On the second day after the royal wedding the Hand of Fortune was summoned to the war council of the co-rulers of the new Kingdom of Ukalus. The royal couple had gathered together as many of the great nobles and war leaders of both the constituent realms as could be spared within the precincts of the Abbey of Rivona. Across the Sürkil River a combined military force had been quietly gathering for the last tenday in and around the keep of Dorjen.

“We intend to move on the false Earl of Yorma, and retake Kar Urkonis,” Queen Miralda began bluntly, when the Hand were gathered before her in the refectory that had been taken over as a war room. King Dorikon and a half-dozen other war leaders were also present, as was Miralda’s Mistress of Esoterica and a grim looking Lady Thilisa Kleftin.

“We have officially named the false Earl a renegade and traitor, something We were reluctant to do if there was any chance of recovering the true Earl. But We have been convinced by Our experts, and your own recent experience,” she gestured vaguely at Erol, declining to get more specific in this too-public venue, “that poor Sedris is truly gone beyond all hope.

“We have attaindered all of the property of the Earldom and decreed that the false Earl may be executed by any loyal subject of the joint realms – given the arcane powers of the man, and those of the shadowy group behind him, it seems wisest not to attempt capture.”

Lady Thilisa’s grim visage turned even stonier, and Mariala thought she detected a sheen of water in her gray eyes… but no tear fell, and she nodded firmly at her queen’s words.

“We have also affirmed the Lady Thilisa Kleftin as Countess of Yorma in her own right, to rule the fiefdom as vassal primus to Us, her unborn child to be named Heir in the hour of his – or her – birth. But the title shall not pass to the child until the Countess herself dies or chooses to step down.”

At this point the Mistress of Esoterica stepped forward and set a large wooden box down on the table in front of the King and Queen. Miralda laid a hand on it and frowned contemplatively down. After a moment she smiled and her eyes rose to meet the collective, curious gaze of the Hand.

“Which brings us to why We have summoned you to Us today. We would have you complete as task for Us that will greatly help in the retaking of Kar Urkonis. You have been there, you know that it is a mighty fortress, one of the strongest in the land. It is well garrisoned, its native troops bolstered by mercenaries and barbarian warriors of the North. It will be a long and costly siege, to simply storm the castle as it stands now… and we cannot afford long and costly right now.

“Therefore We propose to use a strategem.” She flipped a latch on the box and pulled off its top panel, causing the four sides to fall to the table. Inside was metal sphere the size of a summer melon, etched with arcane symbols, inset with colored crystals  and held  in place by four stubby feet. A large many-faceted crystal was set into the top.

“This has been created by Our Mistress of Esoterica, with the aid of Master Vetaris and others o thef Guild of Arcane Lore. It has within it an image of Myself, laying out the charges against the false Earl, stating that he is an impostor who has murdered the true Earl, and declaring his widow as the true Countess of Yorma and his unborn child as Heir. We also pronounce Our marriage and the formation of the new, united realm, and call on all the loyal citizens of Urkonis to overthrow the usurper and open the gates to their true ruler.

“We do not, of course, imagine that this will actually happen – too many mercenaries and barbarians are in positions of power within the castle and town. But the confusion this sows will make the defense much more difficult, as some portion of the false Earl’s troops may be expected to rebel, or at least drag their feet.

“We will not go further into our plans for the siege, for security, since we are asking you to infiltrate Kar Urkonis and place this device on the top of the highest tower therein. It has been calculated that his will provide the widest visibility of Our message to both castle and town. You will need to make sure that no one can interfere with the device for six minutes, once it is triggered… and it must be triggered manually.”

“This is a great and dangerous task We ask of you,” King Dorikon said, taking up the thread. “But the past deeds of the Hand of Fortune have won you renown in both halves of Our new kingdom… and the trust of two monarchs. We would not ask this of you if We did not think you capable of achieving success. But it is a serious decision, and you should have time to think on it.”

Vulk looked at the others, and a silent communication passed between the friends… trepidation and worry, to be sure, but also a strong resolve and calm certainty. They all remembered the true Earl of Yorma, the kind, strong man they had rescued from nightmarish imprisonment – and they remembered their last encounter with the monster who now inhabited his body. The desire to avenge Lord Sedris’ tragic death was strong.

“I do not think we need more time, your Majesties,” Vulk spoke for the group. “It will be our honor to help in whatever way we can, and our pleasure to avenge Lord Sedris if we can!”

Both monarchs looked pleased, and with little more ado they set about brainstorming the best way to infiltrate the castle and deliver the device. Countess Thilisa was heavily involved, since she knew the secrets of Kar Urkonis best. Two hours of intense study and discussion, and a plan was formed. As the council broke up for dinner, Thilisa pulled aside Mariala, Vulk and Devrik.

“You knew my husband, however briefly,” she said quietly. “And I think you know how hard it has been to accept that he is really gone. But he is, and I do not want you to hesitate if you get the chance to destroy the… the THING… that wears his body! Do not risk yourselves for it, but if the opportunity arises – strike without doubt or second thoughts!”

The three friends murmured their understanding, and after a few words of sympathy the Countess released them and returned to the Queen’s side.

•••

Three days laters a brace of carts approached the gates of Kar Urkonis. One held three large kegs of beer, and was driven by a young blond man, obviously the brewmaster’s apprentice, and his Khundari assistant, equally obviously there to protect the wares from thirsty highwaymen. The other cart held various glasswares, packed securely against the bumps and jarrings of the road but visible to tempt potential buyers. This one was driven by a tall, good-looking man, clearly the master glass artisan, and his equally pretty and even taller body-guard.

The gates of the castle had opened shortly after dawn to allow the regular commerce of the town to flow in. Now, two hours later, the first bustle of farmers and tradesmen had passed within; but this was a holiday, the Alean celebration of the Feast of the Golden Horn, and tomorrow was an even greater one – Höl Kopia, the great celebration of the autumnal equinox. So traffic was heavier than normal, and it was hardly surprising to see brewers and glassmen pushing their wares.

As the two merchants set up their carts in the castle’s main courtyard, two others made their way in with the crowds – a dark-haired mercenary, looking for work, and an elderly farmer with a sack of cabbages on his back. The first was directed to the barracks commander, the latter ignored after a cursory glance in the sack.

“Well, that went rather well,” the old farmer said in a surprisingly feminine voice, as he sidled up to the brewer and glassmaker’s wagons. He was fingering a small amulet hung on a cord around his wrinkled neck.

“Don’t undo the illusion just yet, Mariala,” the Khundari warned the old man, who stopped fiddling with the amulet, giving him a gap-toothed smile. “That was the easy part. Now we have to get into the castle itself.”

“We need to get to the castellan,” Devrik said, having sided-stepped the trip to the barracks. He patted the barrels on Korwin’s cart. “The beer is our best bet, since it will get the troops attention – they won’t give a rat’s ass about the glass. Once they convince the castellan he should try the beer, we’ll be able to snag his interest with the glassware, though.”

A half hour of giving out free samples of beer, the best the Abbey of Rivona could provide (which was very good indeed), did eventually bring the castellan out from the massive donjon to test its quality for himself. Despite this initial success, Korwin continued to occasionally mutter under his breath that his own Sanguinary Canary Ale, would’ve really clinched the deal.

Vulk opened his mouth to tell his friend to shut up about his damn home brew, but instead vented a sharp “oh shit!” The approaching castellan was trailed by a mercenary, either body guard or assistant, and it was someone Vulk knew all too well – his asshole cousin Tynal Elida!

Drawn by his hissed warning, the others moved to screen the cantor from his cousin’s sight as Vulk shifted to the far side of the glass cart. Most of the others had met Tynal only once before, in this very castle, and while it had been a brief encounter it had also been very intense. Fortunately Erol and Mariala were entirely unrecognizable, most of the others were variously disguised, and Tynal was probably the sort to whom all Khundari looked the same.

“This is really quite good,” the castellan, Ser Biob, agreed after quaffing from the personal cup he had handed to Korwin to fill. He didn’t offer any to Tynal, who stood slightly apart watching the goings-on with a bored indifference. “But his Grace has developed a taste for wine over beer lately… and I fear this is too good to waste on the troops. While his Grace believes in letting his men eat and drink well, this might be a bit much…”

“Ah, but you say this interest in wine is recent?” Korwin asked. As he did, Mariala, having cast Wallflower on herself, stepped closer and spoke soto voce into the man’s ear while mentally “pushing” him with all her will.

“Wouldn’t you like to surprise the Earl with such a fine brew? Might this not renew his interest in beer? Which is, after all, less expensive than those wines…”

“Of course,” Ser Biob continued, frowning slightly, “this is such a fine draft… perhaps it would reinvigorate his Grace’s interest in beer. And the Immortals know, it would help my poor budget if his Grace demanded fewer of those expensive Kadaran reds… yes, yes, I think if the right price could be negotiated… we should discuss this further.

“And some of this glassware is very fine indeed… his Grace has begun to express a true nobleman’s taste for such exquisite things in recent months. I have heard him complain about how the metal goblets affect the taste of his beverages. So yes, let us repair to a more comfortable venue to discuss prices…”

With Mariala effectively invisible to most people, and Devrik just assumed to be part of the party, the Hand was whisked past the sentries guarding the main door into the keep with only a cursory glance. Devrik helped Vulk heft one of the beer barrels, careful to keep the cantor’s head screened from his cousin’s view, while Erol made a show of the precarious load of glassware he carried, focusing everyone on the exciting prospect of sudden disaster.

Once past the guards Ser Biob led the group to a sitting room off the main corridor. It was nicely appointed, and clearly used to receive casual visitors. After setting up the glassware display and pouring the castellan another “sample,” the dickering over prices began. But this was just a cover for Korwin to cast his Drunken Hand on the poor man, increasing his blood alcohol levels far beyond what two beers could account for.

It didn’t take long for the man to become noticeably inebriated, which made him even more susceptible to Mariala’s “suggestions.” Instructing Tynal to keep on eye on the visitors, the castellan mumbled agreement with the idea that a short rest might do wonders to put his thoughts back in order, and stumbled out the door and off to his chambers.

Resisting all attempts to get him to try the beer, Tynal looked like he was becoming seriously annoyed at what he clearly thought was a waste of time… and suspicious of the odd behavior of Ser Biob. At Mariala’s urging, and against his better judgement, Korwin attempted Drunken Hand on the mercenary. When this showed no apparent effect, Mariala stepped forward and cast a spell of her own, negating her Wallflower invisibility in the process.

Even as Vulk’s cousin finally noticed her, stepping forward in alarm and reflexively half drawing his sword, the Syncope of Shala hit him like a wall of down pillows, and he collapsed bonelessly to the floor in a deep sleep. After Erol and Devrik arranged him comfortably on a couch Mariala grasped Toran’s amulet hanging from her neck and concentrated on the Tynal’s face. Her features began to flow and in a moment she was his perfect döppelganger.

“Wouldn’t the castellan be a better choice of disguise?” Korwin asked diffidently as the transformation finished.

“Maybe,” Mariala replied shortly. “But we don’t know where he is, what route he took to get there, and who might have seen him along the way. If he was then seen coming along again from a different direction – no, this is the better option.”

While she had been transforming Toran and Vulk had been opening the wine barrel and removing both the group’s larger weapons and the oil-skin-sealed device they had come to plant. Devrik stood before the small fire in the brazier in the corner of the room and attempted to locate the false Earl by means of his Fire Ears spell. But if the man was near a fire, he wasn’t speaking.

Once everyone was armed the group slipped into the hall , Tynal-Mariala leading the way. But before they could make their way to the main staircase they were stopped by two guards in the entry hall. Both were clearly retainers of the Earl, not mercenaries, and equally clearly didn’t much like Tynal.

“Hold on,” the senior guard called out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m taking these guests up to the roof,” Tynal-Mariala replied in as close an approximation of Tynal’s voice as she could muster. “Ser Biob’s order, while he consults with his Grace.”

“Well my orders come straight from the Earl,” the guard sneered, “and he says no stanger goes beyond the main hall without his express permission. And I doubt you’ve got that, mercenary.”

“Actually,” said Erol, stepping forward and rummaging with one hand in his scrip, “if you just take a look at my balls, I think we could sort this all out in short order.”

The guard’s looks of astonishment at this bizarre suggestion quickly turned to anger, and they both moved toward the group, drawing their swords.

“Oi! What’ve you got there?” the senior guard cried out. “Let’s see your hands!”

With a smile and a muttered word Erol withdrew his hand from his scrip, revealing two small crystal spheres which he held out, close to his chest. This prevented his friends, with the exception of Mariala, from seeing the speheres, which began to glow and pulse in a rhythmic cascade of multi-colored light.

“Here now, what’s this… then… …you just… put… those…” the guard’s words tapered off into silence as he and his companion stood slack jawed, arms limp at their sides as their swords clattered to the stones, mesmerized by the bewitching sight of Asakora’s Balls of Wonder.

Mariala felt the pull of that fascination as well, but with a burst of her not inconsiderable will power she was able to wrench her gaze away. As the others crowded forward to see what was going on Erol closed his hand over the spheres and slipped them back into his pouch.

“That was… very impressive,” Mariala said, looking at Erol with suddenly narrowed eyes. For someone who’d barely believed in the power of the T’ara a few months ago, this was actually amazing…

“What happened? What did he do” Vulk asked, standing in front of the mesmerized guards, who continued to stare blankly ahead.

“No time to explain, the effect will wear off in about a minute,” Erol replied, bending to pick up the fallen weapons. He quickly slipped them back into the sheaths the men wore, and motioned to the stairs. “They won’t remember anything of the last few minutes, so they won’t be raising the alarm. Assuming we’re not standing here when they come out of the trance, of course.”

They all moved with alacrity then, and were up the wide central staircase well before the two befuddled men began to come to their senses. Mariala lingered near the top of the stairs to make sure they really wouldn’t be sounding an alarm.

“Um, Stahn, why are we, um standing in the middle of the hall,” the junior man asked, sounding confused but not sleepy or drugged.

“I… I have no idea, Holivar,” the senior man replied, equally confused. “And… why is my sword in your sheath?”

Mariala grinned as the sounds of the two confused men receded, returning to their proper ground floor post. Confused, to be sure, but apparently with no memory of seeing and confronting the Hand. A neat trick, she thought, as she hurried to catch up with the others.

Unfortunately, there was no time for another neat trick with the second set of guards. Watching over the main hallway on the first floor they were instantly suspicious, seeing a group of strangers without a native guide. Calling out an order to halt, they drew their weapons and advanced.

But once again Erol leapt into action first – with blinding speed he drew his own sword, and in less than two heartbeats both mercenary guards were down, dying in pools of their own blood. Devrik and Korwin reshathed their own blades, muttering something unintelligable, but Toran, hefting his battle axe, was completely audible as they all stalked past the bodies toward the next set of stairs.

“Show off!”

On the second floor, the stairs opened into a large vestibule where two more men stood watch outside a pair of closed doors. Despite the speed with which Erol had taken out the guards below, something had alerted these two, and they already had weapons drawn as the Hand confronted them. And since Erol still had his sword in hand, blood dripping from it, there could be little doubt about the nature and business of these strangers…

With a yell the first guard leapt at Erol, going for a killing thrust. But the former gladiator brushed the stroke aside with his own blade, and with his free hand punched his opponent in the throat. With a strangled wheeze the man collapsed to the floor. As he struggled for air through a crushed larynx his companion moved in quickly to his own attack.

Erol was again able to parry, but his counterstrike failed to connect, and the guard danced back. Toran rushed forward from his left and slashed the man across the gut with his axe, rending the leather armor and sending a spray of blood arcing to the far wall. The mercenary staggered, but didn’t fall, his face a rictus of pain and rage, his sword arm steady.

Now Devrik moved in from the other side of Erol, and feinted at the snarling man, then moved in with a lightening backhand slash. The guard tried to counterstrike, but his blade skittered along Devrik’s larger one, which bit heavily into his side.

Again, the man staggered back, but refused to fall. Instead, he lunged forward at Erol, a sudden twisting thrust that almost slipped past his block. Erol’s counter thrust hamstrung the mercenary, who finally fell to one knee. To everyones’ amazment the man lifted his sword for another attack, struggling to stand, but before he could follow through Erol kicked him in the head, and he collapsed at last.

There was no time to admire the man’s stamina and courage, however – this fight had certainly alerted whoever awaited them on the next floor, and they couldn’t give them any more time to prepare. The fighters turned as one and made for the stairs, Mariala and Vulk close behind.

But Korwin had been ahead of them. Realizing that they were losing the element of surprise, he had jumped over the first fallen guard and made for the stairs before the second guard had launched his attack. Summoning the Frostblade, he kicked open the door to the large room directly beneath the roof.

The lone guard stationed there had been about to open it himself, and he staggered back as Korwin barreled through. But he was an experienced mercenary, alerted to trouble from the muffled sounds coming from below, and with his sword already in hand. Recovering almost instantly, he lunged forward in a savage attack.

Korwin, blood pumping and adrenaline flowing, ducked under his enemy’s blow and counter-struck with the silvery blade of ice covering his hand. Moving almost faster than the eye could follow, the freezing blade slid between the mercenary’s ribs and pierced his heart. With a look of utter surprise, mirrored on Korwin’s face, the man stopped cold, then slowly collapsed to the floor.

A moment later Devrik led the charge into the room, Erol and Toran on his heels, to find the water mage standing over his fallen foe wondering how you wiped blood off a blade of ethereal ice. He looked up and smiled blandly at the surprised looks on his friends’ faces.

“I killed him before he could raise the alarm,” he said casually, gesturing toward the ceiling. “I don’t think the ones up there are any the wiser yet.”

“Um, yes, well… um, well done Korwin,” Devrik rumbled. He exchanged a glance with Erol and Toran, who shrugged. Mariala pushed past them, Vulk behind her, and with barely a glance at the dead mercenary began to formulate a plan to take the roof without alerting the rest of the garrison.

“Time is short,” she said impatiently when Korwin tried to impress her with the tale of his brief fight. “We’ve left a trail of bodies behind us, and the alarm could be raised at any moment. We have a job to do, but I’d rather it not turn into a suicide mission, so…”

“Her Ladyship is right,” Devrik agreed with a sardonic smirk, making Mariala blush. But he quickly turned serious. “We don’t have much time, so let’s get those last guards down here somehow, and get on with our job.”

A brief debate on how best to do this ensued. Eventually Mariala, again wearing the form of Tynal Elida, climbed up the ladder and pushed open the hatch in the ceiling. As she/he stepped up onto the creaking boards of the roof the men posted at the four corners turned toward her. Seeing their sub-commander, they obediently came over at her gesture.

“The Earl has decided we all deserve a little something to celebrate the Feast Day, boys,” she said in her half-assed Tynal voice, hoping the wind blowing around them would cover any auditory sins. “He’s sent up a keg of decent ale and a haunch of venison. I’ll cover the watch while you enjoy a quaff, boys, but don’t be too long at it, right?”

The bored and wind-blown mercenaries needed no more encouragement than that, and one by one, they slid down the ladder into the room below… and onto the waiting blades of Devrik, Erol, Vulk and Korwin. Toran stood by as back-up, in case they found another Rasputin, but the unwary soldiers died quickly and quietly.

Once the bloody work was done the Khundari pulled the oil cloth-wrapped metal sphere from his pack, unwrapped it and handed it up the ladder to Mariala. She in turn set it on its stumpy legs halfway between the trap door and the front parapet overlooking the main courtyard. Quickly pressing the sequence of colored crystal buttons she’d memorized, she stepped back.

The large clear crystal set in the top of the sphere began to glow, and suddenly an enormous, full color image of Queen Miralda sprang into being, towering a hundred feet over the castle. It was hard to tell from her truncated angle, but Mariala thought it looked very lifelike, despite a slight translucency. Then the image began to speak, in a voice loud and commanding, but not deafening.

Psionics, Mariala thought to herself as she scrambled back down the ladder. Everyone in range would hear the message as if spoken directly to them. Very clever… she suspected the hand of Master Vetaris in this…

As the gigantic image of the queen began her explanation of the strange treason of the false Earl, the true Earl’s murder at the hands of an evil sorcerer who then took possession of his body, and her appeal for her loyal subjects to overthrow the usurper, the Hand began a hasty retreat. To stop anyone from gaining entry to the rooftop for the few critical minutes needed for the message to finish at least one loop, Toran magically sealed the door behind them, and after they had passed down the stairs Korwin cast Webs of Lakira, blocking the way with a tangle of sticky strands.

“If anyone thinks of it, a torch will make short work of them,” he said to Toran as they hurried to catch up to the others. “But if it slows them down even a few minutes…”

“Yes,” the Khundari agreed, smiling grimly. “And then they’ll have to deal with the door – and it’ll take more than a torch to get through that! Now let’s just hope we live to brag about all this, eh?”

For a few minutes it seemed that they might just do that, and without further trouble – racing down staircase after staircase, they could hear sounds of confusion and consternation behind closed doors, but met no one in the hallways. The queen’s voice echoed throughout the castle, always at the same volume even as they moved away from the nominal source.

Their luck, however, seemed to run out as they hit the long hallway on the first floor. As they came off the stairs the large double doors that led to the gallery overlooking the dining hall on the ground floor swung open, an anxious servant bowing as an enraged Lord Sedris stalked through, bellowing in rage.

“What in the name of all the demons of the Void is going on –” he stopped in mid-bellow and mid-stride, almost causing the two men-at-arms following in his wake to crash into him.

“You!” he hissed as he took in the Hand, stopped dead in their own tracks. “I might have know the bitch would send you! What does she think –”

This promising monologue was cut short as Erol rushed to the attack, only to have the false Earl easily block the blow with a sword that hadn’t been in his hand an instant before. A backhanded blow with his other hand caught Erol upside the head, and he dropped, stunned, to floor.

As his guards moved up to flank the Earl, and the servant ran shrieking back into the gallery, Mariala let loose a blast of Fire Nerves. A gesture from the mage inside the possessed body dissipated the energy harmlessly, however. Unfortunately, at least for his minions, he could not simultaneously block the Orb of Vorol that Devrik hurled at almost the same instant.

While the searing blast of the fireball seemed to have no effect on the putative nobleman, beyond singing his ermine robe, his two henchmen died screaming in flames. “Sedris” hardly seemed to notice.

“I believe this is almost exactly where we met last time,” he sneered at them, stalking slowly forward. “When you so rudely made off with my “wife” and our future queen. You got lucky that time, but your luck has run out, you miserable vermin!”

He gestured and a blast of hurricane force wind knocked everyone back, momentarily stunning them. Everyone but Erol, who was now behind the Earl and climbing to his feet. He moved to attack their foe from behind, but “Sedris” moved with preternatural speed, his dagger out and slashing at Erol’s throat. Telnori reflexes saved him from a killing stroke, but Erol staggered back, hand clutched to his neck, red seeping through his fingers as he sank to his knees.

The distraction was enough, however, for Toran to move in close to the false Earl, his axe blade whirling before him. As the man was forced back, his sword parrying the flurry of blows, the handsome face he wore twisted into a strange combination of rage and excitement.

“When I bring your heads to m’Lord Chaos,” he snarled, turning his retreat into a brisk counter attack, “he will be so pleased – he has long desired to collect the whole set! A pity that demon got your gladiator friend, though.”

Vulk took the opening to rush in and pull Erol aside, pouring half a vial of Baylorium into his injured friend’s mouth and the other half over the wound on his neck. Almost instantly the bleeding stopped, and in a matter of seconds the edges of the cut began to draw together.

When he was certain Erol would recover, the cantor turned back to the battle, a determined light in his eyes. As Devrik and Toran pressed the impostor nobleman with a coordinated attack from two sides, Vulk focused intently and murmured a ritual prayer he had never used before, calling down the Curse of the Lady of Luck on their enemy.

“Lord Sedris” continued to parry the blows of Devrik and Toran with apparent ease, and began forcing them back. As his sword wove a blinding pattern in the air, clashing again and again against axe and battlesword, he gestured with his left hand and began an invocation.

Before whatever spell he sought to cast could be completed, though, he staggered under the sudden pain of a second, more successful, Fire Nerve blast from Mariala. In obvious pain, though not taken down, he struggled to contain the power he had been summoning. Whether due to the Fire Nerves or the Curse, or some combination of the two, his spell misfired – he was hurled backward into the gallery, slamming with tremendous force against the balustrade overlooking the room below.

Even then he was not out of the fight. Although shaken, he surged back to his feet as Devrik and Toran rushed to re-engage, using the sudden space to begin another spell. But the Hand was destined to never know what devastating arcane attack he might have unleashed on them – Korwin’s blast of razor sharp Ice Needles took the false Earl full in the chest.

The expression of rage and determination on his stolen face turned to one of surprised disbelief as the faux Earl looked down at the flowers of red blooming across the fine material of his tunic… and was still wearing the expression when Devrik’s battlesword separated his head from his body.

The fountain of blood from the severed neck obliterated the small red stains on the tunic as the impostor’s body toppled sideways. Toran made a left-handed catch, grabbing the now truly dead Earl’s head by its shoulder-length hair before it could hit the floor as well.

“Not the first man to lose his head over you, my friend,” he said grinning, as he handed the trophy to Devrik. “But the first Earl, I imagine.”

Devrik actually laughed as he took the head and held it up. That last expression of surprise, forever locked on the handsome face, seemed just right…

“Admire your prize latter,” Mariala called out as she helped Erol to his feet. “We’ve still got to make it to the Portal chamber, and there’s a great many of the dead man’s mercenaries still running around!”

Tearing a wide strip from the dead Earl’s body, Devrik wrapped the still dripping head in it and stuffed it into his pack. Then they all made a dash for the stairs.

Unfortunately, they were just a moment too late – half a dozen armed mercenaries burst through the doors from the courtyard just as the Hand reached the main entry hall, blocking them from the guardroom and the stairs down to the Portal chamber, and escape.

“Damn,” Devrik muttered. “So close!” As the angry mob of men rushed forward he gestured and a stream of multi-colored fiery ribbons arced out to meet them. But these were battle-tested veterans, and not easily cowed by magic – jinking and dodging, they managed to avoid anything worse than a light singing.

Which may have been some small satisfaction to the lead merc in the last seconds of his life. His attack on Devrik was effortlessly deflected and countered, and the great battlesword took the man in the gut. Using a boot to shove the man off his blade, Devrik whirled to meet the next man…

Mariala found herself facing her own large, angry man, with only her Khundari dagger in hand. She staggered back under his attack, blocking the main force of his blow, but taking a nasty cut to her arm. Fortunately Erol was there, driving the man back and away from her. In the breathing room this gave her, Mariala attempted to focus on casting Fire Nerves…

But pain and fear are not the most conducive states for wielding magic, and she suffered her own misfire, the energies she attempted to cast instead wracking her own body with intense pain. She collapsed to the floor in burning agony.

Meanwhile, the confused melee surged across the wide entry hall as more mercenaries rushed in from the guard room that was the Hand’s goal. Devrik,  Vulk and Erol parried and thrust, while Toran attempted more than once to cast one of his seldom-used combat spells.

Korwin, preparing to cast a spell of his own, noted the Khundari’s futile efforts out of the corner of his eye, and snickered to himself that the dwarf would be more effective if he just waved his arms about. But when his own Sheet of Sleet spell failed to materialize, he decided it might be prudent to keep his observation to himself…

Devrik had taken out another mercenary, giving himself enough time to summon up an Orb of Vorol. The fireball took out two more soldiers, while Toran, having given up on combat magic for the moment, amputated the leg of a third with a single blow from his axe, and in the follow-through took down a fourth.

“Eyes!” Erol called out, as he threw one of his glass spheres into the air. His compatriots closed their eyes, but the remaining mercenaries’ gazes were drawn to him. Handor’s Flash went off, blinding the three fighters who were looking directly at the sphere.

At the same time Korwin finally succeeded in casting his spell, and a sheet of ice covered the stairs down to, and large portion of, the main courtyard, rendering the Hand temporarily safe from further reinforcements. With only three blind mercenaries standing between them and freedom, one would think the Hand were home-free.

It was not the Hand’s finest hour.

One of the blind fighters managed to wound Devrik, who failed to return the favor. While Vulk managed to avoid actual injury, he also failed to land a single blow on his own blind opponent. Erol  did manage to eventually land a blow on the third blind merc, only to be brought down himself by another stunning blow to the head in the process.

It was Mariala who finally ended the absurd dance, having recovered enough to center herself, focus, and again attempt Fire Nerves. This time the spell worked as expected, and the three blind men dropped in writhing agony. Toran gave each of them a precise thump on the head to make sure they stayed down.

With the way to the dungeons finally clear, the Hand gathered themselves for the last dash to freedom. Racing down the narrow stairs, Devrik dispatched the two guards outside the Portal chamber with impatient efficency, while Erol kicked in the door.

The two guards inside the room had their weapons out, crouched in a fighting stance, when Devrik strode through the doorway, the late Earl’s head swinging by its hair in one hand, his immense battlesword dripping red in the other.

“We’ve had a tough day,” he roared in his most nerve-grating voice. “But your false Earl has had a worse one. I suggest you decide quickly what kind of day you want to have.”

Very quickly the two men decided they would opt for a better day than their ex-boss, and threw down their weapons. As Erol and Toran shoved them out of the room and slammed the door on them, Vulk was at the carved arch on the far side of the room, summoning up the Nitaran portal that would, hopefully, take them to the safety of Kar Landsar.

One by one his friends stepped through and vanished, until only Vulk was left. Then he stepped through…