Shield of Victory

The companions emerged from the tunnel cold, wet, bloodied, fatigued, grubby and triumphant. The five stood for a moment, blinking their eyes rapidly adjusting to the bright sunlight.

“To think, people said it couldn’t be done,” Tunro said, stepping out from the shadows of one of the myriad of boulders that surrounded the entrance. “When we heard you talking about it in the inn, we knew you would come looking for the Shield of Victory. My lads were sceptical, but I told them if any could do it would be you five.”

“By lads I assume you mean that rabble we helped out of town?” Rebsla asked.

“It’s nice to have fans,” Moonhawk said. “Stalkers, on the other hand, not so much.”

“How about you hand over the Shield and we let you live,” Tunro said, ignoring them both.

Rebsla laughed.

“I say we kill him this time,” Ironbeard offered.

“That sounds a much better plan to me too,” Moonhawk agreed.

“Now,” Tunro yelled out. Three dozen men, hidden by the boulders came into view.

“Oh Mavour, a trap. I’m shocked, stunned and in utter awe of such a masterful plan,” Ginfla said, clutching his heart.

“You’re out numbered over seven to one,” Tunro said.

“A fair fight then. Kind of spoils the fun a little, but I’m game,” Moonhawk said drawing Hawkblade.

“Moon, we don’t have time for this,” Sunhawk said. “Leave these fools to the army of Ogres, Hobgoblins, Trolls, and whatever other benighted creatures that have flocked to their flag.”

“I hate to say it but Sun is right,” Ginfla said. “Seno needs the Shield; the mission is our first duty.”

“You seem to think you have a choice here.”

“You also forget we are magic users,” Moonhawk said, with a smile, vanishing within the teleportation spell.

(Word Count 300)