masterghandalf

Chapter 13: The Raid

Ir’Sarrin’s manor house had obviously been built as a military fort, and though generations of nobility had added their own mark to the place, that origin could still be plainly seen in its harsh, Spartan design. A low wall with a single gate enclosed an open courtyard, still largely bare despite some ir’Sarrin ancestor’s addition of a small garden to one side; armed guards patrolled along the top every so often. Not many, and since this was the heart of Karrnath they were probably there to protect ir’Sarrin’s privacy rather than repel a serious invasion, but Len figured there were more of them housed somewhere in the house, ready to leap to action at the first sign of actual danger. If there was one thing you could depend on Karrns for, in her experience, it was military precision. At the center of the compound was the house itself, a dark building with a brooding, gothic look; the only substantial windows were located high on its sides. All told, a less than appealing sight so far as the captain was concerned, though it did seem to fit the aesthetics of this strict, harsh country.

The fortress was located in woods, largely isolated from any substantial communities, though the trees had been cut back to provide a wide, open space before the walls and the path that led to the gate. Len was perched in one of the larger trees near the edge of the clearing, with Rinnean and Harsk by her side. It was the evening of their second day out from Korth, and they’d arrived not long ago, careful to avoid detection by the warlord’s servants, and were now almost ready to put their plan into motion. Rinnean gave an appreciative whistle as he regarded their target. “Well,” he said, “that’s not got a nice look to it. But I must say I’ve gotten into places worse than this. So, when do we start?”

“Now,” Len said, slipping off her branch and dropping lightly to the ground, Harsk and Rinnean following close behind. The others were waiting for them at the bottom. The captain glanced at each of her team in turn, receiving a grin from Ghazaan and an encouraging nod from Yhani, and then finally her gaze fell on Thyra. “Before we get started,” she said, “I just want to make absolutely sure that there’s nothing important left that you’ve been holding out on us. If ir’Sarrin’s actually some indestructible undead warrior from the Dhakaaani Empire cunningly disguised as a Karrnathi noble, I want to hear it now.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Len found herself scowling when nobody laughed – though Thyra did manage a slight, guilty smile. “If he is, then it’s as much news to me as anyone,” she said. “Taras and I went over what we could find on ir’Sarrin after Taras heard he’d acquired the map. The estate is called Sarrin, and it’s been in his family for generations – that’s where their name comes from, one of his ancestors was a war hero who lived here and got raised to the nobility by the kind. Ir’Sarrin himself is supposed to be a very skilled warrior, and he keeps guards who are trained to the military level. He’s the last living member of his family, and apparently was a vocal critic of the Treaty of Thronehold. He quieted down when the king reprimanded him and has never openly criticized Kaius, but he’s apparently still upset that the war ended without a Karrn victory. Taras said he’d heard rumors that ir’Sarrin has been working with the extremist group called the Emerald Claw, but that there wasn’t any proof. Taras was able to talk to some people who’d been to Sarrin, and thinks the map is probably kept in ir’Sarrin’s study on the top floor.” Thyra spread her hands. “That’s all I know, I swear.”

It was essentially a retread of what they’d gone over at the inn, and Len nodded. “All right,” she said, “let’s get this plan started. Rinnean, sneaking into places is your specialty, so you’re up. Are you ready?”

Rinnean sketched a bow. “Of course,” he said. “Assuming that all of you are ready to keep those guards’ attention off my back.”

“We’ll do our part if you do yours,” Len growled, “and if you wind up getting caught because you just had to stop and flirt with a pretty serving girl, I’m not rescuing you. Are we clear?”

“As crystal, Captain,” he replied with a mocking salute. He turned to face the direction in which the dark bulk of Sarrin lay, but Thyra stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” she said. “No matter how good you are, crossing that much open ground gives you a good chance of being spotted. I can help.” She shuffled her feet and looked nervous, and Len had a feeling that she was about to suggest something related to her magic. She was correct. “I can cast a spell of invisibility on you. It won’t last long, but it should help.”

“If you’re willing to, do it,” Len said. “We need every advantage we can get.” Thyra nodded and made a quick gesture with her free hand while muttering an incantation under her breath. Rinnean rippled at then vanished from sight.

“Don’t try to attack anyone,” Thyra warned. “Sudden violence can break the spell.”

“Got it,” Rinnean’s voice said from what seemed to be thin air. “I’m heading off. Don’t forget your part!” Len’s ears could barely pick up the soft sounds of his footsteps as he began to make his way towards Sarrin; they quickly faded entirely.

“Now, let’s give our clever elf a bit of cover,” Len said, gesturing for everyone to head around the fortress and towards the gate. “Hopefully ir’Sarrin’s having a late night, because if he’s asleep, he won’t be for long.”

She took up her position at the back of the group, and Yhani fell in beside her. The elf glanced at her lover and nodded once; Len nodded back. It was time.

///

Thyra fell to the back of the group as they approached the front wall of Sarrin, the fortress’s imposing looking gates looming in front of them; though they still stood within the shelter of the trees and it was unlikely the guards would have seen them, it still represented a visible threat. Still, the sorceress managed to fight down a shiver of anticipation. If everything went well, then by the time the sun rose, she’d have the key to her salvation in hand. If it worked as Taras speculated, she’d have her life back. If not… well, that didn’t bear thinking about.

Len took up her position at the front of the team and drew her sword, gesturing for the others to ready their own weapons. Thyra called the words of a spell she’d never used to mind, a spell to hurt, potentially to kill. She hoped that tonight wouldn’t come to that, but… she shook her head. All that mattered was that she be ready to defend herself. Len glanced over her shoulder to everyone else, nodded once, then leveled the finger of her free hand at the gate with a sharp gesture as she murmured words of power under her breath. Thyra could practically taste the magic as a small sphere of intense red light shot from the tip of Len’s finger and struck the ground directly before the gate, exploding into a great burst of fire.

At once one of the guards on the wall gave a great shout of alarm, and from somewhere inside the fortress a bell began to ring. Len gestured sharply to her team and they scattered into the woods, Thyra sticking close by the captain’s side.

No sooner had they begun to move than Sarrin’s gates opened and a heavily-armed company of guards came marching out. They had the warlord’s attention. Now it was up to Rinnean to make the best of it.

///

Lord Kharvin ir’Sarrin was seated in his private room, reading a biography of Karrn the Conqueror that was serving to distract him from the frustration of waiting for Irinali to find a way to get the damnable sepulcher open, when the alarm bell began furiously ringing. Barely taking time to mark his place, the warlord stormed to his door and threw it open, startling the two guards who waited just outside. They both fell in step as he made his way to the main hall, where he found his guard captain, Taran, giving orders to more of his men.

“What in Dolurrh is going on?” ir’Sarrin demanded as he approached the captain; Tarrin turned to see him and saluted crisply.

“We’re under attack, milord,” Taran said. “Someone threw a fireball at us, and there seem to be several people evading us in the woods; it could have come from any of them. Probably just bandits who got desperate, sir, nothing you need to worry about.”

Ir’Sarrin stroked his beard. Bandits? Possible, but unlikely. No gang powerful enough to take a nobleman’s fortress without fear of repercussions existed in Karrnath that he knew of, and anyone else would have to be a fool to try. More likely, it was some sort of rebellion against the crown – or someone who had discovered his Emerald Claw ties and sought to punish him for them. Maybe even the King himself, acting through intermediaries to avoid the appearance of turning on his own aristocracy…

“Fetch my armor and saddle my horse,” he ordered the guards. “And rouse the Queen’s troops. I think I’ll handle this matter personally.”

///

Rinnean crept towards the outer wall under a veil of invisibility, grinning slightly to himself when he heard the sound of the fireball exploding and the ringing bell. Yes, a loud bang and some pyrotechnics always did a good job of making people go running, and while they were busy chasing Len and the others around, they’d be too busy to notice the quiet elf sneaking in through the back.

Reaching the base of the wall, Rinnean reached into his pack and pulled out a thin, tightly coiled rope with a hook on one end. He gave it a few test swings and then launched it into the air, the hook catching atop the battlements. Grinning again, he seized hold of it and quickly climbed – an effortless feat for one who had climbed far higher and more dangerous walls than this – and then finally swung over the top and retrieved his rope. No one was around; good. They were all dealing with his colleagues. Jumping to the inside of the wall, he dropped and then landed with a roll before lightly coming to rest on his feet. Then he hurried off through the courtyard.

He reached the base of the main house without incident. Taking aim at one of the higher windows, he swung his rope again and latched the hook on the outside ledge. This was a higher climb, and harder, but still well within his capabilities. Rinnean pulled himself up to the ledge, kicked the window in, and dropped through into a hallway.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. A single guard had been strolling along the corridor, and now stood staring at the window that had, to his eyes, suddenly burst open. Then his gaze narrowed as Rinnean felt a tingling sensation along his arms and legs, and the elf knew Thyra’s spell of invisibility had just worn off.

“I don’t suppose you know where a fellow might find a privy around here?” Rinnean asked, shooting the guard a disarming smile. The human was, unfortunately, not in the mood to help a needy traveler, or so it seemed, for he opened his mouth and drew in a deep breath for a shout. Rinnean scowled and lunged forward, kicking him in the chest and knocking the wind out of him, and then he punched the man hard in the side of his head. The guard collapsed, and Rinnean quickly pulled out a short rope – not the one with the hook, which he’d paid good money for – and bound his hands behind his back, then shoved one of the man’s gloves in his mouth for a gag. Then, grabbing the guard by his red cloak, he dragged him over to a nearby door and opened it to reveal a broom closet, which the elf shoved him into.

The closet door clicked shut behind him. Rinnean turned to walk away, then paused, scowling; he’d forgotten something. A moment later he’d shut the door again and now wore the guard’s cloak wrapped tightly around himself; not a disguise that would hold up to any scrutiny, but one that he hoped would keep him from discovery long enough to find Thyra’s map and get out.

///

Harsk crouched halfway to the top of one of the taller trees overlooking Sarrin, concealed in the foliage. His companions had scattered through the forest below, and were currently being hunted by about a dozen Karrn guards, which should be most of ir’Sarrin’s complement for a private home this size; the shifter had his bow at the ready to shoot any enemies who came in range, but his chief purpose here was to stand watch. So far, the others seemed to have done a successful job at evading pursuit, and Harsk allowed himself a small grin. The captain and Ghazaan were a match for any forces some noble could afford to field in his remote manor house.

The sound of the gates creaking open again drew his attention. Harsk turned to look, and he saw another force emerge and make their way across the scorched grounds. These soldiers looked more disciplined and better equipped, and their faces were concealed behind distinctive half-helms. The shifter recognized those helms – he’d seen them during the war. These were Emerald Claw troopers, not regular Karrnath military of ir’Sarrin’s private guard; it looked like the rumors were true.

At their head rode a tall man in full plate armor atop a black horse. His bearing was regal, a blood-red cloak flowed from his back, and his armor seemed to gleam in the moonlight – it could only be ir’Sarrin himself. The warlord drew his sword and gestured towards the trees; at once the Emerald Claw troops split into two groups and each made their way towards the forest on either side of the road. They were going to trap the Captain in a pincer. Four of them remained with their leader.

Harsk scowled, nocked an arrow to his bow and levelled it straight at ir’Sarrin; he’d probably hang for killing a titled noble if he was caught, but the shifter had his shot and intended to take it. He pulled the arrow back and let fly, but before it struck ir’Sarrin ducked suddenly to one side and the arrow harmlessly impacted the ground. The black warhorse snorted and tossed its head, but ir’Sarrin rested a hand along its neck to calm it and raised his gaze to the trees, where his eyes met Harsk’s in a direct line. Ir’Sarrin had seen.

Harsk swore as the warlord and his guards closed in.

///

Rinnean slowly turned the doorknob and stepped into the room that lay beyond. So far, the upper floor of ir’Sarrin’s manor had been largely deserted, and most of the rooms he’d investigated had proven to be guest chambers that looked like they hadn’t been used in some time. He was beginning to grow irritated, both with the lack of progress and with ir’Sarrin’s taste in art, which seemed to be entirely restricted to the patriotic Karrnathi pieces and military scenes that could be found everywhere in this gloomy place. Rinnean didn’t regret breaking ties with his family – far from it! – but at least when he worked with them, he’d been able to break into aesthetically pleasant places.

This current room, while no less gloomy, looked far more promising. Rinnean crept inside, quietly shutting the door behind him, and took stock of the situation. The center of the room was dominated by a large darkwood desk that stood in front of a window; the desk was topped with several books and scrolls, along with what was either a humanoid skull or a disconcertingly accurate replica of one. The walls were lined with shelves filled with further books, and in one corner there stood what appeared to be a human skeleton in full armor propped up on a display stand.

“Now, this is more like it,” Rinnean murmured to himself. Thyra had said that ir’Sarrin probably kept the map in his study, and that was certainly what this room appeared to be. Slipping behind the desk, he paused to flip through several of the books to make sure the map hadn’t been hidden between their pages; no luck. Out of curiosity, he glanced at the titles, but most of them were in languages he couldn’t make out; one was an ancient Elvish dialect that he could read a little bit of, but Rinnean had never been the most attentive of students when it came to purely academic pursuits, and he couldn’t recognize enough to get a good sense of the meaning.

Sighing, he put the book down and moved to the scrolls. The first he unrolled wasn’t a map and also wasn’t written in a language he understood, but something tingled in the back of his mind as he tried to read it. Magic, Rinnean thought. This scroll was a wizard’s device, and he had a feeling the others were as well. Thyra hadn’t said anything about ir’Sarrin being a wizard but he must have one on his staff, and as Rinnean glanced around at the room’s décor, he had a feeling he knew exactly what type of wizard this room belonged to.

He was snatched from his thoughts by the sound of the door handle turning. With nowhere else to flee, Rinnean dove under the desk, curling himself into a ball in an effort to be as unobtrusive as possible. If he was lucky, whoever was here was just going to drop something off, and then they would leave. If he wasn’t lucky, he might well have to fight his way out. Listening carefully, he heard the person’s footsteps approach – they were light, possibly a woman’s or an elf’s – and he tensed as they rounded the desk and stopped. He could see a pair of booted feet and slim legs in black trousers, along with the end of a black staff, but nothing else; their owner likely couldn’t see him, though, unless she – he thought those looked like a woman’s legs – were to bend down and stick her head underneath.

She stood there for several long moments, and then turned as if to leave. A soft sigh escaped Rinnean’s lips, and he cursed himself mentally for the lapse; for a moment, nothing happened, and then the end of the staff shot under the desk and struck him hard in the ribs.

Rinnean scrambled to his feet and drew one of his knives, turning to face his opponent – a professional-looking elf woman in a black uniform of military cut, a predatory look on her pale face. “Naughty, naughty,” she said. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to trespass where you don’t belong?”

Rinnean shrugged. “Probably,” he said, “but I never was much good at learning what I should have.” He lunged for her with his knife, but the woman darted lightly to the side and brushed his arm with one hand, the faint words of a spell on her lips. Sudden, unnatural terror coursed through Rinnean’s veins; he was able, barely, to stifled a scream and thereby preserve some measure of dignity, but still his stumbled back, body shaking and a cold sensation filling his insides. Scowling, he raised his knife hand again, only for it to be caught in a cold, vice-like grip.

The woman was grinning at him now, and craning his kneck back Rinnean saw that the skeleton he’d taken for mere decoration had come free from its stand and now held him caught fast. He tried to twist aside, but the skeleton’s grip was too strong to break, and suddenly it had caught his other hand as well and lifted him off his feet to hang suspended in midair in front of its mistress.

The woman – the necromancer – stepped forward, her eyes glinting coldly. “Coming here was a mistake, friend,” she said softly. “But you don’t need to worry about dying, not yet. My lord will want you alive for questioning. Sleep well.”

Speaking another incantation, she seized Rinnean’s face with one gloved hand. A sudden rush of cold and pain shot through him and then all went dark.

///

“Damn,” Len swore, straining her ears as she listened to the sound of ir’Sarrin’s guards smashing through the underbrush. Evading them at first hadn’t been difficult, but then the sounds had intensified – the warlord must have sent out further reinforcements, and these had a plan. They’d cut off her attempts at escaping, and now seemed to be herding them back in the general direction of the road.

Something came whizzing through the air and Len dropped to the ground, pulling Thyra down beside her as the arrow shot overhead and embedded itself in a tree. That had been too close. She waited quietly for a moment, then got back to her feet, pulling Thyra up alongside her and starting to run in the direction away from where she thought the guards were. That wasn’t what Len particularly wanted to do – she was now heading where the guards had been trying to herd her – but better that than running directly into their blades.

“We may have to make a fight of this after all, kid,” Len panted as she shoved a branch aside. “You got any spells that can do some damage?”

Thyra’s eyes were wide and frightened, but she nodded once. “A few,” she said. “I’ve never used them on someone before, but I think I can manage it.”

“Good,” Len said. “Get ready. We’re probably going to be forced to take a stand sooner rather than later.” Thyra nodded, her expression now serious.

A moment later, they stumbled out of the trees and onto the narrow road that led to Sarrin. Ghazaan was already there, his massive greatsword held easily in his hands as his eyes scanned the surroundings for enemies. He started briefly when he saw Len, then nodded. “Hey, boss!” he called. “I think ir’Sarrin’s got more people out here than we realized!”

“You think?” Len shot back, allowing a bit of irritation to creep into her voice. She gestured to Ghazaan and she and the hobgoblin took positions on opposite sides of Thyra; the captain drew her own sword and let her magic flow through it, causing flames to rush down the blade.

A moment later, Havaktri and Yhani stumbled onto the road as well; Len breathed a quiet sigh of relief to see that the elf was unharmed. “We were ambushed!” Havaktri called as she ran towards the rest of the group, taking up a position near Thyra. “Ir’Sarrin must have dozens of soldiers out there, as if he planted a dragon’s teeth and they all sprouted from the ground.”

Len ignored her – an ability to filter out the surreal was often necessary when talking to Havaktri – and turned to Yhani for confirmation. “It is true,” she said. “I caught a brief glimpse of some of them, and I recognized their helms. There is no doubt that ir’Sarrin was housing Emerald Claw forces in his manor, as well as his private guards. They attacked us, but seemed to be holding back. I think they want at least some of us alive.”

“Of course they do,” Len muttered. “And here they come! Ready!” A number of shapes burst out of the trees, a dozen or more. Some of them wore the plain uniforms one would expect from a noble’s hired guard, but others, as Yhani had observed, were plainly dressed as Emerald Claw troopers. They surrounded the mercenaries in a circle, fanning out around them. Len swore quietly. Even counting Thyra, they were still outnumbered more than two to one.

None of the enemy made any moves to attack, and then from Sarrin’s direction the sound of pounding hooves echoed up the road. An armored figure on horseback came riding up, with several more Emerald Claw soldiers on foot following short behind. The rider had something slung over the back of his saddle, and Len’s eyes widened in shock when she realized it was Harsk.

“What have you done to my scout?” she demanded, her voice snapping through the night air.

“He’s only unconscious,” the rider said, his accent rich and aristocratic and somehow familiar, though Len couldn’t place where she’d heard it before. “But he won’t be alive for much longer unless you do as I say.”

“Lord ir’Sarrin, I presume?” Len asked. “I’d curtsy, but as you may have noticed, we’re in the middle of something.” She gestured with her sword towards the warlord’s guards encircling them.

“I don’t know who you are or why you attacked my home,” ir’Sarrin said as if he hadn’t heard her, “but in Karrnath, we do not take such things lightly. I have one of your comrades captive, and you are surrounded and outnumbered. Surrender now, and I may be willing to show mercy to some of you, once I’ve questioned you to my satisfaction. Resist, and you will die, starting with the shifter. The choice is yours, but I warn you – my patience isn’t infinite.”

Len looked over her shoulder at her companions, saw Thyra’s wide, terrified eyes, Ghazaan’s determination, and finally Yhani’s calm, steady gaze. The elf met her eyes briefly, and then gave a slight inclination of her head; Len returned it and then shifted her gaze to wear Harsk lay unconscious across the back of the lord’s horse. Finally, after a long moment of silence she raised her hands, extinguished the flames on her sword, and let the weapon fall to the ground. Behind her, she heard her companions do the same.

Ir’Sarrin seemed to smile behind his helmet. “A wise choice,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re not entirely unreasonable.” Riding forward, he passed between his guards and stopped in front of Len, regarding her for a long moment before drawing his sword.

Len tensed, but ir’Sarrin swung his blade back and struck her hard against the side of her head with the flat. There was a burst of pain, and all became blackness.

///

That wasn’t exactly how Len and Thyra intended this evening to go! Not only did ir’Sarrin have more troops than they were expecting, but in stat terms I made him and Irinali both several levels higher than our heroes, and while I’m certainly not running the action scenes using the game, it helps to establish that the bad guys have a leg up (ir’Sarrin’s class is cavalier, by the way). Even with the information Thyra had gotten from her mentor, they still went in underestimating the people the they were up against, with disastrous results. Nobody died here, if anyone was wondering, but everyone is now ir’Sarrin’s prisoner (except for Valyria and Pitar, obviously). Next time we’ll have some more revelations, and maybe see how everyone is going to get out of this…

-MasterGhandalf