[Valgard]

Throngs of people pushed and shoved their way into the central courtyard where the duel was to take place. For two weeks, it dominated conversation everywhere, from the lowliest servant to the greatest of the house heads. Running battles in the streets between rival supporters had become common and house guards on both sides were not above engaging in some clandestine warring of their own.

At the centre of the giant courtyard a great white circle had been drawn. Three large stands had been erected for the house members to sit and view the match, one for Dranwreaker, one for Ryker and one for the other houses to enjoy a spectacle. The lower house members and other people of the city would stand and watch as well as they could.

Beocca stood alone in the centre of the field waiting for the Ryker champion to arrive. His thin light blade held loosely in his right hand and a small steel buckler in the left. The sand in hour glass fell slowly trickling down the minutes till the match was to start. Beocca was calm, centred, even though he had heard that the Ryker champion was supremely good. Beocca knew that he was good enough to deal with anything human. 50 men had fallen to his blade in fair honourable combat. This upstart from Ryker would be next.

The hour glass emptied and was turned; still no champion from Ryker appeared. A murmuring started to sweep through the crowds, “where was he”, “why hasn’t he arrived yet, what is going on”.

Still nothing, Beocca was starting to wonder if Barrack was going to turn up or not. Maybe he was scared, yes that must be it, he was scared of facing the great Beocca in combat. Just as Beocca started to turn away heading for the Dranwreaker end so confident was he that Barrack wouldn’t show. “Leaving so soon are we, no stomach for the fight?” the voice whispered out from the Ryker entrance. Quiet, but somehow it carried further and with greater force than should have been possible. Barrack strode to the centre of the ring as if he was going on an afternoon stroll rather than to a fight to the death. “The dog should heel when the master calls, come now boy come.”

“Bah you are nothing to me just an upstart from an upstart parasite of a house. Come feel the steel of the riverlands if you are man enough.” Beocca spat the insults at Barrack hoping to cause him to lose his cool and rush forward to his death.

“Ha ha ha that is a good one I think that this dog has a good bark, but what of his bite is it as strong? Well we will, but have to find out.” With that he leapt to the attack his blade snaking out seeking Beocca’s heart. With a loud clang it rang from the buckler that Beocca had managed to get up in time to block the strike. The sword flickered again and again, slashing and thrusting without let up. It was all Beocca could do to halt any of the murderous blows piercing his flesh. He was pushed back and back always giving ground in front of the overwhelming force heading towards him. “How can he keep this up? How can any mortal attack for so long without pause? This isn’t natural.” These thoughts passed through Beocca’s mind as he fended off another shattering blow. “I must find away to be able to return to the assault I have to regain the initiative here.”

A deathly silence had descended upon the crowd all eyes were turned to the fight. The ringing of steel upon steel sounded out across the courtyard echoing from the surrounding buildings. Barrack’s bright blade flashed and flickered in the light of the sun clashing again and again with Beocca’s sword and shield always seeking an entrance a way through to the soft flesh. All watched in awe at Barrack’s inhuman skill and speed. Many had heard the rumours of his abilities, but none had imagined that even the wildest and most ridiculous of these rumours had failed to do his prowess justice.
“Damn why was it taking so long to kill this dog.” None had ever lasted so long against him before; there were no equals to his prowess. He had obviously underestimated this small docile looking man. No matter how fast his attacks were no matter how swiftly he moved, no matter what feints he used he could never penetrate the flashing steel guard presented by Beocca. His plate mail armour was beginning to weigh him down, even though he could fight for hours with it on, he could not keep up this level of attack for much longer.

They had been fighting for two turns of the glass without cease one constantly retreating, the other never halting the assault. Suddenly the attack halted Barrack stood back for a moment his weapon ready his shoulder shaking with effort as sweat literally ran off him in streams. Beocca too grabbed the moment to breathe again to try and recover some of the energy lost holding off this god of the blade. His arms shook with effort having been battered by a never ending barrage of blows. The sweat dripped from his body pooling around his feet.

“Well it seems I may have under estimated your prowess Barrack you are indeed greater than even your greatest admirers have let on. You are indeed my better, but you know that I cannot let this fight end so. Prepare to continue.” Beocca raised his aching arms back into position.

“Well old man it seems that we are both guilty of underestimating our opponents never has anyone given me such a hard time of it. I salute your bravery and I will try to make your death as swift and painless as possible” With this Barrack hefted his sword up for another attack.

Reacting before he even realised it Beocca launched himself at Barrack catching him by surprise his light blade slashing out slicing through a piece of cloth before clanging off Barrack’s beautifully made platemail. “Nearly scored him there” thought Beocca grinning, fending off Barrack’s renewed assault. With that the fight recommenced this time though Beocca was being more aggressive taking more risks hoping to strike lucky and get a hit against him. Of course this left him more open to Barrack’s murderous ripostes. Many times Barrack’s blade glanced off the toughened leather that Beocca wore scoring though it again and again causing light and minor wounds that oozed blood.

Again the blades flashed in the sun light a blur of motion that none could follow truly this was the two greatest duellists in the empire going at each other. This was a tale to tell their family about for many years to come. I was there at the Duel. The occupants of both the Ryker tent and the Dranwreaker tent were on the edges of their seats in terrible anticipation of the outcome of the duel. None dared utter a sound as all were staring in wonder at the skill of the two combatants.
Finally having used up nearly everything remaining to him Beocca saw there was only one option left open to him. He hurled himself forward his shield bashing into Barracks body the blood from all the wounds flew up spattering Barrack’s shining plate. His blade flicked out cutting deep into Barrack’s outer leg just above the armour. Beocca hurled himself backwards satisfied with having wounded such a great warrior. He stood grinning as suddenly his sword fell from his grip. He stared down at the gushing hole in his arm spewing for crimson liquid. How had Barrack struck? How can anyone move so fast? It was not possible. Yet it had happened, his sword arm hung uselessly from his side, the muscles no longer responding to his commands.

With a crash he threw his shield to the side and stood up to his full height the blood dripping down the forearm. “Finish me. You are the victor, you are the greatest I have ever seen and I am glad that I have lost to you rather than to any other.”

Barrack was still reeling from that last move he could feel the blood pumping out of his leg but the wound was not serious. He had to admire the guts of his opponent to have risked everything his very life on one futile gesture to wound him. Luckily he had been anticipating such an attack and so had sacrificed a non lethal cut to the leg in return for disabling his opponent. Even though he had anticipated it the speed of the blow had surprised him and he had nearly lost his femoral artery. He had just been able to turn aside in time.

“I will not kill you. You are to great a warrior throw away over honour, whilst the empire is possibly threatened from beyond the seas. All men that can fight will be needed.” Barrack spoke softly to Beocca.

“But by the hierarchy I vow that none shall besmirch the name of my house again. If they do there will not be enough left of them to fill a casket so completely shall I destroy them.” These words were hurled out to echo round the courtyard directed at the tents of the Dranwreaker and any others that thought Ryker were weak. With this Barrack stalked back to the Ryker tent to the sounds of jubilation that swept over them.

Beocca walked slowly and calmly back to the Dranwreaker tent. The second he was out of sight of the crowd he collapsed to the ground exhausted beyond all human comprehension.

The fight had taken 4 turns of the glass all told. (I am suggesting this is about 15 minutes for a turn of the glass so in this case an hour.)

[Morgoth]

The sun danced along the edges of the Emperor's looking glass as he watched the duel from one of the many towers dotting his palace. Even in these serious times, the houses vere unable to put down their differences. He could but admitt though that he was enjoying himself. It was like watching the unfolding of a major storyarch in a play or a book. Things long since adding up slowly started toppeling towards each other. The eventual collison would greatly change the hirarchy of houses. He couldn't help but grin.

The gentle coug of one of his many advisors brought his attention back from the fight. It was pretty much over anyways. He wondered fleetingly whether there would be a kill, or just a dishonourable defeat. Never easy to tell beforehand.
"Divinity. There's been some alarming events which we should ..." A hand waved the advisor to silence.
"You're talking about the murder of some of my soldiers. The murders who was comitted, not by the asassins but by someone else. One of the Houses most likely as no one else have the resources nor ambition to do that." Clear blue eyes twinkled beneath thick, grey eyebrows. "Are you... surprised?" The Emperor chuckled at the expression on his advisor's face.
"Very little happens on this island that I do not know about. Above the lower levels at least. This, more than any other , is my domain."
"Very well. What do you want us to do? Should we employ the silent men? Or proclaim martial law? The assassination atempt alone grants us the right to the later."
"Indeed, that it does, but for now, I will be patient. No great harm has been done to us. We will however bring forth the silent men, let them do a bit of spying around. I want to know who comitted this crime. Now go"

---------

In the darkness of the following night, a massive, black ship fought through the lethal currents of the strait and glided up to the island. There it anchored, perhaps hundred and fifthy strides out, waiting for... something.

[Morgoth]

”My leigh, is this truly wise?”
The tall man resting against the back of the boat, lifted a lazy eyebrow while regarding his manservant with something like amusement glittering in his eyes. The salty water of the inland sea had already managed to plaster his hair against his brow, turning it’s normal nut brown colour into a greasy black.
“Wise, Belfram? When ever have I pretended to be wise?”
“But, my lord. Why risk this? Why can’t we rendevouz with the others and just invade? These savages wont be able to stand against the might of the Twins. Even their cabal, no matter how powerfull, can match the power of the gods.”
The weak light of the moon glittered in the whites of the tall man’s teeth, making him his grin seem almost feral. He rolled his shoulders slightly, shifting his fram to find a more comfortable position against the hard black wood of the longboat. The weak roll of the waves felt almost soothing, the slight rustle of the wind touching them like a lover. It was indeed a perfect night, blessed by the Lord, no doubt. A fine omen, making it easier to relax. Not that Aldrin really had any problems relaxing in the first place, but some of his companions on the boat looked almost ill. Whether that had to with nerves or the boat depended on the person. His second in command, a grizzly bastard name Forvin, looked nervous. Who knew what they would meet on top of that natural fortress? His priest retinue on the other hand hardly feared the foreigners, but the sea was something that... scared them. Perhaps the only thing that actually did. Aldrin frowned for a second, as his mind touched upon one of the few things he’d never managed to get to the bottom of. Failure was not really his thing.

He had questioned the intelligence of his plan several times, though not for anyone else to see. Pretty much everything counted against the course of action he had chosen, but his gut told him that this was the right thing to do. And through the centuries, he had learned to trust his gut more than anything. The ancient empire on which toes they had so inconsiderable stepped could probably manage, and probably wanted to kill them, even though he was certain they would suffer some serious losses as a result. It was that damn caball that would ensure an imperial victory. Every magician on the ship lay in their bunks, unable even to stand. Eventually their bodies would adapt, indeed the fact that hey had not done so already was... worrying, but until then the fleet would have to make do without them. Even he, Aldrin In Alman the most powerfull soul stealer on the continent – though the Almun’s would claim differently - believed them to be his match.

The long boat scraped silently against the pier and several soldiers quickly jumped out to tie it up. Next were the priests and the few servants brought along with them. Lastly Aldrin climbed out, his manservant with him. The pier was dark, and omniously silent.
“Why are there no one here to meet us?”
“A grave insult! How dare they do this to us! We’re representatives of his divine brilliance, and we will...”
“Spare me, priest.” Aldrin waved his hand dismissivly, barely managing to not to flinch at the look on Belfram’s face. I’ll pay for that later, I know.
“This is not the time for us to lose our heads. They might have ment to insult us, they might not. Either way, we must not show them anything. We must seem as one, calm, assured, arogant. In us they must see the expectation of victory.”
He turned his head, meetin the eyes of each in the group in turn.
“They obviously have not sent anyone to...” The interuption came in the guise of a polite cough from Frovin.
“What?”
“My leigh, someone’s approaching.” Out of the dark, three figures emerged. A young boy and two taller men who’s walk was such Forvin and his four soldiers tensed and reached for their weapons. A small wave from Aldrin calmed them, if only slightly.
The boy, hardly older than sixteen, possibly seventeen, walked nervously up to the group of what he must have thought of as deadly looking foreigners.
“You’re to follow me. The Eternal Emperor will see you at this time.”
Aldrin smiled slightly. The look on the face of the two priests was precious. He liked the emperor already.
“Show us the way, kid.” A slight nodd was all he received from the boy, empty looks from his two guards. They turned and walked back from where they came. The Lauren delegation could naught but follow.

*
“So where is the lifting mechanism?”
“the lifting mechanism?”
“The one that will bring us up”
“Oh no, there’s no lifting mechanism. We must walk the stairs.”
“Are you saying we have to climb that? Oh why didn’t we just invade..”

*
Armeihn watched the delegation climb the stairs. Their tiny figures almost like ants as they struggled upwards.
“You’re saying we’re the only ones apart from the emperor who know of their arrival?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Wasn’t it?”
“Boy, how many times have I told you to adress me with the respect I deserve.” The boy’s shrug made the tall house leader grin. A bastard he might be, but he was still the most spirited of his children and Armeihn liked that.
“The Emperor must have gone to great lenghts to manage this. In fact, I didn’t know even he had the resources. Beggs the question though, how did you find out, boy?”
“I **** their guide from time to time. He talks in his sleep.”
“Ah, that explains it then.”

[councilor]

Atop the roof, Nathan hid in the darkness of shadows, still as stone, watching those that silently stalked the walkways and passages for signs of his passing. If he were not endeavoring to hide from them, he would have snorted in contempt at their lack of training and talent, for their very movements gave them away. To any other, these amateurs would have seemed to be master assassin, the greatest in the craft – but not Nathan. They moved through the shadows, instead of with the shadow, so for moments, Nathan could see exactly where they were, yet he dared not reveal his hand too soon, for he detected signs of a true master among them. There were only the presence of three that could be detected, but they moved as if there was on other. Now that he knew the enemy, an opening in their formation must be found.

Minutes later, Nathan felt rather than heard the soft footsteps which in the total silence that sounded like gongs. His target blended into the shadows right beneath him and once again there were signs of his presence. Killer that he was, Nathan could not waste this opportunity. Removing a thin metal wire concealed within his belt, he lowered himself behind the target with his legs hanging onto the roof. In one swift movement, the wire wrapped it self around he mans throat and he began to claw uselessly at his throat. A quick jerk upwards by Nathan broke the man’s throat as surely as if he had been hanged. A quickly bloodless death with minimal effort – that was what Nathan prided himself upon. Exchanging clothes with the man after stashing his body upon the roof, Nathan took to the walkways, trusting that his stolen clothing would buy him at least one moment before he struck.

The second so easy that Nathan was almost laughed. The dead man at his feat neither heard nor felt the man approaching behind. The last thing he knew would have been Nathan’s hands before his neck broke.

The last two nearly cost Nathan his life. As he approached from behind the third amateur, the raised his hands in a silent acknowledgement .too intent upon his final prey, he was so careless that he almost missed the whistling of air behind him. Flinging himself to the side, he caught a brief glimpse of the thrown knife before his target and their master closed in on him. Cursing himself for his stupidity, that he did not see that the inept ones were mere bait, he flicked his hands and watched as the shining blades left his palms and thudded into one of his attackers. The other deftly twisted to one side and threw his own knives. Which scored lines across Nathan’s face as leaned to one side and crashed into the walls to his side, numbing his arm. And then the assassin was upon him - daggers in his hands flashing. Barely countering the near fatal blows and with one arm temporarily useless, Nathan could only dodge the edges that sought his life and counter with his good hand. In desperation, he remembered the vials that Conyes had only given him that morning. In a burst of energy, he flung his limp arm and gritted his teeth and one knife bit deep into flesh, trapping the knife. Throwing his other knife, Nathan watched in a sort of grim satisfaction as his attackers other weapon flowed through the air to block it, and the small vial that shattered upon impact with the knife, splashing the contents onto his attacker.

Having never before seen Conyes’ pride and joy at work before, Nathan watched in a disgusted fascination as the acid quickly dissolved the skin and the began to eat into the tissue beneath. The man screamed, breaking the silence and clutched his hands to his face. Moments later, he fell to the ground dead, his face and skull almost completely dissolved. Nathan climbed back to his feet, careful to avoid the drops that scattered the ground, where the stone was bubbling. “Good grief”, he muttered to himself “how the hell did he manage to come up with something like this?” looking at the corpse again, he said to himself “Dammit. There is no way in the seven hells that anyone is going to be able to recognize him now.” Despite his bleeding arm, he checked upon the other man who had fallen to his knife. Despite all odds, the man still alive – and that meant he could be questioned. Clutching his wounded arm and dragging the unconscious man behind him, Nathan made his way back to the screlogue compound.

* * * * * *

Antry was not exactly a happy man. Upon exiting the labyrinth after at least 2 weeks, he came out to find that Nathan had been hurt in a tangle with foreign assassin, and that he had missed the event of the year – the two muscle bound idiots from Dranwreaker and ryker hacking each other into little bits. The boy had yet to awaken, and on top of it, he had to watch Conyes interrogate the prisoner that Nathan had brought back – a thoroughly disquieting process.

He watched as Conyes drew vial after vial from his little carry box, much to the increasing terror of the prisoner. Conyes was a good interrogator, although depending on his mood, his methods varied between effortless and fatal – and this was a very well known fact among certain circles. Just as he was about to begin, a messenger came for Antry.

“My lord”, the messenger bowed, “ Councilor Nathan sends word that the young man sir brought back from the maze has revived. He requires you presence immediately.”

“About time too” declared Antry. Turning to Conyes, he said, “sorry brother – you heard the man, I have to go. Although do try to harm the young man as little possible. I would like to be able to have a little talk with him after this. I believe he shows promise.” With that, he left the windowless room, and headed towards the guest quarters.

The young man was sitting up in the guest bed, watching Nathan the way that prey watches a predator. Without preamble, antry said: “do you want you sisters back? We can help.”

The young man was immediately suspicious. He looked around the room. Who are you that you can help me? The one who took my sisters is a house of the empire – how can you help me against one of the houses? And if you could, what price would you demand?”

Antry said simply: “we can help you because we are also a house of the empire. Does the name of house screlogue ring any bells?” He smiled as the boy’s eye widened. “As for the price, well, although nothing is free, our price is extremely affordable. It’s simple really. We use our influence on the council to get you your sisters back and provide you with the backing of our house. All we ask is that you do not forget who helped you. What do you say?”