Well, thus far it looks like all the love is going to the dwarf. I suppose this story doesn't have its "Benzan" character yet...
It's time for the Friday cliffhanger:
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Chapter 51
Dannel leapt up smoothly into the window, catching the sill and pulling himself through in a fluid motion. He quickly leaned back out and caught Zenna’s hand, drawing her up after him. After helping the wizard through, he turned to assist the cleric, who’d grabbed onto the sill but who despite a determined effort couldn’t quite pull herself up.
“They know we’re here, they’re coming!” Mole hissed, loading her crossbow while she peered out through the gap at the edge of the curtain. There could be no doubt, now, that intruders had gotten into the inn; Arun continued to clank and clatter as he awkwardly rose to his feet, immediately making for where his hammer and shield lay on the floor near the window.
“Hey, who’s hidin’ in there?” came a call from beyond the curtain.
“Lookie like we missed one!” added a second voice, obviously female, but no less menacing for that.
“Yeah, come out, we won’ts hurt ya,” added another. By the laughter that they heard, it was clear that Mole’s assessment about the intoxicated state of the bandits was accurate, but none of them were foolish enough to believe that this would make their foes any less dangerous.
“They think that we’re from the inn, not from outside,” Zenna whispered. “We can use this to our advantage, catch them by surprise...”
But Arun had evidently had enough with temporizing, for no sooner had he picked up his weapon and shield then he roared a dwarvish battle cry and burst through the curtain.
The common room of the Lucky Monkey was a sprawling interior space larger even than that of the Morkoth, with a long, cuving bar facing the barricaded front doors that had to be at least thirty paces long. The tables and chairs that filled the room were in disarray, with a lot of the furniture turned over or scattered against the walls. But the most pressing matter was the cluster of armed figures approaching the alcove there the companions waited. There were six of the bandits in all, a mixture of men and women, all humans with hard looks on their faces. Four were clad in chainmail with heavy steel shields and longswords, with the other two bore studded leather armor, with slender rapiers in their hands and small bows slung across their backs. All wore the red sashes that Mole had noticed earlier, wrapped around their forearms.
Their reflexes softened by ale and harder drink, the bandits were caught momentarily off guard as the dwarf appeared and charged into their disordered ranks. Arun’s hammer slammed into the armored chest of one of the warriors, driving him back several paces. But even intoxicated as they were, it quickly became clear that these foes were not mere novices unused to the press of battle. The warriors hefted their blades and assaulted the dwarf with powerful strokes that clanged loudly against Arun’s shield and plate armor, while the two rogues darted in at his flanks, trying to find a gap in his defenses through which they could thrust their rapiers. Arun grunted as one sword glanced off of his helmet, opening a narrow gash in the side of his head. Another warrior, a woman who seemed a bit more wobbly than the others, missed him entirely, swinging her sword in a fumbling attack that clipped one of the rogues in the shoulder before he could dodge out of the way.
“Watch your blade, fool!” the man hissed at her.
“Get out the way then, Alleybasher!” she retorted, trying to recenter herself for another attack as the storm of blades crashed about the dwarf.
“There’s plenty of dwarf to go around for all of you!” Arun roared, sweeping his hammer around in a broad arc, driving his foes back. He caught one of the fighters with a glancing blow to the arm that spoiled his attack, but grunted again in pain as one of the rogues, a red-haired woman with a scar ruining an otherwise pretty face, thrust her rapier into a gap in the armor covering his left hip.
But Arun’s companions had not been idle, and they rushed quickly to his aid as the battle swarmed around him. Mole, unable to get a clear shot into the swirling melee, dropped her bow and rushed forward, drawing her slender sword as she came. She targeted one of the fighters surrounding the dwarf, flanking him in turn as she stabbed at his exposed backside. Her sword failed to penetrate the chain links of his armor, but the attack did draw his attention, and he spun to face her.
“You should have picked on someone your own size, little gnome,” the man hissed, an evil smile crossing his features as he hefted his sword, several times the size of Mole’s diminutive weapon.
But before the warrior could attack, his eyes grew vacant and confused, his already alcohol-befuddled mind clouded by the power of Zenna’s daze spell. His sword lowered, its tip touching the ground as he held it slackly, and his shield dropped, leaving an opening that Mole was quick to exploit. Lunging inside the tall human’s reach, Mole slipped her sword up into his gut, forcing it through the chain mesh into the soft flesh and organs underneath. The daze gave way to pain too late to save the bandit, as he staggered and slumped to his knees, trying to hold in the blood pouring from the vicious wound.
“That cut you a bit down to size, eh?” Mole said, as she drew back, her blade red in her hand.
Back in the alcove, Dannel heaved and pulled Illewyn up through the window, stumbling a bit as the cleric tried to grab onto the threshold and make it into the room beyond. The sounds of battle spurred him on as he unslung his longbow and strung it with a practiced motion, drawing an arrow out from the quiver across his back and fitting it to the string. Darting out the far side of the curtain, opposite where Zenna looked out from behind its other side, he quickly sighted a target, drew, and fired. The shot looked good, but Dannel had overcompensated to avoid the risk of hitting Arun, and it glanced off of a bandit warrior’s greave, caroming harmlessly off to stick in the wall behind the bar.
Muttering an elvish curse, the elf ranger reached for another arrow.
Arun was finding himself hard-pressed as the bandits pressed their attack. Another blow caught him before he could block, the bandit’s longsword coming under his weapon arm and hitting him solidly in the side. The stroke did not penetrate his heavy armor, but he nonetheless felt the force of the impact sting painfully against his ribs. The bandit warriors, even the women, were strong, and their drunkenness did nothing to interfere with the raw power of their chaotic swings. If one of those landed a lucky hit, he knew, he would be in trouble.
But the dwarf did not relent, even surrounded by foes. The one he had injured in his initial charge rushed forward again, screaming a battle cry, and Arun met him with a downward stroke from his hammer. Too late the fighter saw the danger, too late to avoid the impact as the hammer caught him squarely on the forehead. The thin metal foreplate of his open-faced helm provided little protection as the hammer hit with a sickening crunch, and the bandit flopped backward to land in a flailing heap upon the floor.
“Bastard!” cried another of the warriors, a homely young woman with close-cropped black hair, as the man went down. She lunged at Arun, but the dwarf brought his shield around, catching and deflecting the blow. But a moment later pain erupted again in his back as the rogues struck once more, and he felt the strength begin to slip from his limbs, flowing out of his body with the blood that seeped from his wounds.
“Blasted bloody sneaks!” Arun growled, knowing that he couldn’t turn to face that threat, not with several fighters still pressing the attack right in front of him. But he knew that another hit would finish him.
Mole saw the dwarf’s situation, and was already rushing to his aid. She tumbled around the edge of the battle behind one of the rogues, flanking her as she came smoothly back to her feet. The woman saw her coming and tried to adjust, bringing her rapier around into a defensive stance. But Mole was faster, using the momentum of her roll to power her thrust as she stabbed her sword deep into the woman’s leg. She screamed and fell backward, barely keeping her feet as she staggered back from the melee. Mole let her go, instead turning toward the second rogue, who had spun back from Arun and shifted to face her.
“You won’t find me such easy prey, little one,” he said, spinning the tip of his rapier through the air before lunging forward toward her.
The injured woman rogue fell against a nearby table, using it to support her weight as she hurriedly wrapped her sash around the bloody wound. Instead of fleeing the battle, she unslung her bow—a mistake, as it turned out, as Zenna’s crossbow bolt sank into her chest, dropping her.
Arun faced off against the two remaining fighters, holding them at bay with sweeps of his hammer, defecting their attacks with his shield. The seriousness of their situation was beginning to set in through the haze of alcohol, but they also knew that their foe was grievously hurt, each step the dwarf made leaving a patter of blood in his wake. Near the double doors, another curtain fronting another of the private dining alcoves was flung open, and another pair of bandits lurched into the common room. The reason for the delay seemed pretty obvious as the man was still fastening the draws of his trousers as he entered the room, and the woman’s shirt was half-open, revealing a single white breast. Neither was armored, but their weapons were out, the man with a longsword and the woman with a rapier, and they quickly rushed toward the fray.
“Bria!” shouted the rogue facing Mole. “Get Tongueater!”
In response, the open-shirted woman veered away from the melee, making for one of the doors that exited the common room for other parts of the roadhouse. She only made a few steps, however, before a shaft streaked across the room, catching her hard in the side. Without armor to stop it, Dannel’s arrow bit deep, throwing her against the bar. She gritted her teeth and actually started to move forward again before a second arrow hit her squarely in the throat, ending the matter quite decisively.
“You’ll be joining the others soon enough,” the man threatening Mole said. With his attention on the gnome rogue, he didn’t see his companion go down, but his eyes darted left and right as he pressed her, and he was clearly aware that more of his side were down on the hardwood floor than of the enemy. But he pressed his attack nonetheless, thrusting at Mole’s head with a sudden lunge. Mole narrowly dodged the thrust, countering with a quick riposte that drew a shallow gash along the rogue’s forearm.
“Not bad,” he said, drawing back. “But I am still bigger, and faster.”
“Perhaps, but she’s not alone,” Zenna said, walking slowly up to the pair, holding her loaded crossbow pointed at the man’s heart. “Surrender, and we may spare your wretched life.”
The rogue glanced over to where the other newcomer had joined the fray, lunging at Arun’s flank while the dwarf continued to fight off the other two remaining fighters. He saw the woman lying dead by the bar, and his expression darkened. “I don’t know what she saw in that fool Pierto, but I had a soft spot for Bria, nonetheless,” he hissed. “You’ll pay for that, I swear it!”
He lashed out at Mole, and this time his rapier scored, penetrating the links of her chain shirt and stabbing into her shoulder. The gnome darted back, favoring the wounded side, even as Zenna fired. The rogue was expecting that, though, and the shot merely clipped him as he dodged to the side, bouncing off one of the metal studs set into his armor.
Facing now a third attacker, Arun found his situation even more serious, and his arms felt leaden as he tried to adjust. There was no way he could avoid being surrounded now, meaning that a flank attack would likely penetrate his defenses sooner rather than later. Indeed, as he deflected the newcomer’s first attack with his shield, the woman behind him lifted her sword, bringing it around in an arc that would intersect solidly with the back of the dwarf’s head...
“HALT!” cried Illewyn, her mace extended, her holy symbol held in her other hand. The word echoed with the force of divine power, and the swordswoman obeyed, her sword frozen in mid-stroke.
“Thanks, lass,” Arun called out, before shifting his full attention to the unarmored man who’d just struck at him. “Here’s a little lesson about assaulting a paladin of Moradin without puttin’ on your armor,” he said, before driving his warhammer with the full force of his strength behind it into the man’s torso. Pierto may have won over the Alleybasher Bria, but he couldn’t escape his due as the blow crushed his ribs and knocked him sprawling to the ground. Somehow the man remained both alive and conscious, and even managed to slowly get up, still holding his longsword.
Arun turned to the last warrior, just in time to take another hit that caught solidly on the crossbar of his helmet. The dwarf staggered, his head spinning.
Then he fell, landing hard on the floor in a clatter of metal armor.
