This story is still in progress. It will be continued, hopefully on a weekly bases. It is dedicated to Eorim and his Lion and Mid Nor miniatures! :) It was written with his miniatures in mind.

Light and Darkness

The thought of hiding for the rest of the day was starting to feel sour in his mouth. Akhanotep turned around and faced one of his halberdiers.

"To hell with them!" he sneered. "I'd be damned before I'd let them stop us."

"But they outnumber us! And they've killed nearly half of our troop!"

"Your point being?" barked Akhanotep.

"Erm... no.... nothing, sir."

"Let's get them!" Gurazol, one of those strange looking abominations, half gorilla half mid nor, shouted.

That seemed to raise the spirits of the entire band, the cautious halberdier included. Akhanotep threw a sour look towards Gurazol. He walked swiftly to him and looked at him straight in the eyes. The Prowler of the Abyss stared back at him. Nobody seeing this scene could have denied its comical potential, a small mid nor, not extremely muscular or terrifyingly looking, in an eye lock with a massive, bundle of muscles accompanied by a strong wicked blade. Nobody could have denied that, until that person would have seen the fear in Gurazol's eyes. Akhanotep was no ordinary Mid Nor. A champion of the Scourge Bearers, his reputation was always accompanied by whispers of warning. He was known as a ruthless but fair leader. And that fairness strengthened his ruthlessness; everyone that disappointed him died a brutal death.

Gurazol bowed his head and murmured, "I am sorry!"

Akhanotep looked at him intensely and a wicked smile formed on his patchwork face. "But why? The idea was marvelous!"

Gurazol raised his head a bit and seeing that smile, he smiled back, his lips forming a silent "Yeah!"

"But never, ever interrupt my discussions again!" shouted Akhanotep, accompanied by a miniature fountain of blood, as he slashed Gurazol's left arm. Everybody in the group gasped at the movement, but saw a twisted kind of wisdom in sparing his right arm, which was his sword arm.

Gurazol did not scream. The shock in his eyes spoke for itself. He bowed his head and respectfully made two slow steps backwards.

"Now, let's get them!" shouted Akhanotep.

After two seconds of undecided silence the group cheered in one voice.

Alaman looked up, his eyes scanning something nearly invisible it seemed to Ferdal.

"What?" he asked.

"Did you hear that?" Alaman asked. "I think they are coming out soon!"

"But that would be ridiculous!" the Alahanian knight said. "They came to that mud hole to escape. They must be already in the deepest bowels of the earth hiding and licking their wounds."

"Don't be so certain!" the young wizard shook his head. He was sitting on a big slab of stone still looking towards the hole in the ground. He placed his elbow on his knee, and rested his chin on an open palm. A finger scratched at his well formed goatee.

"Maybe the hole they crawled into is a dead end!" Helios, one of their falconers said.

"Well I can hardly imagine that those beasts cannot dig their holes themselves." one of the older members of their band spat. It was Drin'o Lazar, a renowned musketeer. His dark blue uniform coat flowed in the wind, creating a contrast to the upper part of the same coat, buttoned tightly and fitting firmly on his chest. For his forty seven years he was still in marvelous shape and the only thing that betrayed his age was his face. Wrinkled and sunburned, it was surrounded by grey hair, sideburns and a round beard, under which one could still imagine his angular chin.

"Well, we don't know, do we?" Helios said, with his arms spread in front of himself, his palms open towards the rest of the group.

"I know what I heard!" Alaman shook his head.

"Then we should get ready just in..." In mid sentence Helios whirled around as the screaming started.

Out of that small hole in the ground in which those ugly fiends had crawled into a while ago, the same fiends popped out one by one creating a stream of patchwork faces and crooked blades.

 The Alahanian war band, startled for a second, quickly recovered and a number of swords and pistols were drawn. Ferdal shouted to the other three riders to mount and ran to his horse.

Alaman, one of the fiends in sight, started murmuring and drawing arcane patterns in the air with his hands. A soft crackling sound accompanied the movements and with a sudden surge of power, a light blue bolt of energy sprang from his hands to hit his target straight in the chest. The dwarf was hurled in a straight line backwards and over the hole, pushing two of its comrades back into it. The smell of burned flesh filled the air. The gap that the flying mid nor created in the ranks of his fellows was quickly closed by a number of angry looking mid nor fighters.

"That promises to be and interesting day!" Drin'o Lazar laughed as he fired a precisely aimed shot with his pistol, downing one of Akhanotep's sentinels.

"Engage the mage! Somebody! Engage the mage!" barked Akhanotep. It was a difficult situation, he knew that, but now it was too late. His actions had revealed to their enemies that their hiding hole was a dead end. Retreating back into it was no option anymore, not even if they would dig further underground. That would take far longer than it would take the Lion's war band to ignite fires and throw them down the shaft. He preferred fighting than hiding anyway he thought, and charged one of the humans in front of him. Two meters before he reached his target though, something hit him squarely in the face. Before he could react the falcon used the chance to rake at his face. The human, shouting proud words to his animal, advanced with his sword drawn. Akhanotep wiped the blood from his eyes, and jumped at his chosen enemy. The human, boisterous in his movements, did not anticipate the speed at which Akhanotep whirled his jagged blade. Forced into a defensive stance, his shock was apparent as two of Akhanotep's small dolls, which were seemingly hanging from his boots, came to life and started pulling at the falconer's legs. Helios thought of striking one of them down, but the risk was too high of hitting himself. He would have to fight with this inconvenience slowing him down.

Akhanotep stroke with all the ferocity he could muster. His slashes were not elegant, but determined, powerful and fast. With a loud yell he managed to press an attack through the falconer's parries. With a gasp Helios looked at the wicked blade as it was forced out of his lower torso. He fell on his knees and met the ground with a thump.

"That promises to be and interesting day!" Akhanotep thought, while turning to a new opponent.

The Alahanian Knights did not waste a breath. While the dwarves were still bundled together, they charged into their ranks spreading mayhem. The lances punctured the small bodies of the leading mid nor fighters, while the second and third ranks were pushed aside or flung in the air, just to be trampled to pulp by the heavy war horses. But the dark dwarves were not inexperienced fighters. In a blink of an eye halberds were lowered to human thigh height in an attempt to trip the charging war beasts. In three of the four cases the attempt bore fruits. Two of the knights landed head first into their enemy ranks. One of them broke his neck at the fall, the second tried to slowly get up, just to be overwhelmed by a great number of dwarves. He managed to scream before his voice started sounding more like a wet gurgle. The third knight managed to avoid the halberds skillfully. He turned his beast hard left and dropped his lance. He was just about to pull his sword, when his horse toppled forward as it fell into the hiding hole of the mid nors, that was till now well hidden by the ongoing flow of fiends. The last of them, not managing to exit the hole in time, went down under the huge bulk of the falling horse, the knight following. Still well strapped to his war saddle, he did not manage to avoid hitting the rim of the well with his upper body; the twist of the fall resulting in a skin crawling cracking sound as his armor as well as his back bent in an unnatural arc.

The only knight remaining, Ferdal, had taken to the nearly impossible task of cutting down the fiends with his sword but fairing quite well at it… still.

It took a moment to asses the situation but Akhanotep realized quickly that if he wanted to come out of it alive he would have to act swiftly. He turned to a Collector that was accompanying them and threw him a glance. The war priest knew immediately what to do and stormed to the pile of mid nors that were covering and hacking at the still living Alahanian knight. He drew his knife and, moving between his brothers, he thrust it under the human's helmet. The knight shuddered and went limp. The dwarven fighters on and around him still stroke on the armored human once or twice in a frenzy but quickly turned to other targets around them. Other mid nor warriors, seeing the Collector approaching the human, especially those wounded, started breaking away from fights and approaching the priest. He in his turn, cut the straps of the shining lion armor, and soon after the undercoat exposing the human torso. His knife worked with practiced precision as it cut through flesh and bone. After inflicting a long cut, he sheathed his bloody knife without cleaning it, and stuck his tiny hands inside the straight wound. With a strength not fitting his size, he tore the ribcage apart, inserted his hands inside the torso and started pooling the intestines out, murmuring a silent singsong prayer.

The wounded mid nors had formed a protective circle around the collector, while he was performing his ritual as if in a trance. After a while he stood up and imbued with unholy powers, he started healing the mid nors in the circle.

Alaman realized with alarm what the collector, some meters away, was doing to the dwarves that were protecting him. Reaching for his spell book, he was already going through the possibilities his magic offered him, in his minds eye. He would have to decide soon though, in order to spoil the priest's plans.

Out of nowhere it seemed, a crack in the very fabric of time and space opened before the collector's pig-like eyes. He tilted his head to the left observing while chanting until it became clear to him. The abrupt ending of his chanting and the beginning of his warning yell was followed very quickly by a flash of light coming through that cut in mid air. A hand formed of pure sunlight it seemed, gently but determined squeezed through the opening and started expanding the crack. Another shot through and then a globe, bigger than the hands but vaguely resembling a human head, poked through issuing a silent scream. It still managed to get the attention of all the mid nors on the field as if they heard it.

"Is that...?" Drin'o's voice trailed off in amazement.

"...a light elemental!" Alaman finished the half spoken sentence. "You seem intrigued!" He turned his head to the veteran musketeer with a big smile on his face. It still showed signs of strain from the casting of the spell and the short feat of concentration to bend the elemental's will to his own.

"Bah!" Drin'o shook his head." You think I've never seen that before?" Actually he hadn't but even though he still had to get used to the new situation, he moved determined to the front and engaged the foe closest to him.

Alaman's smile had already faded when he started chanting a new spell. His thought circled around his lack of experience, while he was at it. Who was he trying to impress? Why was he trying to impress anyone at all? A look to these battle hardened men around him showed him that they were battling for the lion, the light and their love to their comrades. They were seldom boastful and they were content with the achievements of the group and not their own. He knew that they hated his own hot headed behavior. And they hated it even more, that they had to be led by him, an inexperienced mage, which spend most of his till now short life in a tower instead of a battlefield. He was a mighty mage, even his teachers gave him that and Meliador was amongst them, but he had very little strategic knowledge. And till now, while on this task, he'd never listened to anyone's but his own voice.

He nearly scared himself as his thoughts were violently interrupted by a bolt of light that erupted out of his left hand to hit one of the mid nor wizards squarely in the face in mid chant.

At the same time the elemental was moving through dwarves as a farmer through weed during the month of harvest. The light became his sickle and crop fell to it's feet with every sweep.

Akhanotep was baffled. He didn't expect that! He hadn't been told that it was such an important thing to the Alahanians. Had he been betrayed? He threw a quick glance to his right. His personal guard had already been reached by the elemental. He would be next. In the wink of an eye he was upon his closest and more important guard. Gorgolan, the head of security in his troop, was severely surprised getting attacked from behind and while Akhanotep was on his back, getting ready to plunge his dagger in his cranium, he risked a look behind and over him. The expression on his face was pure amazement and as he fell to the ground the same expression remained on his patched visage as a mock death mask.

Akhanotep searched Gorgolan's satchel and retrieved a scroll out of it. His hand holding it remained in level with his eyes for a mere moment, as if admiring it's cargo. It felt soothing looking at it. Time seemed to slow down for Akhanotep, until one of his plague bearers crashed head first next to him. He whirled around and saw what he was suspecting. The path between elemental and him was wide open.

Hunting the beast

He couldn't look back. Not because he didn't want  to see his comrades being slaughtered but because he didn't want to risk a glimpse towards his hunter and maybe lose his footing. He knew he wasn't fast enough  for this abomination on his tracks but he couldn't just stop trying. He had never before witnessed a light elemental but he knew what a darkness elemental could do and his arcane studies' 101 taught him that the elements live in an equilibrium and therefore are similarly powerful. No, he wouldn't risk stopping.

A shadow hid the sun for a second. And another, and another. He looked up while a fourth and a fifth did the same and saw another three gargoyles flying over him towards the battlefield. They were probably circling it for a good fight. A loud explosion behind him shook him and he stopped after all. He turned and saw as one after the other the gargoyles flew over one of their charred comrades on the ground, to attack the elemental. That was his chance! He turned away and run with renewed fervor.

Drin'o looked towards the small hill while cleaning his shortsword. Around him the wounded were tended and the dead carried away from the battlefield to be buried in honor and away from their abominable foes that were still lying next  to them.

On the hill, with the setting sun as a background, what appeared to be a miniature sun in a man's form, was standing before Alaman. The mage had to look up to view the elemental's head and he still had to put a hand over his eyes and squint. Good manors dictated that he at least look towards his ally's face.

"What is the situation on your plane at the time?" Alaman asked.

A low but clear hissing voice replied, and while it did the light of the elemental seem to move within itself. "It is still in order, but the cracks increase in size. We will need it soon!"

"I know." Alaman lowered his head. Out of sadness of course but his eyes thanked him for it.

"May I return now? You have kept me here too long already human!" The elemental's voice did not have to sound menacing to make it's point.

"Yes! But of course. In the name of my group I thank you."

"Are you sure you can speak for your troop mage?" The elemental made a noise as if it chuckled and then vanished into nothingness.

To Drin'o it seemed Alaman was mumbling something after the elemental left and he did not seem to be very happy. He decided to meet the mage and hear how he planed them to proceed, so he started walking up the small hill. Not that it would be much of a plan coming from this youngling's mouth.

" I know what you are thinking!" Alaman said without turning, as soon as Drin'o had reached the top. He remained silent to let the mage speak.

"I promise you, I wish only to bring my mission to a successful end. I do not wish to endanger any of us, but I know I am because I am not as experienced as any of you. I did not volunteer for this you know! I never wanted to run around on a battlefield besides when I dreamed of it as a boy. I will admit to you, Drin'o, I am afraid and... I need your help."

Alaman turned his face slowly to the older man and he saw that Drin'o was already watching him. He slowly sighed and lowered his head, but a hand on his left arm tore him out of his self pity.

"This is not what the lion needs my young friend! They chose you to lead us and I'm sure they know what they were doing. Leading us does not mean though that you do not make mistakes or you do not need help. A successful leader councils with his wartroop. He let's them know his thoughts and hears out their own. We are Lions of Alahan, Alaman, we don't need an authority figure! Whether we agree with you or not, we know we must listen to our leader's voice on the field, because we know that he chose the right path after hearing what all the other paths have to offer. And by the gods, none of us thinks you are stupid. If we did we would have left already. We are civilized, Alaman! We don't need a bully, bossing us around. We need a will strong leader with his marbles all in his head. And you can be that. Just listen to us every now and again."

Alaman was silently watching the sun go down, when the hand on his arm moved to his shoulder.

"You can make it, friend!" Drin'o smiled! Alaman could not remember to have seen him smile before! Only while in the rush of battle one could see a smirk on the musketeer's face. But here he was standing, forming a curve with his lips, exposing white teeth, to a young mage who thought he was hated severely by the veteran! When recalling this scene in future talks, Alaman never told anyone that he was pushing tears back in his helplessness, but this was the case. He bit his lower lip slightly and raised his eyes to look deep into the blue grey eyes of Drin'o.

"Thank you!" he said in a nearly failing voice. "I will give my best for all of us. I promise you this!"

"Very good, son! You do that! Now we should think about what we are going to do if we don't find it among the corpses. One or two of them buggers fled while the fight was on!"

Both men turned towards the now quiet battlefield and walked down the hill.

Ilias, on of the two remaining falconers, approached them.

Alaman's inquisitive look nearly forced the falconer to lower his head as he mumbled "Nothing, sir!"

"Damn their sick, insect infested, abominable souls! I wish I could..."

"You looked everywhere?" Alaman interrupted Drin'o's cursing.

"Yes sir! Everywhere! One of them was carrying an empty satchel. We assume it was in there but somebody took it out."

"The elemental told me it missed one of them. The gargoyles seemed to want to protect him it said." Alaman murmured in thought.

"Did it say where we were heading?" Drin'o tuned to the mage.

"East!"

"Bran-o-Kor!" Drin'o exclaimed.

"What does he want there? The orks have not allied with them have they?" Ilias asked.

"Who knows? Do you know the mid nor well? Hell I didn't even know they existed till two days ago!" Ferdal exclaimed while walking towards the group. His left leg was bandaged but he looked none the worse for wear. "I've lost them! I've lost all of my men!" he continued. "I am our cavalry now! This is ridiculous!"

"We will make it!" Alaman tried to assure him. When he saw in the knight's face it wasn't working, he turned to his new ally and asked; "Won't we Drin'o?"

Some eyebrows were raised and some looks became inquisitive but it was Drin'o that surprised them all, even Alaman.

"The lad is right. We have to and we will make it!"

"Right! Then let's get moving!" The mage clapped his hands on his knees while standing up. Then he rubbed them together, cupped them and blew a breath in them. "It is getting surprisingly cold at nights here, isn't it?"

Drin'o put a hand on the mage's back and smiled. "You are a wimp after all!"

The small group consisting out of them four plus Gimonion, the infantry commander, shared a small laugh before they all decided that it was too cold indeed.

Four days they had been hunting this mid nor down, and they were sure they were on the right track because their musketeers had found signs of his desperate run through the forest they were crossing.

Their falconers had reported that the forest path would come to an end soon and exit in a wide plane.

The troop was moving silently and with all eyes open but it was keeping relatively close together. The falconers were moving at the front... the infantry and mages together with the priests, divided in groups of course, in the middle; a small group of guards was moving at the rear. The musketeers were nearly everywhere, scouting, trailing, keeping an eye out.

Drin'o was finally at the edge of a forest. It was good to feel a strong wind on his face again. The forest was too thick to allow that. The tree line made a curve and he was nearly standing at it's zenith point. He made a step out the woods when a loud shot was heard and a lead projectile disturbed the ground in front of him. Immediately he made a step back and whistled their code for alarm. All musketeers went down. The ones closest to the main group alarmed it.

Alaman was trying to find out what was going on but without success.

Temple of the East

Drin'o heard noises. People talking. Now that the wind had become a bit weaker he could definitely hear them.

"Who goes there?" someone shouted in Common but with a slight accent. "Could it be?" Drin'o thought.

"Akkylanians?" Drin'o shouted back.

"Who's asking? Come out where we can see you!"

"Where you can shoot me you mean?" Drin'o laughed back. "We Alahanians are not that stupid you know!"

"Alahanians are not reported in this area! We would have known! They are allies. Don't try to fool us! Come out!"

"Dear Gods! I'm not going to come out in the open so that I can be shot by some thick headed griffon just into adulthood. Promise me, in the name of your God that you will not shoot!" Drin'o shouted angrily.

"Griffons do not negotiate, scum! Come out where I can see you now! If you are Alahanians then you will do as I say!" the man screamed.

"Because I AM Alahanian I will NOT come out. Since when is Alahanian a synonym to stupid in your country? Relax man and promise you won't shoot! And quiet your racket! The whole of Bran-o-Kor must have heard us by now!"

"What is going on?" Alaman asked as he approached Drin'o stealthily.

"We bumped into green horn Griffons. He wants to see us in the open but I am afraid this idiot will shoot at anything that moves!" Drin'o spat.

"COME OUT!" the hidden man screamed, nearly raving.

"What is going on, private?" Drin'o heard a man say in a calm but firm voice. "Why all this screaming?"

Some silent murmuring later, Drin'o could not hear what was being said, the firm voice shouted, "One of you smartasses will now come out in the open! And, by Merin, we will not shoot you! You have Arkhos's word to that."

"I know that man!" Alaman exclaimed and before Drin'o could stop him he stepped in the open.

"It's me! Alaman!" the mage was looking more or less in the direction where the griffon voices came a while ago and waving.

"Dear Gods, have mercy on this fool's soul!" Drin'o sighed and slowly rose from his hiding place and left the protection of the small forest. He stepped next to Alaman, his hands in sight for the griffons, away from his pistols, and, with nearly closed, straight lips, he whispered; "You're mad! This was extremely stupid, Alaman."

The magician nearly whirled around with a huge grin on his face, and with vivid gestures of enthusiasm, tried to explain, that Arkhos and he had already met on a royal banquet one year ago. Suddenly, noise came from the direction Alaman was looking a while ago.

They both stopped talking and their attention was drawn by three men clad in polished armor, sword and shield in hands, with a dagger-long, dark-red armor-spike on their left shoulder and a significant number of Merin's crosses, the griffon's holy symbols, hanging from their belt over their dark red, velvet robes. It was an imposing scene, as these three griffon templars cautiously stepped into the open, behind them three musketeers, with long musket rifles in their hands, looking right and left always on alert. They stopped in front of the two Alahanians and parted into two groups making space for a man walking behind them, in impressive full plate armor, this one donned with two elegantly curved armor spikes on its shoulder plates, a high helmet with a Merin's cross as a visor. When he arrived in front of the two Lions he slowly raised his hands to his head and removed his helm. A handsome face, framed by a chanmail hood, was looking at them. Arkhos was not a youngling anymore, maybe ten years younger as Drin'o, but his face was nearly free of wrinkles His eyes were the only thing betraying his age, and still they were looking at Alaman with inner warmth seldom found in a seasoned warrior like this griffon commander. His eyebrows lifted a bit and his gently curved lips formed to a smile.

"Alaman! It is good to see you again." he said in a deep voice. His left hand passed the helmet to his right and secured it under his right armpit, the right hand in its turn helped relieve his left of a polished, massive gauntlet. The left arm gently rose and stretched out in front of Alaman who clasped it with great joy.

"It is good to see you as well, commander!" the mage turned to his comrade and put his left hand on Drin'o's shoulder. "This is Drin'o, our musketeer commander and the one having the argument with your... erm... dedicated sniper."

"You mean overzealous?" Drin'o intervened sharply.

Arkhos looked back at one of the griffon musketeers, a young boy barely into adulthood, which lowered its head and gripped his musket a bit tighter.

"Well," Arkhos said turning his head back to the two Alahanians," these are difficult times here so close to Bran-o-Kor. Which brings me to an important question. What are you doing here? Our Eastern Temple is watching over this territory but we have not received any word from the western temple that you would be coming this way. Neither did the dwarves report any Alahanian movement."

"Then we did our job well!" Drin'o said while looking to the forest in an attempt to show himself unimpressed and uninterested.

"Forgive him, commander!" Alaman explained raising his hands in a calming gesture. "We have seen a lot these past days and..."

"Never mind, Alaman! Besides where are my manners? We are allies and friends and gladly I would like to offer you and your men safe haven in our fortress tonight." Arkhos replied with fatherly gentleness.

"That is a most gracious offer, commander. I hope you do not mind if I discuss this with my men first?" Alaman said, nearly ashamed for not having accepted the offer immediately.

"Of course Alaman. Take the needed time!" Arkhos smiled. "We will await you here."

The griffon templars together with their less armored musketeers, who just wore leather outfits with black leather longcoats and a long dark red shawl around their necks, swiftly formed a protective circle around their commander while he donned back his gauntlet and his helm.

"I don't understand what your problem is, Drin'o!" Ferdal said in a nearly angry voice.

"My problem is that I do not wish to be obliged to a group of religious fanatics trying to convince us all night that;" he continued in a mock Arkhos voice "There is only one God and his name is Merin! Join us in our religious revelry. Let us slaughter unfaithful!" He shook his head and looked away.

"You do believe every crap you hear don't you?" Gimonion said. He was a muscular built man whose size made his delicately ornamented paladin armor look a bit out of place.

"I'm not as thickheaded as you! And that is not the only problem. We will lose the dwarf!" Drin'o glared.

"The way he is leaving tracks and with our speed this is not very likely. You said it yourself yesterday, Drin'o. We have many wounded soldiers among us. I want them to die on the battlefield or in their homes if at all and not like cripples on the run after a small, slow dwarf." Gimonion barked back.

Drin'o's glare could have burned a hole through that armor but Alaman stepped between the two.

"You are right Gimonion! Not everything they say about the griffons is right! I know because I've met a lot of them in the past. But we are all intelligent enough to see the truth and I can hardly imagine that any of us believes rumors." He turned to Drin'o. "So what is really going on here?"

Drin'o anger faded in a blink of an eye. He lowered his head a bit so that he wouldn't have to look Alaman in the eyes and said in a low, slightly faltering voice a short "Nothing!" A long silence seemed to calm down the spirits.

"Then we are going to join them tonight?" Ilias looked confused.

"Yes! I believe we should join them. They will help us to tend to our wounded and maybe we get to rest in a bed tonight or at least on a dry ground. I think we should!" Alaman said calmly looking at Drin'o.

The veteran slowly turned away and walked for a few paces murmuring "A wise choice." in a resigned tone free of all irony.

"That's settled then!" Gimonion said, clapping his hands together. In a commanding tone he turned to the soldiers resting a short distance away from their commanders' meeting point. "All right men. Let's pack and shine. We got griffons to impress tonight!" and walked towards his rising men.

"I will go and share our decision with Arkhos!" Alaman said. "Ilias take one more of your men and come with me."

Half an hour later a well organized Lion troop exited the forest and stopped their march in front of a small group of men consisting of Arkhos, the six griffons protecting him and Alaman.

"Impressive!" Arkhos smiled. "And in such a short time you brought your armors to shine. If I didn't know better I would think it was our goal to impress me and my men."

"No, commander!" Alaman replied. "We just wanted to show our allies that we are dependable and well organized. Just strengthening your trust in us!"

"Spoken like a true diplomat!" Arkhos laughed. He stepped forward and looked at the lion soldiers in front of him. "We welcome our allies and we hope our hospitality to be of their liking. Our fortress will hopefully be a safe haven for the strong Alahanian troops standing in front of me! Merin bless this union of such noble fighters!" he said in a loud voice.

Days later men that were standing close to Drin'o still amused themselves with stories of how sour the look on his face was after Arkhos's last sentence.

The griffon fortress was of course hardly a match to the luxurious Alahanian palaces or even their barracks. Dedicated to the one true god the holy warriors of Akkylania wanted no distraction from their tasks so the entire compound was very spartanic in accommodations. Most of the troops of Alaman had to sleep on the ground indeed but the majority of them were happy not to get wet while sleeping as in the forest. Alaman, Ferdal, Drin'o, Gimonion and Ilias were assigned a templar cell each but Drin'o declined the offer for himself. Their wounded were taken to the griffon healers and their hurts were tended to very effectively. Nearly none of the wounded troops would have complains the next day.

In a large banquet hall, even though this term was not suitable for this plain stone room, ornamented only with tapestries depicting mainly the war against the Dirz, the commanders of both sides were served a variety of courses and dishes. From the typical Akkylanian oxen roast to the very alien taste of brontop soup, all dishes were exquisitely prepared and even the pigeon livers in pastry, the national dish of Alahanian nobility, managed to stir feeling of nostalgia and homesickness to the Lions at the table. One seat on their side was empty unfortunately and Alaman was very disappointed by Drin'o's behavior. Arkhos had taken his refusal with a warm smile though and did not seem insulted.

"Are your troops content then?" Arkhos asked and gulped a mouthful of Cynwäll red wine. He had traded his armor for a simple thick velvet cloak in the obligatory dark red color. His comrades, two were sitting on his right, were similarly dressed and even the Alahanians were offered similar clothing so that their attires could be cleaned.

"Yes, thank you!" Alaman said after a short pause that allowed him to swallow some of the roast deer in spicy Cadwallon marinate. "Mmm... we just hope we are not disturbing your work, commander. I know that Bran-o-Kor is a difficult and most dangerous area."

"Well, yes but we are witnessing a time of peace here. The orcs seem to be quarreling between tribes so we figure that somewhere a power gap drives them to succession fights. Out scouts still have not found out what this is all about though. But let us not talk of us. Commander Sered is having a much more difficult time in the south fighting the Dirz. So we are hardly worth mentioning. Let us instead talk of you. What drives you to this place? And especially in this secrecy."

Alaman drank a bit of the wine allowing it to clear his throat and then looked at Arkhos. "We are chasing a mid nor. We have been chasing him for about four days, after his men and mine fought against each other. Normally we would have continued chasing him and we would have missed this wonderful occasion to enjoy your most gracious hospitality," Arkhos nodded to that comment with a smile," but his fighters managed to wound and kill a lot of my men. It is a gift of the God that we found you to regain strength. Still we have to march off tomorrow morn, even though we feel very welcome here."

"Yes, Merin always looks after the forces of good!" Arkhos's right seat neighbor said in a husky voice wrinkling the area around his aquiline nose while making a face of high concentration. The commander had introduced him as Cairn. He had mentioned that he was just traveling through and that he was not a member of the temple's staff. This old man had a strange gleam in his eyes when he talked about his God. His hair, thinning on the top but wildly long at the sides had not seen a comb in the last years it seemed and his beard was long and untrimmed. If Alaman had not known better than to question Arkhos's judgment he would have thought that the man was mad. He seemed as if in a trance for a second, then the old man added in a firm voice, without looking at any of the people at the table; "Yes, you are right! Even after the lowest of them!"

Ferdal looked uneasy back at Ilias, who had put on a disbelieving face and was staring at the knight as soon as the old man had spoken his first words. Ferdal raised slightly his shoulders in an i-don't-know gesture and returned his attention to his dish.

"Yes, well, I... Thank you again for the hospitality!" Alaman decided to turn to Arkhos again after a clumsy attempt to answer to the old man.

With a serious face, as if there was nothing comical about his neighbor's behavior, Arkhos replied. "As mentioned before we are glad to have you here and I would like to share a thought with you."

"Yes please!" The mage urged.

"I heard that you lead four knights and that you've lost three of them. An you've lost a lot of your infantry. I was considering of... lending you some of my men! And! Before you decline, and I can see you were about to, hear me out. I will not give you more men than I can spare, so despite your worries you will not interfere with our task. I will put them under your command, so you won't have trouble with disobedience of any kind. You need more men, Alaman. This dwarf is moving to allies it seems. I do not understand what this dark dwarf is doing in Ban-o-Kor but I do not know them or their tactics well. As far as I know they are not allied to the orcs but who can say for sure? Just in case he is meeting up with his friends you will need more power. I was thinking of offering you five of our heavy cavalry, ten of some seasoned recruits and ten of my musketeers. As people of complete trust I will send five of my templars along. They will be essential to the understanding between you and my men. I will give you templars I know personally and trust. Men that have no problems battling next to non griffons and that will obey every command to the letter. Please in the name of friendship and in the name of good accept my offer. Make me joyous knowing that I've helped a comrade in the battle against darkness!"

A silence followed these words, which was accompanied by serene looks on the griffon side, looks towards Alaman on the other and a look of deep thought on the Alahanian mage. The Lion's side eased a bit as he smiled and glanced at the Temple Commander and nodded.

"So it will be then!" Arkhos clapped his hands. He then gestured to his furthermost right neighbor and continued, "This is Gorath, and he will be the commander of the group accompanying you. But as I said, this is just a formality. They will follow your orders without question."

Gorath stood up and saluted. "Gorath from Gaylen, fourth templar division of the Eastern Temple. I'm at your service! May Merin guide us on this errant!"

"Please sit down Gorath!" Alaman lifted his hands in front of his chest, palms looking towards the table and making slight movements with them downwards. "I wish that you relax a bit while under our command. We do want you to obey my orders anytime but our protocol is not so strict!"

"Yeah, Alaman is not Dragan!" Ferdal grinned.

Arkhos tilted his head slightly to the right and asked, "Dragan of Orianthe?"

Ferdal was caught unaware of the fact that everyone heard his thought. "Erm... yes sir. Erm... he, well you know... he is rumored..."

"I've met him!" Arkhos interrupted, "You should be indeed happy not to have him as your commander, and if you promise that you won't tell him that then  I will not talk of your joke either." The smile on his face radiated good humor and warmth. Ferdal found it hard to resist and smiled awkwardly back nodding in agreement.

Later that evening, with a cold wind forcing them to close their heavy robes tightly around them, Arkhos and Alaman were walking on one of the battlements of the fortress' outer wall. The men they met taking their guard shifts saluted politely and it became obvious to Alaman that the commander was loved by his men dearly. Arkhos, after saluting back to a guard and then asking him if he was doing all right, he knew every guard's name it seemed, turned to Alaman and asked him in turn;

"So, dear friend, now that we are alone, and none of your men are around to scrutinize your every word, let's talk freely about your task."

"What do you mean by that?" Alaman turned to another guard and nodded greetings to him while the soldier saluted. "We have told you what we are here to do."

"Yes. Of course you have, but not why you are hunting the dwarf! I sensed the intention to keep that a secret but to be honest I would like to know why my men are risking their lives. Of course I will not reveal this information if you consider it to be too... "hot". You know you can trust me on that."

"Believe me, commander, trust is not an issue. It is just, how should I put it, a bit embarrassing for our leaders. And it could become a reason for darkening moods amongst our people."

"Well then you have my word that it  will not escape my lips unless you wish it so."

"Then let me explain. As you might know Laverne, one of our main cities, is celebrating its anniversary of founding." Arkhos nodded and remarked that he indeed knew. "What you might not know, or maybe you do, is that at the same time this year we celebrate in the same city the two hundredth anniversary since the Battle of the Ridge, where Belerethon, one of our national heroes, sacrificed himself to save his men from the undead plague. I see you are nodding. Then you do know the story. Well then you must also be aware of the fact that this is one of the most important holidays in our calendar and combined with the founding of Laverne it would be one of our largest festivities this century. And to complete the religious character of it some of our most precious artefacts are being brought to the city. One of them is a relic called the Hand of Belerethon. It's supposed to be the only remains of him after the long and savage battle against the mysterious wizard, some in the area still just call the Dark One.

It was stored in a new contraption created by Meliador, one of my teachers, for similar purposes. An item imbued with magic, a so called scroll of placement. It looks like a mundane scroll, an insignificant letter scribbled on it, but when one reads the last sentence three times it opens a rift in a pocket dimension revealing the item that needs to be transported. The pocket dimension is a safe place even for fragile items since the condition or movement of the scroll does not affect its own.

One week ago a procession set off in Ralliene heading to the temple in Laverne when it was attacked by a great number of mid nors. The survivors claimed the dwarves came from the ground and we, after we meeting them ourselves, have reason to believe that they are a mainly subterranean species. Nevertheless they managed to steal the Hand and escape. We were sent after them to retrieve it but their leader escaped us and we couldn't find it after the battle. We assume that it is still in his keeping." 

Alaman stopped walking and lowered his head, at the same time slightly turning it away from Arkhos. After a while he lifted his sight towards the plane stretching before the walls. The commander, giving the situation some thought, spoke in a caring voice;

"It is not your fault, Alaman."

"I never said that it is." Alaman said energetically, facing the griffon now.

"You were at this procession weren't you? That is why they sent you to lead this group. To correct your wrong! Am I not right?"

"Yes!" head lowered again, Alaman barely found the strength to answer.

"Well, it is not your fault, whatever happened. I don't know if you lost your nerves in the fight or if you made a false decision. What done is done and stop blaming yourself. Grasp the task at hand and deal with that! If not you will never be able to lead and your men will never trust you. Believe me; men that await orders can smell it when their leader is weakening. They need a person on the top that embodies all they will not be." While Arkhos said these words he took hold of both arms of the mage and turned him so that he could look in his face. Alaman had not felt like this since his father died when he was a child. It was embarrassing and a bit frightening but it was most of all soothing. He slowly nodded and raised himself to full height.

"You are right!" He said. "I need to bring this to an end and get back what is ours. Thank you, commander... friend."

"Be strict with my men, Alaman. Don't let them boss you around. They need a strong hand to lead them."

"I promise. I was thinking of putting your templars under the direct command of Gimonion and the musketeers under Drin'o's supervision. The later seems to have a problem with griffons in general and I want him to confront it. I don't need such intolerance in my group. We are allies and friends after all."

The dawn painted everything anew with a tinge of blue the next day. In the massive courtyard of the fortress the Lions gathered in square formations. They all looked fresh and rested, the wounded could stand and most of them were in a condition to march. Two lancers were not on the field, their injuries too dire to accompany their comrades. Arkhos had promised to take care of them until they felt in position to move and them send them with other griffon regiments westwards and help them reach Alahan. The gap in the lines created by the missing lancers was quickly filled by eight guards removed from the vanguard and replaced by the griffon recruits. Gimonion was surprised that they took their position at the rear so well expecting them to complain but they followed his orders to the letter. The templars joined the paladin formation behind the guards and lancers, backed up by the unit of griffon snipers. Ferdal in his turn seemed quite pleased with his new men. The griffon cavalry was well equipped with well trained heavy war horses, horse chain mail barding and all five of them could wield lance, sword and morningstar. Alaman was standing on the left of his men talking one last time with Arkhos and that crazy old man named Cairn. The mage was clad in his now cleaned marching attire and even Arkhos and Cairn were fully armored. Cairn's armor was nearly as insane as its owner. The shoulder spikes typical for griffons were almost as long as Cairn and the armor made his chest look massive while describing a well formed abdomen. He was holding a staff, or better said a scepter, in his left hand and a weapon in the other, one could describe as a halberd. Its blade though was curved in a circle and its outer rim was stylized to form simple wings. Where the blade met the dark wooden shaft, an eagle's head completed the griffin picture. He was gripping his scepter with full force it seemed. He was wearing no gloves and his knuckles had turned to pure white. A slight nervous twitch danced on his left eye when he shouted with a booming voice;

"Blessed be you, warriors of the light! May Merin light your path and guide your arm while you smite the forces of darkness. Lions of Alahan, do not despair for Merin is merciful and even for you there is a place next to Him."

There was a great silence following those words. Only among the arrayed soldiers there was heard a spitting sound. Many claimed it came from the

Alahanian Musketeers group, where a tired looking Drin'o, it was reported that he had barely slept, was putting on a sour face.

Alaman nervously nodded towards Cairn and tried to thank him as if he meant it. Arkhos, his face hidden behind his helm, showed no emotions towards that incident, but raised his voice as well towards the men.

"Warriors of the Light! Fellow fighters of Good! Hear me as I call upon the Gods of us all, for their blessing." Cairn's twitch increased in speed. "This is another glorious meeting of our forces in a common cause! And it is a common cause, my friends, because we are battling a common foe. We are reclaiming what belongs to you, my friends of Alahan. But we will fight for that with the same fervor as if we were reclaiming something rightfully belonging to us. My men will leave their lives on the field for you as you would, and maybe even will, for them and for every other man raising his fists against the Dark. Blessed be you all, my fellow comrades in battle. You will be successful in this task! Do not despair if things seem dire for a while! The Light is with you, guiding and protecting you. Fight with honor, valor and dignity! Fight for the lighting of your souls!"

A mad cheer by the griffon troops startled the Alahanians for a mere second until they too, carried away by the power of it, joined in with the cheer "For the Light! With honor!"

A man clad in a long black cloak, his face covered by its hood and a mask of darkened metal, stepped close to Arkhos. He spoke close to his ear for a second, with all the cheering about Alaman could not hear what was said, and then backed a step. Arkhos turned to Alaman and said;

"Telemahos just reported back from an errand I had sent him yesterday night. He has returned with good news for your cause. He has spotted the dwarf not far from here. He was reported entering a cave. Telemahos came back to report while two more thallions are keeping an eye on the cave just in case the mid nor decides to travel on. He would like to escort you and get you to that place. He is a member of the thallions as I said, a group of very talented scouts. He would be a great help to you and he would be one for your musketeers as well... What do you say?"

Alaman thought of it for second and then agreed. He then nodded to

Telemachos to follow him and walked towards the musketeer group. Drin'o's stance switched to a rigid attention when he saw the two coming. Alaman stopped before him and trying to ignore the veteran's behavior he lifted an arm towards the griffon scout.

"This is Telemahos. His team spotted our quarry and he will guide us to him.

He knows the area and Arkhos tells me he is a very good scout. I thought he should join your men."

"Is that an order, sir?" Drin'o barked back in a military tone.

"By the Gods, no! It's a suggestion Drin'o." the mage replied slightly startled.

"Then I would like to decline that offer, sir!" The tone remained martial.

"Drin'o, what is this? Why this thick headed behavior? He will help us and he is good at what he does. And you know as well as I do that this is a good choice. He is willing to follow every one of your orders!" Alaman raised his voice.

"Then how about he bites me? And that IS an order!" Drin'o growled while looking at the thallion over Alaman's shoulder.

Alaman's arm shot out before he could even stop it. It shoved Drin'o backwards, who lost his footing and fell squarely on his back, through two of his men, too startled to stop his fall.

"Snap out of it, man!" Alaman screamed, the last part of his sentence losing some of its anger and volume as he realized what he had done.

Drin'o rose quickly and furious. He stepped very close to Alaman, his face nearly touching the mage's, who in his turn was not sure any more about what the veteran would do. He still locked his eyes with Drin'o in a powerful stare down. A mere breath later the musketeer stepped back, eased his uniform, saluted and exclaimed;

"Ay, sir!"

Alaman just shook his head and turned away towards the thallion. He walked off, murmuring "He is all yours!" to the griffon as he left.

Telemahos saluted Drin'o and exclaimed "At your command, sir!"

After seeing that Drin'o was not keen on saluting back he asked;

"Permission to speak freely, sir?

"Yeah, whatever!" the veteran waved his hand.

"I am not allowed to eat while in duty, sir. I will not be able to follow your orders, sir!" Telemahos barked while still in salute.

Two or three musketeers could not hold their grinning and chuckling back. Drin'o decided to focus his growing anger to them instead of the new recruit.

"What in the name of Hell are you laughing about?" He shouted. The laughing faces quickly changed into serious masks and the musketeers went into attention.

"Get in line, funny guy! You are at the rear." Drin'o mustered the thallion.

"Sir!" Telemahos protested, "With all due respect, but it would be wiser to position me at the front to guide you to the..."

"To the rear, funny guy! NOW!" Drin'o roared.

"Yes, sir." Telemahos saluted and moved on.

"I don't understand him." Alaman shook his head in despair.

"He will cool down." Arkhos put a hand on the mage's shoulder. "Just be strict with him when the time matters. People taking orders should not be viewed as friends when you have to issue them. The well being of the team is more important at any time! Just pay attention to what Telemahos tells you. He knows the area better than anyone else. Some say even better than the orcs."

"I will."

"I just hope Drin'o's stubbornness is not going to blow it for us. This is far more important than him and his unsolved problems." Gimonion, who was standing nearby with his troops, intervened.

"Merin will light up his soul and guide him to the purifying fire. Have no fear. He told me... yes... I know you did!" Cairn said in his husky voice, turned around and left.

A short while later Alaman finally dared to ask.

"What is it with this man? I don't know if it's just me, but he seems to be quite disturbed, doesn't he? Why don't your healers help him?"

"If the true God would be speaking directly to you, my friend, I am sure you would find it quite... disturbing as well, wouldn't you. And would you then consider yourself in need of... help?" Arkhos replied calmly while looking to the sky.

Alaman stared at the commander for some seconds until Arkhos turned his head and faced the disbelieving visage of the mage. His helm tilted slightly to the left as if making an inquisitive gesture. The mage then lifted his head to the sky as well, not sure anymore of what to think.

Going North

The contingent of Alahanian- Akkylanian allies moved swiftly for it’s size. Nearly forty lancers and guards were marching at the front. Behind them the griffon snipers took their place in close square formation, followed by ten paladins and five templars, including Gorath, who was head of the griffon allies. These were marching in three lines, the front two consisting of paladins, the rear of templars. Between these two, Alaman and Ilias were marching accompanied by two Falconers and a battle mage. Ferdal was riding mostly to the left of the main body, the rear was taken by the ten griffon recruits and Drin’o and his men were trying as well as they could to scout, unseen if possible, this barren tundra. They were not moving in formation but they had a constant line of sight with each other. Unfortunately vegetation was sparse and so the only situation they could use to their advantage was the rolling hills defining this land.

After a march of three hours, Telemahos dared to move closer to Drin’o. The veteran acknowledged the griffon approaching and his mood fouled in an instant.

“What do you want, smart guy? Didn’t I give you your orders?” he hissed.

“Yes, sir, you did but I really need to speak to you. If we continue this way we will miss our rendezvous. We should be going north and not north east.” Telemahos replied.

“Well, if it isn’t the human compass in person! Don’t try to teach me my business, son. I know where I’m going.” Drin’o spoke in a normal loud voice.

“Well, sir, then allow me to wonder how you stayed in business for so long.” Telemahos said in a resigned tone, ready to leave to his assigned position.

“What? What did you say, you sorry little piece of goat’s crap?” Drin’o changed walking direction, moving determined towards the thallion. In the instant he raised his arm to touch the griffon’s shoulder; Telemahos whirled around and grabbed the musketeer’s wrist, threw him over his shoulder and slammed him to the ground. In the instant the back of Drin’o landed on the cold tundra earth, a close combat pistol was pointed at his head.

“What the hell is wrong with you man?” Telemahos choked a shout before it became too loud. “I don’t doubt you skills but this is ridiculous. What anger do you carry in you to cloud your mind that much? What did I do to you? Did I kill somebody you like or did I smile at your wife? What?”

Drin’o’s expression transformed from one of anger into one of sad confusion. His eyes seemed to be looking at nothing for a moment and he slowly moved to a sitting position. His eyes blurred, Telemahos was surprised to see that and worried if he had gone too far. The veteran’s head lowered and his left hand, with a dusty glove on, tried to rub his eyes. His head lifted slowly again and there was wet dust on his cheeks when he rose.

“Where are your comrades waiting for you?” he asked in a very low voice.

“I can take you there.” Telemahos answered uneasily becoming aware of the other musketeers approaching the two of them with disbelieving, angry faces.

“What the hell are you doing there?” One of them asked. His hand rested already on his sword hilt.

“Everything is fine, Kleanth.” Drin’o waved him away. Wiseguy and I were having a normal talk.”

Telemahos’ hand slowly put his pistol back into its holster. He looked at them uneasily and slowly removed his metal mask after pulling back his cloak’s hood. The face revealed suited that of a handsome noble. It was now that his flowing blond hair was revealed. His high cheekbones framed a pair of beautiful green blue eyes and a full lipped mouth formed a smile. The little dimple on his nearly square jaw danced uneasily in anticipation of the next move.

Kleanth slowly lowered his hand in his turn and crossed his arms before his chest glaring angrily still at the handsome griffon.

“I’m sorry if I have caused you uneasiness, friend.” Telemahos finally said to break the silence.

“I ain’t your friend, nitwit!” Kleanth spat.

“Indeed he is not. Indeed.” Drin’o calmly said. “But he knows where our quarry is and with his help we’ll get there. Lead the way… Telemahos.”

The thallion put his mask back on and turned north as the first of the main Alahanian troops appeared at the horizon.

Drin’o and Telemahos slowly climbed up a hill, which was, according to the knowledge of the griffon, the last one before the terrain flattened for quite a distance. After half a days trail they would then reach a small mountain filled with holes and caves, enough to fill every dark dwarf’s soul with foul joy.

Both of them lied flat on their bellies watching from the hill top the plane spreading before them. Telemahos took hold of a small cylindrical leather pouch hanging from his belt, now buried under his heavy cloak, and brought it close to his face. The other hand removed the cap and he produced a small spyglass. He took a long peek through it and scanned the area, then he nudged Drin’o with his elbow and handed him the spyglass. Drin’o took a look and saw nothing but flat land and short grass until Telemahos pulled the spyglass gently to the right direction. North east from where they were lying, a wagon, human build it seemed, was upturned and burned. The wreck was not smoking anymore and two long sack-like things on the ground next to it resembled corpses too much for Drin’o’s liking.

“Who could that be?” the veteran asked putting the spyglass down.

“The perpetrator… orcs. The victim? I don’t know of any caravans passing through here. And I certainly don’t know anyone foolishenough to travel Bran-o-Kor alone.” Telemahos whispered.

“I don’t know if… How do you think should we approach this?” Drin’o asked looking vaguely in the direction of the wreck.

“You ask for my opinion?” Telemahos turned his head to the veteran.

“You know Bran-o-Kor better than me. Next time we come close to Aheron, believe me, I won’t give a damn about your opinion and you should listen to mine. This is your territory, sad as it is.” Drin’o said earnestly.

“And I thought you started liking me.” the thallion smirked. “Sir!” he added with a mock serious face.

“Cocky people tend to live short lives, son.” Drin’o commented with a low voice.

Then a shot was fired. It appeared to come from the vicinity of the wreck and it made both scouts jump up a bit and look around. Drin’o used the spyglass and gasped; “Idiot!” He lifted himself with his hands while his feet had already started running towards the noise. Telemahos shot out after him trying to combine a whisper with a shout asking; “What?”

Drin’o did not have to answer. The thallion quickly saw, behind a large rock further east of the burnt wagon an Alahanian musketeer retreated holding a fellow comrade under his armpit and his pistol in the other, while what appeared to be a massive orc with a disproportional small head swung a huge wooden hammer with two hands. The Alahanian fired his weapon hitting him squarely in the chest but the orc did not slow at all. On the contrary, the wound seemed to infuriate it a bit more and the swings became quicker and wider. Before the retreating musketeer could drop his pistol to pull a sword, the hammer hit him right on his head, cracking the skull and breaking his neck. Both Alahanians dropped to the ground, slightly swept backwards by that killing blow. The orc whirled the hammer over its head one more time and roared. In that instant Drin’o, now in range, fired his pistol but missed. The orc turned towards them and slammed the hammer on the ground screaming something in its guttural tongue. It then charged at Drin’o, now equipped with his short sword. Telemahos pulled both his pistols and fired them simultaneously in full run before the veteran was too close to the orc. Both shots hit the monster in the face; its head was whirled back but the body kept going. Drin’o had pulled his short sword to the side preparing for a killing sweep in full charge, not being prepared for the new situation, when the dead orc crashed into him. He landed on his back, swept by the enormous weight. The orc landed on top of him pushing the wind out of his lungs. Drin’o started grasping for breath while stabbing the orc twice until he realized his foe was dead. Telemahos reached him shortly after and helped him roll the heavy carcass to the side. With a whisper, every breath still hurt him, Drin’o said; “I’m sick of it. Three times on my back in a day.” Telemahos was trying to help him up, when the veteran grabbed his sword and pulled it back over his head. Telemahos froze for a second not knowing what would happen. Drin’o threw the sword past him and a loud snort made the thallion turn around swiftly. Another orc, this one smaller and armed with an ax was trying to attack him from the rear but the sword in its throat had thwarted its plans. More of the green monsters shot around the large rock growling and roaring. Three of the normal sized specimens, holding halberds, charged at Telemahos who had not yet managed to draw his longsword, while a second massive orc, this equipped with a two handed sword, held in one hand, took a swing at Drin’o. The veteran sidestepped the hit, marveling at the speed of it and jumped to the ground, rolled once next to the second dead orc while taking a hold of his short sword and got up on his feet again. His adversary, a seasoned warrior it seemed, had already reacted to the move and the two-hander barely missed the musketeer hacking at the ground next to his left foot. He, in his turn, taking advantage of the lowered weapon, moved in and tried to shoulder the big orc while plunging his short sword in the green one’s ribs. The shouldering failed miserably, it appeared to Drin’o as if trying to heave a mountain, and the sword, burying itself in the green flesh, resulted to the orc gripping Drin’o’s sword hand, pressing it around the hilt, ripping the blade free from its flesh and squeezing the human hand as hard as it could. Drin’o screamed at the same time as Telemahos threw his pistols in one of his attacker’s face. It seemed to have little effect other than an angry roar and the three orcs charged as one. The long halberds kept the thallion away from his targets but the clumsy pocking directed at him gave him time to draw his sword. Telemahos had no great trouble deflecting the next few strikes until one of the orcs drew his halberd to the left and closed the distance to the griffon. This seemed to be a trained move between the three warriors since the other two opened the pathway for their comrade in the middle while continuing to poke to keep the griffon busy. The head of the middle halberd lowered again to abdomen height and started slashing the air in an x pattern. Telemahos had to deal with two direct attacks and one sweeping, his sword arm already feeling as heavy as lead. Yet he was faster than his attackers and he hoped to keep on going long enough until he could save enough time for an assault. Drin’o on the other hand, had nothing to gain of speed. He was dangling by a crushed hand, his other trying to hit the orc in the head. Every now and again his legs tried to kick it or to step a bit on its massive muscles to rest his aching hand by taking away his weight from it. The orc, certain of its victory, was a bit more occupied with its wound at the side, blood flowing generously down his crude leather trousers. It tilted its head while examining the cut as if it realized that it would not survive long unless a healer took care of that injury. In that instant Drin’o kicked the monster, by luck it seemed, in the groin. The loud breathing snorting sounds the orc was producing till then became more of a husky whine and the grip on the Alahanian’s hand eased for a second; a second that was long enough for Drin’o to wrestle himself free, bend down, pick up his sword and ram it a second time in green flesh, this time in the exposed throat. The monstrous warrior, a look of agony and disbelief on its face, toppled forward on its knees with both hands fixed protectively and soothingly on his sensitive body part that had received the kick. It then leaned and met to the ground with a thud, burying the short blade under it. The veteran, looking around and watching the unfair battle next to him for a mere breath, decisively picked up the almost rusty two hander the orc dropped and with a hurt hand he tried to swing it at one of the halberdiers. Unfortunately the sword was a bit too heavy resulting in him losing it mid-swing and more or less throwing it at the orcs. The blade buried itself cleanly in the closer warrior’s ribcage.

Due to the momentum of the swing, Drin’o continued moving swiftly towards the other two halberdiers, leaped over their dead fellow, who had just met the ground, and fell on the next one, almost head first, pulling him down with him. The remaining standing orc lost its concentration for a short while, looked at the brawl close to it, and never realized how the thallion’s blade buried itself cleanly in the heart.

Telemahos freed his sword and moved close to the brawling warriors. He was afraid to interfere as the fight was fast and wild. Drin’o grabbed the orc by the left ear with his good hand pulling it down. The orc, in its turn, tried to punch him but missed, scraping his cheek with its fist. The veteran managed to roll around the monster, let go of its ear, get on his knees and close his arm around its neck, pulling its torso backwards and up. In that instant Telemahos moved in and pierced its skull through its right eye and down towards its throat.

“Die!” he screamed.

The orc replied with a wet gurgle and blood coming out of nose and mouth. Both men froze for a moment not daring to let go of the orc until they realized its wretched soul had left its monstrous body. Drin’o let go, fell backwards and with one arm pulled away from the dead body, kicking it in the back while he moved. Telemahos drew his sword free and the orc collapsed.

Akhanotep squinted against the glare invading the mouth of the cave. Hidden behind a large fern, that seemed to enjoy the occasional rays of light, he tried to count the humans keeping watch close by. He was confused. He had the impression, that there were only two men out there, but they moved so quietly and swift, that he was unsure. It could have been more. Or maybe just one? The metal masks his adversaries were wearing made every person he sighted look exactly as the one he had discovered before. One thing was sure; they knew he was here and they did not plan to attack. They must be waiting for reinforcements he thought, and they did not seem to know that this cave was not a simple hole in the hill. Soon he would be on his way to the Deader and he could tell him what to do with the scroll. It was the Deader’s idea to steal it in the first place. He let go of the green leaves, which he had parted to take a better look at the humans, made to steps backwards and turned around. He moved deeper into the cave, took the right turn the tunnel was forming and approached the small pond at the end of it. It was dark here but his race was accustomed to the near complete darkness in the bowels of Aarklash, so he could see nearly everything perfectly. The pond was small, just 20 feet in diameter, and the surface was completely tranquil. He came to the shore and looked at the dark waters. A drop of saliva left the right half of his mouth, that was in a constant state of decay. As soon as it touched the surface ripples formed on it and as they increased in size so did a buzzing sound that seemed to come all of a sudden from the bottom of the pond. More ripples  formed as if something still stirred the surface, seemingly increasing in speed, till they became a round blur over the waters. In that blur a face appeared and smiled.

“Well?” the Deader asked in a mellow, soprano voice.

Akhanotep was about to respond when he realized his throat was dry. He was nervous! How could that be? How could a champion of the Despot be frightened by the likes of the Deader?

“I have it herrrrre!” he croaked, dragging the last word in a growl in order to clear his throat.

“My, my! You seem to be in a foul mood today, darling.” The Deader smiled. His face was not well discernible. All the Mid Nor could see was a grey, nearly featureless face, with a tiny nose, two large eyes, which never seemed to blink, and a wide, perpetual grin. The smile widened even more and the Deader spoke again, while Akhanotep was trying to regain his temper. “Where are your companions, love? Are they not allowed near the pond with the grownups? Or did you lose them on the way here?”

The dwarf took a long breath that stung his still too dry throat. He closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. “They are dead.” he whispered.

“Pardon me? I couldn’t hear what you said, darling!” the gray face tilted to the left and front turning its left ear towards the surface of the pond as if to hear better.

“They are dead!” Akhanotep barked. “And stop playing games with me human!”

“Human… Mmmh… Yes!” The head shifted position to face the dwarf once again. “Well then, I will have the scroll if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t, but I will need your help.” The Mid Nor lowered his eyes in shame.

“Oh is that so? You allow me no fun, but I am to help you? You are a rather selfish creature, little darling!” the grin showed silver, shiny teeth.

Akhanotep growled something indiscernible and removed the scroll from his satchel. One of his dolls, hanging from his belt snapped at it but missed, receiving a slap by its master instead. The dwarf stretched his arm over the round blur, showing the magical item and said in a steady voice; “Will you help me, old man?”

The blur of a dark red tongue flashed over the Deader’s lips and his eyes  widened.

“Of course, darling!” he said after regaining his posture.

“Then let me through!”

“Oh no, love! The item is too potent. If you pass through the gate together it will arrive here accompanied by some of your stitches and a heap of ash. You would be burned by its magic. So you will have to drop it through first and then follow, love.” The deader said in a most serious voice.

Akhanotep shook his head. “Who do you think I am? One of your stupid goat herders you call subjects? Forget it!” He moved the scroll towards his satchel.

“Darling! You must trust me! I have no interest in losing a good friend and associate. You have been so good to me and I would gladly like to repay you by helping you out! Love, I am your friend!” The deader said in a sweet tone.

“Drop dead!” Akhanotep growled. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Send one of your servants to take the scroll, let me pass through first and then your slave can drop it through.”

“I wish I could but…” The Deader tried to explain.

“Shut up! I can die here without your treachery. At least I can die with the scroll on me. If you want it, you’ll just have to come and remove it from my cold hands. I won’t give you the satisfaction of an easy treat.” He raised his hand and made a sweeping gesture over the blur. The circle started to reduce in size around the grey face.

“Don’t you dare, you maggot ridden Despot’s sperm!” The deader screamed, while Akhanotep was backing away from the pond. “I will make you suffer for the rest of your stinking life! You will regret your action you little piece of….” The blur disappeared completely and Akhanotep placed the scroll back in his satchel.

“Now what?” he asked himself and looked around.