As typical for this time of year, a thick fog began to roll in from Goblin Bay, the icy eastern winds carrying it to Elder Daven, swaddling the ancient city in a salt-scented gloom. Isolde noted that their gnomish guide barely hesitated even when he could surely see no more than a few feet ahead of him. He had clearly walked this way many times before, despite his earlier assertion that his master required attendance during clear days, and Isolde could already feel the warm glow of vindication keeping the chill at bay.
She wondered from where the ambush would come. If she could figure that out before it actually happened, it would be a simple matter to pick the appropriate counters. An attack from above was exceedingly unlikely, due to the fog, but not necessarily impossible. Isolde eyed the faint outlines of the rooftops, barely visible, calculating the likelihood of an archer or three lurking there. After some thought, she decided that even if any were stationed there, none would try their luck for fear of hitting their allies on the ground. Thieves and murderers though they undoubtedly were, being able to trust each other was paramount in order to keep their group united against opposition.
"Nearly there," called the gnome from the front. "Two minutes, maybe, then you`ll get your meeting with the New Master. Why you`d do that to yourselves I doesn`t know, but then, why would I? Nobody tells me nothing they`re wanting me to hear, less I`m supposed to tell it to someone else."
Now aware of how close they were, Isolde turned her mind now to the other ambush options. She spotted one of them immediately, the disguise so wonderfully complete that its very inconspicuousness made it stand out. The reveler dumped in that doorway, apparently stabbed and bleeding out, was too perfectly positioned near to their destination. She bit back a smile and instead feigned an expression of worry, turning to Embla and reaching for her hand as though for comfort. When Embla looked down in surprise, Isolde flicked her eyes to the side urgently, baring her teeth momentarily.
"You be much worry, little one," Embla rumbled haltingly, in a nearly impenetrable accent that even Isolde found convincing. "No are stupids danger here. Me looks there and there and there, sees none. Calm you, all safe by me."
Isolde could practically hear Aidan`s eyes rolling, but at least the message had got across. The would-be assassin soon would not be. The halfling shook her head, frowning at herself for risking distraction with too-clever-by-half wordplay. That was an amateur mistake she did not intend to make. There were still dangers to look out for and warn the others of.
The gnome stopped suddenly and she renewed her focus, scanning the surroundings. It was surprisingly open here, with at least two other streets merging onto the one they were on, though the smaller one on the left wasn`t suitable for launching an attack from, being cracked and loose cobblestones on a steep hill. On the right, however, was a broad avenue leading to the heart of the city, the towering inner walls forming a darker backdrop against the deepening shadows. Easy to hide a half dozen or ten, or more, thugs along there.
Then her attention was pulled back to the gnome by a harsh, metallic scraping sound. Their guide had pulled aside an iron grille set in the wall of the ancient buildings, revealing a small alcove with a ladder that dropped down below street-level, no doubt leading to the foundations of Elder Daven. Knowing that time was short, her mind began to race through the options she had considered for this type of scenario, ignoring the gnome`s hasty explanations. Though it felt like years, it was only a matter of moments later that she came to her conclusion.
"This time it is you who shall go first, Aidan," she heard herself announce imperiously, enjoying the role she had to play for the onlookers. "But then, you already knew that. Turnabout is fair play. Quick quick now, man, don`t keep us all waiting."
Aidan looked at her with an unreadable expression. She smiled broadly as he stomped into the alcove, cursing under his breath. As he stood over the descent into blackness, Isolde could almost feel Embla`s breath quicken in anticipation, whilst her own hands drifted towards the daggers she had so carefully whetted that evening. The moment was nearly upon them. Then Aidan sighed heavily, gripped his warhammer and jumped down the hole, his back to the ignored ladder.
Not three heartbeats had gone by before battlecry in old Altarian sounded and chaos erupted around them.
*****
No sooner had the colossal woman-thing spoken her broken sentences than Little Wulfram knew he had underestimated the adventurers. The classic image of the dim-witted brute she portrayed was just too perfect to be true and his spirit quailed at the thought of the ruthless cunning of the hositan, against whose wits he had dared hope to match his own. She had to have seen through the disguise of the street-level brother, whichever of them it was, then somehow warned the titanic warrior to be aware of him.
Little Wulfram`s confidence in his plan was further shaken when she gave her orders to the half-elf. There was a code of some sort hidden in them, one he didn`t understand fully, except so far as to see that it meant she was saying to beware of ambush. Or perhaps and even, he though to himself with growing horror, how to overcome an ambush. Then he saw the half-elf ignore the ladder, thus not leaving his back exposed to the Farlandish brother waiting below, and his suspicions were confirmed.
"Forgive me, great messenger!" he screamed, already turning to run. "The New Master must be troubled by his hunters!"
He dived into the thickening fog, resisting the urge to cough it up and give away his position. A faint shout in elvish reached his ears, meaning the underground brother had begun his attack. Much closer to him, however, was a roar of fury, louder than the thunder, and he knew the others from Farland were playing their parts. Little Wulfram could hear nothing that sounded like spellwords, so he guessed the wizard had been put down already - though it was no consolation to have this one piece of his plan go well.
Corner after corner he turned, until he saw that he had done so to the same ones twice over already. Cursing his panic, he forced himself to stop and get his bearings, lest he continue running in circles. He quickly placed himself on the wrong side of the inner walls, far too close to the Driddaren patrol routes for any self-respecting Davenian`s liking. Relative safety lay elsewhere and he resumed his flight, though somewhat more composed than before.
Passing back through the great gates dividing the city`s districts, he began coughing violently, the fog thick enough here to choke. Something in the back of his mind stirred at this, but it wasn`t clear enough, or important enough, to be recalled. He paused for a while, leaning heavily against a wall, fighting to catch his breath. It was made trickier by the revolting smell that permeated the air, a heavy and sickening aroma like spoiled meat.
When he recovered, Little Wulfram looked around him, wondering if perhaps he`d made a wrong turn despite himself and ended up by a butcher`s or furrier`s. This seemed not to be the case, confusing him, but then his ears caught the sounds of the ongoing battle between the Farlandish brothers and the adventurers. Little Wulfram was astonished at the tenacity of both parties, but knew now to head in a different direction. Almost immediately he crashed into a tall figure lurching around the same corner he had chosen, knocking the gnome onto the cobbles.
For some seconds, the pair stared at one another silently, each as surprised to see the other. In his head, Little Wulfram screamed at himself to get up and run, but his body would not obey, even as the rotting fingers began to reach for him eagerly. From the streets behind him, the unmistakable shriek of an enraged crow reached his ears. Suddenly Little Wulfram found himself remembering the destiny he had been promised by the messenger of the New Master. If he stood strong, no matter what, he would earn a place at the New Master`s side.
But only if he stood strong. Only if he stood. So he stood. He pulled himself back from the clutching horror, heart pounding. It moaned and shuffled after him. Little Wulfram thought for a second that the sounds echoed strangely, then he knew the truth. Standing strong was all well and good, but running and living was better. He turned and ran back the way he came.
Behind him, Elder Daven disgorged its former citizenry.
*****
When he had dropped out of sight of the others, Aidan had still held out the faintest hope that this was nothing more than Isolde`s paranoia. Then he had landed heavily some feet below street level in almost complete blackness and his opinion changed. Despite having been denied the opportunity of a slow descent down the ladder, his enemy was already moving in to strike, emerging from a strangler hole, or whatever it was called.
Aidan knew better than to underestimate whoever was ambushing him, for they moved easily in the lightless environment as though born to it. For his part, his elf-keen vision was enough to make out the surroundings well enough and he did not like what he saw. The close confines would make it impossible to use his hammer properly, for one thing - and for another, he could not move from the ladder to allow reinforcement, even assuming his friends were not yet under attack themselves.
There were no other options here. He had time enough to yell a challenge, then the silent assassin was on him. Aidan nearly fell at once under the frenzied assault, barely parrying lightning thrusts at all heights and from all angles, impressed despite himself. For all that he had hoped to strike from hiding, this man was a truly skilled fighter. The nigh-invisible sliver of metal in his hand looked harmless, but Aidan knew it would be either horrifically poisoned or sharp enough to slice through flesh and muscle effortlessly - or, more likely, both.
Time ended. The world beyond was no more. There was only the desperate struggle and the harsh panting in blackness. Soon, the weight of his hammer became too great and at last, Aidan felt his arm fail him. His enemy`s blade darted past, but withdrew as the paladin forced himself to defend against the lethal blow. Too late, Aidan saw the ruse for what it was. His side was now completely exposed and the assassin struck with a delicate precision that he could not help but admire.
A blood-crimson flower of agony blossomed and his nerves shrieked their protest. He staggered, falling back against the ladder. He let out a pained, yet somehow appreciative, bark of laughter in salute to the foe who vanquished him. Then Aidan saw the look of bewilderment on his enemy`s face. The man was holding up his hand, trying to examine the shattered blade held there.
Sensing the battle was yet to be won, Aidan heaved himself forward, acting without thought. He thrust his warhammer forward, feeling the great head sink into the man`s stomach, doubling him over. Summoning all of his strength, he hefted the weapon from side to side, using the very walls as anvils on which to beat the life from this ferocious adversary with brutal, almost metronomic blows.
After several such impacts, Aidan let the broken body slide from his weapon. A hand reached to his injured flank tentatively, feeling for the wound and finding only deceptively light metal. Relief flooded him and somehow Aidan managed to laugh. Neither he nor his father had put much stock in the value of heirlooms valued only as heirlooms and had taken pains to maintain them in readiness for their original purpose. It seemed as though this attitude had been proven justified. What should have been a perfect killing blow had literally broken against his ancestral mail.
Breathing heavily, ribs aching, he gave the limp corpse one last strike to the temple for good measure. Seeing it stay motionless, not even twitching when the skull caved in, he allowed himself to smile with relief. Then he took hold of the first rungs on the ladder and began to climb. He could not rest just yet.
*****
In his ragged disguise, Marrol watched the marks go past, wondering which of them he might have the most fun with. It would be wisest to kill either of the big ones first and quick, but halflings were only half as fun, in his experience. They just lacked stamina. He knew that he was just looking for an excuse to kill something small and helpless. Nothing wrong with that, after all. Even masters like himself weren`t obligated to make every artwork their greatest.
Besides, that really big brute with the sword looked almost like it was a woman, but didn`t even sound like one, not even when he thought of the various bitch orcs he`d met over the years. He really wanted to know what was happening there. If he got to dance with that one, he`d make sure not to finish it until he found out what was what. There was a story there and Marrol loved stories.
So it was decided. The hositan first, so he could imagine it was the gnome - what was his name again? Ah, no matter - and then he could play with whichever of the fighters did not go to meet Danith. That elf-breed looked like he knew a thing or two about fighting fair, which meant he`d be so much more boring. Danith would love it if he got to play with that one. Their songs of pain so often had such lovely spoken parts to them - very daring artistry.
Just a little more patience. The gnome was finishing his job of luring the marks to where they needed to be. Looked like the half-elf was going to be meeting Danith after all. Marrol smiled to himself, happy for his beloved brother. It was not easy to make fun in a place so dreary as Elder Daven, for all their efforts. Maybe it was about time that they moved on to pastures new. He would suggest that afterwards, he decided. This one last dance of death, with a sweet dessert of the gnome just because, then they ought to leave.
Still, thoughts like that were meant for later times. The half-elf had disappeared, only to scream soon after. Danith was no doubt beginning to compose and Ragar would surely wait no longer. Marrol tensed, then lunged, casting off the filthy rags in all directions. With a sharp tug, the blood-bag tied to him came loose and splattered open behind him, infecting the air with its coppery stench.
As he closed the distance, the cowardly gnome yelled something and began to run away, which amused him immensely. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ragar stand up on the rooftop, take aim and fire at the dwarf that was the most important of the marks. The bolt flew true, diving into the dwarf`s chest and burying itself there. The dwarf immediately sank to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth. For a few seconds, he struggled to stand, then collapsed face-down in the widening red pool.
Then a strange thing happened. The dwarf disappeared completely. Ragar`s bolt stayed behind, but now it was firmly buried in the street, with no blood about it at all. Marrol very nearly stumbled in his charge, but was composed enough to know their best chance was to eliminate all of the wizard`s allies before he could recover himself at all, whatever trickery he was attempting. In fact, more of that would be up to Ragar than they had previously thought.
Marrol watched in bemusement as the hositan was picked up by her gigantic companion and, with an animal bellow that shook the windows, was simply hurled straight upwards to the gable next to Ragar`s position. Almost as soon as she touched it, it began to crumble under her weight with a peculiar bird-like squalling that Marrol had no more time to think on, for his immense adversary was already turning to face him, sword in hand, at an incredible speed.
In fact, everything seemed to be moving far faster than it had any right to. Including the fog that swirled away from him as he completed his charge. And the dwarf had reappeared again just a few feet away. This was not going to plan. He promptly abandoned thought, for if he didn`t know what he was going to do, his enemies could not plan for it, even if they were so fast. For a moment, it even seemed to work, as he slid around behind the wizard before any spell could be cast, giving him the perfect opportunity to break the old dwarf`s back.
That was when he noticed he was falling. His legs had just refused to carry him any further and this puzzled him, because they had always served him well before now. One of them had apparently decided to abandon him no less, at this critical moment in battle. As Marrol looked at it, wondering what had happened, the pain began to spread. He gasped as the first few seconds of shock left him and understanding broke through - that everything else was still moving at the speed it ought, but he had been slowed down.
The next thing to break through to him was the great sword that had already claimed a leg. This time it took his head.