Alright, we're now getting into the realm of stuff that I'm probably going to cut. Why? Because my first draft more or less was a lot of character building for me, and now I'm going to go back, finish outlining, and restart in hopefully a month or so. So until then, I'll continue tossing out pieces of story for people to read so that I can fulfill my posting obligations
Summary: They met with Prelate Sargoth, and he sent them off to fetch two of his acolytes while he dealt with other matters.
The rain had reduced to a light drizzle as the pair of them stalked across the steppes. The ranch they could see was a dim outline on the flattened horizon of vast open expanses of Lorhal. Saul brushed his thin beard with one of his hands. Mert looked back at him. The rain had flattened his graying hair, and his triangular beard on his chin was still damp from the rain.
“Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“I’ll wait and see. I’m not going to spend very long running errands for Sargoth while he assembles his favorite lapdogs and sycophants. He’s up to something,” Saul said. Up to something didn’t even explain half of it. Sargoth was a shred one, no doubts there, and he always had a goal in mind. There was more to his agreement than what had appeared on the surface, and Saul intended on figuring it out.
“Have you given any measure on how to get this mercenary on our side?” Mert said.
“Some. Everyone has a price. I think I can stall her for a bit at least until I can get a better idea of her character. She’s under Sargoth’s employ at the moment, so I’ll try to extend that little contract as long out as I possibly can,” Saul said.
“Maybe you can trick her into staying under Sargoth? So he pays the bills and we reap the benefits?” Mert said.
“It’s possible,” Saul said. “I’d prefer to leave him as little reason as necessary to turn against us. In either case we need him to take control of Thorozean. Not just taking control as well, but hold it. Once we do hold the area, we’ll be hard pressed to hold onto the region. I need someone who can work logistics to find a way around that. Thorozean is already weakened and when we hit, everyone who has been looking for a chance will jump.” Looking for a chance didn’t begin to describe it. The Lorhalian Khan was technically allied with his southern Thorozean neighbor, but that didn’t stop Lorhalian hussars from moving through the uncontrolled regions of north Thorozean without any concern. “Thorozean is on a knife’s edge, and the Praa seems to be the only person in the region that doesn’t recognize it. The Khan will move in fast if there is even the slightest hint of a weakening regime. Blackwell too. The Circle of Oak wouldn’t turn a blind eye to having the chance to enclose the Shintaur gnomes.”
Saul scanned the plans. Light dots moved across the horizon towards the ranch. “Shintaur would go after it for precisely that reason as well. They don’t care about the land or the cities in Thorozean. The Shintaur Paramount is smart enough to know what would happen if he got encircled.”
“Speaking of encircled…” Mert said, his voice trailing off.
The dots on closer inspect appeared to be hussars, converging on the ranch from further out in the Steppe. Mert and Saul instinctively dropped close to the ground and out of line of sight. Saul distinctly recalled Sargoth’s words about raiders and bandits in the area but he cursed the odds that they actually would manage to happen upon them anyhow.
He nodded back towards Mert and the two of them crept forward through the light vegetation of the Steppe. Their path brought them less than two-hundred yards away from the ranch, just in time to see the riders surrounding the front door. Some were lingering around still on their avian mounts while a few had gotten off their cockatrices and were approaching the house. The large birds squawked amongst each other, swishing their long tails back and forth across the ground.
Their calls sounded out over the plains and their acrid smell was sharp on the wind. Blast it all, not again. Saul got a good look at the mounted men still idling in front of the house. Just as he suspected, they weren’t hussars. While they still wore the standard ensemble most Lorhalians wore, several wore handkerchiefs wrapped around their faces, and their attire was worn and muddy beyond the norm. None carried any sign of allegiance to one of the local lords as well, identifying clearly their identity as steppe raiders.
Saul took a quick headcount. There were eight of them total, three of them dismounted and approaching the ranch. The reins of the riderless birds were held by the idling raiders that were watching their allies’ movements closely. Those not holding reins carried very finely crafted muskets held across their laps. The three approaching the ranch stopped at the door.
Saul’s hand gripped the heavy mace he wore at his side, while Mert fingered his own claymore that was strapped to his back. Things were probably going to turn ugly fairly quickly. Saul, using the battle-signs both of them had developed over twenty years past, passed a message to Saul. Move around and flank to the side of the house. Mert nodded.
The darkening effect of the still cloudy skies masked their movement through the grasses. The ones who had knocked at the door stood waiting for an answer, and chattered amongst themselves. Probably checking to see if anyone was home. If they ran in with guns blazing they could find themselves in trouble quickly. Mert recalled a similar event some decades past where half a dozen robbers tried storming a fisherman’s hut that Mert and a dozen other veteran soldiers had been using for shelter. Evidently these bandits were smarter than that and were first checking while posing as officials of some sort. No answer came, and the three at the door turned to go back to the rest of their party.
Mert continued moving only to suddenly pause. The door clicked open, and the bandits turned to look. A boom like thunder cracked across the Steppes, and one of the bandits crashed to the ground. One of the cockatrice mounts screeched an ear-splitting cry as it stumbled to the ground, a victim of the passing bullet.
Saul remained crouched against the ground as the bandits ran about in disarray. Several of them scrambled to load their guns, while another tried to urge his mount forward. When cockatrices got into close quarters they became a frenzy of talons, feathers, and sharp jaws.
Mert came into view edging around the house. The man crouched closely to the walls with his claymore in hand. Saul caught his eye and signaled for him to stay back. To Saul’s relief, Mert understood the signal and remained still.
An unearthly scream ripped through the air a moment later. Saul turned to the house, looking for the source of the. A man appeared in the doorway bolting towards the bandits like a feral dog.
He was easily past his sixth decade, and had the look of a vagabond who hadn’t combed his hair once. His scraggly hair whipped behind him as he ran, and his dirty alchemists robes fluttered with each step. Each of the man’s hands held a small vial but at this distance Saul couldn’t tell what was contained within.
The man continued his war cry as he ran at the bandits. Several of the raiders broke away from the group with terror creased over their faces. The wild haired alchemist threw his arms forward, hurling the vials like rocks. Saul hoped the man was a far better thinker than thrower, for one missed the closest bandit by twenty feet and the other overshot a mounted bandit by at least ten.
Both exploded with flames that burned so intensely that Saul had to look away. When he looked back, fire of the most brilliant blue had been summoned on the steppes. The blaze spread like a flood of water through the grasses and set raider and vegetation alight. A few heartbeats later the spread of the fire stopped leaving an inferno several yards in diameter. One raider turned into a human torch that shrieked as he writhed in the grass.
A cockatrice with its plumage a brilliant conflagration was ran into the distance, shrieking loud squawks of pain as it raced off to Daiya-knows-where.
Crazy was what Sargoth had said. The alchemist would be Malchanor, the maddened runaway the Prelate had told them about. Which meant the markswoman, Lilo, lurked somewhere in the area as well. She must have fired the first shot.
The bandits who had not fled instead stood their ground as they loaded muskets. The decision on the bandit’s part not to preload was wise in the rain of the earlier day, but was no a poor choice.
Saul stood and nodded to Mert. The older man raced around the corner of the house, swinging his claymore like a farmer at harvest. Saul held his mace close, and raced into the melee. The raiders were edging away from Malchanor who had a menacing look in his eyes as he fumbled about in his pockets. One man finished loading his musket and aimed. A shot from the ranch’s front window rang and clipped the man’s head off. His headless body fell to the ground.
Saul crashed into the closest man like a lightning bolt. The mace slammed into the man’s legs like a blacksmith’s hammer, and the raider shrieked in pain as his legs snapped. A down-sweep from Saul silenced his cries.
“Ambush from behind!” one of the raiders shouted.
A rider urged his cockatrice towards Saul. The animal screeched as razor sharp talons flashed through the air, and Saul threw himself to the side. The bird leapt after him ready to bite.
Saul bashed the animal on the skull. The glancing blow had little force behind it, but the bird still shook from the impact. The rider on top was taking aim on Saul when the bird spun away chattering in pain. The bandit gave a yell of rage and readjusted in his saddle, trying to get a shot off.
Saul took the opportunity to knock the legs out from another man who jabbed at him with a long hunting knife. While the man fell, Saul rose to his feet, and slammed his thick boot into the man. He felt the snapping of ribs as his blow impacted.
Mert swung past Saul like a whirlwind of steel. The claymore flashed and spun through the air, cutting the head off of a cockatrice and sending a raider to the ground, holding his entrails in his hands. The decapitated of the cockatrice stumbled about and a sickening rasp came from the stump of the animal’s neck before the headless beast fell to the ground and trapped the struggling rider beneath its lifeless bulk.
The cockatrice that Saul had smacked recovered from the blow and was back in the fight, slashing and biting at him. Saul rolled between the animal’s legs, and came up behind it. He swept the mace in a wide arc aiming for the animal’s flanks. The blow cracked into the cockatrice’s chest and the snapping of bones broke the air. The beast shrieked in pain, but raced back towards him. Its rider had finally thrown his gun aside in desperation and pulled out a spear.
The raider jabbed down towards Saul with a thrust that Saul dodged with a deft side-step. Years of honed reflexes aided him as if he were twenty years younger. To his experienced eyes, the spear moved at a snail’s pace. Saul’s mace snapped the haft like a twig.
His follow-through slammed into the bird again, shattering more bones. The cockatrice screeched and fell to the ground. The rider yelped as the bird crushed his leg. Saul put both out of their misery with powerful slams from his mace. Another musket crack and the last mounted survivor, already fifty yards away, fell from his mount. The mount gave a pathetic cry before it ran on.
Saul turned toward the house and a vial shattered at his feet. He flinched, but instead of the explosion of fire, an odor, like sweaty feet, filled the air. The liquid around his boots coagulated and hardened. Elixir of immobility. The goo would set instantly, leaving him completely immobilized from the ankle down.
Saul looked to Mert who was trying to pull his feet apart. Malchanor stepped towards Saul but stayed out of swinging distance. The old man’s face was morose and serious as he looked at them.
“You’re not one of them,” Malchanor said in a gruff rasp. “You don’t smell like raiders. You’re with the Guild, aren’t you? Another glory seeker come for the reward?”
“You’d best unstick us or—“ Saul started.
Malchanor laughed. “I’d best unstick you? Ho, that’s rich! You must think me stupid! When has a demand like that ever convinced anyone? Assassin, you’d best remember the name Malchanor Hamagesh. It is the last name you’ll remember. “
“You should really—“ Saul started again.
Malchanor interrupted him again. “Why do you waste my time with such awkward demands? You know they won’t…” he trailed off. The man looked over Saul’s shoulder.
“You think I should?” he spoke. “They smell like Guild assassins. They’re after the… no. No. No. No!”
Saul looked to Mert who held a confused expression. Saul held his mace out to test the weight and balance. He was more than a decent thrower. Malchanor stood only fifteen feet away and was close enough to hit with a thrown mace. The alchemist continued talking with an invisible entity.
“Killing them would work,” Malchanor said. “But do you think it would matter? They’ll keep coming, no matter how hard I try. I won’t ever—“
“Ever be sane,” a voice finished. The woman wore a light duster and wide brimmed hat on her head. Her hands cradled a musket aimed at Saul. Her black hair ran loosely across her dark skin, save for two small braids that hung from her ears.
Malchanor continued his conversation, unaware that she had said anything. She sighed and walked across the grass to the side of the crazy alchemist. She jabbed him hard in the shoulder, and he jumped like a startled dog.
“Do you ever pay attention to anything I say?” she said.
Malchanor glared at her. “Only when you’re not spreading lies. I know all about you, Lilo.”
“Good. You should. I’ve been protecting your sorry hide for too many months,” Lilo said.
Saul cleared his throat. “As fun as this is, you should unstick us.”
“Why? I don’t know who you are,” Lilo said. “The enemy of my enemy may just be a cunning opportunist.”
“Or a stinking Guild hireling!” Malchanor said. “Another filthy rat here to—“
Lilo shushed him with a hand wave. “Everyone is a filthy stinking Guild hireling, Mal.” She looked back to Saul. “Why should I trust anything you say?”
Saul caught her eyes. “Because Sargoth is working for me now. And since you work for him, that puts you under my direct control.”
“Bold claim,” Lilo said. “And… how do I know I can believe anything you say? Maybe you really are Guild assassins.”
“They are Guild assassins,” Malchanor said.
“Fine, you want proof? Should have just given you this in the first place,” Saul said. He reached into his pocket, and grabbed the medallion Sargoth had given him. The sylthanian males kept ones like it as identification for breeding purposes. He threw the copper trinket at Lilo who didn’t bother catching it and instead watched it fall.
She kept her musket and eyes leveled at him while she knelt down and grabbed the medallion. Once she had straightened up, she took a long look at it, before finally nodding to Malchanor.
“What, that’s it?” Malchanor sputtered. “How do we know they didn’t kill Sargoth and take it?”
“Because, Mal, why would they kill Sargoth, steal an token from him, come here, risk life against raiders, and then give us said medal?” Lilo said.
“Because they’re Guild assassins! They’re relentless! They could be anyone! The Guild, they have methods that…” He looked into the distance again and paused. “Oh, an excellent idea! And if you added a half-pinch off—“
“Malchanor!” Lilo yelled. “Pay attention! Stop listening to whatever the hell you’re listening to!”
Malchanor jumped again. He glared at Lilo. “Woman! You’re making things difficult on me! What do you want?”
“Unstick them? Now.” Lilo said.
Malchanor looked at both Saul and Mert and his eyes filled with recognition that turned to rage. The alchemist muttered under his breath until he grabbed two vials from one of the pockets his robe held.
“Shoot them if they try anything,” Malchanor warned.
The alchemist edged forward, keeping an eye on both Mert and Saul as he moved. He hurled one vial at Saul and another at Mert and then bolted away. He stopped next to Lilo, and already held more vials in his hands.
Saul waited as the mixture holding his feet dissolved. When the goo fell off, he straightened up.
“Now. To business.”
Questions :
1. Gunpowder weapons? You thoughts on em in a fantasy setting?
2. Malchanor. Did he seem suitably nuts? I'm not going for a specific psychological condition here.
3. How did the action go?
4. Anything else you saw?
