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he expedition to Pnyx, led by Talos, was approaching its destination. The many mages and wizards knew of the danger, however, and had been preparing for it for the last three days. They gathered up the remaining few from the countryside and equipped them with powerful magic shields, swords, and armor. Meanwhile, the many students trained in powerful damaging magic spells. Unfortunately for them, corruption and a good deal of poison had managed to kill off many of the master mages. At the dusk of the third day after warning, hundreds of marching feet were heard off in the distance. Talos was going to attack at night."It is time."
The Kestrel looked up from his musings. He was in a study of some sort. There were books lining the walls and a number of sealed and locked chests, not merely mage locked, but with locks made to open only for those who knew how. Those who knew how then numbered one, himself. The man who had spoken was standing in the doorway. He was tall, lean, but well muscled. At his side hung a sword which contained the stuff of legend. He held himself well in the well made jerkin of ring-mail about his chest. He was outlined in an eerie glow, as beyond him were the fires of a sort not made by humans. For they were in a the place called Land's End. In contrast to the man in the doorway, the Kestrel wore only a leather jerkin with no cap. In front of him lay a sword that had indeed served him well through the years. He buckled it on, seeing the sinuous windings of the dragon, which started at it's silver hilt and continued to the point. The sword's name was Belenov. He stood, pausing before exiting only to take a small book, and a travel pack. He took his cloak off the door peg as he passed and put it on over his loose-fitting shirt. His pants were of a good cut, made for him.
The man in the doorway, the man whom with perhaps he could not do without, the man who had stood at his side in countless conflicts and never failed him, the man who's name was Barak, spoke again, "They are ready."
"That is good," the Kestrel replied, "for we have to move quickly if we are to be of good use."
"Where do we move to?" asked Barak.
"LandKing Hall."
JackFrost, the mightiest mage left, quickly set about setting up the final defenses of the city. Surrounding Pynx were warriors with magical armor and weapons. Those mages skilled at long distance offensive spells clustered on the roof, and the clerics prepared for the coming rush of wounded. Many thoughts were of running; who could win against this force? But there could be no surrender, there was no where to run...
The vertical slash of light looked like a white-hot bar of iron, it grew in height until it was the height of two men, it then grew wide enough for three horses to pass abreast of each other. Two mounted men rode out of the light. One had on simple leather armor about his chest. The other had ring mail on with a full helm. The helm was in the shape of a screaming dragon's head. Both men wore swords, the fully armored one's was at his side, the other had his sword strapped on his back.
The Kestrel rode out of the portal and looked at the surrounding wood to determine his exact whereabouts. Having gathered them, he turned back to the portal, whistled once and turned, feeling Belenov dig into his back. As he galloped off and headed toward LandKing Hall, the portal closed. The thundering of three score mounted men followed him.
He peered down the rise, where LandKing Hall sat. It was embattled. He could see that they had forced open the first gate, and were now fighting with the void on either side of them upon the narrow walkway. The Kestrel turned to the men behind Him, Barak at his side. The sea of faces that turned towards him were rough, scarred, but full of strength and duty. They were trained, battle-hardened, the best. Nothing could scare them, nothing could make them flee, there was a job to do and they were going to do it.
Barak's subordinate Rio came forward, "All ready, my lord."
The Kestrel smiled then, for now was the time, there would be no more waiting. Rio smiled back and rode into formation. They were ready. The hell below could not stop them. Their blades had been tempered to the extent of the skills of the mage Eioneus, who had only grown in abilities since Alaric's time. Their shields were magically enhanced and strengthened. The Kestrel himself had prepared their rings, which would keep them free of any magical spells which sought to affect their minds. Their armor was of the best quality. Thoas had sworn an oath of revenge for the murder of his family by Talos. He had immersed himself, hand crafting each type of armor worn by these men, carefully going over every detail, there were no flaws. Their helms were the best. No flaws existed in their crafting, either. The Kestrel looked to the men, and shouted, "Let us free the people of LandKing Hall!"
The roar accompanying this statement was lost in the pounding of threescore horses.
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[This message has been edited by Slayer (edited 04-24-2001).]
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