Chapter 7: City Under Siege

         The loud and raucous cries of the townsfolk rang through The Full Barrel Inn and Tavern. Three weeks had passed, and Grom and his companions sat down to another hit dinner and cold drinks. They remained in Flamecrest for two reasons. The first reason was the lingering hope that King Kalabar could be reasoned with, but every attempt to speak with him after their initial meeting was a failure. The second reason that they sat down night after night in the comfort of the inn was because no word had come to them from Deathwish. The plan had been for them to meet and go about whatever business remained, but none of them had heard or seen anything that indicated he was coming back.

         “He’s a week late,” Ragefist noted to make some sort of conversation. He dipped his spoon into the bowl of thin stew sitting before him and raised it to his lips. Setting down his now empty spoon, he lifted his wooden mug filled to the top with the froth of ale and took a long drought.

         “Face it, he’s not coming back,” Garz said, pausing to release a loud belch, “The guy gave me the creeps! He probably wasn’t even a paladin and ran off with the loot to make himself rich. We really fell for his trap, didn’t we?”

         Grom stared into the bowl of soup as his hand lifted spoonful after spoonful of his soup up only to be poured back into the bowl, creating tiny ripples and small splashes. As if he didn’t have enough worries floating around his head and heart, now he worried about whether something had happened to Deathwish. Even though his appearance presented him as villainous, Grom knew that Deathwish had a gentle and caring heart. That was his intuition, and his gut feelings were rarely wrong, especially when it came to judging character. Both Shenk and Kravitz appeared to be monstrous, but even a half-orc and a kobold could break the mold of their race.

         “Grom, we cannot stay here any longer. We have to prepare to leave in the morning for Oneria,” Ragefist said over the roaring laughter from a neighboring table.

         “The boy’s right, Grom. You have your own city and army to look after,” Garz said, running his finger in a circle around the rim of his empty mug.

         “Grom? Are you listening?” Ragefist asked, knocking on the table with his knuckles.

         Grom raised his head, yet his eyes still drooped down toward the table. He did not look across the table at either Ragefist or Garz; he gazed across the room at the door, waiting for it to open and for Deathwish to come stomping in.

         “Bah! He’s daydreaming again. You know, I never remembered him having his head so high in the heavens all the time,” Garz grumbled, pushing his empty tankard away.

         “Have your things ready for tomorrow. We’ll rent a horse-drawn cart to hasten our journey home,” Grom finally spoke, lowering his head once again.

         “About time you came to your senses,” Garz said, standing and grabbing his empty glass. He reached across and lifted Grom’s, finding it half-empty. “Finish your drink and I’ll bring you another. The least we can do it rack up a hell of a bill for the grouchy king to pay.”

         While Garz slipped away to get a new round of ales, Ragefist tipped back his bowl and slurped down the last of his meal. Smacking his lips and sighing contentedly, Ragefist leaned back in his chair and stared at Grom. “I’ve seen a whole new side of you, captain. On the training fields, you were always so full of vigor and energy. Now that we’re actually out in the world trying to make a difference and fighting strange creatures heard to most only in ballads, you’ve drifted inside of yourself and have been brooding ever since.”

         “If only you fully understood what was happening around us as we sit here. War, destruction, death–nothing changes a person more than these things. You will see before too long, lad,” Grom said, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

         As Garz fought through the crowd back to the table, the front doors burst open. Grom’s head snapped back, and in stumbled a young man wearing simple clothing and wrapped in a ragged cloak. He clutched a rolled up piece of parchment in his left hand, and he leaned against the door frame with his right. The room quieted down a bit and all eyes turned toward the panting man at the door.

         “I have a message for Grom Greystone!” the messenger called out between sharp breaths. Sweat poured down his face, and he idly wiped his brow as his head swept from side to side.

         “Over here, lad!” Grom called, pushing his chair back and standing.

         When the patrons realized the messenger was not there to see any of them, the rumbling of the tavern rose once again. The young lad took in a deep breath and dodged his way around tables and townspeople on his way to Grom. He lowered his head and offered the scroll down to him.

         “Who is this from, and why did you rush it here?” Grom asked, reaching out but not yet taking the scroll.

         “All answers are in the letter, sir. I am only the messenger,” the man said, shaking the paper at Grom, who finally snatched it away.

         “What does it say?” Garz asked, heading back to the table and setting down the three new tankards. He leaned over Grom’s shoulder as he unfurled the parchment and squinted his eyes to make out the scrawling. After passing his eyes over the paper, he set it down on the table and fumbled around his pouch for a few coins. He placed two silver coins in the palm of the young man’s hand, much to his surprise and happiness. The young messenger bowed his head and pushed his way back to the door and out. Garz nudged Grom and reached for the parchment, but Grom stepped in the way of his arm. “Come on, Grom! What does it say!”

         “Go gather your things. We are setting out tonight,” Grom announced, pushing in his chair and grabbing up the parchment. He rolled it back up and looked at his two companions, who both stood with faces of confusion.

         “What did the message say? Where are we hurrying off to tonight?” Ragefist asked, eyeing the rolled up parchment.

         “Yeah, it’s getting late! Why can’t we just stay here tonight and leave in the morning like we had planned?” Garz pipped in, reaching for his new mug and taking a long drink.

         “I said go prepare your things. We are heading to Sagarian at once!” Grom shouted, grabbing the glass from Garz as he drank and slamming it on the table. Bubbling ale spilled down Garz’s beared chin, soaking into the coarse red hair.

         “Sagarian? I thought we were heading back to Oneria,” Ragefist said.

         “The plans have changed. We have more urgent problems to attend,” Grom said. Turning away from them, he marched across the tavern toward the long hallway leading to their rooms. He reached his door and pushed it open, stepping inside and around the side of his bed. As he secured his axe to his back, Ragefist stepped inside and shut the door.

         “I’m not letting you leave here until I have some answers as to what’s going on,” Ragefist said, leaning his back against the door.

         “There will be plenty of time to discuss the situation on the road,” Grom said, reaching down and lifting his pack. He set it on his bed and sifted through it to make sure everything was intact. Once finished searching, he closed it up and tossed it over his shoulders.

         “Grom,” Ragefist said, crossing his arms over his shoulder, “Just tell me.”

         Grom sighed and stared at Ragefist. His intense stare reminded him of Prescott. Sitting down on his bed, he shook his head and lifted the rolled parchment from next to him. “The letter was from Deathwish. He arrived at Sagarian and found that it was under the patrol of elven soldiers.”

         “What? Is he all right? Did he get captured? If so, how did he get a message to you?” Ragefist asked, his questions flying out one after another in a quick succession.

         “Calm down, lad,” Grom said, “He only said that the entire town is under close watch. No one is allowed to leave their homes. They had stopped him along the road and managed somehow to subdue him and bring him into the city. I don’t know how he managed to get the message here safely.”

         “What would the elves want with Sagarian? It’s only a small town. I don’t even think they have much of a militia!” Ragefist said, unfolding his arms and stepping away from the door.

         “Sagarian is the only major port city in the southern lands of Feldos. If they control Sagarian, they can stop anyone from coming into and out of Feldos,” Grom said. He stood upright and grabbed Ragefist’s arm. “We have to hurry. Deathwish may be able to take care of himself, but there are many innocent lives at stake.”

         “You’re going to have to pry Garz away from the tavern. He started to follow me, but he overheard an open challenge for a drinking contest. Let’s just say that’s why I’m here talking to you alone,” Ragefist said.

         “We may have to roll him out of the tavern rather than pry him away,” Grom said with a sigh and a shake of his head. He walked past Ragefist and called to him as he walked back toward the tavern. “Get both your things and Garz’s ready. By the time you’re ready, I’ll have him out of here.”

         *                    *                    *

         Grom managed to pull a grumpy Garz from the tavern and out into the streets, and between the three of them, they also acquired two horses and a small wooden cart for the journey south. Garz complained the entire way to the gates of Flamecrest, and when no on paid him any attention, he began cursing in dwarven to himself.

         They traveled for two days along the same road that had taken them a week long on foot. Coming to the fork in the road, they turned south, hugging alongside the mountains once again. They took turns resting in the cart, not wanting to weigh down the horses too much. Ragefist offered to run out ahead and scout the road as they traveled. Grom saw his young eagerness return at the chance to cross swords in real combat. His newly gained energy surprised Grom, who had seen the effects of fear take the young soldier over when they were faced against the spider creatures. Garz spent the most time out of all of them all sleeping in the cart with their bags and possessions. Neither Grom nor Ragefist argued this, because it gave them a chance for a little peace and quiet. They only stopped long enough to let the horses rest and for them all to get a small meal. Thanks to the last minute decision to leave, Grom did not have the chance to pack much in the way of provisions, so they had to deal with what bit of bread and berries he had left over from the first trip from Oneria. Of course, Garz complained about this too, but when Grom threatened to not give him food at all, Garz fell silent.

         The rode eventually turned away from the mountains that turned to the east and gave way for low plains of grass. Grom turned and gave a final look toward his home. He frowned and returned his focus to the road ahead of them.

         During the next night of travel, Ragefist ran back to the horses and grabbed hold of the ropes to bring them to a halt. Grom jogged forward and helped calm the beasts after being suddenly pulled to a stop.

         “What’s the matter, lad?” Grom asked, stroking the nose of one of the horses.

         “I saw some movement up ahead. I thought that we should move to the side of the road and wait until the morning,” Ragefist said, reaching down and clutching the handle of his sword.

         “What sort of movement was it?” Grom asked.

         “Huh? What’s going on? Why’d we stop?” Garz asked, sitting up in the back of the cart and stretching his arms. He let out a drawn out yawn and scratched at his beard.

         “I don’t know what it was I saw out there. I just think it would be best to stop in case of danger,” Ragefist urged. A sudden gust of wind blew by them, and Ragefist drew his sword and spun around. He searched around with wild eyes, but soon lowered his weapon.

         “Did something out there scare you, boy?” Garz asked, pulling himself from the back of the cart and groaning as he stretched out his legs, “It was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you! I say we keep going!”

         “I seriously saw something out there!” Ragefist shouted again.

         Grom froze and listened to the sounds around them. Something rustled and moved in the distance. He looked down the road and with his keen dwarven eyes saw several figures sneaking along the road. They were definitely humanoid, though Grom could not tell exactly who or what they were.

         “Quick, get the horses to the side of the road,” Grom whispered just loud enough for the others to hear him. Ragefist and Grom grabbed hold of the horse’s ropes and pulled them away from the roadside, but after moving a short distance, the figures began moving faster. Grom could hear their footsteps now, and he knew that they would not be able to get escape. He pulled the horses to a stop and drew his axe from his back. Ragefist followed suit and freed his sword from his side. They stood beside the horses and waited as the figures came closer. Grom looked back to the cart and saw Garz drop down and hide.

         “Halt! Who travels these roads at this time of night?” one of the figures called out to them.

         Grom tightened his grip on his axe, but kept it down by his side. The figured finally came within the distance to make out more than their shadowy silhouettes. There were four of them in all, and each one of them were elven. Grom has expected them to be elves, but he had figured they would be more of the wild elves from the many forests of Feldos. When they stepped within a few steps of their cart, Grom noticed that they wore intricate breastplate armor adorned with clean blue cloaks. They each held a longsword at their sides and looked over the cart and the two standing beside it.

         “We are simply travelers looking for a place to stay for the night!” Grom called out. As he spoke those words, he wondered why they slipped through his lips at all. He knew that they had taken the town prisoner, and he wanted nothing more than to rush forward and cut them all down for their evil acts.

         “The city of Sagarian is closed to any travelers. You’d do best to turn around and head back to where you came from,” one of the elves spoke. He stepped forward from the others and glanced down at their clutched weapons.

         “By what authority has the city been closed? We have come to deliver goods to a friend of my family. We mean to cause no trouble,” Grom said, breathing deeply to cool his temper.

         “Why the weapons?” the elf asked, not prying his eyes away from Grom’s axe.

         “We heard noises along the road and thought it might have been bandits or a wild animal. You can’t be too safe when you’re traveling these roads at night,” Ragefist replied.

         The elf lifted his gaze from Grom’s weapon and gaze them a suspicious look. “That doesn’t change the fact that you are not aloud to enter the city of Sagarian. I will ask you one last time to turn your cart away and return to where you came.”

         “All right, we understand,” Grom said, grabbing the horse’s ropes again and leading them back toward the road. Ragefist’s eyes widened with confusion, but he went along with grabbing the other rope and guiding the horses forward. The elves stepped back and waited for them to ride away. Ragefist gave Grom a questioning glance, and Grom made a jerking motion with his head. As soon as they wheeled the cart around, Garz leapt from the back and knocked one of the elves to the ground. The other elves stood in shock for a moment, and during that lapse in time, Grom and Ragefist ran forward with weapons ready.

         Grom let out a thundering howl and knocked one of the unsuspecting elves onto the ground with a powerful charge. The elf’s sword clattered against the ground, and before he could grab it up again, Grom split the front of his armor with a driving blow of his axe. Ragefist charged headlong into the fray and thrust his weapon at another of the dazed elves. Letting out a gurgling cry, the elf fell to his knees. Ragefist pulled his sword free from the elf’s gut and gave him a kick to the chest that sent him onto the ground. He stared mesmerized at his now crimson blade and shuddered as a cold chill ran down his spine. A dead body laid at his feet, not the carcass of some spider-like creature or wild animal but of a once living being much like himself. He thought of that day in The Rusty Anchor when he killed the thief that wanted nothing more than to harm all of the innocents. His regained enthusiasm began to wane once again.

         Garz wrestled on the ground with the elf, each of them reaching for his fallen sword. The elf smashed Garz in the temple with the point of his elbow, knocking him off to the side. He scrambled onto his stomach and grabbed hold of his sword, pivoting his hips to swing. Before he could bring his sword down, Garz pulled a dagger from his belt and jabbed at the gap underneath the elf’s breastplate. Garz gave his blade a quick twist and pulled it free, jumping back to his feet and stepping away. The elf dropped his weapon again and clutched his bleeding wound, crashing against the ground.

         Seeing his companions fall, the final elf turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him along the road. Garz ran over beside Grom and returned his dagger to his belt.

         “He’s getting away! If we go now, we can catch him!” Garz shouted, jumping back into the cart.

         Grom started to turn toward the horses, but he saw Ragefist standing rigid in the middle of the road over the prone body of his kill. He stepped over to him and grabbed his arm.

         “Come on, lad! We have to catch that last soldier before he warns the entire town!” Grom insisted, “Let’s get the cart turned around!”

         “I didn’t think it would be that easy to kill another man again. I didn’t think it would feel this way,” Ragefist whispered, continuing to stare down at his feet.

         “You’re a soldier, lad. I told you that this is what real war is like. The glorious image of fame and wealth that you and all those other men back in Oneria have are false. This is the reality of battle,” Grom said, trying again to pull Ragefist around.

         “How did you do it, captain? How did you manage to live through so much death and suffering?” Ragefist asked.

         “I don’t know, lad,” Grom admitted. He paused and looked over the field of three dead bodies. He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know.”

         “Come on! What the hell are we waiting for? We’re never going to free the town by standing around here! Let’s go!” Garz shouted, waving his arms around frantically.

         “Garz is right, we have to move on,” Grom said, jogging back to the cart.

         Ragefist took one last look around him before sheathing his sword and running back to the horses. With some help from Grom, they managed to turn the cart back around and lead the horses around the bodies and back onto the road. Giving one another a reassuring nod, they ran alongside the horses as they continued south toward Sagarian.

         They rose up over a hill and came to stop at its crest. The road sloped below into a low valley where the city of Sagarian rested. The vast ocean of water stretched endlessly into the horizon, shifting and swaying in the bleakness of the night sky. The docks along the coast looked fairly empty, save for a few large ships with banners waving in the gusts of wind. Grom could not tell what was written on the swaying flags from the distance, but he knew that they were much larger than most of the ships he had ever seen. The city appeared nearly as dark as the rest of their surroundings, save for some lights glowing near the center of the town and in some of the windows of the buildings. From a distance, Sagarian looked like a tiny speck among such a vast land and sea. It certainly was no Flamecrest or Anon in its size, but being one of the few port cities in all of Feldos, it was a place of necessity.

         “It looks too quiet down there. It feels like we’re walking right into a trap,” Ragefist said.

         “I wouldn’t doubt that one, boy!” Garz called from inside the cart. He hauled himself to the ground and walked around next to Grom. “They already know that we’re coming. The pointy-ears are probably waiting to attack the moment we step foot inside the city.”

         “How are we going to get in there unseen or without being captured?” Ragefist asked.

         “That’s simple,” Grom said. He reached over and grabbed Garz by the shoulder. “We send in our resident thief to save Deathwish.”

         “That could work!” Garz said. Grom grinned and waited for the light to spark in Garz’s mind. Grom saw Garz’s eyes widen and his jaw drop. He tried to pull away from Grom, but he held tight. “No way! There’s no way I’m going to wander into a city of soldiers looking to kill me! There’s just no way!”

         “Listen, we’ll create a distraction that draws their attention away. All you have to do is find where they are keeping Deathwish. Are you at all familiar with Sagarian?” Grom asked.

         Garz slowly shook his head. “I’ve only been here once before, and that was a very long time ago. I visited the tavern here with a few friends. They were sponsoring this contest where the one to drink the most ale...”

         “I don’t care about the reason why you were there, Garz. Just follow our lead and check around the town!” Grom said, letting go of his shoulder.

         Garz winced like he might dart off, but he stood his ground. He gave a final glance toward Ragefist and Grom. “You better make lots of noise and not get yourselves killed, because if I get caught, I’m as good as dead.” Garz lowered his head and hurried down the hill and away from the road, disappearing into the shadowed landscape.

         “What exactly are we supposed to do when we get down there?” Ragefist asked.

         “Exactly what Garz said, make a ton of noise,” Grom replied.

         Pulling on the ropes of the horses, Grom and Ragefist started down the long road to Sagarian, unsure of what exactly they would do when they got there.

ID: 1039315   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 8: A Daring Rescue  They arrive at Sagarian to help save the town, but they find that... by The Lemon