Derek Ward

It remains a mystery how Marteen the Scythe and Ela the Huntress found themselves on a modest farm in the heart of the dwarven lands. Yet, upon closer reflection, one cannot help but sense the invisible hand of the Goddess at work. It seems that the divine foresight knew the Madrigal siblings would be summoned to undertake the perilous mission of rescuing the Crystal Blood. Thus, they were sent to a place that would temper and mold them into the heroes they needed to become. Why else, indeed, would two dwarves accompany them on this momentous journey to save an elven princess? – Jol Kol, excerpt from “The Heroes’ Journey”

KURT

Kurt twisted his shoulders to loosen the straps on his armor. He didn’t remember the leather and chain being so tight across his chest. Or so heavy. He certainly didn’t remember the armor being so damn hot. It didn’t help Marteen looked comfortable in his much heavier crystal plate armor. Kurt trundled over to where Marteen was talking with Chief Constable Dalan, Major Agnelli, and Rin. The group was standing on the roof of the five-story Bank of Lisandra building. It was the tallest building outside of Aponte Hill and provided the best view of the Purists.

“You’ve brought what, ten rangers?” Marteen asked the human major.

“Twelve, including Sergeant Acciaio and Corporal Morelli,” Major Agnelli replied sharply, “It’s what I could legitimately commit. The embassy is treading on very shaky ground, Hero Madrigal. Technically, my rangers are assisting local volunteers in a covering action so Rangers Acciaio and Morelli can hunt down a wanted sorcerer to bring back to the Republic. I can’t turn out my entire cadre and leave the embassy without any rangers for one suspect. If I were strictly following regulations, with the threat posed by the Purists, I would need to bring all of my rangers inside the walls to assist our guards."

Marteen scowled but didn’t protest further. He spent several silent moments watching the outer city. Several of the wide boulevards and many of the narrower side streets were full of people fleeing towards the protection of the Aponte Wall. Whatever constables Dalan could spare trying to direct the flood. Fortunately, the constables were quietly supplemented by several dozen of the Knifehand’s men in “borrowed” constable uniforms.

“The volunteers are chomping at the bit. The inexperienced ones, at least,” said a new, deep voice. A short but powerfully built elf in traditional chain and leather armor stepped onto the roof. Sergeant Axe, so called because of the pair of half-moon battle-axes at his belt, commanded the three volunteer companies. Putting a sergeant, even a veteran like Axe, in charge would normally rankle the lesser nobles among the volunteers. Except for the small fact Sergeant Axe earned a reputation second only to Marteen the Scythe during the War of Reclamation. Even the rangers gave the stocky elf a wary respect.

“To be expected,” Dalan said. “Most have no idea what’s coming.”

“The Knifehand’s folks take care of their scouts?” Marteen asked.

“We think so, but either the Purists sent in fewer scouts this morning, or the Knifehand’s people missed a few,” Dalan answered. In an odd twist of necessity, the Knifehand’s thugs and assassins working in the outer city were reporting to Dalan and his senior constables. Dalan was shocked when his favorite fruit vendor showed up at his door earlier in the morning to hand over a bag of ears from Purist scouts. Dalan was sure the old man took a few of the ears himself.

“Major, can your rangers play scouts and harassers?” Marteen asked.

“It’s what we’re good at doing.”

Marteen barked harsh laughter completely devoid of any mirth. Kurt only heard Marteen laugh that way on a few occasions. It was never a good omen.

“Yes, I remember quite well,” Marteen said and traded a knowing look with Sergeant Axe. Their reminiscence was broken by the whoosh of heavy objects hurtling overhead. Kurt looked up to catch a glimpse of a large iron ball, about the size of an ale cask, sailing over the building. Kurt watched as it punched cleanly through a three-story apartment building about five hundred yards from them. The building shuttered before collapsing into the street.

“How under the Goddess are they doing that?” Marteen shouted. “That was nearly a two-mile shot with a trebuchet! Not even cannons fire that far.”

“Magic,” Rin answered.

“The Goddess would never allow Her grace to be used like that,” Marteen said.

“Didn’t say it was the Goddess’s magic,” Rin said.

“If you’re correct, that would be confirmation Shafford is on the field of battle,” Major Agnelli said, “You and the corporal best see to that, Sergeant.” Rin braced to attention before dashing back down the stairs. Four more iron balls passed overhead. They destroyed a glazier, a silversmith, and a general store. Smoke rose from the wreckage of the glazier. Dalan ran to the stairwell and yelled at his subordinates to get a fire party out. Marteen traced the arcs of the artillery and let out a stream of curses.

“The Aponte Wall,” Marteen said once he managed to exhaust his inventory of swear words. “They’re trying to crack the Aponte Wall.”

“That’s impossible,” Dalan said, “Nothing can crack the wall.”

“They think they can,” Marteen observed.

“What happens if they do crack the wall?” Axe asked.

“Ask Selene, but I’m willing to bet a thousand Imperials the Barrier couldn’t be raised,” Kurt answered. “If I remember correctly, the wall is just a large focus object for the magic of the Barrier.”

“But the wall is impregnable,” Dalan argued.

“The wall’s tough, but anything can be breached, given enough time,” Kurt said. “It’s one of the reasons the Empire always made sure to keep the dwarven lands under their thumb. Given enough time, we could figure out how to break any jewel-spun structure.” The elves stared at Kurt in shock.

“Do you think they have dwarves with them?” Dalan asked incredulously.

“The Purists are worse than most elves in how they regard dwarves,” Kurt answered bluntly. “The point I was making is these people could have figured out a way to break the wall. Especially if they are magic.”

“I need a company of volunteers and a company of constables and some of the Knifehand’s better thugs,” Marteen said.

“You’re getting that wild look in your eye again. What are you planning?” Kurt asked cautiously.

“I thought we’d stroll over and take out those trebuchets,” Marteen answered.

“Marteen, there are four thousand Purists between us and those siege engines,” Kurt said with exaggerated patience. “You cannot attack four thousand with less than five hundred and expect to do anything other than get everyone killed.”

“Relax Kurt, I know what I’m doing,” Marteen said, with his characteristic smile firmly in place. Damn the man. Why couldn’t he stay the calm professional for a bit longer? Worse, the others accepted his mad scheme.

“If you get me killed elf, I’m going to pull you out of Paradise and drag you to the Dark Cavern with me,” Kurt said. Marteen just laughed.