Sir Gerard d'Montfort - In his own words (a tale of Anka Seth)- Updated Nov 11th

[Haraash Saan]

During that period we, the Hydra, found Ship’s Cat to be a wealth of knowledge. For a small fee she provided us with all sorts of information on the Games; who we may meet and what threat they posed, various attempted maimings and ‘accidents’ and even a list of the prices that various gamblers were paying a victory in the first round for all of the know competitors. She proved to be a friendly and helpful girl.

It was now the twenty fourth day of Burn, two days before registration in the games, and all of us, barring Moxadder, who we had rarely seen over the last two weeks were enjoying a fine evening meal. Although Ship’s Cat who had shared our meals since we made her acquaintance was yet again (it had been the third night in succession) absent.

Moxadder burst into the room, violently pushing open the door to the common room where we sat. Suddenly self conscious, most eyes had turned to see who had made such a grand entrance, he hunched down into his cloak, still worn despite the heat, and slithered quickly toward us.

“Come, quick.” He whispered, peering about conspiratorially for any eavesdroppers, as he beckoned us to follow him.

Curious we did, wondering what the most dubious of the Hydra had to say. We led us to his room, which was a tight squeeze for the seven of us, but I managed to find a relatively clean wall to lean upon.

Moxadder looked about nervously, ensuring that both the shutters on his window and the door were closed before in a hushed tone he said, “Found that Ship’s Cat girl.”

He paused, eyes darting about. We waited for him to continue, but he did not. His expression glazed over and his left cheek twitched uncontrollably.

“Well! Tell us of Ship’s Cat!” I spat, annoyed that Moxadder had not been able to stay focused long enough to give us any more information.

“Ship’s Cat?” He said turning his dumbfounded gaze to me. “’S right. I found her. Behind a door in an alley screaming real loud and painful like.” He winced at the recollection.

“He must rescue her!” exclaimed Morgan as he slapped his fist into his palm.

We threw many ideas about as to how to rescue Ship’s Cat that varied in complexity. But in the end I managed to convince them that simple and quick was the best. If we could not fool them into opening the door for us, we would simply break it down.

“Are there enough of us?” ventured Mortec.

It was at the coincidental moment that there was a hard knock on the door. “Gerard? Are you in there?” boomed Absquith’s voice.

“Who’s that?” hissed Moxadder, a dagger suddenly appearing in his hand.

“My brother you fool! Put that away.” I said. I shook my head, bewildered at the suspicious nature of the Fastendian gutter rat.

I opened the door and greeted my brother. He had heard my voice and come to Moxadder’s door instead of my own. I made quick introductions and then filled him in on our plan.

Absquith was keen to help, “I’m spoiling for a good fight! I’ve been caged in Halfast too long waiting for these infernal Games to start.”

“I could rustle up plenty of men to assist that would appreciate a real combat rather than the constant sparring they do.” He added.

“Martigan you said your name was?” Absquith turned to face Morgan, who confirmed that was indeed his family name.

“Surely your brothers would appreciate an invitation to the little adventure? They are staying in the same apartments as I am.” Absquith continued.

And soon the eight heads of the Hydra stood assembled with Sir Absquith de Swanton in full kit including his breastplate that was emblazoned with a white swan’s head, his own crest. Also with us were Morgan’s three brothers, Cereef and Kerim who were accomplished warriors and Petuvary a priest of Thuus, and also the Massive Hand, that I found when Absquith, Morgan and I were collecting Morgan’s brethren. So it was that our expansive armed and somewhat boisterous company set off to rescue a damsel in distress.

My nostrils were almost inflamed; the alley stank of the muck and refuse of the city. I pulled a kerchief from my pocket, one can never have too many kerchiefs handy, and tied it across my nose and mouth to stifle the stench, drew Eldritch Light and moved forward.

At the end of the alley Thronis, a hulk of a man from the Massive Hand, Mortec and Moxadder stood at the door that Moxadder had heard Ship’s Cat’s agony previously. I heard Thronis pound on the door.

“Let me in! Heinrich sent me!” he bellowed, trying a bluff that the resourceful Moxadder had suggested.

I could not hear the reply but the door did not open. It seemed to me that the bluff had failed. I muttered to Thronis “I do believe that the door needs to be opened.”

He looked at me, comprehension completely vacant.

“Break the door down.” I said gently.

His eyes widened and with a bellow he thudded into the lane and crashed through the door. Light spilt out showing not only the filth in the alley but Thronis’s massive silhouette. Chaos was immediate.

I managed to squelch my way quickly through the gunk. I was faced with a huge empty room, well empty of things, not people, they were everywhere. At the back of the room about two dozen red robed and shaven headed women were leaping to their feet. A few local rogues and cutthroats that were in the warehouse were grasping for weapons. Ship’s Cat lay naked, strapped to a wooden table near the wall opposite the door.

“Vrsork.” hissed Moxadder from my left.

I followed his gaze and for the first time laid eyes on my lovers rapist. He was standing next to Ship’s Cat prone form. I dashed to him and as I thrust Rumscully’s blade into his chest I shouted, “Die scum. You will not touch Melinda again!”

His expression of shock and fear were immediately replaced by pain and anger. His rat like features contorted into rage as he hacked at me with his own sword.

I twisted away from his more swing and punctured him several more times whilst evading his pathetic swordplay. He dropped to his knees and threw his sword away. “Doan kill me.” He whimpered, tears rolling from his eyes.

My rapier was quick to sit against his throat. ‘Why not fiend?” I spat.

“’Corse I got info.” He screamed in a panic, “Yeah, yeah, info you wanna hear.” He continued quickly when he realised he was still alive.

I relaxed momentarily to hastily survey the carnage of the room. I had been so focused on Vrsork that I had not noted what else had happened in the battle.

The thugs and thieves lay dead about the floor. With them were several of the red robed women. But most it seemed had rushed the door and escaped. Thankfully none of our company had been downed, and those that had not pursued the women were tending to an assortment of nicks and gashes.

Mortec had rushed up, standing upon a chair that he had found, was administering Ship’s Cat as best he could. Petuvary offered his assistance, but soon took over from the Gnome who had managed to bind the albino’s wounds but not revive her.

“Moxadder!” I cried out.

He glared pure venom at me. It was only now that I remembered that earlier he had asked that he not be named. It was the most focused I had ever seen him.

But it was too late to conceal his identity, so I did not bother.

“Come here and question Vrsork. You seem to know more of what is going on than anyone else.” I said.

He strode angrily passed me and kneed Vrsork heavily in the face. Vrsork groaned and clutched his nose. It was smashed all across his face.

“Tell me what I wanna know or yer dead!” spat Moxadder.

I remembered a vial of strange liquid that we had found in the lair of Rumscully Jack and I had claimed. Its label read ‘Understand the mind of men. Concentrate and nothing will be hidden from you.’ It was still in a pouch on my belt. I unstoppered the bottle and with a shrug discreetly swallowed its milky coloured contents. It tasted sweet like honey, but with a vinegar aftertaste that made me blanch involuntarily. My mind was suddenly a buzz with thoughts. There were so many I could not distinguish them. My head began to hurt and then I recalled the lessons that Isabella had taught me for using her scarf. Focus, concentrate, dismiss the irrelevant.

I turned and stared at Vrsock who was now mumbling a reply through teeth clenched in pain. I heard his words and then almost suddenly his thoughts leapt clearly into my mind, all other thoughts had been vanquished.

He was saying that he did not know what had been happening here. His part of the deal was to get the girl here.

As he relayed that information an image of a thin, drawn male face crept into his mind. A scar ran down the man’s left cheek. Vrsork’s answered Moxadder’s question calmly, his nerves seemingly settled, but his mind betrayed a chilling fear of the man he pictured.

Moxadder was not impressed. Neither by his prisoner’s answer nor his cool demeanour. A dagger appeared from within Moxadder’s shirt. The rogue idly used its point to pick the dirt from a fingernail, all the while never dropping his penetrating gaze from Vrsork’s eyes.

I had never seen the Irudeshian so focused! His eyes were normally a strange glossy lustre. Not so now.

“Don’t feed me that sewer troll !” spat Moxadder, “Tell me what yer and yer friends was doin’.”

Vrsork wiped the spittle from his cheek with his shoulder and sighed, “Awright. I’ll tell ye.”

Soon the villain was telling us all he knew. The man his thoughts had revealed to me was called Daregushi. Daregushi had organised to buy a huge amount of poison so that he could supply the red robed women who were actually devout followers of Geduld.

I think it was at about this time that I really began to think that fate existed. And I got the distinct impression that my own fate was inexorably linked with crazed followers of the evil death God. Just about every event that I had come across since originally arriving at Halfast had somehow been tied to the Dominions’ dark God.

Ship’s Cat had been brought in by himself because the Geduldians had thought she was asking too many questions and poking her little nose into things that it should not be in. She found out something about the purpose of strange women and she ended up in the warehouse to answer their questions.

As Vrsork spoke my mind read his. His thoughts revealed that he really was a nobody in the grand scheme, just a bit player who was scared of just about everyone else and terrified of the bald women.

The thief, Vrsork was just that, worked for the Silent Way, the local guild of cutpurses and racketeers. He mentioned that he answered to Decestratus and that he would not be happy with this evenings outcome. Decestratus was not one to be trifled with. An image of a stylish and well dressed middle-aged pudgy man leapt into my mind. A second picture follow it. One of the head of a many horned devil, just like the one Moxadder had found tattooed on the lepers that had attacked the Duchess and also on the pendant on the information broker Ornamon that he had dealt with on Sorcerer’s Isle.

Moxadder sensed the bravado returning to our most helpful prisoner and punched him once again in the face. Vrsork screamed again in agony.

“Doan get cocky now littl’ man. Moxy’s calling the shots now.” Moxadder grinned evilly as he relished the position of power he held.

“So did the big man Descestratus hook yer up with these Geduldians? Were yer doing a job for him?” probed Moxadder.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘sright. He set up the meet and the job.” Answered Vrsork quickly.

His mind betrayed him. It showed two cowled men each baring a ring with a broken dagger etched into it. I suddenly remembered the very ring that Prince Brand had thrown me when we had rescued the Duchess Servessa when she had been assailed by the lepers. These faceless men were Brand’s men, the very men that escorted him into the city all those weeks ago.

This was a most interesting development. The good Prince was somehow mixed up with the Geduldian’s and the poison. But who was to be poisoned?

“Wha’ ‘bout Heinrich? How is he involved?” blurted Moxadder. I did not understand the question as I had no idea who Heinrich was, although Moxadder did try to gain entrance to the warehouse by using that name.

“Heinrich? He aint involved. No need to get him to look the other way is there?” replied Vrsork as blood mixed with saliva dripped from his mouth.

My mind held yet another face. A grizzled man in his mid-years with many scars criss-crossing his face. His grin, that sat beneath a many times broken nose, showed several gaps amongst his yellow and brown teeth. There was no fear accompanying the face, just a feeling of respect.

“Heinrich is involved!” hissed Moxadder through suddenly gritted teeth. “Tell me wha he’s upto or I’ll gut ye right now!”

Panic spread through the wide eyed Vrsork. “Ok!” he screamed.

“He is in’on it or at least paid off but I ‘aint dealt wif ‘im about it.” Sobbed Vrsork. “I honestly dunno what how much inoo it he is!”

Moxadder fought to calm himself.

I called my comrades out of Vrsork’s earshot and whispered what I had learned through reading his mind. At first they were startled that I had been able to do such a thing, but after explained what I had done they were much more accepting of what I had said.

“How much more worth is the man?” said Mortec, a faint gleam in his eye.

“None!” said Moxadder abruptly.

“I agree with Moxadder.” I said.

“So what do we do with him?” asked Morgan.

Moxadder walked to the bound man, leant over him and whispered something into his ear. Vrsork’s eye’s widened and his mouth opened to speak, but before he could Moxadder rammed a dagger into his chest with such force that both his victim and his chair fell backwards onto the dusty warehouse floor.

Moxadder’s grin faded and without retrieving his dagger he turned on his heel and stalked out from the room.

Some of my comrades were aghast at Moxadder’s action but I was pleased. I did not want to kill the man in cold blood, but Moxadder demonstrated why he can be such a useful member of the Hydra. He was willing to do whatever was necessary.

And Vrsork’s death was exactly that. We could not have freed him for it would have endangered us and alerted the poisoners as to how much we knew. We could not hand him to the city watch because whilst we were performing our civic duty they would not see the unauthorised violence that way. No, there was nothing else for it, he had outlived his usefulness and Moxadder had removed his weary soul from the world and from Melinda’s life. Both would be a better without it.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Argonne and the Martigan brothers volunteered to clear the room of the corpses, the river would be full in the morning, whilst Mortec, Stravarious and I checked with Petuvary on Ship’s Cat.

Petuvary shook his head. ‘Nay. I’ll be here all night trying to free her from the forsaken place where her soul is trapped. And even then it may be beyond my skill to heal her completely. Only time will tell.”

The brothers Martigan agreed to stand guard over the girl and the holy man, after they returned from dumping the bodies, the rest of us disbanded into the night, each going back to our own inns or apartments.

I was bursting to tell Melinda about the fate of Vrsork, sure that she would be pleased to be free of him. She still was still serving at the Inn at the End of the Road when I arrived back at the inn.

Her face beamed as she saw me stride into the room. She flashed me a gorgeous smile as I pulled up a stool at the bar and called to the barman for a tankard of Astrid’s Marvellous Mead. I swivelled on my seat so that I could watch and appreciate her fine form.

My sweet was delivering a tray full with mugs of ale to a rough and tumble group of warriors. One, with a particularly devilish leer, slapped her across the buttocks as he guffawed his thanks. His comrades could not contain themselves, laughter erupted from their group.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I could feel the outrage welling within me. Melinda must have seen it too for she came straight to me and clutched my right hand. It had found its way to the handle of Eldritch Light.

“Ignore them lover.” She soothed.

“No man should treat you like that!” I hissed.

She inclined her head and smiled affectionately and said “Ah, Gerard. Forever the noble born. Always seeking to protect me. But alas, not even the great Gerard could take on five warriors at once.”

I frowned, knowing that she was right. Three perhaps, but not all five. I swallowed my pride and said sternly, “Yes my dearest you are right. But I want you to promise me to be more wary of the gropings of the patrons. You do not deserve to be fondled so idly.”

She blushed at my concern, but almost instantly her eyes widened and her delightful smiling mouth dropped agape. “What happened? You’re hurt!” she said noticing for the first time several cuts in the cloth of my tunic and spattering of Vrsork’s blood upon it that I had not noticed.

“Ah,” I grinned falsely, beginning to feel unease at the state of my dress. “Fear not my dear. This is not my blood, but the blood of a slain foe.”

“In fact my dear I believe you will be most pleased with the news that I bring.” I continued as my confidence returned as I thought of her joyous reaction to my words. “Vrsork will no longer come between us.”

“What have you done?” she said fear and panic rising in her voice. It was not the reaction I had expected.

“I have done nothing more than what was required. Vrsork is dead. He will trouble you no longer.” I said,

“Who will look after me now? Who will take care of me? You Gerard? What will happen after the Games? Will you stay with me? Will you support me? Or do you expect me to be a whore to earn my keep?” she barraged, the volume of her voice rising with each question.

“Do you want the likes of them,” she pointed at the warriors, “to pay me for my services?”

I was shocked! Every question that was spat toward me made me reel just a little further. I almost toppled from my stool but I managed to catch myself on the bar.

I reached for her hands as I stood, noting that the bar had become silent and watched our discourse with amused interest, “Of course not my dearest.” I said as I tried to ease her increasing anger. “I would of course help keep you when I leave.”

It was obviously not the right thing to say. Quicker than one of my thrusts with my rapier her palm struck me with ferocity on my cheek. She threw her apron onto the bar top and ran off sobbing upstairs to the living quarters.

A roar of laughter exploded from the witnesses of my embarrassment. The leer who had slapped Melinda’s rump earlier stood with his tankard aloft and bellowed, “You have won the respect and esteem of a table full of drunken barbarians! Be proud!”

More mirth echoed around the room. Only my father had made me feel so shamed before. I so desired to scurry away and hide away from the choked laughter and humiliating looks of the denizens of the common room. But I steeled myself, refusing to give the crowd the satisfaction.

I smiled with false confidence and strode to the warrior who had addressed me seeking anonymity, a new feeling for me be assured, amongst his friends.

“I am Gerard d’Mowbray.” I said as way of introduction.

“Roroxs!” said my saviour as he slapped me hard on the shoulder. Perhaps slapping was some barbarian custom? “Well met!”

He introduced his companions as Urb the Quick, Vasques the Magnificent and Brome and Brask the Sword Twins. One and all members of the team Hammerfist that were due to compete in the Games.

I endured Roroxs’s boasting of his personal and Hammerfist’s successes and glories before telling some of my own stories of adventure. They were most impressed with my tales, although somewhat sceptical that I could have performed so many feats with the blade.

“You’re so small.” Said Brome. “Puny even.” Brask said backed up his brother. Both were the size of small houses and covered in rippling muscles that they were happy for all to see.

I offered a disagreeing smile. “Small I may be.” I glared at the twins, “But I am nimble and lighting quick. I am yet to meet my master with the blade.”

Vasques, so far silent in our discussion, raised an eyebrow. “Really? I am a fine duellist myself.” He patted the pommel of his rapier as if to confirm his own words.

I spent the next hour talking to Hammerfist. Whilst most were rather rough, Vasques was certainly good company.

“Perhaps we will meet in the tourney?” I said to him as I left, “I look forward to the opportunity of testing your prowess.”

“Indeed d’Mowbary.” He said with a smile. “I would relish the challenge.”

None really noticed me as I left Hammerfist to their drinking and ascended the stairs in search of Melinda. I really did enjoy the girl’s company. She was clever, funny and an exciting lover.

I approached her door with some trepidation, for I could her sobbing from within her room. I tapped gently on the door. “Come now Melinda. Let us talk.” I said quietly.

Her response was sudden and violent. The door shook with the impact of something heavy that had been thrown at it.

“Leave me alone!” she said as she choked back the tears.

“Melinda.” I sighed deeply, “In two days time I compete in the Games. I want you to be there to see me triumph. I want to wear your token. I thought that you loved me and that ridding you of Vrsork would make you happy.”

As I spoke my heart grew heavy, I really did care for her. “Perhaps it is that I was wrong. Perhaps you do not love me.”

It seemed like hours past as I lingered by my lovers door before she responded, her sobbing subsiding. “You really love me? You won’t leave me after the Games?”

“My dear all I want at the moment is to be with you. You are the only rose within the thorn of Halfast. You are my light, nay a shimmering diamond with the blackness of the pit of that is this city. You are the beacon that calls me, nay commands me to come to you.”

There was movement behind the door. The latch clicked and the door opened a crack. “You really want to be with me?” said Melinda with a sniff.

“Of course my dear.” I assured her. “I will dedicate my victories in the Games to you! That is how important you are to me!”

“And you can really stay and look after me?” she said quietly.

“I will look after you my dear. You are too precious for me not to.” I replied.

The door swung open. Melinda stood a step behind it. Her cheeks were still moist with the tears that I had caused. I smiled and gently drew her to me as I my foot softly kicked the door closed.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Chapter 10 – Fun and Games

The shrill chirping of birds outside my shuttered window roused me from my sleep. Melinda lay beside me her breathing deep with slumber. A smile of affection crept across my face at the sight of her hidden under the bed sheets.

I rose quietly and took my usual care to dress prepare myself for the day before I snuck from my room and down the stairs to join my comrades.

“Where’s Gerard?” queried Morgan in annoyance. “He should hear this.”

“Good morning!” I said cheerfully to one and all. “Here I am. Now what is it that you wish me to hear?”

“Tell ya story again Moxy.” grumbled Argonne. Obviously he had not had the blissful evening I had, but with a face like his it was not surprising.

I turned my attention to Moxadder. The purple bloated bags resting beneath his bloodshot eyes made him look somewhat more haggard than usual. He pushed himself from his seat and leant forward over the table.

“I got me some news.” He rasped as he stared intently at me.

I cocked an eyebrow to encourage him to continue.

“Dat poison we heard about last night, the stuff Daregushi supplied those weird women?” he punctuated his words with a particularly horrendous hacking cough. “Well it’s to be used tonight at the banquet.”

He raised a hand to placate the question that rose to my lips and continued, “I couldn’t find out who it was for. But my guess is that with the amount of stuff they had that it will probably be used to poison everyone, regardless of the target.”

Moxadder had indeed been busy last night. After stalking away from his murder of Vrsork he had used his vast array of disreputable villains and scum to piece together the story he had briefly relayed to me.

He had also discovered that the guards had been bribed to be stationed away from the banquet festivities that celebrated the commencement of the Games.

It was obvious to all that the assassins plot could poison everyone attending the feast, including ourselves. The Duchess, Prince Brand (no great loss) and a hundred other nobles could all be struck down leaving Halfast in even more chaos than it was accustomed.

We quickly decided to notify the priests of Laster about the scheme. They would be best positioned to act as they were the ones that actually presided over and run the Games.

Argonne and I had no luck at the Convent of the Doves; all the priests were busy in the city preparing for the Games. We were told to speak to one Father Hendus who was to be found at the registration desk.

We hurried through the ever increasing crowds. It was nearing midday and the place was abuzz with excitement.

“Place your wagers with one-eyed Casto!” bellowed a well dressed man with a beaming smile and a patch over one eye.

I noticed the thin old man from the Inn at the End of the Road, complete with his personal walking mountain, limp past Casto and offer his competition an evil glare and his potential patrons some free advice.

“Don’t let Casto trick you into one of his famous ‘safe’ bets. Do yourself a favour and see me, Fentoon for an honest bet.”

Elsewhere were the usual suspects of Cassavary Square. Merchants spruiked their wares. Zealots preached their scriptures. Even the old priest who had been calling all to praise Gerech when I had first come to Halfast was still there. He looked just as he done then, and even now the odd fresh vegetable was thrown in his direction.

Argonne and I found Father Hendus and carefully explained our discoveries. He was unperturbed.

“I hear the same thing every year.” He said in a bored tone. “Poison, murder, cheating. It’s all the same. We always find out the truth and stop anything from impacting the Games. Tonight will be no different. Laster will look over us all.”

There was no convincing the fool. He refused to listen and quite rudely sent us on our way.

My bright morning mood had ebbed somewhat to be one of slow burning anger. Why did the priest fail to see reason? Why had he not taken us seriously? I was Gerard d’Mowbray after all and I would not lie! Priest or no the man was an idiot!

On our way back to the inn I called in to Absquith to warn him of the peril that awaited us at the banquet. He had heard Vrsork the previous evening and was wary enough to ensure that the Massive Hand, Five Kinds of Death and the brothers Martigan would be told of the plot.

Morgan met us back at the tavern with some interesting news of his own. He had been to visit Petuvary and Ship’s Cat to check on her progress. She was conscious but rather groggy and she looked dreadful, but she was over the worst of her ordeal.

Ship’s Cat had said, in her lucid moments, her primary tormentors had been Daregushi, two robed men that had a sulphurous odour about them and a third cowled man that smelt of the sewers. They had thought that she knew about the plot to poison the banquet, but she had denied the claim with all honesty. She even maintained to Morgan that she knew nothing of it.

“She’s a resourceful one!” said Morgan. “Even as they tortured her she managed to somehow slip a ring off one of the sulphurous smelling men.”

As he said this he opened his palm. Within it sat the partner of the ring Prince Brand had idly thrown me. It had the crest of the splintered dagger.

So the young prince was further implicated in the dastardly plan.

Another quick discussion saw us dismiss any further thoughts of getting any authority to pay our warning any heed. Instead we decided to be ever vigilant that evening and ensure that nothing untoward would occur.

That afternoon the Hydra officially registered to compete it the Halfast Games, as did each of its members for the individual tourney. Thankfully Father Hendus was not taking registrations when we arrived.

I spent the remaining hours before the banquet sourcing some berries that I had overheard some fellow competitors talking about that apparently gave their consumer prodigious strength. Those berries were certainly something that I could use to my advantage in the Games!

 

[Haraash Saan]

The banquet was an enormous affair! Guards, contrary to Moxadder’s information, surrounded the edge of the arena, although they were some distance from the gathered masses. A huge ‘U’ shaped table was setup in centre of field of battle where we would compete the next day. There must have been more than three hundred guests and gladiators all told. All sitting under the glittering stars of night sky and the stern and proud gaze of a bronze statue of Riork, one of the champions of yesteryear. He was rumoured to still run a gladiatorial school somewhere on the southern coast of the Fastness past Port Praar.

Knights in full plate armour sat beside mages and rogues. The colourful sashes of previously successful competitors were on display for all to see. Crimson, yellow, green and silver were on display, a different colour representing a different stage of success in the Games. I even saw a few gold sashes. They signified the victors of Games past.

A second table was set a little away from the open end of the ‘U’. It seated not only Prince Brand and Duchess Servessa but also King Thurlland II himself! I had not realised that he would be here to view the Games. I thought him too ill. Even as I took my own place beside my fellow Hydras at one corner of the ‘U’ shaped table I saw him rise, assisted by a young man that had been discreetly standing behind his throne.

A pompous looking official, complete with long silk robe, marched purposefully into the middle of the arena.

“Gathered friends and competitors.” He bellowed, his voice so loud and clear that it drowned out all conversation. “May I present your King, Thurlland the second!”

The hundreds of guests burst into a rapturous applause that was quickly waved down by the flunkey.

“Welcome to the eighty seventh Games of Halfast.” said the King, his voice too was strangely amplified so that even those placed furthest away from him could hear it clearly.

I will save you the details, it was long and uninspiring, but the gist of it was a welcome to visiting nobles and wishing the combatants all the best.

Finally he gave a clap of his hands that rosed me from my doze, and declared that the feast was to commence. The old man collapsed into his throne and then I could see him no more for attendants had arrived with the first course.

Collectively we of the Hydra were wary of the magnificent dishes being presented to us, but Mortec reassured us by blessing our meals in the name of Todesmagie. Religious assurance was all I needed to before I devoured all that was before me. And I was glad that I did for it was truly delicious.

Several more dishes came and went and no one at the banquet appeared to be any worse off than they had been. Perhaps the priest had been right and Laster had ensured a safe feast for all. Sadly, for the first time in my life Laster disappointed me.

I was already half way through a succulent roasted pig when Strav whispered a warning. “My blade glows!” he hissed. “There is strong magic nearby!”

My fork paused in its journey to my mouth as I took in what Strav’s declaration could mean.

“And the serving staff have changed! They’re now all women wearing hats or scarves on their heads.” whispered Moxadder before standing suddenly and running off.

It was at this point that I really began to worry. I swallowed what I had been chewing reflectively and regretted it instantly. I was slow to pick up what my companions had already concluded. There were bald women serving food to all and sundry. The Geduldian women that had escaped us the night before had shaven heads. I had just been poisoned! And it was such scrumptious pork too!

Moxadder appeared in the corner of my vision a fair way down the table from us. He was excitedly talking to some dangerous looking black armoured warriors. They were the Son’s of Light, a faction of Gerechian’s that were even more vehement in their worship of Gerech than most.

The bearded warrior to whom Moxadder spoke rose from his seat and stretched out his arms before suddenly clapping his hands. A deep rumbling thunderclap emanated from the palms that he so swiftly brought together.

The boisterous noise and accompanying atmosphere instantaneously ceased. Heads turned this way and that trying to spy the source of the deafening sound. All soon found themselves facing the tall severe warrior that had disrupted the feast. I found myself strangely drawn to watching him. There was an awesome and frightening power about the man. I could not even bring myself to look away from him.

“There are enemies among us. They deal in deceit and lies. Even now as you chew the morsal in your mouth you taste the bitterness of death.” His voice boomed and all listened with fearful rapture.

Once again he lifted his arms, this time to the heavens. “Beloved Gerech.” He began. Just what we needed, an insane Gerechian calling to his dead god.

“I, Abbot Yodfor, call forth the Black Lords!” he cried out.

I recalled a snippet about the Black Lords. They were a legendary outfit of knights that for along time before their gruesome deaths had held the wall at Vronberg from the Dominion.

A strange black mist began to swirl in the centre of the ‘U’ shape banquet table. It turned, twisted and writhed upon itself, all the time becoming thicker. So thick that soon I could not see through it. Out of the fog stepped seven black knights. Each with the symbol of Gerech, twelve evenly spaced white lines radiating from a small white hub, emblazoned on their breastplates. As one their blades rasped from their scabbards as they took their first steps forward.

“Reveal yourself Geduld!” roared the Abbot.

The waiting staff screamed and convulsed. Some even fell to their knees. The wide open mouths of others began to foam, spittle dripping down their chins. Then the carnage began. The Black Lords launched themselves at the bald women, tendrils of the black fog trailing each of their movements.

A cry from Stravarious caused me to turn. He launched himself at the girl who had just brought us more poisoned delights on which to dine, but she nimbly stepped aside from his clumsy clutches. She did not evade Eldritch Light so easily. Whilst still seated I whipped it from its scabbard and managed to thrust it deep into her thigh even as she turned to flee.

Morgan struck her too. His Gerechian breastplate glowed an incandescent blue as power seemed to surge through him and the baton of Artyom Seth that he wielded delivered a telling strike to her ribs.

But it was not enough to fell her. She managed to scarper all the way to the waiting picket of guards. She was no longer my concern. I glanced to my left seeking a new opponent and saw Zhontell in single combat with another bare headed woman. The elf was throwing punches in rapid succession, but the Geduldian was weaving past Zhontell’s attempts as though she anticipated them before Zhontell moved.

I pushed myself up so that I could run to render assistance. But suddenly felt as though I had had too much wine. My mind was adrift and my vision was slowly spinning.

Moxadder revolved into view, still near the Abbot Yodfor. He was in hand to hand with one of the poisoners. And then he too slipped from my view.

I pinched my eyes forcing them to refocus. I looked again. Zhontell still needed my assistance. In a moment of clarity I saw only one route, the others all congested with chaos of battle and confusion.

My foot propped onto the bench on which I had been sitting, I pushed myself onto the dining table and ran. I skipped over whole roasted pigs, danced amongst the goblets and mugs and jumped over a man slumped face first in his dinner. Nary a drop was spilt or meal trodden until I prepared for the final leap that would send the thin steel of my blade through the heart of Zhontell’s opponent. I took a short step as I looked for the best point to leap from then I took the last stride designed to propel me into the fray and to skewer our enemy.

It was at that moment a wave of nausea and dizziness hit me. My stomach cramped in agony. Bile rushed upward into my throat. My vision blurred, and I missed the vital step. I stood in something, I do not know what, but I do know that instead of piercing the assassin’s most vital organ I slipped and crashed into both her and Zhontell.

The three of us lay momentarily dazed in a sprawl of arms and legs. The Geduldian was the first to realise her predicament and react. She stood and raced away from us.

Zhontell was also quick to recover and sprinted after her. I stood somewhat more warily and absentmindedly brushed myself off. Thankfully Halfast had had no recent summer rain, there was only dust on the leg of my pants not mud. I grabbed Eldritch Light that had been dislodged from my grasp upon my somewhat crude contact and followed in pursuit.

When I caught them they were once again caught within their melee. I could see that Zhontell had landed some telling blows, the woman’s eye was already bruised and swollen, but it was two lightening strikes from my rapier that ended her life. Thankfully that was all that was needed. The pain struck me again. My blood felt as if it were boiling inside me. Each heart beat sending more lava through my veins. I clawed at my heart, trying to bore through my chest and rip it from my agony wracked body.

Just as suddenly the pain stopped. I staggered, exhausted from the effects of the poison, and trod on my victims arm. A crackling boom sounded in the distance. As I turned my attention to the noise the very corpse under my foot violently exploded in a ball of flame. The force catapulted me from my feet. As I slammed into the ground the air was pushed out of my lungs and I desperately tried to suck in more of the precious stuff.

Zhontell quickly hauled me to my feet and slapped me hard on the back. I hacked a Moxadderesque type cough and finally drew in the sweet nectar of life. It was then that I realised that my leg had been quite badly burnt, and my pants were ruined. That was my last thought as once more pain erupted from within me and I blacked out.

 

[Haraash Saan]

My own recollections of what happened in the twenty minutes or so after I first lost consciousness are vague and blurred, so I will recount the tale that Mortec told me.

The whole banquet was in chaos. Many of the feasters were lying just like me, unconscious and drifting off to death. Others, more important sorts like the King, were being tended to by Urumei’s healers. They were present throughout the festivities of the Games to tend the injured. I doubt they had anticipated that their God and their gifts would be needed before the tourney had commenced.

Mortec left me with Zhontell and desperately tried to coax one of the priests of Urumei to tend me. Unfortunately for me they brushed aside the Gnome citing “people of consequence” to save.

Morgan sought the aid of the Son’s of Light, appealing to Gerech that I be saved. Whilst impressed with radiant adornment of the Fastendian they refused their aid. They would not help a heretic, and there was no doubt that I was exactly that in their eyes, and mine.

Morgan was undeterred. A thought struck him, on a previous evening when he had been prowling some of the taverns near the docks he recalled an overweight and dishevelled priest of Urumei that had moaned how he had not been selected to attend the banquet. So it was to the docks that he raced seeking the drunken priest.

Even Moxadder sought to assist me. His own thoughts obviously bent toward the healing properties of herbs. In a rare moment of useful clarity he sped to Miscrott’s shop hoping to find something to cure me.

At some point during my companions valiant efforts to save me I regained consciousness. All of my senses were dulled and my head throbbed as though as smith’s hammer rhythmically pounded it.

I saw a burly man on hands and knees with a massive sword on his back tugging at the blue frayed robe of a monk of Hutenkama, the very monk that had blessed me months ago as I prepared to celebrate All Summer’s Day. I stumbled toward him. The monks had strange and bizarre powers, perhaps he could vanquish the ever spreading toxins from my body.

“Aye man I ken save you.” said the monk to the groping gladiator.

The big man thanked him profusely and began to fumble with his coin purse. He managed to drop several gold gromits at the bare feet of the monk. The Hutenkaman smiled, pleased with the offering and nodded his acceptance before beginning a strange dance that saw him hop side to side from foot to foot all the while chanting.

The gladiator was paling more and more, as I arrived I saw his pleading eyes focused solely on the gyrating monk.

I lurched forward and roughly grabbed the monk of Hutenkama and rasped, “Heal me now!”

“Nay, ah already have a paid customer. Leave me be to finish the blessing.” He said roughly.

The gladiator was at first aghast by my action but then relieved at the blue robed man’s words.

My head lolled toward him as I dug into my coin pouch. With all my effort I kicked the kneeling man over into the dust, then thrust a platinum pound, worth many more gromits than the other had donated, into the monks’ palm.

“I am dying. Heal me now!” I hissed through clenched teeth.

I waved in the direction of the twitching man I had knocked over, “He is not your problem now. I am!”

“Right. Aye. Ah see that ah was mistaken. And by the look of ye, ye needs are much more pressing.” He said as he pocketed the platinum coin.

He added in a softer mumble, “And no time for the usual show either.”

The rich monk then dipped his fingers into a pot that hung on his belt and smeared a crude symbol on my head. “There. Ah have done all ah can for ye. Pray to whomever ye favour and go with ma blessing.”

I murmured my thanks, not feeling any different, and stepped over the still form of the gladiator. Callus as it was I do not regret my action. How could I? I am still here to tell the tale.

Morgan arrived supporting a heavy set brown robed Urumeian priest. Argonne thrust the holy sensor of Urumei that we had found in the desecrated Gerechian temple into the priests hands and Morgan urgently said, “Now heal him.”

The fat man rolled his blood shot eyes toward me, blinking once or twice and said, “I can do nothing for him. I can shee death ish coming for him.”

At this stage I could no longer speak, it was too much of an effort. My eyes implored him to try. Morgan articulated the same desperate thought.

The priest shrugged and began an incantation to his God. “Oh divine mashter, tenderer of the shick and inshured,” he paused a moment to take a breath, “redeemer of the losht. I besheech thee to grant me your grace to remove the shpectre of death from thish man.”

As the words slurred from his tongue he placed both of his hands atop my head, my hat had been lost in the earlier fighting. On his last pronouncement he thrust down with his hands. I crumpled to my knees, and then spluttered through another cough. Again I clutched my chest, it felt as though I was burning in the very pits of hell.

“Shee. He ish a dead man. I need a drink.” Said the priest as he turned and waddled away into the panicked crowd.

From my subservient position, to all bar Mortec (I was at his eye level), I eyed each of my comrades in turn. Morgan, his boyish face almost in tears as he looked at me. He turned away before my gaze shifted. Argonne, stoic and accepting of my fate. Stravarious, blank, unemotive and unreadable. Mortec, grim and resolved. Zhontell weary and worn. Moxadder had not yet returned from his quest to save me.

Even seeing the faces of my companions with whom I had shared so much I refused to accept my death. I could hear the laughter and music of Pandemonium that I had visited once before. I had no desire to return. No! Gerard d’Mowbray would not be struck down by mere poison!

I closed my eyes and isolated myself so that I could sense nothing of the world. All that was important was to focus on me. I reflected on my life; my happy childhood, my tortuous teen years and my more recent adventures. I was not finished! I had more to prove. I had more to do. I was not ready to die.

A beautiful young male face leapt into my mind. It smiled magnificently at me as a perfect hand brushed a golden curl from his forehead. “You are right my child.” He said in an angelic soothing tone, “You are not ready to die. I still need you in Anka Seth.”

A second hand brought a cup full of wine to his lips, and as the image faded, he drank deep from the chalice.

I know not how I knew, but I did. Laster had just come to me!

My eyes flicked wide open and I gasped, once again breathing deeply and filling my lungs with air. My body went into a spasm as I felt the burning pain rescind from veins. I had survived.

 

[Haraash Saan]

We sat on one of the banquet’s benches and listened to Mortec tell the tale that I have just repeated for some ten minutes before the little Gnome was rudely interrupted.

The same self-important lackey, silken robe now somewhat dishevelled and stained with the evening’s meal and also dirt, looked a little paler than before. “Silence!” he bellowed, however its dramaticism was lost as he broke into a coughing fit in mid-command.

He cleared his throat nervously. “Silence.” He said less forcefully.

“Your majesty, King Thurlland the Second commands your attention.” He added as he bowed low and backed away.

Before the enormous and still hysterical crowd the King now stood. He looked even frailer than he had prior to the feast. “Ladies and Lords, honoured guests and” he began before the lackey, who was now off to the side of the King’s table, coughed and spluttered anew. An evil glare from Thurlland saw his man shrink and choke back another fit of coughing.

“and competitors.” continued the King. “Today we have witnessed a vile and contemptuous plot to assassinate not only your King, but one that also sought to stop the Games of Halfast.”

There was another long pause from the old man as he gathered his breath, before once again he continued. “Today we were also fortunate enough to witness true Guernean spirit. A love for our realm and its honoured traditions that is not as often seen as it should be.”

“Where is the young man? The one in green that bravely launched himself from the tables yonder at our foes.” He said as he vaguely wave an arm in the direction of the middle of the ‘U’ table. “That so valiantly fought traitors of the kingdom? It is his spirit that this kingdom was built upon. It is his spirit that took to action to protect us all.”

Mortec nudged me, “It’s you Gerard. He wants you!”

Even I was dumb founded. Mortec was right though, tt was me that the King described. I wore my green Hydra outfit, made for just this occasion. It was I that dove from the table in an attempt to skewer Zhontell’s adversary.

I rose and strode forward. Perhaps my friends would recall it differently. They told me later that it was more of a staggering lurch. What should be expected of a man that had only minutes before shaken off death?

I strode forward. “Yes, you are the one I seek.” said the King nodding in confirmation.

I sunk to one bended knee, in some part from fatigue, in most part out of respect. “My Lord.” I said as I doffed my regained hat, swept it low so that the feather (the antennae of the rodent that I slew in the temple of Gerech) lightly brushed the ground, and bowed my head.

“I recognise that ring.” said the King, obviously noticing the signet ring that I wore, “Mowbray isn’t it?”

“Yes my lord.” I answered.

“Good stock from Mowbray. Who are you lad? What is your name?” queried Thurlland.

“I am Gerard d’Mowbray, my lord. Second son of Reginald, Knight of Mendus.” I said, puffing my chest with pride.

“And what lands will you come into young Gerard?” he inquired further.

“If my lord Baron Mendus sees fit to knight me I will come into the lands of Monfort.” I replied.

“Very good.” He said to me and then he turned his attention to a servant standing at his right. “Theodus, bring me a sword.”

My mind started to spin. I was feeling quite feint. Realisation had begun to creep into my recovering thoughts.

“Gerard.” The King’s voice sounded loudly above me. “Look upon your King.”

I looked up to see Thurlland’s kind hazel eyes looking upon me. And Prince Brand’s puzzled face, no doubt trying to recall me, peering at me from the King’s left.

The King whispered with slight smile, “Now Gerard, be still. My arm is not quite what it was. We don’t want an accident do we?”

And then in a loud and more confident tone than he had used all evening. “Gerard d’Mowbray, for service to your King,” he said has he lowered the blade he now held shakily onto my head, “and your country.” he slowly pushed it to my chest so that it’s point rested over my heart. “I bestow upon you the Knighthood of the Barony of Mendus. Arise Sir Gerard d’Monfort.”

I placed my hands on my bended knee and pushed up with all my strength so that I could stand before my King. “Thank you my lord.” I was so caught in the moment that the words rasped gravel-like from my lips.

“Good luck on the morrow young Gerard. I’ll be watching you with keen interest.” Said Thurlland, as Brand still glared at me trying to place me.

The rest of the evening was a blur. There was much back slapping and celebratory drinking until the early hours, after which I spent in the loving embrace of Melinda. Thankfully the Hydra’s first event was drawn late in the afternoon.

 

[Haraash Saan]

*******

“My friends,” I roared as I spread my arms to include one and all of the enormous crowd that surrounded us in the arena.

The spectators of the Hydra’s first bout in the Games cheered as I began my introduction.

“You have come to be entertained. You have come to see blood.” The masses appreciated that!

“You have come to cheer on your champions. “ I continued, emphasising the last word.

“We have come to entertain you. We have come to be your champions. We have come to defeat Estrangular. We are the mighty Hydra! A slavering ravenous beast with many heads, each one with its own methods of deadly combat.“ I said, milking every moment of their adulation.

“We cause pirates to flee in terror. We smite evil. We are troll slayers and adventurers. We are here to fight. We are here to win. We are here for YOU!” I shouted.

This time there were louder cheers.

“May I introduce,” my voice rang out before adding in a sinister soft voice, “the many deadly heads of the Hydra.”

“Here stands the defender of Avinal. Scourge of the Northern Hordes. He has learnt his trade against the living dead! When he’s not defending the Fastness from the fell devils of Buramas, he is here for your entertainment. Here he is, The Beast from the East, Morgan Mortigan!” I swung my arm to the Fastendian warrior. He looked somewhat stunned at his introduction but managed to raise an arm in salute.

“His guise as the humble woodsman fools most, but he is the Pirate Slayer who strikes so powerfully that his very weapons shatter! No longer does he hew wood, no my friends, now it is necks he seeks. Raised by debased boars in the uncharted wilds, he is as ugly as he is dangerous. I give you, Argonne the Axe!” another wave, this time to my masked comrade. Argonne was much more into the spirit of my speech. He let out a wild cry and shook his huge axe above his head.

“May I present the next Hydra.” I continued, “A man that has lived through unmentionable torments! Whatever you do, do not show him your cat. He has looked death in the eye, and scoffed. He has too many talents for me to list. It is said that he has dined with kings, and stolen secrets from the sages. The question you should ask is what will he do today? Stravarious the Mysterious!” Strav raised both his arms and waved his gloves arms to the now Hydra adoring crowd.

I walked slowly to Mortec as I sang out, “His stature may be slight. His hands may be small,” I tapped my nose and winked suggestively “but the most miniature Hydra is a most fearsome weapon. Knowledge is his power and none know how to use it like he. In his native burrow he has outwitted foxes with his cunning! Please bow done so you can look him in the eye, I give you the dread Gnome Mortec!”

The little Gnome was none too pleased at my reference to his height, but the glare he threw me eased as he basked in the cheering and clapping dedicated to him.

“Hailing from Irudesh City, he learnt his cunning on its streets. He is the outcast, the disgrace of the Fastness, a dirty fighter whose tactics would bring shame to a sewer troll! So frightening that none dare call him friend. His family are the blades he carries and they feel most at home when buried in the flesh. Look upon Moxadder!”

Moxadder hunched a little, making his lanky stature somewhat smaller. He looked uncomfortable under the staring eyes of the crowd.

“Gaze in wonder at Zhontell.” I cried with my mouth agape in fake awe as I looked upon the elf, “A decade spent in solitude, honing skills and learning the power of the body have turned out a most subtle killer. Wonder at its ambiguous beauty, but beauty deceives my friends, I beg you beware. It can seduce you and lull you. May I present the Hydra’s own dancing death, Zhontell!”

There was no indication from Zhontell that he had even heard what I had said. He stood rock still, focused and staring directly at our opponents who were shifting restlessly on the arena sand.

I scratched Kuruul’s ear, more to wake him than anything else. He had been sleeping in the warm Burn sun. “Ferocious, merciless. He is the Divine Canine.” I bellowed as I turned to face Estrangular, “’Ware your throats, for he will go straight for the jugular. The hound spewed forth from the Hells themselves, the Savage Snarler, the Master of the Maul, Kuruul.”

“And finally may I introduce myself. Bane of the Pirate King Rumscully Jack. Duellist extraordinaire. Only my rapier is keener and more deadly than my wit. A thrust here and taunt there, my foes are utterly confounded. My name, Sir Gerard d’Montfort.” I bowed low, one leg slightly forward and swept my broad brimmed hat across the sand before flicking it stylishly back upon my head.

The crowd erupted in joy. The chant, “Hydra! Hydra!” echoed throughout the spectators that sat some fifteen feet above the ground in seats the ringed the walls that encircled the arena.

I soaked in there adoration, pleased with my little introduction. But now came the real test.

“Teams,” cried out the master of the Games from his position in the stand, “fight!”

 

[Haraash Saan]

The next minute or two are somewhat a blur.

Estrangular planted huge shields, each five feet tall, in the sand before them creating an impenetrable barrier for the arrows that rained down from each of the Hydra.

Seeing the lack of effect, only my crossbow bolt scored a strike and the pleasant accompanying yelp, we discarded our bows and charged forward. As I leapt forward I felt a strange dizziness overcome me and the ground rushed to meet my face as I realised that I was under the influence of some magical command.

A sharp pain in my side roused me. I found myself lying in the middle of the arena, hardly the position for a knight of the realm! Moxadder stood over me, “Ge’ up Gerard!” he screamed as he wound back his foot for another kick. Seeing I was conscious he thankfully ceased the motion and let fly with a dagger at a foe I could not see, before whipping another from a sheath and running off.

I clawed for my rapier that had been dislodged from my grip and jumped to my feet, absently brushing the sand from clothes. I did not know how much I had missed, but it was obvious that the battle had moved on. All of my companions were engaged in hand to hand combat except for Morgan who was pulling down the shield wall. A huge beast with head and wings of an eagle and body of a lion was tearing through one of our opponents. I quickly reasoned that it must be some beast that Kuruul and called to aid us, for no other Hydra could do such a thing.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable ogling my comrades I cried out “Montfort!” and charged into the fray.

Perhaps a minute later it was over. The Hydra had triumphed. Members of the team Estrangular lay sprawled and were being tended by the healers of Urumei.

The crowd was rapturous in their applause. Everything I had desired and come to fruition.

The Hydra was on everyone’s lips the next day. There was no doubt that we were the darlings of the Games. A first time team was not meant to win, teams and gladiators had to first serve (and survive) their apprenticeship. They were supposed to fight bravely and lose gallantly. Not actually defeat an opponent!

We were to face Tundra Storm, a team of crazed barbarians and woodsman that venerated Srcan and honoured her by hunting the forces of the Dominion. From what I had heard the night before our bout with them, when we had been celebrating our victory, was that they were mad bunch and almost to a man insane.

Most of those that placed a wager on the fight saw no value in our brilliant victory against Estrangular, although as we once again stood within the vast arena there was the odd cry supporting us.

I turned from my survey of the crowd as a guttural beast-like war cry rose up from the Tundra Storm. They stood slightly hunched with legs apart and proceeded to unleash more bestial sounds, this time accompanied by some bizarre tribal dance which included some chest beating, thigh slapping and rather a lot of stomping.

I do believe it was some intimidatory tactic, but it was so absurd that it just provided me with amusement and some inspiration for the introduction of the Hydra.

“You have seen us before. We strangled Estrangular. We cut them down with ease! So much ease that I actually took a nap whilst my comrades dispatched our foe.” I proclaimed, much to the enjoyment of the gathered crowd.

“We are the Hydra. Let me reintroduce the heads of the beast.”

“Do not let him reveal his face! It is so foul, so physically repellent that his own parents left him to die in a snow drift. When he was born, the midwife slapped his face, mistaking it for his arse. This is a man so ugly that he inspires tears of pity in a Barbarian!” I turned and waved towards our opponents, who, now done with their dance stood completely still and just stared grim faced at us.

“And the face maketh the man. A vicious killer, he could kill you hunting and he could kill you drinking. I give you Argonne, the Repulsive!” I roared out the woodsman’s name. This time Argonne was even more receptive to the cheers that greeted him. He waved both hands in the air and then gave a couple of big swings with his axe.

I continued on “You may find him cute. Perhaps even cuddly. To you appears a child or perhaps a midget or jester. He looks such a funny little fellow. But you judge him poorly! He sucks the very souls from men. He drains them so that they wither and die! Their bodies are dry empty husks when he is done. He is Mighty Mortec, Devourer of Life.” This time Mortec did not even bother to glare at me, he just took it in his small stride and moved forward.

“What can be said about the next head of the Hydra? He once stood a-top the walls of Avinal and single-handedly drove away the Hordes of the Dominion. So fearsome is his rage all that stand before him quack with fear. Already once has he taken a life in the Games. And I think he is just angry enough to kill again. I give you Mad Dog Morgan Martigan.” Morgan put on an evil wolfish grin as he too stepped forward to be beside the Gnome.

“I have no doubt that my next companion is totally insane. More insane even than the Tundra Storm. He is so devoid of sense that, unprovoked, he taunted and antagonised an undead priest in what was once his church. It should have been his last taunt because that priest killed him.” I paused for effect, “That’s right my friends this man has already died once and that did not stop him! He is back from the dead just for you! Like the cats he hates, he has nine lives, and every one a nasty one. He is Stravarius.” Strav threw his arms up and allowed every pore of his body to soak up the attention that was his and his alone.

“He is vile. He is despicable. There is nothing he will not stoop to. He has no morals. I have never met a nastier man. His behaviour make Gerech’s Angels cry in outrage and even Demons turn pale with disgust. He is a Hydra yet I don’t trust him. How could !? He is just as likely to stick me as one of our foes. He is our very own, Moxadder.” The Fastendian was still no happier to receive the claps and cries of encouragement from the assembled masses. Once again he shrunk within his clothing and impossibly tried remain unnoticed.

“My sixth companion is beauty personified. So in touch with his own body that he disdains the sword or axe. His very hands deliver death. Do not let him touch you, not even in that special way, for it will be the last thing you will feel. He is Zhontell.” I cried, hoping to elicit some response from the elf, but again he did not move, just focused on our enemies and plotted their demise.

“My next companion only eats flesh and bone. If he does not kill you with his crushing jaws and dreaded fangs, his breath certainly will. It reeks of blood and death. I present, the Prince of Drool, Kuruul.” I bellowed and gestured to the mutt, who as usual chose to pay no attention whatsoever and even began to lazily scratch behind his left ear.

“And finally, I present myself. None is handier with the blade. I toy with my foes. A prick here, a slash there. I choose to play with them so that you, my friends, are entertained. They laughably try to fell me but they cannot for I am as nimble as cat. Their blows pass only through the space I once occupied. I am none other than the saviour of the Games, Sir Gerard d’Montfort.” I bowed low and, as I had done before, swept my hat low across the arenas’ floor. The crowd burst! They cried out encouragement and cheered the Hydra even though they thought we had no hope in surviving the Storm.

The Master of the Games somewhat petulantly, his thunder stolen, yelled, “Fight!”

It was utter chaos. Both the Tundra Storm and the Hydra loosed some arrows and then charged at one another. My blade was in my hand in an instant and rapidly thrusting into a chain mail clad foe. I easily dodged his own blows whilst piercing him several more times in a flurry of attacks.

A beam of light flared from the other end of the arena and struck Moxadder, who had been beside me. He did not even have a chance to shield his eyes, he fell motionless beside me.

Obviously Moxadder and I were perceived to be the most significant threats; another thrust from me proved the later view as my opponent slid lifelessly from my steel. A moment later it was confirmed as an arrow struck me deeply in the side. I stumbled, somewhat fortuitously, as at that moment another of the Tundra Storm appeared and launched a mighty blow aimed to hew my neck.

As I recovered and prepared to parry the next awesome strike that the sword he wielded in two hands was about to deliver his back arched, throwing his chest forward. I twisted my rapier from its parry and stabbed with it. I felt its point puncture flesh and then an intense light blinded me and I fell.

My eyes flickered open to see a cowled, clean shaven face peering at me. “You were injured in the battle, but now you are well. Blessed be Urumei.” The priest of Urumei said in a husky tone, before moving away looking to tend others wounds.

As I gingerly picked myself up from the sand (this was becoming too much of a habit for me) my ears registered the roaring crowd, “Hydra! Hydra! Hydra!” My heart leapt for joy, we had won again! Only two more gladiatorial teams stood before us and the glory of being hailed as the champions of the Games!

Later, my companions told me the detail of the melee. When I had gone down Kuruul had summoned more of the eagle headed creatures that aided our first Games victory. With their aid, primarily fighting enormous apes that Tundra Storms’ priests had called, a long and bloody fight eventuated in our victory. Moxadder, myself and Mortec had all been downed at various stages during the combat. Mortec had suffered most dearly from the battle. The mighty Gnome, no more than four feet tall faced a huge gorilla in single combat. It had ended badly for the brave Gnome. The great ape had torn Mortec’s left arm from its socket and then hurled the bloody limb into the roaring crowd. Thankfully the priests of Urumei managed to save the Gnome’s life, but not even they could use the God of Healing’s power to repair the damage that had been done only remove the pain so that he could compete again.

Argonne, Kuruul and Morgan had managed to fell the priests that they opposed and then concentrate on the remaining enemies. Morgan, from all accounts was the hero of the Hydra, his arrows flying true he had felled two of the Tundra Storm, and with his blade he had aided the incapacitation of two more.

We were celebrating long into the night at the Inn at the End of the Road, before we received some dreadful news.

 

[Haraash Saan]

A fat little page boy puffed his way through the overcrowded tavern to our table. “Milordth.” he lisped in salutation as he took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his pig like brow, “Milorth, the Black Lordth have eathily defeated Harbringer. You are drawn to fight them on the ‘morrow.”

So we were to face the Black Lords. They had fought Five Kinds of Death in the second round contest and obviously defeated Yorath’s first team. That in itself made facing them a more frightening proposition.

My comrades had quickly fallen silent at the news. The Black Lords were those very same dire individuals that had exterminated many of the assassins that we had discovered at the banquet. They were a very formidable team, much more powerful than the Hydra. They had competed several times in the Games, and even won once before. They were not to be trifled with.

I tossed the pudgy bearer of ill news a brass bit for his trouble and he quickly left the sight of our sour faces.

There was some brave talk after we had summoned the courage to discuss our impending battle, but in the end sense prevailed.

For the third time in as many days we stood on the sands of the arena. This time there was little cheering for us. It had been replaced by hushed and excited whispers that sounded like the apiaries of Montfort on a spring morning.

I waved for silence attracting the crowds’ collective attention.

“We the Hydra, vanquishers of Estrangular and quellers of the Tundra Storm, have provided you, our most beloved audience with much pleasure during the Games.” This brought forth a cheer that confirmed my words.

Once again I signalled for silence. “Yet, this time we can provide you no entertainment. Alas, we recognise that the most esteemed Black Lords are our betters for this fight and we honourably concede this fight to them.” I sighed, my heart full of regret at our chosen path, but understanding the sense of it. If we were to fight the Black Lords, there would be no doubt as to the conclusion of the melee. We would lose, and several of us would most likely die.

I inclined my head, eyes downcast submissively, as formality decrees, to the Black Lords. I stood tall once more, feeling uncomfortable in such a pose, and so one of the Black Lords, the one that stood in the centre of their group, inclined his head to me in acceptance of our withdrawal.

The crowded turned on us as they heard my words. There were catcalls and mocking cries, until one voice sounded more loudly than the others. “Hydra!” it roared. Everyone fell silent.

“Hydra!” it now screamed.

“Hydra!” more joined the chorus.

Soon our name echoed throughout the stadium. My heart lifted from the dark place that it and fallen. It soared through the heavens. Whilst we had not won the tournament, we had won the crowd and we would be remembered. We were the Hydra, and we would compete again in the next Games of Halfast.

The next two days went quickly. The Black Lords fought a hard battle against Tigris to narrowly defeat them and achieve the ultimate success of the team tournament. Then the Games moved into individual contests.

The evening before I was to fight, Zmrat found me sipping a cup of delicious Montfort mead at the Inn at the End of the Road.

He spied me through the throng and with a wave and a wicked smile, approached the table I shared with Morgan and Argonne.

“Hail my pupil.” He said boisterously. “Congratulations to the Hydra and its valiant efforts.”

“Thank you Zmrat.” I replied, appreciating his approval, “Your own Massive Hand fought a brave fight before succumbing to Juggernaut in the first round.” I added with a sly smile.

“Yes, well we were unfortunately dealt a harsh blow by facing such an accomplished adversary.” He said as a frown crept across his face.

“But no matter.” Zmrat said in a cheerful and dismissive tone, “The individual tourney is the more prestigious event. It is what the crowd really wants to see.” He punctuated is words with another knowing smile.

“I sense that perhaps, my mentor, that you have something you wish to share? Perhaps tomorrow’s draw?” I said. I had not seen who was to be matched up against whom in the events of the next day.

“Yes indeed!” chirped Zmrat. “I have. And you my student, face none other than,” he paused before bowing with a flourish, “myself.” He chuckled, obviously delighted at the thought.

I controlled the annoyance welling within. He would do well to respect my abilities. In the months since his initial instruction I felt that my skills had been battle honed. He would not have an easy win, I would make sure of that.

“Excellent!” I said clapping with approval, “What a fine duel it will be!”

“Indeed my friend,” said Zmrat, “it will do you well to learn some of the more complex ripostes that I had not had the chance to teach you.”

“Ah, I am always the willing student Zmrat. It would be a pleasure for me to learn from the master. But perhaps you should also take note of my skills. They are somewhat more advanced than the fundamentals that you taught me.” I responded.

“Another round?” Zmrat offered with a smile.

We bantered in this way for hours, allowing our bravado to take over any conversation that I had been having with Morgan and Argonne. Soon the patrons of the tavern all clustered around us to listen to our repartee.

There was no doubt that the morning saw my bout with Zmrat as the most anticipated of the day.

And they came to the arena in their hordes. They came to see Sir Gerard d’Montfort, the most recent knight of the kingdom to duel his mentor and teacher. We did not disappoint them.

During yet more verbal sparring, the Master of the Games, rudely interrupted us with his ever so boring call of commencement, “Fight!”

My nerves caused my crossbows’ aim to be off. The bolt I loosed speared the sand several feet from Zmrat. He smiled, then mouthed some words, whilst stretching out his arm and twisting his wrist and fingers. I felt a wave if dizziness hit me as I dropped my bow and groped for the hilt of my rapier.

I shook my head to clear it and sprinted forward to my puzzled opponent. Zmrat had obviously thought to end the fight quickly with magical aid. My blade was clear now and even as I approached to deliver a blow he once again mouthed the incantation. However he had not appreciated my speed and did not deliver the accompanying hand movement. Instead he snatched at his own rapier that hung from his belt.

He whipped it out just in time to fend away my opening thrust, and in a blur of swordplay had managed to get me on back foot desperately parrying the whirling blade the struck at me like a serpent.

Just as suddenly he leapt back. His face once again grinning confidently and chanted the words of power. Yet again he threw his arm forward and completed the intricate gesture. I was instantly hit by fatigue and tiredness, just as I had felt when I had charged Estrangular. The recognition helped me steel my mind against attack. And throwing off its shackles I thrust like lightening and struck Zmrat deeply in the chest.

His grinned stopped and his mouth opened wide in shock at the realisation of the pain that I had inflicted. Blood started to soak his vest. I had no mercy for his stupefaction. Again I scored a hit, this time a gash across his arm.

That wound woke him from his stupor, his face contorted to one of rage and je launched a second ferocious assault upon me. One blow was too quick for me to avoid and it struck me in stomach. My left hand clutched the wound as I exhaled sharply, feeling the acute pain he had caused.

Zmrat smiled once more, “Enough of this. Time for you to fall, pupil.”

Momentarily I felt defeated. I had tried yet, he had prevailed. I was not his match. But then a clear voice rang from the crowd, “For Montfort!” it was Absquith, who no doubt saw me dwelling on the occasion.

It was a perfectly timed inspiration. I grinned wolfishly through my pain and laughed loudly, “Nay Zmrat. I wish to play with you some more before claiming my victory!”

Simultaneously I leapt forward and delivered a thrashing assault. His sword could not defend all my blows and I managed to strike him several times. Before I struck his blade near the hilt and it snapped clean in two.

“I could ask you to yield,” I said confidently, “but the crowd wants to see more. Draw a new blade.” I commanded.

Zmrat snarled and his eyes burned with hatred as he threw down his useless hilt and drew the spare blade that most competitors, including me, carried in the Games.

“You will pay for that student!” he spat as he thrust forward.

It was a clumsy attack. With a flick of the wrist I sent his second blade sailing through the air where it landed point first, biting deep into the ground beneath the sand of the arena, swaying with the vibration of the impact.

I had no chance for another witty comment for he ripped out a dagger, his only remaining weapon, and foolishly attacked me. I easily avoided the awkward slashes of the knife and exploited my rapiers length and caused several more cuts and gashes on Zmrat.

My adversary was clearly staggered. He bled from a dozen or more wounds and his face was duly ashen. Zmrat breathed heavily for a moment, taking advantage of a pause in our conflict before raising the dagger above his head and punching it down with all his strength.

His short and my long blades met, and sparks flew as the knife edge ran the entire length of my sword before forcefully meeting my sword guard. The thin knife was not up to the impact. It too shattered at the hilt, leaving Zmrat overbalanced, and conveniently open for another strike. However I showed mercy on my master. I held the thrust that would no doubt have felled him.

Zmrat glared at me, realising that I had deliberately not taken the opportunity. “I yield!” he bellowed, “I cannot defeat you with my bare hands.” he added in exasperation as he stormed from the field.

A deafening roar filled the arena as I, with outward calm that suppressed the ecstasy of my greatest triumph, wiped my blade clean and sheathed it with finality. I then walked to the centre of the arena, determined to drink in every glorious moment, raised my arms to acknowledge the crowd and then swept them down into a great bow, doffing my hat in the same motion.

I Gerard d’Montfort, had defeated my own teacher Zmrat before the assembled masses. Even I had not truly believed that I could have, yet I beat with wit and more importantly with my steel. Perhaps I should offer him lessons in the art of sword play?

 

[Quartz]

Encore!