“Make your peace with Duranar, brother,” said the city watchman as he held his sabre high above Mundhir’s head.
“Me and the Lord of All are forever at peace,” mumbled the Prince through heavy exhaustion. “Do as you will, I am ready.”
The Half-Elf thief struck the man in a beautiful display of whirling blonde hair and lightning grace. He groaned briefly, and collapsed as his heart imploded from the penetrating dagger beneath his arm. The watchman’s comrade, momentarily shocked into inaction by the development, quickly recovered himself and tried to slay her. Mundhir watched, motionless, as the Halfbreed put him to sleep in a much less graceful, much less beautiful display of violent savagery.
“By Duranar, she is magnificent,” he said weakly with a smile.
Mundhir looked left, as he heard a gut wrenching screech, and found that Rin had impaled his face upon the sword of a watchman. Not deterred by the grievous injury, the Lizard went on to consume the man’s hand. It was a grizzly sight, and as Rin pulled the extremity from its limb, Mundhir knelt forwards and vomited black bile onto the blood-soaked grass.
A green light washed over his outstretched hands, and it was followed by a thunderclap. Looking up, he could see clearly the mysterious Kyrtaar entering the fray with impossible powers at his disposal. In a flash of glimmering steel and emerald ribbons, the Prince watched as the Elf slid through the guards of his enemies like a serpent, leaving a trail of dying men as he went.
The watchmen screamed victory, and Mundhir crawled onto his haunches to see the great hulking minotaur succumbing to a dozen sabres. Falling to its knees, it let out a bestial roar loud enough to tremble the ground beneath the Prince, and as the watchmen, in their red capes and bronze helms surged forwards for a kill, the walking wall of muscle and death made a startling recovery. Clambering to its feet, it swung its axes at them in an obliterating arc of bloody destruction. A score of arrows struck into its flank; another earth shaking roar echoed, smothering the sounds of battle.
"Mhundir! Horses are coming... hide!" Came the feint cry of the Halfbreed; he looked over and saw she had pulled the watchman’s body over her for protection.
"What is going on?!" Rin screamed, blood frothing from his hideous face wound.
“World Breakers, come to see their ungodly charge seen to its end,” slurred Mundhir, as if drunk. He was so tired, so impossibly tired.
A trumpet blasted, and suddenly the Prince felt his strength partially restore. He knew that sound, and he knew the instrument that caused it intimately. It was his, after all. Looking up at the rising slopes towards the east, he saw a loose ring of riders approaching. Not World Breakers, from their light attire, and not his father’s men either – for they carried his
banner. “Impossible,” he wheezed.
Clambering to his feet, he fought his blurring vision for clarity, so that he could focus on the riders. They were his mamalukes, no mistake about it, and they were circling the city watch in a ring of death. Without horses of their own, the watchmen retreated under a devastating volley of arrows. Those who were foolish enough to stand their ground were pierced from several angles, and within seconds, Mundhir’s gallant soldiers were in the midst of the survivors, cutting and stomping.
“Make safe the Prince!” Roared a familiar masculine voice.
“Hazim!” Shouted the Prince; his voice hoarse. Tears streaked down from his eyes, “Hazim, are you real?”
A great war horse pulled up alongside Mundhir, and its rider, a hulking giant of a man with a finely trimmed beard, lurched over his saddle and offered his palm. “It’s me, your Highness, and I am very much real,” he said grinning.
Mundhir refrained from grasping his Captain’s hand, and shook his head, “the prisoners, do not harm them, they are our brothers and sisters.” He looked over at the Minotaur, as it knelt over, breathing heavily so that its plated armour rattled with each intake. “Especially that one!”
Captain Hazim looked about himself, and then back down at the Prince, “The Elves and the others we can take, but that monster and- what is that?”
Mundhir followed his gaze, and saw the nightmare beast stumble forwards and collapse under the weight of its innumerable wounds.
“A friend! I don’t care how you do it Captain, just get these people out of this blood gulch, Duranar demands it!” Snapped Mundhir, slowly rising to his feet.
Captain Hazim growled, “I did not come here to rescue a bunch of murderers, rapists and thieves. Take my hand you stubborn whoreson, before the whole of Eblistan falls down on us.”
“Why do we linger Captain?” Boomed another familiar, although feminine voice of Mundhir’s sworn protector.
Hazim swung on his saddle, as Sitara Kalyani rode up alongside him. She wore the face of professionalism as always, but she was clearly irritated by the lack of a secured Prince.
“He wants us to take his new friends with him, but I don’t see how we’re to carry those two monsters, not with our horses,” replied Hazim, almost sneeringly.
Sitara looked at the Prince, then at Hazim as if she was running a marathon riddle through her mind, before finally she nodded. “The watch transported many of their men in wagons, you’ll find them just south of us. Fetch them, and see to it that the prisoners are brought with us.” Turning to Mundhir, “My Prince, it is good that you are well, but we must hurry, your men have spotted the World Breakers – the whole regiment – leaving the city’s gates. They’ll be here soon, and I can’t promise you victory in that matter,” she said.
Mundhir nodded, but quickly turned to grab the Halfbreed from her fleshy shield. He led her back to Hazim, who gave her a disdainful look, but helped her onto his saddle all the same. Next, the Prince retrieved Rin and sent him towards another waiting mamaluke.
“Enough, my men will get the rest your Highness,” snapped Hazim; nervous perspiration forming visibly on his brow.
“Very well,” replied the Prince. As he went to haul himself onto a waiting horse, his heart started to thud like a drum within the confines of his head. First his hearing lost itself to a piercing shriek, and as he ineffectually clasped his ears, his vision gave way to blackness. The strength in his legs dwindled, and he felt himself fall to the ground.
The Ruins of Baalor,
Seven days later…
“Ice Venom kills all that it touches, you are on borrowed time my Prince,” rasped the ancient vocal chords of Mundhir’s physician. She was an old crone, hunched at the shoulders with an ugly ragged face topped with wisps of white hair.
“I feel fine, woman, can’t you see that the blackness webbing my body has started to fade?” Mundhir spat, unwilling to accept her words.
“And so you will, alas it is a false recovery. Those very few, and believe me my Prince, they are VERY few, who do survive the initial exposure, succumb within weeks – sometimes months. The damage to your organs has been done, and before long, they will fail,” she croaked.
“Liar, you old lying whore!” Roared Hazim, kicking over Mundhir’s bedside table and sending its accompanying water pitchers crashing to the ground.
“I do not lie, I only serve,” the physician corrected him. “You are welcome to find another healer, but I fear the Caliph’s medicine men will be most unfavourable to our cause.”
Hazim grabbed his sabre; burning hatred shining brightly in his eyes. He moved to cut her head from her body, but she did nothing to resist him.
“Stop Captain!” Shouted Mundhir, rising from his deathbed like a phoenix. “Sheath your sword.”
Hazim relented, and with a bow, he stormed through the doorway leaving the Prince alone with his physician.
“Is there no cure?” he asked, partially resigned to his fate.
“Not within our reach, but there is perhaps a way,” she replied, stroking a tuft of hair on her chin. “The Elves of Nillanor a-“
Mundhir broke out into heavy laughter. “Of course. If anyone holds a cure, it’s my sworn enemy. Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll just send one of my men to retrieve it, I’m sure Prince Thrandel will be most understanding.”
The old crone shook her head in irritation. “You men, all you think about is killing and fornicating, perhaps if you’d tried to be a
good Prince, then none of this would have happened.”
“A good Prince?” gawked Mundhir, stricken by disbelief that he was being cut down by this wretched creature.
“You brought war and death to both of your lands, even as your father attempted to instil a lasting peace with the Elves,” she shot back.
“Peace? Prince Thrandel was on our doorstep, if it wasn’t for me, the Citadel would be under siege. I do not jest when I say the Elves of Nillanor despise us,” he spat.
“Maybe so, but now you have enemies on both sides, and each have it in their power to save you; yet neither have the will to do so. It is a tragic irony,” she said, softer now.
“Enough,” said Mundhir as he started pulling on his princely gowns of crimson silk. “If I am to die, it’ll be on the battlefield. Poison be damned.”
***The prisoners had been confined to quarters within the great husk of Baalor’s ancient Law House. It was a large structure, with dozens of rooms designed for large meetings, and each of Mundhir’s former inmates had been given one of these as a personal hovel. Although for the time being they had been forbade from leaving. Captain Hazim, the Prince’s second in command, did not trust any of them, and had a great deal of his men patrolling the building’s grounds.
“Move aside,” said Mundhir as he approached the building’s hollow doorway. The two waiting guards obeyed at once, and bowed as he passed.
Walking into what was once the Sultan’s Council Chamber, Mundhir was greeted by the sight of all of the prisoners. Rin was sitting on a brittle stone pedestal, looking bored, as he scratched at the bandages Mundhir’s physician had used to shield his ghastly wound from infection. Kyrtaar looked likewise bemused by his situation, and gazed at the Prince distrustfully. Over at the far side of the dome-shaped room, the Minotaur was leaning up against a wall, striped with bloodied dressings. The rest of the party were gathered around in similar fashion, all but one.
The nightmare beast known as 9, was still under lock and key elsewhere in the Law House’s bosom. Hazim’s men did not trust the creature, did not like it, and the physician had been puzzled as to how to help it. They had confined it to its quarters, with a dozen guards waiting outside in case it tried to run amok. Mundhir had checked on the monster daily, bit it seemed to be forever in a fitful sleep, and he feared it would never wake up.
”It must find its own way to good health,” the physician had said.
“My apologies,” said Mundhir as he clasped his hands. He smiled at each of the prisoners in turn, and then cleared his throat. “Your detainment was perhaps an over precaution, but you must forgive my Captain, he is loyal but lacks manners.”
Walking forwards, so that he stood in the middle of them all, though flanked by two guards and the ever watchful Sitara, he addressed them.
“As Prince of Eblistan, seventh in line to the throne, and Marshal of Baalor, I give you all your freedom,” he said cheerfully. “Though, If you will but for a moment wait, there is something I wish to discuss with you all.
I am in ill health. The Ice Venom that tarred my body as you saw back in the dungeon, has done its work, and I have weeks, maybe months, to live. My physician is not quite sure, she tells me it’s a matter of ‘will’. I feel fine for now, and I intend to use my good health, however temporary, to fight an impossible war.
My brothers, Crown Prince Jazeer and Prince Basar are marshalling my father’s forces to the west for a strike on Baalor. To the east, Prince Thrandel of Nillanor is acting in a likewise manner. My scouts estimate that within a week, these humble ruins you see around you, will bear witness to the greatest battle of our time, and have no doubt.
Your freedom is yours, but I was hoping that as a parting gift, a couple of you may help with an errand or two? And if there’s any here who would see Eblistan enter a new era of peace and stability, and that Nillanor quit its vengeful warring ways, then I beckon you too to stay and assist me on a few … ah, errands of a different kind.”
Mundhir started to pace back and forth, thinking to himself, before stopping to speak once more, “As of now, I can offer few rewards, but know this: if I am victorious in my struggle, in securing justice for my murder, and in driving the Elves of Nillanor away from my father’s borders, then the riches I would command in my dying hours will be immense. I can’t take such things with me to the Undying Lands, and so I would offer it all to any of you that will help me.” He stopped to think for a moment more, “none of you have to help me, and truth be told, I don’t expect any of you to but know this: Eblistan is barred to you, my father’s men watch the roads, and unless you are personal friends with the Elven Prince, then I expect going east will be a similar experience. Help me, serve me, fight with me, and in victory your names will live a thousand years, and the riches you know, the glory, it will be yours. This I promise. This I swear.”
Standing back, Mundhir bowed his head deeply to the prisoners, “please, speak your minds, or be on your travels. I will hold no one a moment longer than they wish to be held, you have served me all well enough already.”
