Chapter Six - Murder Is The Night

"Commander!", the shout was somewhere between a bark and a roar and Dior turned slowly to watch the hulking colour sergeant bounding up the steps to the command building.
"Report, Pinkerton.", Dior said in a low tone and it seemed to the sergeant that his commander had an eerie talent for being heard no matter how softly he spoke. Pinky had learned from first hand experience that when Dior was his most hushed it meant that his deadly tactical mind closing the net on another victim.
"Captain Tress wishes you to know that the mobile armoury, triarge and mess facilities are standing by and ready to move. He also wishes to know if you need any of the war engines loaded?"
Dior shook his head while looking out across Nimsberg, the secret training camp of the Sabre Regiment, "They'll be no use to us, Pinky." Was all he said and then turned to continue up the steps into the command building.

Pinky didn't let the dulcet mood of the commander worry him, very little worried the colour sergeant of the Sabre Regiment. Under normal circumstances a regimental colour sergeant has to be tough, holding the men in order through brute force of body and will so that officers could exercise their authority without being sullied by facing men down. It had been said all through the Vedian Forces that sergeants define and keep the body of a regiment in check while the officers make the head. If Pinky defined the sabres then they were super-humanly strong, covered in scars and with an almost mythical status for surviving. Tress would no doubt be glad to hear that he didn't have to arrange any of the cumbersome war engines to be loaded on wagons, the logistics officer had been awake for the last thirty-six hours making preparations for departure from Nimsberg. Though Tress was technically superior to Pinky, he made the wise decision of treating him as an equal; believing that a sergeant and officer work toward a common goal. Besides Pinky was at the pinnacle of non-command rank, colour sergeant of the Sabres, finest known regiment of men, there was never any chance of him entering the officers ranks with no noble patron or notable family member to sponsor him. His ascendancy had been by the sweat of his own brow and if he was honest with himself then he might admit that the gentle, controlled command of an officer was not his style.

From the corner of his eye Pinky noticed a familiar trio huddled into the recess behind the briefing rooms. Known throughout the regiment and further as the 'Three corporals', these men were as quick with the sword as they were with their unique brand of humour.
"What's going on here ladies?", Pinky bellowed from just a few feet behind them. The three snapped round as if pulled to attention by unseen hands. The usual complement of corporals to a unit in the Vedian Army was one, but Dior had increased it to three for his own tactical reasons. Whatever those reasons were the results spoke for themselves, Sabre was the most feared Vedian regiment anyone could remember.
"Nothing is going on Colour Sergeant!", barked Paddy, a veteran of two campaigns and hero of several dubious mess hall tales.
"Then what do you have on the water barrel behind you laddie?", Pinky's stare could boil a man in his boots.
"It's... ahem... Pipe Major Brown's pipes Colour Sergeant.", Paddy answered in a deadpan fashion. He knew the other two would agree that evasion at this point was itself pointless, being caught red-handed if you will.
"Well let me have a good look at them then, ah, I see. With the aid of a few balle reeds inserted into the sack here you hope to start our departure for Bannermane with something like my backside after two weeks of iron rations. That's the idea is it my beauties?"
Pinky grinned in a twisted way which defied comprehension by the three men who stood motionless before him. He let them stew for just the right number of heartbeats and then tossed the pipes to Jones who caught them deftly while never appearing to lose his stance of 'at-attention'.
"I haven't seen you here lads, if Pipe Major Brown catches you though I'll have you hauling logs from the swamp to the parade ground for a full day. Aash lads but I do love a good joke."
From grinning face it was difficult to imagine what kind of joke might be Pinky's style of humour but the three relaxed noticeably.

Pinky marched off like a beast from the pit that had been taught military posture, his vast torso braced and his bovine neck holding his head straight and proud. He entered the main training ground where the strange sound of practice weapons filled the air. Sergeant Roust observed grimly from the sidelines, a short stocky man he was a full eight inches shorter than Pinky but was built from stern stuff. "Our little jaunt to Bannermane may be sooner than we thought Roust, don't wear 'em too thin."
"News from the 'em upstairs Pinky?"
"Dior's getting all quiet." Growled Pinky.
"We know what happens just after that. Play times over. TORBIT, ROYD, LOVELL. GET YOURSELVES AND THESE BLACK HIDES BACK TO BARRACKS. PACK 'N INSPECTION IN A TEN-SUN.'
"See you on the road Roust. Keep 'em eager. Gotta check in with my gentleman.'
"Cheers Pinky, see you in the bar if we don't leave by sun-down.'
With that Roust quick marched after his departing unit and Pinky headed to the supply building, Tress's headquarter for the regiments logistics.

Once inside the low building Pinky stood in a formal at-ease while Tress was talking to a battle-mage, one of four assigned to the Sabres.
"I'll be with you shortly colour sergeant.' Tress said over one shoulder, never taking Pinky's presence for granted, not like some of the toff officers that Pinky could think of. The demi-warrior talking to Tress looked oddly out of place in his jerkin and trousers, his boots were those of a fighter but the candle-men, as they were affectionately known, never wore even leather armour.
"...must be in tight bunches of eight to get the full effect.' Finished the battle mage.
"That's going to be mighty tricky Fystal. I'll have a word with Pinky and the three corporals and see if they think they can make it happen. We mustn't forget that our men, however well trained, would need to pull this off in action.'
"Just an idea, Tress. Bear it in mind."
"Darn good one too, you chaps are darn bright. If you get any more flashes of inspiration let me hear them." The battle mage was fairly young for his profession, about thirty and seemed encouraged by the officers attitude, he gave a sloppy salute, where his hand should have been sharp and horizontal, stopping short of the left of his chest it was actually a rather weak slap on the torso. Unpractised, noted Pinky.

"Sir, the commander orders to pack no war engines."
"How did he seem to you colour sergeant?"
"Quiet sir."
"Alright Pinky old chap I'll get my shaving kit all pack up. Got the men resting have you?"
"Aye all on light duties sir, too light for some it seems."
"How's that then?"
"Wait till the Pipe Major try's to move us all out sir. I wouldn't want to spoil it for you."
"Those three been up to no good eh? I leave that at your discretion Pinky, though a good laugh might set us out on the right foot."
"We going straight to the problem then sir?"
"Not quite. We'll be joining with the Royal Cavalry on the Asten-Coralis border."
"Baby sitting is it sir?' Cackled Pinky. 'Not quite sergeant, the Royal horses have been bolstered and should pack a pretty punch, they are more than three times our number."
"So it's a case of no-horse-without-foot is it Captain?"
"Let's hope so Pinky. Let us hope so indeed."

Dior rode onto the hilltop that was serving as a command post with two of his captains following behind. Tress, sharp as a new razor and evenly tempered. Junas, noble fighter through and through, with almost preternatural skills and the undying loyalty of his men. Dior took time to watch Junas duel with other sabre swordsmen when he could as the captain had curtailed these challenges to but one a year due to the demand. It was only by using the heirloom his uncle the counsellor to the Duke of Lough had bequeathed him in his will that he could truly appreciate the perfection of Junas's fighting form. Willing the copper wristlet into action he could slow his mental passage through time and observed others at one quarter the normal pace. In such a state he could observe the union of every one of Junas's actions that conformed to the elegant plan of defeating his target. It had even occurred to Dior that should he ever be killed on the field of battle he would prefer it to be done by a swordsman like Junas. There was some dignity in losing to such clarity of force. Dior's infallible memory let his glittering mind toy with this and a dozen other topics while noting the figures of the Lord Protector and another commander standing on a low wooden platform in the failing light of dusk. As he approached he recognised the handsome features of Danal Pluris, commander of the Royal Lancers. Tress and Junas dismounted and stood to attention while holding the reins of their animals. Dior did likewise but handed his reins to Tress. The commander climbed the half-dozen steps up the platform and saluted the Lord Protector.

"Sabre Regiment ready for duty Lord."
The ornamental armour of the Lord Protector glinted with orange highlights of the dying day and he nodded his head to Dior, the long black and grey mane of his hair swaying with the motion. Lord Protector Estalyn was not to be judged by the foolish garb of his office, he was a capable and justified marshal of the Vedian land forces.
"Take up position south of the great sea road commander. Occupy the western field and prepare any field work you find necessary."
A notable look of disappointment passed across the face of Danal but he said nothing.
"Thanks to the Lancers and the Asten Swords this secondary landing has been stopped in it's tracks. I want this dealt with in short order so we can return regiments to the primary front."
Dior's face had not changed from the dutiful expression that he first wore on mounting the platform but his tone carried the barest hint of a question.
"It will be difficult to reach Bannermane boundary in short order from the western field Lord."
"You will move in after the central charge. I hope that's clear."
It was all too clear to Dior whose internal machinations showed him possible futures as others might work out the distance to a nearby tree. The Lancers and Asten Swords were depleted to half strength by holding the march of this new landing, the Crown Infantry was situated across the central boundary in a holding pattern. With this arrangement the Protector could only be intending to use the Royal Cavalry as his hammer to smash the invaders grip on Bannermane. A dismally wrong choice, with the regiment being made of two-thirds untried men across uneven territory with no run-through to break out the charge and turn on the other side. Why would the Lord Protector, a fine general make such a choice. He wouldn't. The commander of the Cavalry was the king's second son, Prince Shartos. Undue pressure must have been brought to bear to deliver his regiment as heroes. Since there were no easy wins on the main front the King had no doubt viewed the allegedly smaller invasion at Bannermane as a chance to shower his son with glory. Dior picture the proud king hearing none of the Protectors warnings phrased as suggestions. Shartos would charge Bannermane and route the aliens from the shores of Vedian then take his heroes to the front and raise the courage of all around him. In his mind's eye Dior saw the dutiful Lord Protector break his composure and plead with the King only to be cut down. He could almost smell the duty burning on the brow of his respected Lord. Shartos will lead the charge. Shartos will die trying.

Breath leapt back into Speck's straining lungs and for a while all he could do was convulse in a fit of desperately ragged inhaling. Joseph tried to steady him with his hands upon Speck's shoulders and as he did so he noticed tiny ice crystals on the left side of the youngster's tunic, there was frost over the boy's heart.
"Season's preserve us!", exclaimed the shocked hunter from behind Joseph's shoulder. While still in some degree of shock the former sailor tried to piece together some plan of action, whatever had happened it was directly linked to the book and so that threat should be dealt with as soon as possible. He pried the tome from Speck's grip and shut it, fastening the catches on it and handing it to Febra. "Find some packaging to bind this thing up, don't open it or undo any of the catches.", he ordered. Speck seemed to be rapidly recovering some colour and there was almost no trace of the ice on his tunic now, "Incredible...", the shivering boy muttered and curled up on his sleeping pallet, eyes shining with wonder.

Joseph stared into the candle flame in front of him, the common room of the inn was empty, the fires dead and not a soul stirred. Every one of his friends had changed so drastically over the few short days of their trip emerging into the characters that somehow the Luff had kept hidden deep inside them. Was he changing too? Perhaps not, he had after all spent a great deal of time away from Luff on ship. Perhaps he had discovered himself earlier than the others without the need for extraordinary circumstances to draw him out. Gods he missed the comfort of the sea and the security of the ship now, somehow the order of command on board made any trouble seem manageable - orders were given and every man bent to the task in unison. Not so here. Febra was worryingly independently minded, she had conceived of this trek and in a lot of senses could consider the whole scheme her own so why should she listen to what the others said? Not only that she often seemed unstable and with circumstances playing themselves out in such a dangerous way that meant she might jeopardise the group. Arn was finding new strengths that he hadn't exercised before; leadership, will-power and responsibility. Joseph didn't doubt that he would do anything to preserve the group but again there was danger that he might decide independently what was good for the rest of them, like that little deception about crossing the rock plains. That just left Speck, the most changed of them all. The Luff had treated him like a child for his entire life, mocking him, underestimating him and denying him the right to prove himself in any way. Outside it's influence Speck had become reckless, impetuous and hungry for vindication. There was no doubt that he was upon some personal quest that Joseph could only guess at, he hoped that he would like the Speck that finally evolved as much as he had the childhood friend. Loneliness filled the sailor far from the nearest coast and further still from the bow sprit of the Dusk Returner where he longed to stand and lose himself to the rhythm of the vessel as it cut through the black diamonds of the night sea. He looked vacantly at his own hands in the weak candle light, callused palms and fingers hardened by honest work, hands that had never once wielded a weapon against his fellow man. It seemed to him then that fate had been mistaken and placed him on a journey intended for another.

"Lost in thought?", said a familiar voice from behind him.
"Wondering if I made a mistake leaving the Luff and the sea. It all seems such a good thing for the rest of you Arn but it worries me. I get the feeling I have may have left the best life for me behind."
The hunter sat himself at the table and looked sympathetically at the boy. "I'm glad you're here. Speck certainly needs you. If you do nothing else you stop us all getting beyond ourselves Joseph. At the end of this trip you might at least know that you don't want to leave the Luff, that must be worth something eh?" Something in his friend's voice reassured him, a tone that what concerned the man was the best for his comrade, Arn was changing into a something special that much was for certain.

"Let us fetch a brew and sit outside, I do not care for the confines of wall and roof on a night as glorious as this" Arn left for the bar and ordered two mugs of mead from Annabella, who cast the huntsman a wry smile. Joseph followed Arn through the outer doors and the pair sat upon the ground resting their backs on the inn wall. The air was cool and the sky had begun to cloud over, leaving a translucent feel to the night that drew over Bannermane. Arn looked up, studying the sky, trying to pick out the few remaining stars that had yet been removed from sight, when he finally spoke it was with a loud and vibrant voice, "I feel I have made a friend already. Perhaps my name and reputation come before me. Arn the hunter. Arn the lover! Ah, what stories the bards would tell in times to come, dear Joseph." Joseph smiled at his friend, "I know not of what you say, yet your passion and tone make light of any concern or ill that I may bear." Arn looked down and slapped the young mariner sharply on his back, nearly knocking the broth from his grasp.

"You have been at sea too long, the cold air has numbed your wits and cooled your blood. Do you not recognise desire when you see it! The mistress of the house wants for me I surmise. To look about the scant population of this area I should be not surprised, her current selection is far from grand, yet it could be some time before I keep such company again. After all, it is a wholesome night and my need is rising, perhaps you can throw a little more light on that."

Joseph was taken aback by the hunters words and had Arn taken the time to look he would have seen it in the young man's startled face. Casual relations were by far unusual in the Luff, whether in or out of wedlock. Yet he found it difficult to come to terms with, his experience with the opposite sex was minimal, the pinnacle elapsing in a short time at the back of the minters with Taln, the younger daughter of the innkeep. A feisty and excitable girl, whose love for all things piscine went along way to smoothing Joseph's passage into her arms. More than his own shortcomings was Arn's natural confidence that left him feeling uncomfortable, or if he had been true to himself, slightly jealous. He wished he had a quart of his friends confidence and bravado. His thoughts turned to Febra and he could not hide the reason why, even to himself. Still he felt a deep longing for the girl and although he was sure his passion was derived from love, the tension inside gave more to passion than any traits of purity. There was something about her, he could not rationalise it to himself, let alone anyone else and certainly did not care to share it with Arn.

They finished their mead in quiet contemplation, Joseph announced he was heading to bed and picked himself up from the ground. "Don't wait up", Arn said as they ambled back into the common room. Joseph shook his head and proceeded to mount the steps up to the second floor.

Febra was crouched behind the stable area, set off slightly to the south of the main entrance to the Inn. She had not come out to talk with the others, rather listening intently to their discussions. She had wandered outside earlier to stash the artefact discreetly inside the small hut, were only two aged steeds stood tied to their masts. As she tucked the old tome behind the hay at the rear of the animals, she contemplated her own personnel quest and the notion that what she had set out to accomplish, no longer seemed to hold the importance as it had in the long nights under cover in the market of the Luff. It was not the party that had steered her from the course but rather the old warrior. His gruff manner and short patience had only sought to endear him to the girl. To her he had been all that she had hoped to find in Tantagel, when all the hate and loathing of a lifetime had been swept away. A father figure, perhaps truer than any bloodline she could have dreamed of discovering. He had eased the lust inside her that burned for vengeance and the demons that had tormented her for so long seemed quiet and distant.

Iain sat in a large wooden chair, warming his feet from the cooling forge. The blue pipe smoke he blew into the air drifted slowly in shifting clouds about the items of his trade that hung from the workshops beams. The weed was a gift from an old friend and its shortening supply made him realise how long it had been since he had stretched himself from Bannermanes borders. It had been a graveyard all those years ago, to warriors and fighters and still as a ghost of its former greatness it had the same effect on those that dwelled within its crumbling walls now. He found watching the billowing smoke a form of meditation, allowing his mind to turn to new projects he could undertake. He still had the gift of thought and the rigidity of self purpose, that could not be taken away as easily as status.

His first clue that he had visitors came when the cobalt clouds were thrown into chaos by a sharp gust from the smithies door. Six garrison men entered, stamping their boots and poking around his shop in a way that made Iain take an immediate dislike to them, his work was too personal for people to just prod and heft; that was just downright rude.

"It's too late - come back in the morning", he shouted. The obvious leader came around the bench that separated the shop from the work area and leant one hand on the hilt of his broad weapon strapped to his belt.

"Were not here to buy smithy, but to ask questions."

"Then go to the inn, a few ales well get you all the tall tales you can carry." The shopkeeper shifted his weight and moved to a standing position to observe the man closer."

"We will my fat friend, we will in good time. First I'm going to ask you and answer me straight or you my regret doing otherwise. Our journey has been long and arduous and I have little patience left to bandy around." The leader was tall and unnerving to look at for any length of time, the one thing. Iain thought, this man had was patience."

Nonetheless this was his shop and no one came here demanding anything, looking the soldier up and down he brought his large fists onto his hips and gestated to the door. "Little men should be careful what they say, it might get to the Duke. My patron list is long and of a quality that should concern even the highest of officers." This was no lie, his customers though not as ample as he intimated were of good stock. His merchandise was known to many and he had dealings with both Asten and Pluris Tarans.

The leader smiled wryly and a fear began to travel down the smithies back, he suspected this was no garrison officer but no discernible marks on his cloak, wrapped close about him, gave indication of his position. He changed his tact quickly, "It has been a long day sir, I have been hasty in my words. Perhaps I can give you directions to the Inn, so that you can freshen yourself after your journey. The ale is not the best in the land but it serves to dull the night chill."

The soldiers eyes never left the smithy, neither did they warm to his change in tone, "Indeed you can, first though I would ask if you are aware of any strangers or travellers that have passed though of late, or anyone that stays here now?" As he spoke the tall man's fingers rotated the hilt of his sword slowly. Iain was careful not to look away for any length of time, rather coughing and carefully sneaking a glance at the weapon. It was a broadsword, of that there was little doubt, sheathed in a worn scabbard, plain and leather. The faintest glance was enough however for the smithy to notice the curious and brilliant craftwork on the hilt. It was carved from a dark wood, nothing like the bark imported from across the seas. Rather a material he had only seen once before, in Pluris the capital of Vedian at the university. It was the mark of the protectorate of the council that hung in their halls of meeting. He could not remember the emblem inscribed but the darkest of wood he could not forget. He had asked and heard all the tall stories the market had to offer, casting them aside as nonsense. Until he had met with a man of great repute, a scholatic whom confirmed the materials origin, hewn from the trees of the Malevolence. The hulking beasts that spawned from the ground, hurtling into the sky, surrounding the ground that few would walk on.

Iain steadied himself and tried to piece together a smile, "There are, many strangers that come and go, can you offer me more of what you seek? I would of course look to aid you in any way I can."

"A party of four, young travellers, four men and a woman. You would ingratiate me if you could tell me something of them." The soldier slightly turned his head and for a moment the smithy feared he knew was looking right inside him. Searching for the information he sought or perhaps realising the shopkeeper had not always been so.

"Ah yes," he replied, "such a band travelled though her a few days hence but I believe they moved on."

"Did they travel with any others and what was their business?" The soldier leaned forward until his face lay within inches of Iain.

"For their business I could not say, I keep my own counsel and do not interfere with others. Yet for my knowledge they travelled without further company."

The soldier held his position for a few moments, processing the information and then smiled once more. "Our thanks for your aid, now if you could point my men and I in the direction of the inn, we will leave you to your business."

Careful not to hurry them away, he recounted the directions and wished them well, falling short of asking them to return at any future time. As the last sound of boot fell on the open ground Iain slumped onto the bench and thought of the old warrior and his young charges. He was no hero and self preservation was always a high item on his agenda, yet he had done what he could, what any man would have done faced with the Captain of the Protectorate to the High Council.

From his position, laying dozing on a common room bench nearby the hearth, Rundell could see everything that was going on in the inn. He casually stirred, grumbling about the comfort of his pack under his head but he had a good view of the latest entrants to the quiet drinking house.

Keeping his eye cracked open on the side of his face shrouded by shadow, he saw what appeared at first sight to be three garrison soldiers. What immediately worried him was all of them were in their early twenties, strongly built and just the hilts of their swords betraying fine workmanship. Bannermane was a stop posting - used to usher old soldiers into retirement or keep the truly undignified fighters safe from themselves. These new arrivals did not fit any of those patterns.

Another trio of suspiciously able men came in and tried a little to hard to make a show of being nothing to do with the first group. Rundell had seen enough already. He rose to sit up on his bench with great stiffness, rubbing his crotch and peering around as one seeking relief from the evenings drinking. Once he had got to the stairs, careful to stay out of the light of the burning fire, he dropped the sleepy posture and quickly climbed the stairs, marching down the corridor to the room they had rented on arrival. Once inside he shut the door so quickly it startled the sleeping Speck.

"Get our all stuff together quickly - we have trouble."

Joseph, who had been sleeping on a blanket on the floor a few feet from Febra's bed, pulled himself up and awakened the girl. Rundell recounted events surrounding the new arrivals and his fears to them all.

Joseph realising Arn was not in the room, grabbed at the old man's shirt, "Arn is not here, I think he was with the mistress of the house.."

Before he could continue, Rundell stepped in, "I know exactly where is, two doors down the corridor, get him Joseph quickly and return, we have scant time to waste."

Joseph pulled on his shirt and run out the door and into the corridor, there was no sign of anyone around but he could faintly here voices from the common room below, he thought to knock but then remembered the look on Rundell's face and proceed to march straight into Annabella's room. The huntsman slept, cradling the mistress of the house in his arms, her head resting on his full chest, he stirred as Joseph moved to the bed.

"Rundell thinks we have trouble, we have to leave now!"

Arn shifted himself from the bed, careful to not awake the sleeping woman. He grabbed his trous, flung earlier onto the floor and unable to find his shirt moved out of the room with Joseph in tow. He briefly turned back to the room and smiled at the sleeping Annabella before silently closing the door. By the time they had returned everything had been packed by Febra and Speck

Rundell went to the window of the room and peered out carefully, seeing no guards in the alley below he opened it and leaned out.

"Don't fall out will you? Febra half invited in an attempt to make light of an increasingly tense situation.

"Girl, someone in this inn is being readied for a royal gutting. Now we are the only lodgers and none of the driftwood soldiers garrisoned in Bannermane could do anything that might merit this much attention. So its us or a really big mistake and these sword notchers don't look like the type to make mistakes."

Speck by this time had his pack slung over his back, "Back stairs?" he asked.

"Still take us through the common room, look here though." He pointed out of the window and showed them where the inn abutted onto the outer wall of Bannermane. The upper storey of the building was thinner than the lower, leaving some roof on their side all the way to the wall.

"You can be sure they do not know I'm with you or else they'd have got me in the common room. Guess their working off information from when you left the Luff. So here it is then, I'll keep lookout downstairs, you get out and onto that wall, take it east and I catch up to you on the road out." The old warrior held each of their eyes for a second and then turned for the doorway.

"I would stay here and watch with you Rundell, I know not why we are sought out by these men but I suspect it is no fault of yours. I would not have you fight our battles, it is more than we could ask."

"Well fortunately for you Master Speck, it is not less than I will give." Rundell turned again to face the young scribe, then swiftly grasped his hand and pulled him close until the old mans mouth was parallel to Specks ear, "Time is everything laddie, I more than most know that. Do not pursue that which will come to you, rather savour the moments before, they are all too fleeting." The old warrior moved away, passed a final nod to Arn, is if to confirm with the hunter the group were now under his charge.

"Be quick for love of Vedian! I don't want to be hanging around any longer than I need to." He waited just long enough to see Febra, the last of the group, exit through the window and make passage onto roof. Rundell went back out of the common room and bolted the door behind him. As the trooper was at the top of the stairs preparing to go back into his drunken act, he could the voices of at least three men at the base of the staircase. No way down now and a pitched fight on the stairwell was not his style, he needed room to wield his weapon of choice. He thought hard off any ruse that might delay the men, given the party precious time to make their escape. He cursed himself for not arming for all eventualities, his old corporal would not be pleased. This was a knife fight or a short sword at best, if he could not gain access to the common room this could be short lived.

Having weighed up the options he backed up a couple of feet from the top of the staircase, maximising the available space he drew his weapon. He would make them fight as they reached the top of stairs, who knows they might fall back down and break their necks, somehow he doubted it.

They spotted him quickly enough as the three turned to climb the stairs, they shouted to alert any others and drew their weapons, long swords not ideal either given the confinement of the area. There was no way to fight three abreast and even two might easily impede one another, so the last ended up skulking a few steps down, awaiting his chance.

Rundell let the handle of his ball and chain waggle in his hand, like some poor old buggers do when their arm goes - he even stood with his feet close together to give the impression of a novice. His opponent a well built man in his twenties, with a sharp square chin, grinned and came in with what should have been an overpowering first strike, either to remove the weapon from the old warrior's grasp or go through his defence a score a strike. Rundell side stepped and sloped his blade to deflect the over confident blow, letting it follow through and over balance his opponent. A quick half shuffle to the left and a flick brought the heavy ball up into his adversaries groin with a crunch. While the man stumbled to the floor, Rundell used the opportunity to snatch his sword and let his own weapon fall to the ground. When eventually the wounded man slumped in front of him, he cut him at the back of the neck deeply.

As the second man approached it was a greater caution, Rundell put all trickster thoughts aside now and stood balanced, as wide a stance as he could allow, sword firmly ready, eyes gauging the way his latest attacker moved. The new attacker was left handed which proved detrimental in the narrow hallway as he had to come at the old man from the right side of the stairwell to avoid his fallen colleague below. The blood from the victim was now pooling across the floor, giving little doubt he had now expired.

Rundell exchanged a few sword blows with the left handed man, little more then 'how-do-you-do's' until he was satisfied of his opponents capabilities. The second round of attacks came dazzlingly quickly and even though he had been expecting them, the old trooper defended with difficulty, it had been to long since he had parried and thrusted with a blade. In response he feigned to the right but instead of following up with a left attack he feigned again to the left and swept on the man's right side. His opponent was quick and able and normally would have read the assault, defended and countered all of Rundell's moves but the blood on the floor made him lose traction. His back foot slipped out automatically raising his blade arm which Rundell slashed across the wrist, with the weapon out of commission he followed through piercing the breastplate and deep into the chest.

By now help had arrived on the stairs and instead of the third man standing up, he stood aside for a tall, brutal looking soldier accompanied by a another bearing a loaded crossbow. With a modicum of respect, the tall swordsmen made a show of respect to the fallen men then smiled in a crooked fashion at Rundell. It was that gesture that the warrior recognised and from it memory unrolled like a woven rug.

"Where's that pretty Captain's uniform?" Rundell said, careful to not drop his guard.

"O, I don't like to get blood on it Rundell" The tall Captain slowly advanced, hugging the right hand of the staircase, ensuring he did not eclipse the crossbowman's target.

"I make sure you don't get a chance then shall I?" the old warrior reposted as he lunged at the Captain. The tall man was quick and agile, he smashed aside Rundell's attack and drove him back a few paces, so he was clear of the bodies on the ground.

"What little beauties have you got inside there, eh? He gestured at the locked door that Rundell was now level with.

"You won't get in to find out, their too decent to understand a word from the likes of you anyway."

"Look how high and mighty you are now, a protector of men? Was it not so long ago you were nothing but a renegade and traitor! Do you look for redemption in the arms of babes now old horse?"

Another blistering offensive put Rundell almost against the end of the corridor. The Captain swung right and a crossbow bolt ripped through the old troopers shoulder, pinning him to the rear wall. It was all Rundell could manage to put his sword in his left hand and hold it up.

"Now, isn't this pretty?", said the Captain snidely, "Perhaps we'll get to have a little fun with you after all."

"You ain't fit to wipe a real soldier's arse, that's why only the council will have you and your ilk."

The Captains eyes seemed to burn for a few moments, then he raised his sword up to Rundell's throat level. Too weak to hold off it off the pinned man just grinned and said, "Even the council think your some jumped up dog, do they reward loyalty with a juicy bone?"

"You know nothing of loyalty brigand!" The Captains fury could hardly be held at bay as his sword pressed at the old man's throat.

"Perhaps not but you do not even know what your being loyal to"

Arn had seen the last few moments of the fight through the hallway window, from the eastern section of the wall. He sent the others on but stopped and strung his bow, when Rundell was pinned he hurriedly notched an arrow but had to calm himself before taking on the shot. It was seventy, maybe eighty paces to the window, no wind, the brute levelling his sword was all he could see but from the attitude he knew Rundell was alive. He breathed out and held the target steady, then slowly inhaled until his expanding lungs and back seemed to thoughtlessly release the bow string, all the time his eyes and mind considered only the target.

The shaft smashed through one of the window panes and crossed the Captain's collar bone, it was made too high by the refraction of passing through he glass. The tall man roared in pain and stumbled out of the view of the window. A second quarrel pounded into Rundell's chest from the crossbow and the old troopers head slumped forward, the sword dropping from his grip and landing at his feet.