Chapter Five

                                                                         V




            Swiftly he leapt from his dream gasping for air as if he had been drowning and fighting for his life. His hands instinctively began inspecting his ribs looking for the crushing wound that didn’t exist. Sweat rolled off his body like a trickling water fall or a light spring rain. As he tried to clear the blur from his eyes all he could think about was how he finally understood what his mother was going through. A deep relentless guilt spilled through his gut as he realized his mother wasn’t crazy after all; she had merely been experiencing a vision of some kind that he now was also experiencing. Shortly after filling his conscious with grief he realized where he was. The cold and damp stone walls, the thick iron bars weathered with rust, the lingering aroma of urine, feces and decay, and even the over sized rats practically hairless from whatever plague they had contracted left Mousorrow without any fragment of a doubt that he was in somebody’s dungeon. He wasn’t completely certain which kingdom he was currently in but he was pretty confident in the guess of Morgalon.
            In all the kingdoms and dwellings in the land of Ohria the obsessively religious Morgalon was one of the last remaining ones that still outlawed being a Therion. There god Edec, the “Glowing Light of Meryth”, saw anything weird like a man and animal mixture to be impure and an abomination. Therefore anyone who allowed them to be governed by such a god treated such things as they would a demon or infidel standing before them.
            “Welcome young master…or perhaps you cannot find this dark damp place welcoming” came the deep bellowing rumble of a voice from the neighboring dark. Mousorrow looked to the gap of which the voice was coming through. Deep in the darkness he would have missed the opening had it not been for his superior vision. A big brown eye, staring back at him through the hole, he was able to pick out. “Being a Dwarf myself, places such as these do not bother me though the room service could use some much needed improvements” joked the mysterious Dwarf as he released a deep raspy laugh.
            “I’m a Therion master Dwarf. Only the woods do I call home. Places such as this are not meant for races such as mine.”
            “Ahhh…a Therion you say; from within the Engarr forest too no doubt? It’s not a wonder why you are imprisoned now. King Cornwall cannot live knowing abominations such as you breathe his air…cough…cough…Does this Therion carry a name or did your gods not grant thee with such?”
            “I am Mousorrow son of Makhar, Chief of the Orogga” he proudly announced irritated by the Dwarf’s accusations to his deity.
            “Chief of the Orogga? How very interesting…I do believe my people have a trade agreement with your tribe. Agnarr Stonebeard is the name and getting paid for physical interactions is the game.”
            “Well we know why I am in this wretched place. What brings the likes of you into this hole, and so far from home?” The Dwarf seemed to pause for a second as if insulted by the question. When he did respond it was with a hint of a deep anger or hurt along with the sense of a broken pride.
            “I was once a proud warrior, captain of the Grock Ta’Mor. Many of Orcs have fallen under the crushing weight of my hammer. Many of armies have fallen because of the thunderous stampede of my people! But my queen ill favored my drinking habits and the rambunctious behavior that followed. So I was released from the Dwarven army and my position. She might as well have released me from my honor…cough…cough! I was forced from my home and out casted by my family!” Agnarr stopped momentarily allowing some of the pent up anger to release itself without vocal expression. Mousorrow could hear his heart beat begin to slow from its pounding state as deep slow breathes entered his polluted lungs.
            “I’ve never cared too much for the sea so the Port City of Ragnor wasn’t really an acceptable alternative to my native home. So, south I traveled, through the outskirts of the Engarr and over the Lockmeer River. Originally I had planned to bypass the human cities all together and travel into the Horgan mountains in hopes to find other banished Dwarves. Unfortunately, my drinking flask had run dry so I detoured slightly into Morgalon territory to find some provisions. Well a few heavy drinks lead to a loose tongued human and next thing I know here I sit. Apparently, the poor fragile fool was the son of a Duke and the Duke didn’t take too kindly to me rearranging his son’s bones.” The Dwarf snickered at his final remark towards his fallen victim and then disappeared from the view of the hole to sit upon the floor with his back against the wall.
            “So you didn’t quit drinking even though it cost you so much?” Mousorrow asked but almost immediately regretted it in fear that he was being too imposing.
            “OH HEAVENS NO!” Agnarr laughed. “No use in wasting a perfectly good habit simply because you’ve been out casted. A true Dwarf will not change his ways but prove that they do not diminish his abilities.” Mousorrow snickered a little to himself; impressed by the Dwarf’s sense of pride and honor but intrigued by his backwards sense of logic.
                                                                        ***
            Deep within the kingdom of Morgalon an elfin ranger sits within her temporary quarters while lamenting her actions. She didn’t want to take the Therion to Morgalon but she knew of no other way to save his life. Her home city of Zveck was too far from the Engarr and there wasn’t any other major cities nearby that were capable of such healing techniques. Injuries involving magic were extremely hard to cure and almost always took a very well trained master healer to perform it. Thankfully Morgalon was well known for its healing capabilities; with an arsenal of druids, herb masters, monks, alchemists and many other students of healing almost no injury or plague tainted the beauty and health of its people. Deep down she knew, even if it landed him in imprisonment, bringing him was the right thing to do.
            Knock…knock…came the rattle on her door as she quickly jumped from within thought. Gracefully, as if the wind were carrying her, she walked to the door and opened to find a young boy dressed like some ridiculous squire. The boy’s eyes grew big as he looked upon her. Probably seeing his first female elf no doubt she thought to herself. Elves alone were known for their shocking beauty but female elves were more common for being able to stir untouched desires in holy men.
            “How may I help you young man?”
            “The king, oh what a king, would like to have, if he could have, a conference with you milady” said the boy as politely and poetically as he could. More often then not, in human lands, royalty required their servants when speaking to speak as if reciting a poem.
            “Thank you young squire…that’ll be all” Sabrina finally mustered while holding back a rather rude giggle.
            “Until we meet again…through the tales of time…service I am required” recited the boy as he gracefully bowed and gently kissed Sabrina upon her hand as was etiquette for servants. The boy took off in a darting leap and was quickly gone from view. Sabrina gently closed her door while contemplating what Lord Cornwall could possibly want with her this quickly. She had met the burly long bearded king a few times already in her time spent in the human city. Almost always he would hire her as a woodland guide for one of his trusted knights against some great enemy. More often then not it was the Duke of Lancor, Sir Jason McHarold, which she had to accompany for he was well known for his fighting and was the king’s most trusted knight.
            Through a brief yet honest search through the room’s wardrobe she found a rather appealing dress. The fabric was a silky green with silver and gold sewed into the dress itself like an eccentric thorn design. Quickly she removed her usual attire and slid herself into the human dress. The fabric was gentle as it clung to her curves. Human women wore such dresses for more of a spectacle rather then traditional respect. However, regardless of the dress’ level of bawdiness, the dress would suit perfectly for a human king.
            As Sabrina walked through the great halls of Castle Cornwall she was reminded of how gaudy humans really were. Huge and impressive statues of warriors and kings past littered the walls amongst long dangling tapestries of the Cornwall coat of arms. Weapons of legend were framed on well designed pedestals as they glistened with their honorable loneliness. In Zveck, the Great Tree city of Alamora and home to the Elves, such things were never heard of. The only statues were that of trees and other plant life as the tapestries were the vines and flowers that hung from them. Elves were a much more humble people in appearance; more dedicated to their studies then boasting their achievements some would say. Now granted Elves did care about their appearance, they hated being outdone in beauty or finesse, but they certainly didn’t advertise everything they had or have such as the humans. Both Human and Elf were a proud people but humans liked to rub it in your face. 
            “Ah…my favorite little elf!” loudly joked the King as Sabrina walked in through the massive royal doors. His dingy tangled red beard vibrated as if the earth itself were shattering from his mighty bellow of a laugh. Obviously he took humor in her lack of size.
            “How may I be of service my lordship?” politely asked Sabrina as she ignored his ill attempt at making casual conversation. The King quickly caught his laugh with a couple deep breaths and stroked through his long beard.  His royal gown began to move slower as the King calmed himself and the fabric was once again able to rest upon his stocky body.
            “I intend on holding a celebration in our victory against Madame Erinnah the Woodland Witch. Part of this celebration will be a tournament. Now it isn’t often that I invite a woman to fight; in fact I’ve never done it. However, I would be greatly honored if you would join in this celebration of metal against witchery” proudly stated Lord Marcus Cornwall. No emotion seemed to enter Sabrina as the question rang through her mind. She knew the tournament served no logical purpose other then to boast your skills and victories yet something inside her told her it was a necessary challenge. The feeling was new and very complex; as if one of her emotions itself was reaching out and speaking to her.
            “I as well would be honored to participate my lord” she smiled half seriously half with regret.
            “Great that settles it then! Squire fetch me Lord…” before the King could finish his command to his servant Sabrina had turned and left the royal chamber. Slowly she walked down the Hall of Kings contemplating the feeling she had in front of the King. Was that really an emotion or something else entirely? Many times she ran the question through her mind; racking her memories and teachings for anything of the sort. She remembered stories as a child of ancient magic where the caster could project thoughts and ideas in others heads but she also remembered the caster had to be within eye’s sight to cast it. Was their a wizard in the room with us? Could the King possess such skill and nobody be aware of it? Then suddenly the feeling that someone was following her began creeping through her mind. Quickly she spun with her hand fixed on the shaft of a hidden dagger in her wrist band. Ready to kill she was but no target could be found. The hall was eerie and lonesome without the faintest hint of treachery.
            “Hey I heard your fighting in the…” came a powerful voice from behind her only to be cut short by the blade of Sabrina’s dagger placed against his gullet. Before she could see his face his hand came up and grabbed a hold of hers and attempted to twist it behind her back. Swiftly she countered with a kick over her shoulder to what she hoped was his chin. She knew this fighter possessed great skill so her kill must be swift. In a two step motion almost quicker then the eye could see she placed her non-dominant hand at the butt of the dagger and turned to thrust the weapon deep into her attacker’s chest. Her attacker must have anticipated the attack for he had all but disappeared sending her dagger into nothing but open air. Almost as quickly, yet more graceful, came a familiar short sword across the vital part of her throat. She knew then if her attacker wanted her dead she would have been; so she eased her stance and allotted for him to speak.
            “I do believe you’ve made a mistake my dear” snickered Sir Jason into her ear as he eased his weapon from her throat. Quickly she turned on him and punched him directly in the chest sending him back stepping a couple feet.
            “And how do you know it was a mistake?” asked Sabrina with a half smile.
            “Well I had hoped it was but if it wasn’t your more then welcome to another failed attempt” joked Sir Jason.
            “You really shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
            “I wasn’t aware I was sneaking…you just seemed transfixed on something down the hall.”
            “I was…I mean…I wasn’t…never mind!” Sabrina now annoyed from being utterly confused on the events that past.
            “Well…anyhow…I had heard you were fighting in the tournament to come.”
            “Then you heard correctly. King Marcus asked if I would participate and I accepted.”
            “I didn’t think competition fighting was your thing” asked Sir Jason with a confused look on his face. Sabrina blushed with a slight anger building within her and turned her head to hide it.
            “It’s not…something inside told me to do so and it’s not my habit to ignore my instincts.”
            “My apologies…I didn’t mean to offend. I also will be participating in the celebration. Part of the tournament will be a teamed event. I was wondering if you would like to be my partner.”
            “It would be my honor, Sir Jason” said Sabrina as she allotted a slight bow in her stature and the slight break of a smile.
                                                           
                                                            ***
       The day of the event was a bright and thunderous one. Families from all over the kingdom gathered together to boast and play out their families’ great heroes. Champions upon champions came to fight in the royal games. Their family’s job now was to flaunt their achievements and gather bets on their behalf. Young town’s boys all the way up to old nobles found these events as the time to dissuade their social and political differences in order to come together under the same banner. Every village, town, city, and noble family had its warrior and proudly waved their warrior’s flag.
            Giant tents decorated in specific colors and crests were lifted to the heavens and soon after radiated with the scents of every mother’s “special recipe”. Men of all sorts began drowning themselves in many different styles of ale. Brewing was a major trade within the kingdom of Morgalon. Most young men spent a few years of their adolescence cleaning the floors and filling the ingredients of the nearest brewing pub. The music was vibrant and filled the people with a spirit of joy that comes not too often. Dancing, frolicking, wrestling and cooking were the non-scheduled events of the day and the people loved every minute of it. Even the champions were tapping their toes to the flowing magic in the air; their armor vibrating from the deep bellowing of the people’s drums.
            Sir Jason spent little time wrestling on his equipment. More confident of his own technique he felt no real need for a lot of fancy metal protecting his precious figure. Some thick studded leather and light chain is all he would really need. Thick and smooth black hide was his favorite. Large silver studs lined his body; one line down each shoulder, three lines down his back and two down his chest. His belt, gauntlets and boots were the only articles left with studs upon them. His legs and arms carried no studs for it would hinder his movement. Inside the thick leather was a fitted chain mail shirt covering a fine black silk tunic. His leggings were a thicker black cloth with silver stitched into the hems. Normally he would be wearing a black great helm cut from the famous Del iron crafted from the scales of dragons; but today he wanted the other combatants to see the danger that dwelled deep within his eyes. Fear would certainly grip his enemies if not for his dark armor and physical demeanor of a killer then it would definitely fall true for his claymore. Deep stains of blood and death, though not visible, lay within the finely crafted metal. The shining black dragon head at the butt end of the handle of his sword alone spoke novels of his glorious past. Since a child Jason McHarold trained with the exclusive Il’Kar, an order of dragon slayers. Many times he would suffer life threatening injuries due to being left with nothing but his sword, sandals and a loin cloth in the treacherous Deserts of Uthere, populated with Giants, Dragons and other monstrous creatures alike, and had to survive his journey home. He has stared down massive trolls only to quickly behead them then turn around and continue fishing for his dinner. Though Jason wasn’t very old many songs of the glorious and deadly “Bloody McHarold” were sung by the Dwarves of Yerach. Tales of his triumphs spread across the entirety of Meryth before he had even reached manhood. The men of Ohria both treasured and feared his coming. Yet with all his glory, all his passion for war and fighting, something spoke ill of the tournament. Something deep inside told him he would was in mortal danger. 
            “Milord Lady Lilythian approaches!” announced one of Sir Jason’s many honorable Knights of the Golden Lance, his personally trained army and the defenders of his land Lancor. Sabrina moved swiftly by the guard like a mysterious mist through an alley of pillars. Even more lightly decorated with armor then Sir Jason Sabrina was able to move with great ease as she preferred. Her fur and leather outfit fitted perfectly to her tiny figure. Had Sir Jason not had great wit about him he would have been drooling over her like the rest of his men. 
            “There is a treachery here I can feel it” Sabrina quickly whispered into his ear.
            “I know…I can feel the same thing. We’ll have to be extra cautious while were out there. Deep and lost within the heat of battle is the perfect opportunity for an assassin to strike.” Loud and powerful horns rang their vibrating tone through the kingdom and field of which the tournament would take place. Sir Jason returned his sword to its place on his back and rose to exit his fitting tent. Sabrina close behind him quickly scanned the area for anyone watching a little too much. It was common for people to stare at her companion but an assassin would keep an ever watchful eye otherwise possibly miss a perfect opportunity if they were the target of an attack. Though nothing and no one seemed out of the ordinary her hand never left the saber that rested along her waist. Together they approached the champion’s tent along with all the other combatants. Many men and women of all shapes and sizes were entering to fight. Some Jason knew would be an easy victory but there were certainly others that shown years of experience, some of which Jason had fought with before. Then he laid eyes on the one he knew without a doubt was going to be a problem; a famous combatant through the entirety of Ohria and a true foe for any skilled fighter. Gralamin Urthadar or more commonly heard as Gralamin the Thunderer, a Half-Orc outcast famous for his temper and ability to kill. Many attempts on his life have been made but, with his ridiculously massive war hammer and his doubled ended Orc axe, his malice was far greater then many had ever known. With his one good eye he noticed Sir Jason and smiled a menacing grin. His bad eye, white with blindness from the wrong end of a Dwarf’s axe, was rumored to be bewitched to see things that were meant to be hidden as it rolled frantically around as if free from control.
            “GLORIOUS DAY IS IT NOT IL’KAR?” roared Gralamin.
            “Aye it is Gralamin! Perhaps you will get to see the rest of it…assuming you don’t fight me of course!” Gralamin’s smile immediately went to a snarl. The towering fiend quickly approached Sir Jason and stopped just before running into him. The Half-Orc was so close now that Sir Jason could smell the rotten meat that clung to what teeth he had left.
            “Awfully confident you are for a puny human! If I were you I would take more care in my words! Accidents happen all the time in such tournaments…people die frequently!” Gralamin followed his threat with a deep growl as he clinched one of his massive light gray fists.
            “Me you are not, however, I would still heed those words. A quick arrow in your gullet, a perfectly aimed strike with a dagger to your backside…I can’t be there to protect you from everything my bald friend.” Sir Jason smiled wide as he watched the rage build within Gralamin. The Half-Orc quickly turned and walked away from the verbal contest. Sabrina shook her head at the pissing contest in obvious disgust.
            “Well that was productive” she hissed with a demeaning tone.
            “That it was…the challenge has been set.”
            “What challenge? I heard no challenge!”
            “Gralamin cannot handle someone who bears no fear for him. At some point during this tournament he and I will battle to the death.” A smile broke across his face at such a concept.
            “And what exactly will that prove?” Sabrina unable to understand the need for meaningless killing had an intrigued look upon her face.
            “It won’t prove anything. Gralamin has been terrorizing the lands for far too long now. I intend on ending his reign of terror and he is going to walk right into it.”
            “GATHER AROUND CHAMPIONS! GATHER AROUND!” A rather short fat man dressed in political robes of royal purples and gold approached the champions. The hair on top of his head was non-existent but on the sides it was a grayish brown and curly. His thick beard was also sprinkled with gray and appeared to carry left over food of some sort. “Welcome champions to the tournament of ages! Here you will be challenged in many forms of skill and combat…” Sir Jason found amusement watching the fat man’s belly bounce up and down as he talked. The speech was a common one; used frequently at tournaments and such. Always it was the fight of their lives and only the best of the best can prevail. He had heard it all before for none of it was new to him. After the fat man’s speech the champions broke off and proceeded to their areas of interest. Sabrina first competed in the archery portion as Sir Jason found himself competing in hand to hand combat.
                                                            ***
            With the coming light of day the dungeons became a moist and humid hell. Sweat and vomit ran down the dark stones like tiny rivers over charred lands. What little of an opening they had in the dungeon let as little amount of air in as possible even though Mousorrow could still smell the burning fires and exquisite cooking at the celebration. The powerful drums and horns were the only noise that penetrated the thick stone walls. Memories of the Orogga songs and dance began to fill his mind as a deep sadness began to fill his chest.
            “Ahhh…you hear that lad? Can you imagine all the different ales that are being passed around out there? Even the Morgalon guard will be toasting to a celebration of this size…if you catch my drift?” whispered Agnarr through the peep hole between him and Mousorrow.
            “Don’t tell me you seek to escape from this place? Is such a concept possible?” Mousorrow quickly asked now facing the tiny hole on the stone wall.
            “Oh yes lad! Breaking out is the easy part. Only a Dwarf can successfully imprison a Dwarf. The hard part is escaping Castle Cornwall and then escaping Morgalon itself. Once they’ve notice we’ve escaped King Marcus will certainly put a death price on our heads. What we need is the assistance of an old friend of mine. We’ll be able to find her in the worst parts of Morgalon…the shallows. Only thieves and murderers roam there.”
            “So what’s our dilemma then? Why are we still suffering the putrid conditions of these stone cells?”
            “Well lad as I’m sure you remember I am a Dwarf. Outside of the city I have no more friends and I certainly don’t know how to hide in anything other then stone. Just east of Morgalon lies an old forest that I’m pretty confident the royal bounty hunters won’t dare enter in chase of us…”
            “You mean Maytura…the lost woodland realm? We can’t enter those woods! The entire forest itself is enchanted and haunted!”
            “That’s where you come in lad! You can navigate us through the woods long enough to lose our trackers! Once we’ve lost them we can leave the woods and head for Thano!” Agnarr started coughing wildly from the excitement.
            “Where and what is Thano?”
            “WHAT’S THANO? Boy have you been lost your entire lifetime? Not only is it the greatest city in all of Ohria but it’s the home to the Wizard’s Council. There is no king in Thano. It’s completely a city for the people ran by representatives elected by the people. There is no better city if you’re a wanderer such as we are.”
            “Ok then…I think I can handle that. Once we are in the woods though you have to follow everything I say! No arguing or questioning! In woods such as those you will need my superior senses to survive” warned Mousorrow.
            “Aye it’s a deal then! Let’s get started!”
                                                            ***
            “OW! STOP PUSHING AND PULL ON IT!” roared a slightly large burly man that had just been brutally whipped by Sir Jason. His friends and family were pulling on his dislocated arm while Jason was catching a momentary drink of some refreshing water. After his arm was relocated he quickly jumped up while ripping the leather gauntlets from his hands. Doubling up his fists he approached Jason once again and attempted what appeared to be a powerful “right cross” only to find nothing but air in front of him and a crippling heel in the side of his knee. The large man buckled to the ground and Jason quickly finished the match with a thunderous strike with his shin to the back of the man’s head. As the man’s head bounced off the ground, sending a cloud of dirt hovering over his body, the crowd roared in excitement at yet another victory for Sir Jason. A young boy quickly ran a medallion to Sir Jason signifying he was the champion at Staves. Being as Jason never carried a staff he wasn’t even sure he would compete in that part but he figured his body verses their staff would make an interesting challenge. Sabrina quickly approached Sir Jason with her medallions of archery, daggers and whips.
            “I see you’ve wreaked the benefits of good training as well” she joked with a wide grin on her face.
            “Well of course did you expect anything less?”
            “I believe teams are coming up…Gralamin will be in the one.”
            “One could only hope for as much” smiled Jason while tapping on the short sword to his side. BOOM! A loud explosion shook the tents and ground around them while sending clods of dirt flying in many directions. Sabrina and Jason looked frantically for some form of an explanation only to see scattering people. Jason quickly pulled his claymore and Sabrina her saber as they crept through the wall of debris and blinding smoke. After a minute of searching Sabrina’s keen eyes picked up what appeared to be traces of lightning followed by balls of fire up ahead.
            “This way…someone is casting magic!” As they approached they could hear alarming screams from Morgalon guards about assassins. Sir Jason doubled his pace and quickly found dead bodies scattered about. The cloud of dirt vanished as a war hammer almost fell upon his head. Sir Jason scrambled for safety as a large boot sank into his chest.
            “AREN’T SO TOUGH NOW ARE YA IL’KAR!” roared Gralamin as he attempted to smash Jason once again. Without even a moment’s thought Jason’s body acted with adrenaline and tossed him to his feet completely missing the war hammer. His short sword was quick and precise as it peeled across the back of Gralamin’s right leg but Gralamin was even quicker with a spinning elbow to Jason’s face. Blood began pouring down his face as Gralamin punched him in the nose with the staff of his war hammer. Dizzy and stumbling Jason was barely able to dodge the war hammer swung at him once again like a swinging boulder of destruction. Gralamin briefly took a second to gather the strength to swing again which was all Jason needed. As the war hammer swung around again Jason dodged underneath it and leapt for Gralamin’s torso with short sword extended. The beast of a man roared in pain with the small weapon sunk deep into his stomach. Jason leapt in for a kick at the wound only to be caught around the throat by the half-orc’s crushing grip. “I MAY DIE FROM THIS IL’KAR…BUT NOT BEFORE YOU…” just as the finishing words were coming from Gralamin’s mouth they were ceased by an arrow driving through his good eye and into his brain. The half-orc lingered for a moment as blood ran from his new wound and then instantaneously fell to the ground with Sir Jason. Jason quickly coughed air back into his lungs and painfully lifted himself from the ground.
            “About time you joined the fight…I surely hope you weren’t intending on fighting like this in the teams match” teased Jason as Sabrina approached.
            “I was more concerned with the magic user.”
            “Did you get him?” asked Jason as he quickly searched for the assassin’s corpse.
            “I did but not quick enough to kill him. I caught him in the arm to disrupt one of his spells and he quickly vanished afterward.”
            “So did we find out who the target was?”
            “Not yet but there is a gathering over there” Sabrina pointed to a huddled group of Morgalon guards. Sir Jason approached the group but knew who the target was before he even reached them. He fell to his knees as rage surged through his body from the sight of King Marcus Cornwall dead upon the ground.