right you are, Eilidh. I appreciate your paranoia. 'Kill first and ask questions later' has always been my motto."

Eilidh frowned and looked away, once again a little bit confused by the Blademaster's words. At least she was back to just thinking the man was crazy and not a vile predator.

"Well, let's head up through this gap in the ceiling. I do believe we now have an impromptu passage into the tunnel above. This is very exciting," he exclaimed as he bounded up the pile of rubble.

Eilidh shook her head at his sudden enthusiasm and tried to follow his path. His manic and careless approach to climbing sent small rock slides and debris flying down towards Eilidh. Twice she lost her footing and fell back a few feet, prompting a scream at least once. Okay, maybe twice.

The total climb was only thirty feet and Eilidh quickly noticed a decrease in the number of stones hurtling towards her. Obviously Liam had already made it to the top of the pile. The climb drained the strength from Eilidh's muscles, hindering her progress. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally looked up and saw Liam standing just above her. Eilidh buckled down and dragged her ungainly armor the last few feet and collapsed on the floor at Liam's feet, which still stood on the pile of rocks and not on the new tunnel's floor.

Why had he not stepped into the tunnel yet?

In between breaths she sputtered, "Liam, I know that we just had a nice moment downstairs, and I don't really want to put a damper on that, but why did you not help me up this treacherous pile of rocks?"

"Shut up, woman. And do not even think about moving."

This was not Liam's voice. This was a woman's voice and not only that, it was the voice of a Celt. Fear started to infiltrate Eilidh's mind again. Had she found yet another hostile Hibernian? As instructed, she continued to hold still, staring at Liam's unmoving boots. Why was he not doing anything? If he truly wanted to impress her, now was definitely a good time to start.

Ruaidhri, why am I having such poor luck with our own realm today?

Chapter 7

Two Celtic women stood in frozen awe as the large tunnel before them pitched and rolled like a ship battered in stormy seas. The tremors raged, spilling torches from the walls onto the floor, punching cracks into the tall ceiling. One of the Celts gripped a flawlessly crafted harp with white knuckles, seeking comfort in the grooves and smooth curves of the wood. Her companion stood tall, gaining strength from the presence of the wolf at her side. She gently stroked the tense animal's bristling fur, assuring him that they were all fine.

And as suddenly as the violent motion had started, the rumbling faded, leaving the walls intact, but crumbling slowly. A dusty breeze flowed through the expansive passageway, creating the only audible sound.

The women stood stalk-still, wide-eyed and shocked by nature's fury. They had both spent years studying the ways of nature, honing their skills by harnessing its deep magic, but never had they witnessed such raw power in person. Who could command such destruction other than nature itself?

Torches lined the tunnel floor now, burning their seemingly unquenchable flames, magically lit by the spells of the Minotaur. The rows of light formed a walkway of fire, leading to a dark spot in the ground. Even after taking just a few steps towards the spot, both women could see the large hole formed in the tile floor ahead. They continued forward slowly, curious, but guarded.

And both stopped in a heartbeat as a head appeared from the depths of the collapse. The head continued on its upward journey as a body and legs also appeared from the gloom. Now was no time for hesitation.

"Stop right there!" yelled the harp wielder.

The newly arrived, much unwanted guest halted, facing away from the women.

"And don't turn around, or I will kill you where you stand," added the musician.

Following the instructions well, the intruder resembled a statue. In the illumination of the fallen torches, another form appeared, this one lying down at the feet of the statue. Red flowing hair could be seen protruding from under a well-worn helm. From the red head, a female voice spoke in the Celtic tongue, but the two watching women had no patience for even their own kind today, and with good reason.

"Shut up, woman. And do not even think about moving," said the woman with the harp. The wolf tamer had no issue allowing her musically-inclined companion to handle the talking for now.

The giant wolf accompanying the two women paced uneasily around them, its protective instincts peaking hyperactively. Kearney had a habit of guarding the sisters, and not just during cave-ins. Once he had bitten off a piece of an overly forward male suitor who could now only sit on one buttock.

No matter where he moved in the tunnel, the wolf always kept an eye on the two newcomers to the party, just as the sisters did. The previous few hours had proved incredibly eventful and confusing. Never before had they been attacked by members of their own realm seemingly working in conjunction with the enemy, but there was apparently a first for everything. One of the sisters still unconsciously poked at a fresh cut in her armor, just over her left elbow. Even a slightly more powerful blow would have sheared her arm clean off.

"Shela, you're doing it again," said the other sister, still facing their newly encountered realm mates.

"Whatever, Fionn," Shela snapped, continuing to touch the rough edges of the damaged sleeve. "You didn't just about lose an arm back there."

"Be nice, sister. If I recall correctly, I am the one who prevented you from losing more than an arm."

Shela now turned to her sister with a glare that could melt stone. Fionn looked at her irate younger sister with all of the impatience of an elder sibling.

"And if I recall correctly, Fionn, I am the one who got us away from that hoard of traitors."

The woman lying on the ground coughed and both sisters snapped to attention. Shela started to shout for the woman to keep quiet, but stopped short. The man who had stood next to the prostrate woman had disappeared. Fionn took a step back instinctively. If this man had knowledge in the ways of stealth, he could be sneaking up on the sisters while they bickered.

"Shela, we might have a problem here," Fionn whispered.

Kearney picked up on his master's unease and stepped in front of her, sniffing the air menacingly, itching for a fight. Unfortunately, Fionn doubted that even her pet's acute senses could uncover a skilled master of hiding. Those damned stealthers could blend in anywhere and then strike without warning.

Shela, as usual, did not share her sister's concern.

"He can try whatever he wants. He won't be able to kill us."

Another cough resonated from the hole in the floor, where the woman, who the sisters had already identified as a Celt like themselves, still lay flat. This cough sounded noticeably deeper than the last. Fionn and Shela exchanged a quick glance. Shela smiled and then slowly edged forward towards the opening in the ground. She stopped when Fionn hissed at her.

Shela whispered adamantly, "If they were enemies, they would not have stopped at the sight of a mere Bard and Druid, sister. That is hardly an imposing sight."

In truth, neither of the sisters had much combat training. They mostly fulfilled roles as support for the fighters. It was a difficult life, trying to keep alive those who seemed so desperate to die famously in battle.

"So?"

Shela shook her head in exasperation.

"So it means that they are friendly. And, if I am not mistaken, I do believe my last comment upset that man," Shela explained quietly.

Fionn asked, "Which comment? And why?"

Shela smiled again and simply said, "Just watch."

Once again the Bard stepped forward towards the hole.

Louder now, she said, "Sister, obviously the man has abandoned his woman, running for fear of the valiant and imposing duo before him."

Another deep cough flew out of the hole, a little angrier than the first. Shela stifled a laugh and now Fionn understood her sister's little game. She was stepping on someone's pride. Fionn, the Druid, motioned for her pet Kearney to stay put and then joined her sister, both very close to the hole now.

Now Fionn took a turn.

"That's right. He must be a very weak man and definitely not a fighter of any kind."

A faint response could be heard whispered just below the line of sight into the hole.

"It is a lie! I am the most valiant and superb Blademaster ever!"

The whisper was followed by yet another cough in a bizarre attempt to cover up the involuntary rebuttal of slanderous words. The sisters doubled over laughing, having trodden on this poor man's ego to their satisfaction. The young woman lying on the floor next to them now turned over and sat up, staring at the pair with a smile on her face. Apparently she knew the game also.

Now the man leapt out of the hole and landed behind them, swords drawn. All three women regarded him with shock, not expecting such hostility. Kearney, vigilant friend, apparently had anticipated such a move and had shot out from the shadows, tackling the Celt from behind. The red blades clanged across the floor as the man lay splayed out underneath the weight of the great black wolf. The animal's growling did little to silence the man's instant protests.

"Get this beast off of me!" he exclaimed. "I have done nothing wrong here. You have tarnished my good name with your lies!"

"Fionn, it would appear that your dog has caught a mighty Blademaster for dinner. Isn't that nice?" said Shela, grinning widely.

Blademasters had quite a reputation for oversized and easily injured egos, a fact that Shela frequently enjoyed to manipulate. The young woman took great pleasure from the emotional discomfort of others, which was why she had opted to become a Bard instead of a Druid like her sister. A Druid such as Fionn could enjoy a good giggle, but any kind of harm to a realm mate moved them deeply, even if it was just the harm of embarrassment. Having said that, certain people, such as overzealous Blademasters, deserved a good ribbing every now and then.

"Let him up, please," came a small voice from behind the sisters.

They turned to see a petite Celtic Warden, and judging from her cheap and tattered equipment, not a very good one at that. Fionn whistled at Kearney, who quickly returned to her side, keeping his eyes on the befuddled Blademaster.

"What are you doing with this blowhard, Warden?" demanded Shela in her characteristic I-do-not-like-you-so-now-I-will-interrogate-you voice.

The tone seemed to surprise the young Warden. She glanced at her recovering friend, who now was sheepishly retrieving his weapons. Without responding to the question, she got up and joined her companion. Shela just rolled her eyes.

"I asked you a question, dear," she said, and not nicely.

The Warden continued to tend to her friend and answered without looking up at Shela.

"I am Eilidh. I am searching for my lost friend, Ruaidhri. We were separated in a cave-in earlier," Eilidh explained, gaining a little confidence from her proximity to the Blademaster, Fionn sensed.

The young woman looked over and continued, "This is Liam, a great Blademaster who has chosen to help me find Ruaidhri."

Shela stifled a giggle as Liam's face turned red. This interesting encounter had taught Fionn and Shela a lot about this man in a very short space of time. Obviously he did not like his skills to be questioned, yet the affirmation from this pretty young woman made him blush. So did he have an ulterior motive in helping this woman find her true companion? And from what Fionn could tell, the naïve Eilidh had no idea what was going on inside Liam's head. This young woman had a lot to learn about a lot of things from the looks of it.

Fionn thought this was a cute love triangle of sorts, but she knew what her sister would think of such silliness and preemptively jabbed Shela's side in hopes of keeping the younger sister's mouth in check.

At the sound of the patronizing laugh from Shela, Liam's face creased into a gallant smile and the red dissolved immediately.

"And what, may I ask, are you two doing here, ladies of Hibernia?" he asked pleasantly.

"Well, we are on a mission ourselves and encountered some opposition that decided to chase us for miles through these hallways," Shela explained. "We ended up right here as the floor caved in and then you two appeared."

Eilidh asked, "What is your mission?"

The sisters looked at each other. Communication did not need words for the twin sisters. Shela was mere hours younger than Fionn, but even from that moment, their mother knew that Shela would be the headstrong one.

"You were not happy to be forced from the womb, my dear child," their mother would say. "Eventually the midwife resigned herself to waiting for you to come out in your own time. And that you did."

In Fionn's mind, that first event summed up her sister perfectly to this day.

And now Shela nodded to Fionn, allowing the elder sibling to explain their situation. A grave countenance fell upon Fionn as she contemplated the dire business that had driven the sisters into the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Not every day did children search for the hope that their own father so desperately needed. Their failure to locate his prized possession could kill him, if the black depths of depression had not already claimed his fading life in their absence. The weight pressed down on Fionn's spirit, physically compressing her body, it seemed. A gentle hand on her shoulder snapped away the miry daze clouding her thoughts.

Shela gazed into her sister's eyes, displaying rare affection in front of strangers. The twins had always been a very privately fond pair, with Shela often tormenting her sister in public growing up, and then showing love in isolation from onlookers. That hurtful behavior had all ended with the disappearance that brought the twins to the Labyrinth. They had to act together, and swiftly.

Even the eyes of Eilidh showed compassion beyond her knowledge. Fionn's shrunken appearance alone had moved the younger woman, who had been but a girl only moments ago. Without knowing anything of the problem, Eilidh could easily sense a difficult situation had brought the sisters on a difficult mission.

Fionn opened her mouth to speak, but barely got one word out before Kearney growled deeply beside her. Her eyes followed his towards the darkness from where they had come, her hand found his thick black fur bristling sharply. The other three companions looked around, but saw and heard nothing.

"What is it, Fionn?" asked Shela, a scowl preemptively forming on her face, the face of battle.

"They have found us, Shela."

Eilidh looked confused.

"Who has found us?" she asked, very concerned.

Shela stepped forward and pulled out her Bard's harp. Now all four members of the small group could hear the faint cries and yelps approaching from an unseen passageway. The echoes haunted the hallway, prickling the skin of the Celts. Shela flexed her fingers, preparing for battle.

"They have found us," she growled.

Fionn checked her small shield against her arm, gave it a bang for good measure. They could try to escape down into the hole in the floor, but running away again was not really an option to either sister. Confrontation was inevitable.

So they would fight.

Chapter 8

The screams and shouts resounded throughout the wide hallway, bombarding the four Celts from seemingly all directions. The figures tensed as the cacophony reached its boiling point, flooding the expansive space with dread-inspiring noise. No enemies had rushed from the many side corridors spewing off of the main passageway, but their loud battle cries told that confrontation was imminent.

Eilidh the young Warden looked at her three companions, four if she included the terrifying wolf. Ready for a fight, the large animal resembled a creature of nightmares, with enormous bared teeth snapping ferociously, claws like obsidian razors, and shoulder muscles bunched and twisted like thick ropes of iron. Despite knowing better, Eilidh took a step back, eyes wide and fixated on the seething furry fury.

"Do not worry about Kearney, Eilidh," said Fionn with the same calm anger that Eilidh recognized from being quietly scalded by her own father. The polite rage always frightened her the most. Fionn stared intensely towards the incoming raucous, daring the unseen enemy to attack her.

"He's on our side," added Shela.

The Bard stood holding her instrument of choice, a harp of such intricate design that Eilidh could not discern its origin. In fact, the Warden now noticed that all three human allies had similarly designed weapons and armor. She also shamefully noticed that she did not look the part at all, standing next to three confident warriors all decked out in expensive armor and weaponry.

Her head had barely had a chance to hang low when a gentle hand raised her face. Liam smiled at her, apparently oblivious to the sounds of chaos approaching swiftly. With a wink, he released her face and turned to address all three women.

"Buff me," he demanded.

Eilidh's eyebrow jumped up in confusion as she glanced over at the other two women. To her increased befuddlement, they both nodded and started casting nurturing spells of strength, dexterity, and might on the Blademaster. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back peacefully as the magical enhancements flowed through his body, increasing his abilities and reinforcing his spirit.

The chanting ceased only for a moment before resuming, now with Eilidh as the target. Her entire being felt uplifted, she felt invincible, she felt like she could drive a fist through a castle wall without straining. Never had she experienced anything like it, the feeling of power and agility that accompanied the Druid and Bard's nurturing magic. Of course, as a Warden, Eilidh could bolster her own abilities to a point, but she had never seen the same spells used on another person.

Could she do the same? Could she buff people other than herself? She started to ask Fionn that very question when Liam cut her off.

"So we probably have about thirty seconds before the hounds of destruction are upon us," he started, very dramatically. He strutted back and forth before them, an arrogant swagger in his step. "Bard and Druid should take up positions behind these pillars jutting out from the walls on either side of the tunnel. The Warden will take a cover position behind the next pillar down, towards the approach of these dastardly devils. Wait for my signal, and then support me while I defeat all opposition."

Eilidh could tell that Shela was not used to taking orders from a mere melee fighter. Her body was stiff as a board and her knuckles had brightened to pure white against her beautiful harp. Before the vengeful words could start, Fionn interrupted her.

"Sounds like a plan," she stated and then jogged to her position.

Shela glared at her sister, but Fionn just motioned for her to move over to the other pillar, twenty feet away, against the opposite wall. Not happy, the Bard stepped angrily to her place, trying to cause another floor collapse from the way she stomped. Eilidh watched with worry, wondering why Fionn had agreed so easily to a plan that her sister disagreed with. Liam now stood in the middle of the tunnel, close to where Eilidh was supposed to be. The noisy din had increased in intensity once more and Fionn had to shout to be heard.

"Eilidh, we don't have time to argue about this. Just get in position and do your best," she yelled from the shadows.

After hustling to her hiding spot, Eilidh peeked out to see Liam standing in the middle of the tunnel, all alone. A deep black cloak covered his lowered head and draped completely around his body. In a slightly darker place, Eilidh could have easily walked right past the Blademaster without even noticing him, but the torches lining the floor illuminated him eerily. Surely he knew that the enemy would see him! Was this just another foolhardy Blademaster, or could he really save the whole group?

Ruaidhri, would you do this?

Her reverie ended abruptly as the hoots and cries suddenly ceased all around her. Another peek around the pillar revealed no enemies, but Liam remained still as a statue. Sweat had formed under her ill-fitting helm and now ran in cold trickles down her neck, soaking the linens under her hideously adorned armor. A shiver gripped her as a cool draft of air kissed her exposed cheeks.

The silence felt like an unreachable itch, driving Eilidh mad with impatient frustration. She feared the fierce enemy that threatened them, but she shook with the anticipation of letting her sword and shield speak freely amongst the enemy. The shivering was constant now, the cool breeze assaulting the cracks and joints in her cheap armor.

She dared another look from her hiding spot and jumped back with her hand muffling a cry of surprise. At least eight foes had appeared silently in the hallway and were rushing noiselessly towards the isolated Liam. The confidence of having the Druid's spells enhancing her combat abilities waned. Hardly daring to move, Eilidh forced her eyes to keep watch over the Blademaster, anxiously awaiting his signal.

I can't do this, Ruaidhri. I can't do this. I'm not ready to die.

What was the signal? Liam had never said! How would she know when to attack? The questions shot through her mind, diverting her fearful worries into a lower priority. Now the Warden concentrated on the mental task list that had automatically materialized in her head. She focused and created a magical barrier of protection around Liam. With a few outlandishly dexterous movements of her hands, she drew on the power of the ground around her to increase her companions' resilience against certain forms of magic. Never had her hands moved so fluidly, so quickly, or so accurately. Confidence welled up once more.

The next time that Eilidh snuck a peek at Liam, time slowed down to a grinding halt. The enemies' faces held grim and frightening expressions, lit by the flickering of the flames on the tunnel floor. Eilidh steeled herself in her hiding place, muscles tensing anxiously. Now only a few feet separated the charging foes and the still unmoving Liam. Eilidh braced herself, fearing the worst.

Liam is paralyzed with fear.

A giant of a Troll reached the Blademaster first and hefted a monstrous hammer above its head. As the fire-engulfed head of the hammer started its downward stroke towards Liam's skull, the Celt's cloak billowed out in all directions as his hands produced his signature red blades.

Eilidh regarded the scene in awe as Liam's body twisted to avoid the stone beast's blow, while he also managed to yell, "I'm flyin' in!"

The flaming hammer struck the floor with force enough to smash tiles and send a shockwave through Eilidh's boots. Through the fiery dust cloud created by the crushing weight of the hammer, Eilidh could make out a whirlwind of fury darting around shadowy enemies, unleashing disaster upon them. The sight froze her in place, but not with fear. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, watching Liam dance through the blades and hammers of the enemy, lashing out elegant vengeance at will.

"Eilidh, that was the signal, idiot!" yelled a voice from behind.

The young Warden turned to see Shela rushing past her, bounding like a deer over the flaming torches. The Bard's hand beat furiously on the body of her harp, the magical rhythm empowering all friendly combatants to fight ceaselessly. Fionn stood in the middle of the tunnel, maintaining a safe distance as she chanted the healing spells keeping Liam immune to the crushing blows he sustained in his fighting.

Eilidh felt invigorated to a whole new level, no sense of fatigue able to prevail against the Bard's song. She darted out from concealment and collided with a tall Firbolg who must have been charging towards Fionn, trying to interrupt her healing spells. The pair crashed to the ground, but the veteran Firbolg was on his feet in an instant, now eyeing the kill on the sprawled form of Eilidh. She looked up and saw the bemused look in his eyes as he made a move towards her.

The thought that a Firbolg should never attack a Celt did not enter Eilidh's mind. Her encounter with the Elf earlier had thrown all preconceived notions to the wind. Now she just scrambled backwards, scooting on her behind, trying to pull up her shield and sword to defend herself from such a vulnerable position. If she took the time to stand in her clumsy armor, she would be struck down. The Firbolg's swagger indicated that he was a Blademaster just like Liam.

Well, not just like Liam. Liam did not want to kill his own countrymen.

Before he got in range to swing, thick tree roots shot out through cracks in the floor and entwined themselves around the Firbolg's thick legs. Eilidh quickly gained her feet while she watched the tall enemy fumble and struggle with the constricting vines. Was this magic?

"Eilidh, he'll be stuck for a while. Go help Liam!" Fionn called from behind.

The Firbolg futilely struck out towards Eilidh as she ran past. She flinched instinctively, but kept going, anxious to help out.

The scene before her resembled nothing less than absolute chaos. She had never been involved in such a large scale fight before. Her hesitation held her feet in place, not quite sure what to do, how to help. Liam still moved ferociously and precisely around three enemies angrily wielding large weapons. Their inability to bring the Celt down fed their fury. A Norseman roared inhumanly and transformed before Eilidh's eyes into a giant frenzied bear, swinging two axes with strength beyond that of any human. She could not believe her eyes. How could a man just change into a bear? Was this one of the fabled Berserkers?

Beyond the melee in front of her, Kearney pounced on a diminutive Kobold. The blue skinned foe crashed to the ground and struggled feverishly with the much larger wolf. Judging by the Kobold's weak fighting ability and its small shield, Eilidh imagined that he or she must be a Shaman of Midgard, skilled in the arts of Cave magic, inflicting wasting diseases on foes and calling forth the roots of the Earth to ensnare the enemy.

Behind the raging wolf, a Briton of the realm of Albion appeared from the shadows and cast a spell that froze Kearney like a stone, jaws held agape in ferocity. The same Briton then chanted a spell that appeared to help the Kobold recover, because the next thing Eilidh knew was that the sneering blue Kobold had rooted Kearney in place. After being stunned, Kearney struggled frantically, not sure why his legs would not move through the tangle of magical vines.

Shela rushed past in front of Eilidh with a Half-Ogre in tow. The great polearm in Half-Ogre's grip slashed endlessly at Shela's feet as she deftly leapt through the fallen flames and bounced off the walls.

"Do something, Eilidh!" Shela yelped while dodging yet another attack from her assailant.

Shame cast a dark shadow over Eilidh. She had been watching her companions fight on her behalf while she just watched in confusion. Doing anything surely outweighed doing nothing at all. Her failure to act could have doomed them all.

Now spurred on by the deep shame, Eilidh bodily tackled the Half-Ogre, who had been totally oblivious to her presence. He went down hard with a grunt and before he could recover, Eilidh drove her shield solidly into the back of his head, cracking his face down on the dirty tiles. Up she got and rushed to Liam's aid, but her short sword could not even penetrate the exposed flanks of her enemies. Their armor rejected her blade as if it were made of grass and reeds.

Liam poked his head out of the fray while still parrying the rain of blows effortlessly. He told Eilidh, "Go and get after that Briton Cleric in the back. He is keeping these ruffians alive and believe it or not, I cannot do this all day."

His smile worried Eilidh a little. Who could smile at a time like this?

She pressed on through the fight and found the Cleric of the Church of Albion standing perfectly still, with his eyes closed. Seeing her opportunity to prove herself, she charged and drew back her puny weapon. Before she could strike the desired blow, a strong hand grabbed her wrist from behind. Eilidh twisted around and drove a knee into the gut of her attacker.

Shela gasped and let go of Eilidh's arm.

"I am so sorry, Shela," Eilidh called out, feeling terrible.

Through wheezes, the Bard replied, "Not now. Do not hit that Cleric. I put him to sleep. Go help Liam."

Thoroughly confused at being tossed from one end of the fight to the other, Eilidh rushed back to Liam's aid. With the Cleric's healing powers subdued, Liam had slain two of his opponents, leaving only the great Troll standing, his fiery hammer casting wicked shadows as it sliced through the air in deadly arcs. Not taking his eyes from his most dangerous foe, Liam yelled for Eilidh to go take care of the Lurikeen.

"What Lurikeen?" she yelled back, feeling more useless than ever. Why wouldn't her own allies let her fight?

Shela materialized next to them both and called out, "I think he's on our side, Liam. He helped Kearney kill that Shaman and he's chasing down the Saracen."

These words flooded into the growing discombobulated mess within Eilidh's head. What Lurikeen? What Saracen? She scanned around and indeed saw the Kobold Shaman lying motionless. Movement out of the corner of her eye attracted her attention, and she turned in time to see the Saracen appear from behind a pillar and eye her intensely as it started drawing on unholy power, its hands glowing pink and red.

Eilidh ran towards the Saracen, but knew that she could never reach her foe in time to stop the imminent and crippling pain heading her way. She braced herself as the Saracen's hands completed their motion. The Warden squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the life-draining spell to hurt. A lot.

But she felt nothing.

She opened her eyes and saw the Saracen sprawled before her, its staff strewn in pieces around the lifeless body. Now disconcerted, Eilidh looked around, swiveling her head, trying to establish what had just happened. Why was she still alive?

Then she saw the small Lurikeen appear from the shadows behind the Saracen. His magical staff stood much taller than he and even a novice fighter such as Eilidh could tell from his accoutrement that he held a high stature in the armies of Hibernia. He radiated authority and power as he strode past her without even a glance. Eilidh watched in awe as the diminutive spell caster created spheres of destructive force between his small hands and then launched the crackling spells towards his enemies.

In short order, the powerful Lurikeen dispatched the sleeping Cleric, the Firbolg Blademaster, and then killed the Half-Ogre that Eilidh had failed to finish off in her hurry to help Liam. Now the only enemy left standing was the great stone-skinned Troll who now circled Liam in a seething fury.

The Hibernians closed in around the Troll, who started to back up, taking a defensive stance. In a move displaying uncanny quickness for such a large being, the Troll sheathed its enormous hammer and produced a shield the size of a cottage door. In its other hand glowed a smaller version of the larger fiery hammer. It beat on the shield with the hammer and a deep crunching noise like grinding granite resonated from deep within the stone-like body.

A sharp whistle caught everyone's attention. Eilidh watched as Liam motioned with his hand for them to back off, to stay put. She hesitated, watching the others for a reaction. They just nodded and stopped, including their new companion, the Lurikeen mage. Kearney continued to growl from his master's side, but remained glued in place, unable to strike without Fionn's approval.

Eilidh edged closer to Fionn and drew a snap from Kearney. After emitting an awkward cough, trying to hide her overt flinch at the wolf's aggression, Eilidh whispered to Fionn, "Why are we not helping Liam?"

Fionn did not move her gaze from the battle waiting to start, but she responded, "We do not interrupt duels, Eilidh. Just watch."

Aghast, Eilidh whispered back, "Just watch? But what if the Troll wins?"

Now Shela joined the conversation and looked at the younger woman gravely.

"If the Troll wins, we will reward it with a slow, painful death."

Chapter 9

Shela watched the pair of duelers strafe each other, both searching for a solid opportunity to strike. The Troll, despite being short for its kind, stood well over a head higher than the Celt, who was actually quite tall for their race. The armor of both combatants was dyed a deep black, which was not unusual for fighters of their experience level, mainly due to the cost of the dark enamel dye. In the obscure lighting from the few fallen torches still lit on the cavernous tunnel's floor, Shela observed the two shadow-like forms shifting back and forth, edging closer and then away, immersed in the tide of battle. The deadly beauty of their seemingly choreographed movements captivated her.

Regarding the well-matched fighters vying for position welled up an old and well-known disappointment in Shela's soul. As a Bard of the realm of Hibernia, Shela was greatly skilled in the magical art of music. With a beat on a drum, or harp for that matter, she could suppress all feelings of fatigue from any allies nearby. With a strum of a stringed instrument, she could propel allies onward with amazing speed. With a tune on a flute, she could summon regenerating melodies of the Earth to help allies recover their power after suffering from the drain of casting many spells.

These support functions were all well and good, but what kind of combat capabilities did she really have? She could cast amnesia spells that made her foe briefly forget their current action, or put a great army to sleep temporarily, or confuse the enemy into fighting amongst themselves.

But where was the glory in these acts?

Sudden movement broke her from the depressing train of thought.

The Troll darted forward, its shield blocking a cross cut from Liam. The fiery hammer inside the Warrior of Midgard's great fist swung from out wide, but just barely missed the Celt's exposed thigh. The Troll's reach advantage required the lithe Blademaster to evade perfectly in order to draw in close enough to attack. Liam moved gracefully and swiftly, but had a hard time getting either of his blades past the Warrior's great shield.

Shela continued to watch, but her thoughts once again monopolized her attention. What could a Bard do to kill those who deserved her vengeance? She could yell out a concussive blast that only inflicted mild injury to a hardened enemy. The act put a great strain on her voice, which she needed for chanting her other spells, so she could not even do this paltry offensive attack very often.

All she had ever wanted was to swing a weapon as Liam did so effortlessly before her. Her having the ability to attack in melee tirelessly meant nothing if her opponents could easily parry and dodge her every move. The job of a Bard consisted of suppressing the enemy while her allies did all of the real work, the rewarding work.

Shela looked at her sister, deep in hushed conversation with the completely helpless Warden. How could Fionn stand it, being in the backlines of every fight, keeping others alive, but never dealing out her own wrath? In truth, Shela's twin sister had never been quick to anger. Life had dealt that card to Shela, her short fuse well-known in their hometown of Mag Mell. Perhaps helping others gave Fionn all the reward that she needed, but Shela wanted more. She had always wanted more, wanted to not be so helpless by herself. Relying on others was a sign of great weakness.

The Bard watched the ongoing fight once more.

After a quick feint to the Troll's left, Liam drove forward with both swords flashing straight ahead, but the Warrior of Midgard countered brilliantly, not biting on the fake. The enormous shield thrust straight down, pinning one of Liam's red blades to the ground. Shela heard Eilidh gasp. The Troll's other hand brought the hammer down onto the top of Liam's left shoulder with a sickening thump, flattening the Celt.

With a deft lunge, the Warrior's foot shot out towards Liam's injured shoulder, but the Blademaster had sensed the move and rolled away to his right. The Troll's stomp echoed in the quiet hallway and left a deep imprint in the stone floor. Now on his feet, Liam stood with his left arm hanging limp, yet still his left hand gripped his sword. The Troll seemed to mutter something, but all Shela heard was a sound like a stone being ground to dust.

Now Shela saw, as she had done many times in the past, her reason for being. She could easily help Liam defeat the Troll, if she so desired. Or in this case, if Liam so desired, but the Blademasters were a stubborn crew who were far too proud to back out of a losing battle. With a few words and a wave of her hand, she could heal his broken shoulder and send him back into the fight with fervor. But she wouldn't. She had to respect the rules of the duel.

Looking to her sister, Shela saw Fionn fidgeting listlessly with Kearney's fur, grinding her fingers into the animal's tough hide. The wolf growled deeply and continuously at an incredibly low volume, the sound reverberating in Shela's bones. Both Fionn and the wolf desperately wanted to intercede. Druids typically could not stand the sight of a brother or sister dying in combat and Fionn was no exception. Shela just did not have that same driving motivation.

The Troll circled Liam, sensing the end to be near, but maintaining a safe distance to let the pain seep into the Blademaster's core, to destabilize the still dangerous Celt. Before the Troll could maneuver to stop him, Liam sheathed his right sword and produced a glass vial from his belt. Shela recognized the red potion as Liam chugged the fluid down in a single gulp. Aggravated to no end, the Troll rushed Liam, hammer reaching to pummel the Celt, but the potion had worked its magic quickly, returning the feeling to Liam's deadened arm. Now the two struggled in their most intense exchange of blows yet, clashing weapons and smashing armor in a whirlwind of movement.

Shela could not help but think that despite having the ability to win or lose a fight for her allies, a Bard never received the credit or the glory. Neither did Druids for that matter, but she focused on her own problems for the time being. The recognition always went to the fighter who actually killed the enemy, like Liam or the Lurikeen Eldritch who had shown up at the end of the fight to obliterate most of the enemy by himself. Shela so desired to do that, to have that experience of absolute power in a fight. She wanted to strut into a battle that her allies were losing and eliminate the enemy for them.

But she could not. All she could do was her best to stop her allies getting hurt.

The fiery hammer flew down from high above the Troll's head, intent on smashing Liam's, but the Celt raised both blades in a cross to catch the blow. The force of the collision dropped Liam to one knee, but with a twist of his wrists, the Troll's weapon flew free and dashed against the tiled floor. With a great roar, the Troll thrust forward with its shield and knocked Liam onto his back. While the Blademaster regained his footing, the Troll produced its two-handed hammer once more.

Shela had never seen a weapon like it. It was easily taller than Liam just by itself. She guessed from the flames swirling around the head of the weapon that the Troll had slain one of the great dragons to obtain it. Shela and Fionn had also been part of groups that had vanquished a few dragons and stolen from their treasure hoards, but they had not found anything like this amazing implement of death.

Barely on his feet, Liam had no way to block the incoming shot. Eilidh screamed in warning, but her cry only distracted the Blademaster more. The fiery hammer struck him square in the chest and sent him flying down the hallway. He careened into the wall and lay in a crumpled pile at the far end of the tunnel, away from his allies.

If the Troll wins, we will reward it with a slow, painful death.

Those words were still true. Shela thought about them as the Troll slowly, methodically wandered towards the fallen Celt. Even with victory so close, the Troll showed its extreme level of discipline, not rushing into any potential traps.

Well, if it wins, the Eldritch will have to kill it, because none of the rest of us can.

The thought perplexed Shela. The sisters had never really ventured out alone before, as they had on this mission. They both usually accepted their limited combat abilities and sought the help of others, but this quest had been different, personal. The thought of her missing brother saddened her. If their Gavin was here, he would defend them. Luckily for them, this Lurikeen had appeared at an opportune time, because they were probably going to lose Liam.

As the Troll pulled up next to the battered and unconscious Celt, Shela feared the worst. The sight of the Troll raising the mighty hammer that would smite Liam down made her wonder if her own brother, lost in the depths of the Labyrinth, had met with the same fate. Gavin had disappeared a week previously, after leaving the family home on a mission to the Labyrinth on behalf of the King of Hibernia. Fionn and Shela had wondered about what possible reason the King would have for sending their younger brother off to the dilapidated and crumbling Labyrinth of the Minotaur, but Gavin had insisted that what he said was true.

Time slowed down to an unbearable crawl as the Troll towered over Liam, hammer held high.

Shela and Fionn would never have come all the way to the Labyrinth by themselves, but other matters had complicated the potential rescue effort. Their father was dying. Gower, once a great and strong Hero of the realm, was now succumbing to an incurable illness that had ravaged his once perfect body. He had insisted that his daughters seek out the fate of his only son, for he could not rest in death without knowing Gavin's fate. The dire image of her father's imminent demise brought a solitary tear to Shela's eye. In fact, he could already be dead and their mission for naught.

No. Even if Father dies, we must find out the truth and avenge Gavin if necessary.

The Troll slowly lowered its hammer down and looked to its left, ignoring Liam for a moment. Eilidh broke the painful silence that had built up in the last few moments as the onlookers assumed the worst for Liam.

"What is it doing?" asked Eilidh.

Shela had no idea, but did not respond to the Warden's stupid question. The young woman had no idea how to be a Warden, and it annoyed Shela to no end that even a terrible Warden like Eilidh could still do something that the Bard never had. Kill an enemy of the realm.

With a great yell, the Troll rushed off into a side passage leading from the main hallway. The Hibernians all rushed forward together, not sure whether to expect friend or foe approaching. When they reached the small passage, the sight shocked them.

The Troll lay dead and rotting at the feet of a young female Elf, dressed in the robes of a Mentalist. Shela had a hard time believing that such a young Elf could be so powerful, but then again, the Elves rarely showed their true age in their appearance. Before she could enquire about how the Elf had managed to fell a mighty Warrior, the Lurikeen stomped up to the Elf in a tizzy, waving his tall staff in her face.

"What is wrong with you, Aelfraed? You just interrupted a duel!" he cried in a high-pitched voice.

"I saved that injured Celt, Bob, which is more than I can say that you did," replied the Elf evenly.

"He told us not to help. That is the whole point of a duel," the Lurikeen pointed out.

"That Troll would have killed the Celt and then what, Bob? Who would have killed the Troll as retribution? The Bard? Ha. I think not," stated the Elf.

Now Shela was not amused.

"Who do you think you are? You keep your opinions to yourself, Elf," ordered Shela.

The Elf regarded Shela with the patronizing disdain that Elves commanded so well.

"Hush, Celt."

Seething now, Shela stepped forward, but the Lurikeen called Bob motioned her back.

"If the Celt had lost, I would've killed the Troll, Aelfraed, and you know it," he said.

"I think not. You would have killed him already if you thought that you could," the Elf responded.

Tired of the pointless argument, Shela looked around, instinctively scanning her surroundings for any potential threats. That was when she saw it. Or at least, she thought she saw it.

Yes! She definitely saw the tell-tale shimmery form of a Hibernian sneak creeping through the shadows of a dark recess of the tunnel. Another shape caught her eye and when she glanced towards it, she could have sworn that she saw the large head of a Firbolg disappear around the far corner. Now she could not find the shadowy movements of the stealther, but she suspected that this Elf had not slain the Troll alone. Still ignoring the pair of bickering mages, Shela crouched down next to the dead Troll to investigate.

Ah, yes. Hibernian arrows. As I thought.

Apparently a friendly Ranger or two had helped kill the Warrior, sticking to the shadows to avoid detection. Shela had greatly doubted that even the greatest Mentalist could defeat a Warrior one-on-one, but the broken arrows protruding from under the fallen Troll confirmed that the Elf had received some welcome assistance. Perhaps if the Lurikeen could get over his pride for a few moments, he too would notice the evidence and cease the fruitless debating.

But why would our hidden allies not reveal themselves after the fight?

The question hung in her mind restlessly, seeking an answer that the Bard could not yet provide. Shela stood and turned her back on the bickering pair and headed back to where Liam now sat up against the wall, eyes open, but no trademark smile plastered across his face. He looked concerned.

"Thanks for restoring me, Fionn," he said evenly. "But I had that Troll exactly where I wanted him. That Elf had no right to steal my kill!"

Shela and Fionn exchanged a wry look of doubt, but Eilidh marveled at the man's confidence.

Oh good, now Eilidh is impressed with a guy who just got belted thirty feet through the air.

The thought made Shela laugh at Eilidh's naivety. Hopefully Fionn could teach the poor Warden a few things, because all Shela knew was that she would not be teaching the young woman anything. The Bard had enough to deal with.

"Okay, Liam. That is more than enough time on your arse. Up you get," said Shela as she grabbed him by the wrists and helped him up.

"Thank you, Bard, but I could have done that myself," he said, dusting himself off, his expensive black armor now coated in dust.

Shela rolled her eyes at the man. In truth, even if Liam had died, Fionn or Shela, or even Eilidh, could have rescued his soul from death and repaired his broken body. Of course, that arduous process took time and concentration, two things that the Troll would not have afforded them. Either way, she was glad to have the Blademaster with them, because all things considered, Liam had bravery and some skill with the sword. They would need that if they were to find Gavin. Also, had Eilidh not mentioned something earlier about looking for her lost love down deep in the Labyrinth?

Mulling these thoughts over and thinking about how to combine their quests, Shela and the others wandered back over to the Elf and Lurikeen who were still going at it tooth and nail.

Maybe they would stop pestering each other long enough to help the Celts complete their quests. Shela certainly hoped so.

Chapter 10

The vast labyrinthine pathways appeared unrelentingly endless, yet Shela still insisted that she knew where the group was heading. Eilidh had explained as accurately as possible where the cave-in had occurred that had separated her from her love, Ruaidhri, a Champion of Hibernia. Quickly claiming superior knowledge of the Labyrinth's layout, Shela had taken the lead.

In fact, even before that conversation, Shela, the only Bard amongst the adventurers, had automatically assumed command. The inexperienced Warden had not spent much time fighting alongside others of her realm, but was confused why the weakest member of the group would lead them. Surely the powerful Eldritch, Bob, or the dashing Blademaster, Liam, would have been a better choice. Nobody else seemed to object, so perhaps Bards often navigated for others.

Apparently I have much to learn.

This obvious thought became more and more apparent as the group pushed on quietly through empty corridor after empty corridor. The Druid, Fionn, who was also Shela's twin sister, incessantly approached Eilidh to teach her yet another new spell of regrowth magic. Of course, Eilidh accepted the advice and lessons as a necessary evil, but the sheer amount of ancient knowledge was far too great to absorb all at once.

"So, Eilidh, repeat back to me the spell for curing a realm mate of a wasting disease," Fionn whispered. Shela had ordered everyone to be quiet in order to avoid as much needless confrontation as possible, but Eilidh had not noticed any signs of life on this leg of their journey.

"Alright," replied Eilidh, who then fumbled the curing words out.

Despite her difficulty with the wording of the spell, Fionn smiled in that ever-present supportive fashion and said, "Very good. Now try to cure Kearney."

The wolf shot a quick glance at Fionn, hearing his name, but not sure what she wanted. Eilidh then saw the large animal stare at her, as if begging her not to accidentally do something terrible to him.

But of course he doesn't know what we are talking about. Or does he?

Mildly perplexed at the idea, Eilidh stood still and focused on Kearney, reaching out to connect their natural life-forces. Never before had she sought to make such a spiritual union with a beast, but he shared the spirit of Hibernia with her, and she found the intersection of their souls far easier than she would have imagined.

The feeling of his unease was painfully apparent, but Eilidh felt fairly confident that she could squeeze the words out correctly. What was the worst that she could do anyway?

She avoiding that thought quickly, not quite sure what a mispronounced word could do to the poor animal.

In that space, everything around them faded from her perspective. Only Eilidh and Kearney existed. The spell rolled off her tongue quietly and far more smoothly than before. The tingling sensation of the transfer of power between them broke her concentration and she lost the connection with the wolf. She opened her eyes and saw that she had held onto Kearney for long enough apparently. Ripples of the magic twisted softly around the wolf, who had probably felt their healing effects many times before.

But that was when his master, Fionn, had cured him, not some random Warden. A smile broke across her face as she and Fionn now trotted to catch up with the rest of their party. What an amazing feeling that was! To think, she had just cured a disease. Well, if Kearney had actually been diseased, she would have cured him, but still, she had seen the magic float around him and then dissipate, taking any maladies with it.

"You did well, Eilidh," whispered her proud teacher with a grin.

"Thank you, Fionn."

Shela stopped ahead and glowered at the pair of giggly women.

"If you two are done trying to summon the Minotaur army after us, we will continue," she snapped quietly.

Despite the low volume of the words, they slapped Eilidh in the face with a tone of authority that she had never heard before. She stood stunned for a moment before recalling that Ruaidhri had once explained the power in a Bard's voice. They could scream with enough intensity to disorient the enemy. Now Eilidh believed it, still waiting for the stars to clear from her vision.

Common sense fought to keep her mind in a positive light, but images of her lost Ruaidhri sought to drag her down into deep and dark recesses of her mind. Her recent magical success now already forgotten, Eilidh wallowed in a sudden sadness.

Will I ever find you, Ruaidhri? What will I do without you?

Shela continued on, pushing the group into a new area of the Labyrinth. The style of the construction of the walls changed abruptly. The carvings etched into the stone conjured more memories from the last few days with Ruaidhri. Déjà vu forcefully struck Eilidh, visions of the cave collapse appearing far too real. The pain of separation welled up, renewed in its vigor by her weakened state of mind.

"What's wrong?" asked Fionn.

The Druid put a comforting hand on Eilidh's trembling shoulder, but the Warden felt no respite.

"This is where I lost him," she mumbled.

"We are very close to one of the Minotaur shrines. It is at a major intersection, so perhaps you will recall the way that you went from there?" asked Shela indifferently.

Eilidh glared at her leader, but said nothing.

"Look, we all have a stake in this, Eilidh. We are trying to find your friend and we are trying to locate my brother. Help me to help you," Shela said, turning her hands up in a surrendering gesture.

The Warden looked to Fionn, then to Liam. Both returned her gaze with sympathy. The Elf Mentalist, Aelfraed, simply stood behind the group, seemingly apathetic. Bob, the mighty Lurikeen Eldritch, shuffled his feet across the dusty floor, his eyes finding the cracks in the floor quite intriguing.

"I am not sure," Eilidh finally admitted.

The realization hurt to vocalize. What was she doing? She had no idea where Ruaidhri may be. He was almost certainly dead, lying under a pile of collapse stone. Alone.

Shela started walking off, not looking back to offer a kind word.

How can she be so cold?

Fionn produced a piece of scented cloth and wiped away the tears forming in Eilidh's agonized eyes. Slight reassurance eked through the darkness fogging her mind. They silently fell into step behind the assertive Bard.

They reached a large crossroads, two great hallways combining in a T-shape, with a great cavern opening off of the top of the T. In the center of the junction stood a pillar of polished stone, glinting in the uneven light of the torches. Eilidh peered closely at the series of intricate runes carved expertly into the crafted rock. Fionn lowered her head and whispered into Eilidh's ear.

"This is an obelisk. In the old days, these stones were powered by the magic of the Minotaurs and anyone who touched it could teleport to other areas of this mazy dungeon," she explained. She sighed before adding, "Unfortunately for us, they no longer work. Nobody seems to know why."

Moving past the obelisk, Eilidh looked up into the great space attached to the crossroads. On the left wall stood what she was sure was once a great monument to a Minotaur god. Now all that remained were ancient scorch marks where someone had presumably burned everything associated with the religious site.

"So now that we are here at the Shrine of Nethuni and do not have a clear path to take, how deep do you want to go here?" asked Bob, speaking up for what seemed like the first time.

"What do you mean?" replied Shela, exasperated. Eilidh knew that she had disappointed the Bard by not knowing where to go next.

"I mean that we are looking for two people who could be anywhere in this damned place. I am not sure how far you have really gone to explore this dungeon, Shela, but I can assure you that we will not just randomly run into your brother or her friend," he said, sticking a thumb in Eilidh's direction.

Shela now looked troubled and Eilidh sensed an irritation growing in the Bard. Shela spoke through clenched teeth.

"So what would you suggest?"

"I suggest that we skip this level of the maze altogether and drop down towards the submerged sections."

"Why would going deeper get us any closer to locating our lost ones?" asked Fionn.

Bob turned to her and explained, "We know the general area that Eilidh lost Roory or Rory or-"

"It's Ruaidhri," Eilidh interjected.

"Yes, right, Ruaidhri. If our young Warden followed her path back out towards the higher levels of the Labyrinth, then that means that her companion must have delved deeper into the darker sections."

Now a deep silence covered the party as they each thought about the Lurikeen's suggestion.

"I agree."

Everyone turned to face the Elf, Aelfraed.

"Had he survived the ceiling collapse, he would have been forced downward. That is where we should now go."

"And I suppose that Bob has a shortcut, then?" Shela asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," he replied smugly. "Follow me, please."

Eilidh could see the fire in Shela's eyes. Apparently the Bard really did not care for taking orders from others, but she fell into step behind the Lurikeen as he approached a large cylindrical pillar of stone that supported the high ceiling.

"You see, there is a crack under this support," Bob said, pointing at the base of the pillar. "We can slide right down through this section of the floor and jump down into the level below us."

"How much of a fall is that going to be?" asked Fionn.

"Nothing that you cannot fix, good Druid," Bob said with a reassuring smile.

That did not sit well with Eilidh, despite the Lurikeen's suddenly charming demeanor.

"Hold on a minute. You want us to jump down and what, break our legs?"

Bob kept smiling, but had a truly inquisitive look on his face, but no hint of condescension.

"You are a Warden, my dear. Surely you have intentionally sustained injury in order to reach a certain goal? You are more than capable of healing yourself afterwards."

The thought of deliberately inflicting pain on herself as an excuse to use a healing spell had indeed never occurred to Eilidh.

Could I even hold my concentration long enough to perform the spell if I had two broken legs? I am not sure about that.

The group clambered up onto the square base of the gigantic pillar and edged around to the backside, hidden from view of the main chamber. Eilidh followed close behind Bob as he easily slunk into a fissure formed between the back wall and the base of the pillar. He paused in the gap for a moment and turned back to Eilidh.

"Just watch your step here. It's a bit slippery, possibly even treacherous."

Before Eilidh could respond, he took a single step and disappeared from view with a shout of what sounded like genuine excitement. The noise of sliding gravel echoed out of the slim space and then she thought a sharp cry of profanity could be heard.

"Get on with it, Eilidh," Shela urged.

Eilidh stepped down into the crack and saw utter darkness inside. She could not even tell how steep the decline was, even when she had slipped on her first step and had started sliding uncontrollably down into the dark hole. She screamed and reached out her hands and feet, desperately seeking purchase, but the crack had widened dramatically as she fell. Looking down at her useless feet, Eilidh saw a dim bluish light growing beneath her quickly until she was enveloped in it and freefalling through the air.

Her body rotated of its own accord as she looked down and saw the watery floor rushing up towards her. She must have fallen from a height at least ten times her own. No air left in her lungs, she panicked and gasped for air to scream once more, but she failed. She righted herself as her feet crashed into the shallow stream of water, barely a hand's breadth deep.

Pain rocketed through Eilidh and she cried out, her face partially submerged in the dirty water. Powerful hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her up. Her vision filled with a terrible sight as she saw her battered legs dragging behind her, shattered and bleeding everywhere. Bone protruded in every direction as she screamed fearfully, her mind completely blank with terror.

While she watched, her legs glowed brightly, covered in ribbons of white and blue light, and she could feel the soothing words of Fionn nearby. She closed her eyes and listened as the ameliorating chant of Shela joined the Druid's calm voice. The sounds faded away and all she could hear were feet sloshing and people talking.

"She'll be fine," she heard Shela say, a bit indignantly.

"Shut up, Bard. What are you doing down here with such an inexperienced Warden?" demanded a new and unknown voice.

Eilidh opened her eyes and stood up to find a giant of a Firbolg growling and towering over Shela's defiant form. The Bard's eyes shifted for a moment to look at Eilidh and the Firbolg followed her gaze.

"I mean no disrespect, Warden, but this is a dangerous place for you," he said.

Despite not appreciating the contents of his words, Eilidh could sense genuine concern in his voice. Why did he care if she suffered? Even Eilidh could see that this Firbolg stood amongst the strongest in the land. An enormous two-handed broadsword protruded from a sheath on his back and just the sight of it both terrified and intrigued Eilidh. Who could effectively wield such a weapon?

"I will be fine, thank you," she replied uneasily. After taking a moment to right herself, she added, "We are searching for my lost friend."

The thought of Ruaidhri once again sought to crack her composure and despite her best efforts to fight the feelings, she could see that this Firbolg sensed her despair. Unfortunately, the resolve on his face told her that he would not be joining them.

"I can only tell you that I have been here for a couple of hours and not seen any other Hibernians. Only the guardians of the Dracolich roam these halls," he explained.

Timid, but determined, Eilidh asked, "Will you help us?"

Without skipping a beat, the mighty Firbolg responded flatly, "No. I have other business here."

"And exactly what might that be?" demanded Shela.

Eilidh guessed that Shela too saw the use in having a powerful Firbolg Hero (at least, he looked like a Hero) on their side. He seemed irritated at the Bard's question.

"My business is my own, Bard," he stated. He pointed a large hand at Liam and said, "This Celt looks like a decent enough Blademaster, so you will be fine." Liam's face lit up with abject smugness at the partial compliment.

The Firbolg carefully examined each of the group members and seemed satisfied with his decision to leave them to their own devices. Eilidh once more considered why this Firbolg even cared to justify his actions in this case.

When his eyes reached Bob, his gaze narrowed, but the Firbolg said nothing. Once more, the Eldritch was shuffling his feet and staring at the water-soaked ground.

A high-pitched scream pierced the air from downstream and the Firbolg immediately sprinted in that direction. He moved with incredible litheness for such a large fellow. Over his shoulder, he yelled back at them.

"I will handle this." After a pause, he added, "You should leave. Now."

Eilidh and the others just looked at each other in confusion as the Hero charged off without them. Shela climbed up out of the shallow stream and pointed at a gouge in the blue-green tunnel walls. The floating reflection of the dingy water on the walls captivated the Warden as she followed the Bard.

Shela paused at the opening to the crack in the wall and turned to address the group.

"Forget about him. We will move on with our quest and we will be fine."

Fionn and Eilidh exchanged a worried glance as the group moved into the fissure behind the Bard.

Liam pulled up behind Eilidh and whispered, "Is she trying to reassure us? Or just convince herself?"

Eilidh's eyes widened at the Blademaster's strangely sage words, but Liam quickly smiled in that overly charming way of his and added, "Do not fear, Eilidh. I shall protect you."

She just nodded and followed him into the dark.

Chapter 11

The weary Hibernians rested in the shadow of the narrow slice in the thick wall. Inexorable sounds of ceaselessly dripping water grated on nerves as they sat in silence. Eilidh wanted nothing more than to find sleep behind her tired eyelids, but closing her eyes caused the awful thoughts of Ruaidhri's fate to intensify. They had had no real direction to begin with, but now thanks to Bob the Eldritch, they had traveled far too deep into the Labyrinth.

Ruaidhri, why did we listen to him? Will I ever escape this place?

A frail sense of peace settled over the young Warden. The feeling proved short-lived as sudden nightmares jolted her awake.

"I see that Eilidh has decided to join the rest of us in the land of the conscious," Shela quipped irritably.

With a frown, Eilidh said, "What? I just closed my eyes for a moment."

Most of the members of the group stifled a chuckle at this. Eilidh stood up frantically.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, her face reddening.

Liam placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged his gesture away. He shrugged in return and backed off. Bob's voice echoed quietly in the dark space that the group occupied.

"Your snores could have awakened the dead, my dear child."

Now her face turned the color of beetroot as the group laughed quietly. Why had they not woken her up?

This is so embarrassing.

With a smile, Fionn reassured the poor girl.

"Don't worry, Eilidh. We didn't want to wake you since you have been down here longer than any of us. You needed the rest."

"How long did I sleep, Fionn?"

The Druid looked around dramatically at their surroundings with a smile.

"Well, we do not have the advantage of the sun's position to help us measure the passage of time in this hellish place, but I would guess that you slept for about an hour."

Eilidh nodded and sat down once more. A quick glance at the group revealed a missing person.

"Where is Aelfraed?" she asked.

After a moment of silence, Bob spoke up.

"That is a very good question, young one."

He wandered to the edge of Eilidh's vision and seemed to peer farther down the small passage. Despite his apparent dislike for the pompous Elf, Bob's face showed concern at her unannounced absence. For all of his flowery and borderline condescending speech, the powerful Lurikeen did seem genuinely worried about the wellbeing of his companions.

Shela plonked her athletic frame down near Eilidh and the Warden could have sworn she heard the Bard mutter, "Just who does he think he is? Not helping us."

The quiet rant continued, but Eilidh could only hear muted and garbled sounds. Bob on the other hand seemed to have no problem hearing the diatribe. He spoke without turning away from his vigil at the mouth of the small space formed by the crack in the wall.

"His name is Cadman, Shela. And he is possibly the greatest Hero to ever fight in the Realm Wars."

Now that he had everyone's attention, he faced the group before continuing.

"Of course, that distinction does not justify his ungentlemanly reaction. His letting of our ragtag team of adventurers delve so far into the depths of the Labyrinth is downright irresponsible on his part."

Confused faces showed a failure to grasp his meaning.

"Friends, he is a Hero of the Realm of Hibernia! His every instinct should be to drop whatever task he is currently engaged in and help those in need. Something is amiss here."

Fionn spoke up.

"So why is he here in the first place? This place is a very remote area for a solo Hero to hunt in. And what did he say he was hunting? The guardians of the Dracolich? I don't even know what that is."

"All good questions, dear Druid," Bob replied. "I suspect that the Firbolg has an ulterior motive for his presence in this region. It would appear that a great Hero such as Cadman would have no use for hunting such monsters as the Dracolich's minions. I have fought with them on occasion. They are strong and exceedingly vicious—"

"Yes, just like the brood that you people seem so intent on alerting to our untenable position," announced Aelfraed quietly, stepping silently from behind Bob.

The group jumped in fright and Kearney barked in surprise and agitation. Giant wolves did not care for surprises. Bob grasped his heart and faced the Elf.

"Thank you for trying to stop my heart with fright, Elf, but your plan has failed. I still live!"

Liam laughed, but the rest of the group sat on pins and needles, waiting for the elegant Aelfraed to explain herself. After a painfully long and deliberate delay, she proceeded in the calm, unhurried manner of the Elves, for whom time never seemed a pertinent issue.

"This passage opens into a vast cavern not far from here. The mouth of the tunnel is about forty feet above the cavern floor, so in order to cross the cavern, we will need to traverse a series of natural bridges formed by some interesting rock formations."

Liam piped up, "Well that doesn't seem so difficult."

"What's the problem here, Aelfraed?" Shela asked with her usual brusqueness.

"The problem, young Bard, is the garrison of the Dracolich's Drakoran guards marching on the cavern floor," the Elf explained sharply.

Eilidh could see Shela's mouth twitch in anger at being called young and being talked down to in such a way. To the woman's credit, she did not rise to the Elf's abrasive tone. To the Elf's credit, despite not looking a day over twenty in the years of a Celt, she could very well have been double Shela's age.

"I'm surprised that none of them heard the racket that you people produced," Aelfraed added, veritably spitting out the end of the statement

The words "you people" rubbed Eilidh the wrong way. This Elf had overstepped her boundaries, but nobody seemed confident enough to confront Aelfraed on the subject. Eilidh was poorly versed in the social hierarchy of Hibernia, but why did an Elf have such impunity to speak in such racist tones?

An uncomfortable silence befell the group, but Aelfraed the Mentalist simply stood there, tall and elegant, exuding the perfect confidence of her ancient people. Her thin frame belied the powerful magical strength residing inside. The rumors in Hibernia told of Mentalists attacking the mind of the enemy, either causing them to fight amongst themselves or withering their conscious self to the point of complete uselessness. A slow and painful death awaited those who suffered at the hands of such a magician.

Eilidh observed Aelfraed and saw only this stately, yet arrogant Elf. The group had yet to actually witness the Elf perform any kind of magic. Was she in fact as powerful as advertised? All at once, the Warden's vision filled with a fiery image of Aelfraed's furious face. Eilidh's head shot back in recoil, smacking her helmet against the tunnel wall.

And then the moment passed. The hellish face had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Aelfraed still stood still as a statue, looking off away from Eilidh. Bewildered, Eilidh looked around at the rest of her companions, all of whom, except the Elf, now regarded her with slight concern.

A stern warning voiced itself inside her head.

"Tell them nothing."

Definitely Aelfraed's voice, yet the Elf had yet to even physically look at the Warden. Was this some cheap parlor trick or a true sign of power? Eilidh did not care to find out and simply shrugged at her group, not needing to feign the embarrassment glowing on her cheeks.

Liam stood up.

"Right. Well, I like the sound of these Drakoran guards, so let's go find some, shall we?" he asked in his brash and enthusiastic way.

Now Aelfraed turned to face him.

"I would urge you to keep quiet in the cavern and just cross the bridges with as little chance of confrontation as possible," she said.

Liam raised an eyebrow and gave a dashing smile, but Aelfraed cut him off.

"I am serious, Celt. Do not get us all killed in there."

Liam's face scrunched up at the implication. Upon realizing that Eilidh was watching him, the man's ever-present ego recovered quickly enough to flash a dastardly smirk. The young woman just rolled her eyes in response. This Blademaster was unbelievable!

The group shuffled quietly through the remainder of the narrow tunnel and quickly found themselves in the great space described very accurately by the Elf. An enormous cavern opened before them, with great twisting bridges of rock spanning a deep trench. Giant glowing rocks, the likes of which Eilidh had never seen before, provided light for the large space. The light revealed a few strange creatures milling around in the trench floor.

Their height was indeterminable from her vantage point, but their appearance scared the young Celt. They were mostly grey all over, mostly humanoid in shape, and mostly terrifying in nature. A pair of tattered wings stood out from their backs, and the light glinted off of jagged talons and claws. A large head with a long beak-like mouth snapped constantly as the Drakoran guards traversed the trench aimlessly.

"There were far more only moments ago," Aelfraed insisted quietly.

"We should still be quiet in crossing the bridges to that plateau on the other side," added Bob. "These creatures may not look like much, but those mouths contain rows of razor-sharp teeth."

The small Lurikeen eyed Liam in particular as he warned the group. The Blademaster simply grinned, not used to sneaking around like a common stealther. Eilidh could tell the young man was itching for a more direct solution to their problem.

Aelfraed stepped out onto the ledge and cautiously approached the first bridge. The Elf paused and slowly turned to the group, a finger to her mouth, reminding them of the danger. A few of the Drakoran guards roamed in the space below, also reminding the group to watch their step.

Eilidh followed closely behind Liam, feeling no comfort from the Blademaster's overconfident attitude. What was a Dracolich anyway? And so what if they could cross the chasm? They would not be any closer to recovering Ruaidhri. The sadness weighed down on her as she turned to find Fionn and Shela physically urging Bob towards the bridge. Negative emotions now cast aside temporarily, Eilidh saw the small Lurikeen at first resist their persistence, looking around the great space frantically.

All at once, the Eldritch gathered himself and strode quietly past Eilidh and inserted himself between her and Liam. As he passed, Eilidh could see rivulets of sweat on the Lurikeen's face and neck. The temperature this deep underground lacked the soothing effects of nature's breeze, yet Eilidh would not have called it stiflingly hot. Bob walked on in front of her, very close behind Liam, staring straight into the Celt's lower back.

Odd.

The troop continued in single file, only stopping when Aelfraed paused and ducked, intensely examining the lie of the land before her. Before long, the group crested the first part of the stone bridge and encountered an unforeseen T-junction.

The bridge did not travel straight over to the other side of the cavern.

The left fork of the split seemed to curve away from their destination, terminating in the ground below. The right path led straight to what Eilidh now recognized as an ancient Minotaur teleportation obelisk. Her hopes flourished briefly before she recalled Fionn's words that the once magical stones had lost their power. Why could they not just catch a break for once?

Following their new apparent leader, the Hibernians slowly edged their way down the narrowing path, careful not to disturb loose rocks in the process. In plain view below them, a handful of the vicious creatures still milled around, oblivious to the potential meal sneaking above them.

Before reaching the obelisk, which stood near the side wall of the cavern, Aelfraed halted once more and peered over the edge of the rock bridge. After a moment of contemplation, she motioned for the group to follow as she deftly threw her legs over the side of their walkway and disappeared from view. Eilidh had worn a dress on many occasions and she had absolutely no idea how the lithe Elf had managed the feat so elegantly in her long magician's robe. The Warden had shown less gentile agility just clambering into the back of a horse-drawn carriage in a dress.

One by one, the group crept over the edge and discovered the sloping column of rock heading to the cavern floor. Eilidh carefully placed each hand and foot, desperately not wanting to be the novice who slipped and crashed into her friends below. She paused for a moment when she noticed that she essentially dangled out in open air, twenty-five feet from the floor below. A look down revealed a very pale Lurikeen gripping the natural pillar with white knuckles.

Liam apparently had picked up on Bob's hesitation and had climbed back up to the poor Eldritch. After some increasingly severe prodding, the Lurikeen inched his way onto the Celt's back and wrapped his small arms around Liam's throat in an unintentional death grip. Eilidh stifled a smile as Liam's eyes bulged in surprise. After a few moments of reassurance, Bob loosened his grip just enough that his rescuer could breathe again.

The rock column twisted out as the decline became less severe, making traversing the pillar much easier. At the bottom, Eilidh stepped onto the cavern floor and froze. A snarling chattering of teeth reverberated from every direction. Despite her earlier feelings on the temperature, cold sweat began streaking down the back of her neck. She dared not move, yet she knew that she was standing out in the open.

What do I do now, Ruaidhri?

She closed her eyes, not knowing what else to do. Those vicious creatures were swarming and would tear her apart at any moment. A strong grip latched onto the shoulder of her armor and almost lifted her off her feet. She stumbled in that direction and opened her eyes to find Liam forging ahead with her in tow, half-stumbling along behind him. She slapped his hand away and they both moved forward to a series of switchbacks etched into the rock of the far wall.

Only in the relative safety of her group did she turn and look back for the hoards of guards pursuing them, their snarls still filling her ears.

But she saw nothing.

Aelfraed saw the look of confusion on the young woman's face and the Mentalist's voice rang clear as a bell inside Eilidh's head. "Their foul noises echo off of the cavern floor and walls, creating a sensation of the animals being all around you. Do not fear this."

With a nod, Eilidh turned back to the open space, reassuring herself that none of the beasts had followed them. In fact, still only a handful of the Dracolich's guards roamed the open space, and they had all congregated at the opposite end of the great hall. Aelfraed signaled for the group to march quietly once more and started to follow the winding switchbacks up the wall.

At the top, Aelfraed put up a hand and lay down flat on the dusty floor. Eilidh initially appreciated the Elf's disregard for her own appearance, but then recanted this thought when the Elf stood once more without a speck of dust sticking to her fantastically adorned robe. The Mentalist gestured for none to follow and disappeared over the lip of the path.

The seconds passed painstakingly. The tension built in Eilidh's aching muscles, the pause allowing her body to emphasize its displeasure at her most recent exploits. She would have time to rest fully when they all died to whatever calamity awaited them next. The dire thoughts of Ruaidhri now played constantly through her mind. Even gazing upon Bob's terrified face brought no distraction to the dismayed Celt. In fact, his fear did not concern her at all, one way or the other.

Aelfraed reappeared and gathered the group together.

She whispered, "It seems that we have made a slight miscalculation."

"We have made a miscalculation? You-" interrupted Shela.

"This is no time for semantics, Celt," snapped the Elf. "The ruler of all of these devilish abominations is resting about fifty yards from our position."

Liam grinned.

"So what's the problem? Let's start at the top of the food chain," he declared, already rising and unsheathing his blades.

Aelfraed grabbed him and with a surprising amount of strength, thrust him back down.

"You do not comprehend my words, naïve Celt. We alone cannot win that fight. Zhulrathuul the Dracolich is one of the ancient dragons and is a ferocious beast unlike any you have ever encountered. Attacking with anything less than twenty-five or thirty allies would be nothing short of suicide."

Something tapped gently on Eilidh's foot. She turned away from the Elf and saw a grim-faced Bob looking at her, his eyes pleading for help. Unfortunately for him, she had no reassurance to give. Eilidh turned back to the conversation at hand.

"Well, can we sneak past the dragon?" asked Fionn.

"No, I do not believe so. There are Dracolich Necromancers nearby who are watching the path approaching Zhulrathuul's lair," explained Aelfraed.

Once again the tapping started on Eilidh's boot. She turned and saw Bob's pathetic face once more, but this time his arm was outstretched away, pointing over the edge of the switchback.

Does he want to run away? What is his problem? Is he not a mighty Eldritch? Why the fear?

She once more turned away from him, but almost immediately he shifted up behind her. His small hands gripped her head suddenly and she could feel his fear through his clammy palms. Eilidh struggled at first, but he gently moved her head to the edge of the cliff, giving her a view of the cavern floor and the bridges above.

A scream broached her lips before Bob stifled her with his slender hands. The group immediately joined her at the edge of the cliff. Fionn gasped and Shela groaned.

The Dracolich's forces had quietly formed ranks on the cavern floor. The silent monsters observed the stranded Hibernians with an eerie calm that Eilidh judged unnatural for their kind. She did not know much about these vicious creatures, but their poise seemed all wrong.

Bob finally spoke.

"Look! The obelisk!"

Their heads followed his outstretched arms in unison, to the broken obelisk that they had passed on the bridge. Apparently the teleportation stone was not as broken as they had once thought. A constant stream of Hibernians, Albions, and Midgardians materialized and flowed out of the obelisk, filling the bridge with a screaming hoard of violence.

The Dracolich's army below growled and snarled in a terrifying battle cry and charged the bottom of the cliff, seeking the switchbacks.

Instinctively, the Hibernian group took a collective step back, but then remembered that the mighty Zhulrathuul and his guardians lurked in the shadows behind them. To Eilidh's increasing dismay, these guards now poured out of small caves along the cliff wall, screaming and loping towards them. The Warden sank to her knees and bowed her head.

Finally the time has arrived, Ruaidhri. I will soon meet you in the world beyond this one.

Chapter 12

Cadman the Hero strode through waterlogged passages in search of his prey. Making no effort to hide his presence or intentions, the giant Firbolg noisily waded through rank water that rose almost as high as the tops of his boots. His magnificent two-handed sword led the way.

The halls of the Labyrinth resounded with the echoing cacophony of his feet splashing in the dirty water, yet he had encountered no guardians of the Dracolich. When those novice Hibernians had dropped from the ceiling and almost crushed him, he had suspected that Zhulrathuul's Drakoran guards would infuriatingly go into hiding. At least, of course, until they had sent scouts to spy on the Hibernian strength, of which there was little in that group. The guards' cries that had beckoned Cadman away from those weak Hibernians could easily have been a call to retreat. Nobody from the surface that Cadman had ever encountered spoke the ancient languages of the Labyrinth's depths, so it was anyone's guess.

All Cadman knew was that now the Drakorans were nowhere to be found.

Once again he found himself sloshing through the greenish blue soup where the Hibernians had appeared. Before their interruption, he had discovered a convenient loop of tunnels that had offered bountiful monsters to slay in his quest to hone his skills. Now the halls stood still and quiet, other than the incessant dripping of water from every crack in every wall. Cadman could already feel his combat abilities slipping with the useless inactivity.

Taking full advantage of his undesired idle time, Cadman rested his large frame on a slightly elevated natural step of blue stone that ran along the length of the foot of the wall. Leaning back against the moss-covered wall, a sudden weariness descended over his mind, clouding his senses. His monumental head slowly nodded forward as long-ignored fatigue started to impose its will.

Cadman jerked awake and glanced around anxiously. How long had he been out?

Of course, it was impossible to tell the time in the dank reaches of the Labyrinth, but he suspected that his eyes had only closed for a moment. Looking around again, Cadman noticed for the first time that the passageway streaming along in front of him appeared to have no light source. Other tunnels in the once-great city of the Minotaurs featured grand magical torches or even just regular man-made torches placed by more recent explorers.

A memory flowed smoothly through his groggy brain.

About one year ago, Cadman had led a handful of equally elite soldiers through a newly discovered tunnel. They had received word that a contingent of fighters from Albion had been spotted entering the new passage with the intent of raiding the Hibernian archaeologists working diligently to loot the grave of some minor Minotaur priest. Cadman's crew had no interest in the moral or ethical issues brought up by assisting realm mates engaged in illegal activities, but they did enjoy a good fight with the Albs.

The group had walked brazenly down the tunnel, dousing all of the flames hung on the walls by the explorers below. Nearing the grave site in question, Cadman had observed a scene that would have turned the stomachs of most. In his mind's eye, he could still see it all so clearly and the emotions returned just as strongly as ever.

Blood of fallen Hibernians coated the walls of the small crypt in gory splatters. Beyond the mutilated corpses littering the floor, seven or eight Albions taunted and beat a small, bloodied female Elf. She refused to give them the satisfaction of a scream as they maliciously stripped her down. Cadman did not need his imagination to ascertain their grim intentions.

With a battle cry of raw rage, the Hero had launched himself and his small band down the tunnel, charging with weapons drawn. They continued to toss down the torches, darkening the space around them, hiding their numbers. Cadman still smiled at what the Albions must have felt, staring up the passageway and seeing ghostly forms screaming towards them, the tunnel closing around them as darkness rushed with the incoming Hibernians.

As any good Hero would, Cadman reveled in the action of saving the poor Elf from a fate worse than death. Those supposedly holy Clerics and Paladins of Albion had deserved an end far more painful than the prompt dispatch given by Cadman's companions, but at the end of the day, one Hibernian life had been spared.

If only I was strong enough to save them all.

The vision of the past faded from view and Cadman now more closely examined the slime coating the walls of the wet, expansive tunnel. Was he imagining things, or did the green muck itself emit a slight glow? Could this slick mess generate some form of bioluminescence? Cadman had no knowledge of such things, but the idea fascinated him. How could a plant (if that was really what this was) grow in the absence of sunlight? The questions just mounted up and up, leading nowhere.

Focusing on matters of a more relevant nature, Cadman thought about the Hibernians who had passed through the tunnel earlier. What had they said they were doing? Searching for some friends? Stupid. None of those Hibs had the experience or know-how to successfully navigate the Labyrinth. A year ago, Cadman would have felt obligated to lead the band of novices around and perhaps teach them some useful lessons in survival. The big Firbolg sighed deeply. A lot had happened since then, since his final mission.

His eyes started to droop once more as he sat and listened to the quiet lapping of the murky water around his boots. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine sitting in a glade, hearing the soothing murmurs of a crystal-clear stream.

Very quickly, Cadman was fording a river in the Frontier region of Hibernia, seven young apprentices splashing behind him. They had each recently graduated from their respective schools of training and then transferred into the care of Cadman, a Hero of the second highest rank attainable in the Hibernian army. The mighty Firbolg would have much rather remained on the frontlines of the Realm Wars with Midgard and Albion, but he accepted the wisdom of his king. Experienced fighters and leaders needed to introduce the most promising recruits to the defense of Hibernia. These students had been entrusted to Cadman as part of a fast-track program to get them operating at a high level as quickly as possible. Lesser students went to lesser teachers.

This simple reconnaissance mission should have provided no challenge for even the least of Cadman's charges. Each had proven very capable within their professions and Cadman had to fight to contain a smile as they worked so hard to impress him with their abilities. He would never have guessed that teaching would bring him any joy, but he had to admit that seeing the fruits of his labor growing before his eyes had a certain attraction.

Watching his understudies cross the river, Cadman noticed the sky darken severely. Within seconds, he found himself immersed in a dense, thick fog. The sudden sounds of battle roared around him, but he could see nothing. Running in every direction revealed nothing. His own hand was not visible in front of his face. The solid darkness gripped him bodily and weighed him down, forcing the powerful Firbolg to his knees.

The battle now whispered, fading away into the distance. His cries went unanswered. Where were his companions? What was happening?

Kill me! Come back here and kill me!

Where did those words come from? Did he say them?

Now only the bubbling flow of the stream remained, a relative silence compared to the violent trauma that had passed.

Cadman's eyes shot open and he instantly leapt to his feet. Cold sweat poured across every inch of his body, a stark contrast to the heat surrounding him. Swinging his mighty sword around in a circle, the Hero searched for his assailants.

Only the gentle sounds of the Labyrinth's murky waters greeted him.

With a weary sigh, Cadman sheathed his weapon and placed a hand against the slime-covered wall. He leaned forward, head bowed, shame washing over him anew. The nightmares visited his sleep with alarmingly increasing frequency. The Druids had said his pain would ease with time, but there was no escape from the constant mental reminders of his failure.

Mercifully, the humiliating feelings of defeat and loss passed quickly. The Hero stood up straight and reconsidered his situation. A deep-seated resolve wormed its way up from his inner core, a resolve that could not be held in check by failure alone. The very determination that made Cadman one of the great Heroes of his time now squashed the petty emotions eating at his spirit.

A grim expression fixed itself upon his face, as if the Firbolg's visage had been chiseled from a slab of red granite. A mission had effectively fallen into his lap and he, in his preoccupation and self-pity, had missed a redemptive opportunity. What kind of Hero at the rank of Barun would possibly leave the fate of such an inexperienced group in the hands of a low-ranking Blademaster and a—

A Lurikeen Eldritch bearing the rank of Emerald Ridere.

Cadman slapped himself in the forehead as his memory finally engaged and he recalled the identity of that Lurikeen accompanying the group. Upon seeing the Eldritch, Cadman had felt suspicious. A spell caster only one rank below Cadman diving around in the dangerous reaches of the Labyrinth with a group of novices had not made much sense, but that meant little now.

Frantic to redeem yet another mistake, Cadman rushed after the group, splashing through the shallow water, retracing the steps of the group he had abandoned to the Eldritch.

To the traitor.

Grim determination drove the Hero through the crack in the wall that he believed the young group had taken. His heart sank as he realized the destination awaiting him at the end of the passageway.

The lair of the Dracolich. The lair of Zhulrathuul.

No noise echoed through the narrow tunnel, so his hopes rose slightly. Perhaps there was still time to save them, time to save himself. If he could reach them before the guardians of the Dracolich awoke their vile master—

He erupted into the gigantic cavern as a wall of sound hit him bodily. Undaunted by the terrible battle cries and ear-piercing screams of the Drakoran army below, Cadman raced across the first section of the natural rock pathway suspended above the cavern floor. He rounded a curve in the elevated bridge and found himself staring at a stream of fighters from every realm, all rushing in the direction that he wished to go. A mixture of Mids, Hibs, and Albs all flowed in a chaotic procession down a ramp to the cavern floor, intermingling with the Dracolich's minions below, but not engaging them.

Why would the different realms all move together like this? And with creatures of darkness in tow?

It did not make any sense to the Hero. It was as if all of these parties had one goal in common. Cadman paused to take stock of the situation. From his high vantage point, he could see the conglomeration of supposed enemies all funneling into a series of switchback ramps leading up to Zhulrathuul's lair at the far end of the cavern. And at the top of this path stood a Blademaster and a Warden, standing their ground as best they could. For a moment, Cadman felt a swell of pride. These young defenders of Hibernia were taking advantage of a bottleneck to reduce the power of the enemy's sheer strength of numbers.

His pride waned as a stab of guilt reminded him that he should be up there with them. Hopefully the rest of their group was up on the ledge behind them and not dead under the trampling feet of the enemy. An enemy made up of four different groups that should be fighting each other and not together. In fact, he found it very odd that none of the warriors running past him just one hundred feet away had noticed him or deemed him a threat.

"No matter. I'll make them regret this mistake," Cadman said aloud with a grin, his words lost in the continuous racket of the frenzied army all around him.

The great Firbolg wasted no time and darted forward towards the enemy, his weapon ready to slice a path through the torrent of targets before him. As he ran, another thought occurred to him. Instead of gouging his way through the vast numbers, he instead inserted himself into the wave rushing down towards the cavern floor.

And they completely ignored him. The mindless herd swarmed chaotically and Cadman had to vie for his position, forcing others out of his way to maintain a place on the edge of the pack. Funneling down the ramp, Cadman observed a glazed look on the faces of those around him, their eyes all set on the poor Hibernians fighting above.

Halfway down the ramp, some loose gravel caused Cadman to slip, and the oversized Firbolg fell against a Dwarf in front of him. The squat Mid fell flailing off the edge of the descending path. His cry of surprise was cut short after falling thirty feet onto his head. Despite his scream being lost in the mix of the din all around, the Dwarf's absence apparently drew some attention from those around Cadman. A look into the grim faces surrounding him hinted that the jig was up.

Without waiting for their response, Cadman preemptively swung his great sword in a wide frontal arc, cleaving some space to work in. The hordes collapsed upon him, but the Firbolg pressed forward, ignoring the dings and smacks of various weapons on his expertly crafted armor and the on the giant shield covering his back. Cadman figured that his main goal was to make it up the switchback ramps ahead. Otherwise he would just take down as many enemies with him as possible.

All before him fell in droves as he continued to swing his weapon powerfully back and forth, like he was clearing brush at home. The punishment soaked up by his armor started to take its toll, but the Hero had a trick or two up his sleeve. Cries of anguish around Cadman intensified when he channeled the Spirit of the Hunt, the transformative power of all Heroes of Hibernia. The enemy looked on in dismay as the Firbolg grew another two feet in height and shape-changed into a huge Minotaur-esque combination of Firbolg and mighty stag.

Red eyes burning and wicked antlers twisting all around, Cadman pushed on with renewed vigor, now oblivious to the injuries inflicted by only the relatively few brave enemies who dared attack him. Terrified fighters broke before him, and those remaining felt the wrath of Cadman's enormous blade. He quickly reached the bottom of the path leading up to his goal. Lowering his head, Cadman drove upwards, battering those before him, sending a torrent of enemies off the edge of the inclined pathway.

A stream of enemies still pursued the Hero and when he felt the Spirit of the Hunt fade, a lone Drakoran guardian leapt onto his back, clawing and slashing at his helm. Once again in his natural Firbolg form, Cadman felt the stabs and scratches intensely, but the pain only drove his determination. With a snarl, and without breaking his stride, Cadman reached back and gripped the demon-like monster around the neck. In a sudden and shocking movement, the Firbolg ripped out the beast's throat and tossed it aside as a bloodied shriek erupted and the mutilated guard fell to the floor.

Slashing and crashing through enemies, Cadman burst from the masses and finally found himself facing the group of Hibernians that he had abandoned what seemed like only moments ago. Exhaustion threatened to slow him down, but the adrenaline flowed when the Blademaster spiraled towards Cadman with both blades lashing out. Confused, but not stupid, Cadman expertly parried the attack away and yelled at the Blademaster to stop.

Now the Celt looked confused for only a moment before recognizing the mighty Firbolg. After all, Cadman did not look much like the mangy mob of enemies enveloping the Hibernians. One glance at the gigantic Hero was enough for the average foe to think twice, and usually thrice, about attacking. Using this to his advantage, Cadman loosed a battle roar that eclipsed the screams and cries of the enemy. The enemy frontline hesitated and took a decided step back.

"We need to push them back to get out," he yelled at his new companions, instinctively taking the lead. "We need to move before they wake up the Dracoli—"

His word was interrupted by an ear-piercing shriek of unimaginable proportions. Initially both sides of the fight paused and glanced around anxiously. The cavern grew deathly quiet for a moment. Cadman's weary muscles appreciated the small break as the lingering effects of the Bard's song of invigoration replenished his low endurance reserves. He could see all of his Hibernians were still in one piece, but he suspected that might change on the way out if Zhulrathuul had just awoken.

A second terrifying shriek reverberated around the cavern and the enemy hoards roared in celebration as the monstrous Dracolich ambled onto the wide ledge behind the Hibernians. The ground shook violently under the weight of the enormous bird-like dragon. Cadman's new companions looked to him with genuine fear plastered across their faces, except for the Blademaster. A cocky smile hung confidently on the Celt's face.

A third shriek forced Cadman into action.

"Let's move," he said.

Nobody moved.

"Now!" he yelled in anger.

The enemy ranks had reformed after Cadman's barrage and they had started to push up the switchbacks again. With the slow-moving Dracolich pounding along the ledge behind them, the Hibernians followed Cadman headlong into the waiting jaws of the enemy.

Drakoran guards snapped and clawed at Cadman as he led the way, forming a void around himself with his giant sword. Beside him, the Blademaster spun through attacks and separated heads from shoulders in spectacular showers of blood. Just behind Cadman, the Warden darted to and fro, careening into enemies with her shield, knocking them flat for the Druid's wolf pet to finish off.

The sudden surge of coordination impressed Cadman as he plowed through foe after foe, not taking the time to worry about killing fellow Hibernians in the enemy army. As far as he was concerned, they stopped being Hibs when they attacked his group.

Rocks from above started to fall as the dragon marched right above the escaping Hibernians. Fireballs shot from its mouth, barely missing Cadman multiple times. He pushed on, unaffected. The group reached the cavern floor and ran straight into another wave of winged creatures. Cadman watched in surprise as a large group of the enemy suddenly grabbed at their own heads and writhed around on the ground, screaming horribly.

Obviously we have a powerful Mentalist with us.

The wretches scratched at their own heads feverishly enough to break their own skulls, making Cadman's job far easier as he trampled over them, heading towards the ramp leading back up to the bridge they needed to escape. Pushing forward through the droves of attackers, Cadman only paused when the ground under his feet shook so hard that he flipped onto his back. Glancing back he saw the Dracolich had leapt from the top of the ledge straight down to the cavern floor.

Bolts of energy erupted from the dragon, scattering death in every direction. Shearing pain darted through every inch of Cadman's body as the evil energy assaulted him. Through barely open eyes, he could see the enemy regaining its feet and forming up to finish off the incapacitated Hibernians.

"So this is how I die," he mumbled as he feebly raised himself into a crawling position, still unable to give up, despite his current state.

The enemy army must have assembled themselves in suitable numbers, because then Cadman heard a terrible battle cry ring out all around. The ground trembled now with the charging feet of one hundred hell-bent enemies. It was over.

A soft voice pierced the dark, tumultuous noise all around. Cadman turned to see the Druid standing amongst her fallen friends, chanting out what the Hero recognized as the most powerful of healing spells. Knowing that he would be fully recovered in about two seconds, Cadman prepared himself for a final stand against the incoming enemy. They would not take him without obscene losses on their part.

The soothing words of the spell hit him like a mule had kicked him in the backside. The entire group of Hibernians leapt up and charged the enemy, engaging them in a final stand for the scholars to tell of for years to come.

As long as one of us lives to tell the tale.

Cadman fought valiantly, slashing enemies in two as they came at him three or four at a time. Their blood now layered his armor in crimson streaks. He looked to his left and saw the Warden charging through a crowd of the enemy untouched. She was yelling something. That stupid girl! It was only a matter of time before they noticed her and killed her.

The Hero in Cadman automatically drove him in her direction, but the enemy swarmed him incessantly, halting his progress. Despite his cries for her to stop, the Warden just kept running, screaming, "Roar" or something to that effect. Cadman did not understand, but he could not dwell on it. The enemy had them surrounded and the dragon Zhulrathuul now approached again, thumping the ground so violently that Cadman could hardly remain upright.

He looked over the enemy army one more time and saw the Warden slip through a crack in the wall, apparently unharmed.

"So perhaps I have saved one," he muttered to himself as he watched his death approach.

But yet again, I could not save them all.

To Be Continued