Alliances

When the sword-wielding guards went down, the Lioness stood up, cradling an armload of brass chains. She had been working on them for hours, sawing away with the file slipped to her by the masked stranger. She began breaking apart the weakened links. From a distance, it looked as though the elf woman had supernormal strength, tearing apart metal with her bare hands. New panic erupted in the crowd.

A slave driver, whip in hand, scrambled onto the stone platform. The Lioness planted a foot on his chest and shoved him back into the melee. The whir of approaching arrows drew her glance upward. With uncanny accuracy, the volley fell in a neat circle around her. People who had ventured too close to the obelisk retreated.

The Lioness stood over her fallen executioner. The ogre was still breathing. She drew one of the flensing blades from his belt and swiftly cut his throat. Too bad the beast didn’t wear a sword.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a green-clad figure spring onto the fountain beside her. She turned, knife in hand, and found herself facing a Kagonesti armed with a forester’s maul.

“I’m Nalaryn—a friend! The Masked One sent me!” he cried.

“Those are your people on the bows?” He nodded. “Good! Let’s get out of here!”

This was not so easily done. A space three yards wide had opened around the fountain, but as soon as Nalaryn jumped down, ten bandits stormed forward, hacking down anyone who got in their way. The Lioness dragged her would-be rescuer back up.

With maul and knife, the two Kagonesti fended off the soldiers. A shower of arrows arrived to help, but the missiles were fewer than before. Nalaryn’s archers were fighting their own battles. Above the heads of the boiling mob, Kerian could see mounted, lance-armed bandits boring in as well.

“Now what?” she shouted.

“Trust the Great Lord! This moment has been planned!”

Indeed it had. When the riot erupted, the Nerakan soldiers realized it was their time to escape. They slashed at the hinges of the cage door. Using the door like a battering ram, they bludgeoned their way clear.

Jeralund shouted to his men, “Open the other cages! Free all the prisoners!”

The unarmed Nerakans cared only for their own hides. Ignoring the sergeant, they promptly disappeared into the panicked mob. Jeralund cursed them as cowards and led his three armed comrades down the line of cages, cutting the hinges on each door. Slave drivers tried to drive them off, but with swords in hand, the soldiers could not be deterred. In quick succession they opened all the cages. Humans, elves, a gaggle of goblins, and a pair of dwarves poured out. Many of the liberated were in poor condition and could do little more than hobble away. Others put themselves at Jeralund’s disposal. Unfortunately he had little to offer beyond encouraging words. It was every man for himself.

Lord Olin’s lancers at last managed to cut through the mob, a dozen riders laying about indiscriminately with their weapons. Hard wooden shafts knocked friend and foe alike senseless. Breaking into the open by the slave cages, they rode hard at the escaping prisoners, impaling several before the rest swarmed over their horses and dragged them down.

A red-haired Qualinesti with a gash on his forehead appeared before Jeralund. He was leading one of the lancer’s horses. The sergeant was taken aback when the fellow handed him the reins. He could have taken the animal for himself, but he presented it to the human who had set him free. Jeralund swung into the saddle and extended a hand to the elf.

The Qualinesti declined. “This is my city. I stay!” he cried and dashed into the mob.

From his higher vantage, Jeralund could see a fight still raging around the fountain. He hesitated but a moment before smacking his horse’s flank with the flat of his sword. The animal sprang toward the distant fracas.

Nalaryn and the Lioness had their backs to the obelisk. Thus far they’d fended off every attempt to storm the platform. The lancers had been drawn off by the escaping slaves, but the Kagonesti archers had ceased firing too. A solid group of bandit foot soldiers had surrounded the fountain and showed no signs of giving up. They were inching closer. They well knew the penalties Lord Olin would exact if they allowed the Kagonesti female to escape.

After knocking out an especially persistent bandit, Kerian tossed a quick thank you to Nalaryn. “This is a much better death than I expected to have today, brother,” she panted.

Nalaryn swung his maul, catching a bandit under the chin and sending him flying. “The Great Lord will come,” he said. “Have faith!”

Kerian almost laughed. Faith? He sounded like Gilthas.