Hytorax Part 2

[Earniel]

Still shivering, Imarwyn got up with some difficulty, clawing at the wall for support. I should have known they wouldn't have let me into the council that easily, she said angrily to herself.

She looked at the people that had appeared in the corridor, none made any move to come closer to her or her attacker. Some looked in puzzlement at the scene before them while others gave Imarwyn dark looks with unveiled menace.

But Imarwyn wouldn't give up the game so easily, especially not after the cowardly attack. She took two deep breaths before she trusted her voice again.

"Is this how messengers from Rohan are received in Enedwaith these days? With dark spells and death at the door? A fine example of courtesy you have shown to the Mark of Rohan in receiving me thus, lords of Enedwaith!"

Anger gave her voice strenght and her words rung in the hallway.

[Arat-Falathion]

From his perch under the ceiling, Glimdrell watched as the four guards came rushing in. He counted two swords and two spears, all wearing an additional shield on their other arm. The guards assembled around the corpse, looking about hastily.

"What happened?!" The guards all shouted at the prisoner of the third cell.

"A... a... ghost!" the prisoner stammered, then shrugged realizing what he just had said, and added: "It all happened so fast!"

"LIAR!" One guard spat. "You killed him! Show us your weapon!"

"I... I... I.." the prisoner stammered. "I.."

Glimdrell let go of his hold and descended swiftly down behind the guards, placing his dagger perfectly into one guards exposed neck. A spear fell to the floor, followed by a limp body. The guards turned to regard him, weapons at a ready.

"Aralle." Glimdrell whispered, knowing that the griffin would eather hear or feel his speech. "Puff out the candle light."

The two guards wielding swords stormed right in, without though, their blades weaving with impressive skill. Glimdrell blocked the first few slashes awkwardly with his sabre, suddenly feeling strangely out of place in this hard pressed confrontation. Indeed his facade of confidence couldn't hide his lack of skill with his weapon.

Suddenly one guard jumped forth confidently with a piercing stab, and only the elf's agility and reaction saved him. He sidestepped away from both guards, his back against one of the cells, and countered with his dagger, slashing a neat cut along the guards forearm.

"Aralle!" Glimdrell thought, then barely managed to block an incoming blade, missed a counter attack and suddenly found himself facing a large shield. He dodged quickly further into the room and landed in a roll that put him quickly back on his feet. Suddenly he found himself facing the third guard.

The spear was already raised above the guards head, ready for the killing throw. Glimdrell knew he could never get his sabre up in time, knew that even if he did, the two other guards would be on his back before he could turn. Their eyes locked as the spear shot forward and as the sabre simultaniously came up in a futile attempt to parry, but the guard's eyes suddenly widdened and the incomming spear janked wierdly to the side.

Quickly regaining some control of his sences, as a last deed of service for the Shadowhand, the guard managed to adjust his spears direction somewhat, digging it into Glimdrells left shoulder. The elf cried out in pain, yet managed to notice the blood pouring out of the guards mouth, Glimdrell recognized a blade penetrating the mans thorax. Behind the dying guard, the elf met the determined eyes of a prisoner; -it brought new strength to the elven assassin.

The guards behind Glimdrell charged in, screaming threateningly. Glimdrell junked the spear free and started to turn, then the light went out...

[Lief Erikson]

"An ambassador?" Dagankor said, softly. "Are you asking us to believe a mere ambassador has the skill to disable a wizard assailant?

"I have seen you once before," he continued, his eyes narrowing. "In Néred. You were one of the insurgents that helped to conquer the mind of the king. Hardly an activity an unbiased ambassador from Rohan would take, I believe. Now, still, you attempt to spread your side's foul influences. When a Shadowhand wizard recognizes you for what you are, you successfully put him out of the way."

Dagankor took a single step closer to her, further up the stairs, still speaking softly. "I am accusing you, woman. How do you answer? Tell me.

"Were you never in Néred? Did you come here without the intention of bringing these men over to the rebel cause?"

[Lief Erikson]

Dolais trembled slightly as he looked down at the bloody knife in his hand. This was the first time he had ever killed a man, and he didn't even know that the person had been a true enemy. If he had been an Enedwaith soldier, then Dolais had the blood of one of his own upon his head.

Glimdrell seemed to show no such cumpunctions as he engaged the remaining two guards.

Inky blackness filled the room, and Dolais twisted around, looking in the direction of the candle. Someone's shirt had been thrown from one of the cells, another prisoner smothering the wick.

There were only two prisoners in this place, as Dolais remembered it.

He tried to run but only managed to stagger toward the other man's place of imprisonment. Dolais was weak, very weak. Pain shot up through his side, the place where the spear thrust had taken him.

Tears came to his eyes as he reached Hruad's cell.

"We will escape, don't fear," Hruad said, grimly, from the other side. "Darkness is Glimdrell's ally."

[Arat-Falathion]

Screams, steel against flesh and the sound of limp bodies hitting the floor resounded in the darkened room, then everything went quiet.

The entrance door opened from the outside, filling the room with a magical, dim light that casted rays of blue through the dusty air. In the middle of the hallway one could see the silouett of a humanoid holding a dripping sabre...

and in through the entrance, filling the room with light, stepped a woman...

[Lief Erikson]

Aralle looked around quickly, unable to discern anything in the inky blackness.

"The entrance outside is secure," she said, hopefully.

She walked in a little further, and nearly bumped into Dolais.

"Which one had the key?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter," Glimdrell said, calmly, as he materialized right next to her out of the darkness.

He raised his hand to the door lock, and there was a scraping sound of metal on metal. Then the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Hruad stepped through, and Dolais passed him his shirt.

"The council itself is the next step," Aralle said. "We must be ready to help Imarwyn, if she needs us. Come on!"

Turning, she led them quickly up out of the prison.

Dolais and Aralle wiped their weapons off on a soldier's cloak, a man who's head had been cracked sharply.

"It's this way," Aralle said as she led them away, among the buildings.

[Arat-Falathion]

Soon they could see the large building in which the council took place.

"No guards at the entrance." Glimdrell was quick to acknowledge.

Aralle nodded. "As I feared..."

[Earniel]

"The women of Rohan are trained in more than preparing meals and nursing children, Shadowhand wizard." said Imarwyn proudly. "But betrayal and spreading foul influences are not among them, we leave that to wizards. We in Rohan have not yet forgotten Saruman's evil."

"If you care to take a closer look at your wizard doorkeeper, you'll see my knive in his arm. Honest, normal steel. I must say I'm pleased to find it can stop even magic. Unlike him, " she continued as she pointed to the wizard still clutching his arm, "I don't use magic to cowardly attack people. Can you swear the same?"

"Yes, I have been to Néred, but not as an insurgent as you claim. A poor unbiased ambassador I would be if I did not see both sides of the conflict. So yes, you did see me in Néred."

Imarwyn took a step closer. "As for your last accusation, I can say in thruth that I did not come here to bring these men over to any rebel cause. Little faith you have in their judgement if you think that I would be able to determine which side they follow. But then that would explain why your doorwarden tries to slay with spells a visitor who wields no magic whatsoever. Do you fear a voice of reason that much, Shadowhand wizard? Answer me that. "

[Lief Erikson]

"A Shadowhand wizard attacks you and because of your Rohan training, you beat him. Very, very skillful indeed, I must say," he continued, sarcastically. "Extremely well done. I would actually never have guessed it possible!"

Dagankor laughed and headed down the stairs, the rest of them trailing after him, until he reached the Council Chamber again. It was a broad stone room with a dozen chairs standing in a circle.

Already Dagankor's mind had picked upon a way to use this sudden intrusion to his own advantage. He had manipulated the council party in the past, and he could do it again.

Dagankor began to release the spell he had wound about the minds of the Council Members, and he didn't release it slowly. He released it steadily and quickly, so that the release would be noticable to the individuals undergoing it.

Dagankor threw back his head casually, looking at the roof. "The likelihood that a normal assassin would fail when launching a surprise attack is remote. The likelihood that a wizard would fail to an ambassador, in such a surprise attack . . . I need hardly say, it is far more remote."

He turned to face Imarwyn, his eyes piercing. "You went with Athalt Cranain to put a stop to the band of rebels that tried to take the Hytorax. You and Athalt betrayed me and the king, though, joining with the rebels instead to give them access to the king's very chambers.

"One does not have to be close to the Hytorax to use its power. It can be from far away that it is used. This is what you did, to disable the wizard that attempted to restrain you, and this is what I warn the council you will try to use now."

"Us Rohirrim do not use magic," the woman said, stepping closer to Dagankor.

Dagankor was in his point of power. The councilors already were beginning to side with him again. They had felt the spell's release, but his explanation fit it perfectly. Now their less heavily influenced perspectives would appear to them to be the enchantment, rather than the absence of it.

Dagankor held back a smirk, as he began to lay a new spell onto the men, quickly and rapidly. Very rapidly. The fools didn't know how magic worked, and they would feel themselves falling very much in favor of the woman's position. Unnaturally so.

Sure enough. The shift from heavy influence one way to heavy influence the other way had been very vast, and all within a couple minutes. Dagankor felt the men fighting him vigorously with their minds.

"It is a spell!" one of them exclaimed, loudly. Their eyes were locked upon the Rohirrim woman.

"I never used one. Look at the dagger, the only harm that was done the wizard. Allow me to answer you all now," the Rohirrim woman said, looking Dagankor in the eyes. Her face was fair and her eyes proud, but she did not realize what he was doing. Dagankor hardly saw her face as he focused upon his spell.

Dagankor focused his maximum effort upon one of the men, one of those that had been most fully on the the woman's side anyway. He strained hard, struggling with the man's feeble efforts to resist, to keep an open mind. Dagankor broke into the man, and turned him over to the ambassador's side. Turned him recklessly that way.

"We should join Rohan and Enedwaith, and fight for freedom!" the man cried, drawing his sword.

"Blast you Dagankor, DO something!" Grifwold cried, drawing his own sword and charging the ambassador.

Dagankor detonated a fireball between himself and Imarwyn, inches from himself. He threw himself backward through the air, landing hard on his back, his robes caught up in the greedy flames.

[Finrod Felagund]

OOC: hey, where's Fimbren right now...I've been off for a while

[Earniel]

Imarwyn threw her arms before her face when the fireball exploded and tried to turn away from the bright light. A wave of heat washed over her and threw her off her feet. Slightly dazed, she sat up again and much to her surprise, she was unharmed. She quickly put out the few stray sparks that had fallen on her clothing before they could catch fire.

Across the room Dagankor lay on his back, his clothes on fire. All around them, the men of Enedwaith stood uncertain. Even Grifwold had stopped his charge at Imarwyn.

"Don't just stand there!" she yelled, "Put that fire out! Can't you see the man's on fire? His spell must have backfired at him."

At her words, the council seemed to wake up and several man hurried over to Dagankor and used their mantles to choke the flames.

Imarwyn scrambled to her feet. But Grifwold seemed to wake up as well and pointed his sword at her.

"No more spells, sorceress. Stay where you are."

Imarwyn looked from Grifwold to Dagankor and back. "You think that I..." anger choked the rest of the sentence.

"You heard me," said Grifwold darkly.

How am I to make this people see reason, Imarwyn thought bitterly, if spells are woven around me when I can't even see them? They should have sent Elise, not me.

It might have been a wise decision to escape the council in this confusion and leave it in the Shadowhand's control but the fire spell and the accusations of sorcery had enraged Imarwyn and her pride flared up.

"If you can't even see that the Rohirrim do not weild magic then I truly doubt that you can lead this country and military. You have a known wizard among you," she said as she pointed to Dagankor, "who is also the sole source you have of the so-called treason in Néred and yet you accuse me of sorcery? By Helm's Hammer! Were we in Rohan, I'd demand you'd answer for that insult."

[Lief Erikson]

"We are in Rohan," Dagankor snarled, furiously, as he drew himself up to his feet. "And it shall be you that pays."

A trail of blood was running down from his lip, and he raised both hands to point them at Imarwyn.

A blow caught her in the stomach, hurtling her backward across the room, to bounce off the wall.

An instant later, two more fireballs exploded near Dagankor, throwing him farther back and spraying a shower of his blood from his shoulder and arm.

He caught Imarwyn around the throat with his magic, strangling her voice to keep her from speaking.

The other men in the room stared, helpless, at the apparent desperate battle between two weilders of magic. Dagankor used the moment to tighten his hold upon their minds noticably, in favor if Imarwyn.

He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep up this charade, and was relieved when the other two Shadowhand wizards dashed in. They took a single glance at the situation, and realized swiftly what Dagankor was doing.

"Kill her . . . kill her!" Dagankor gasped, through gritted teeth.

"No!" shouted the man Dagankor had possessed.

Raising his sword, the fellow rushed Dagankor. Grifwold speared him through with his own sword.

The Shadowhand wizards began to raise the charade of joining the battle.

Dagankor changed the spell controlling the generals in a moment, throwing them back as firmly in favor of his plans as they'd been in the beginning. The added threat to Imarwyn from the wizards would serve as sufficient explanation to their minds.

The generals could not be won by the ambassador. So now, all that remained was to kill off Imarwyn.

[Finrod Felagund]

Fimbren felt it, somewhere in the far distance, there was dark magic at work.
"Some evil is at work in Rohan, and I fear Eomer may not be able to stop it, I think Eomer knows not of it."

[Earniel]

Bright sparks started to dance before Imarwyn's eyes from lack of air. Pain numbed her senses. Feebly, she clawed at her throat, as if to push away the magic that stiffled her breath. But Dagankor's magical grip did not relent.

Instinctively, she reached with her hand behind her back to her last resort. Relieve surged through her as her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife. But her fingers started to feel lifeless and she feared the knife would slip from her grasp. With difficulty she jerked it free from its sheath, her hand trembled with effort to hold on to it.

The death she had felt approaching in her fight with the doorkeeper now seemed to have returned to claim her. But she still had one last chance before all was lost. One last chance. The words echoed in her mind. Only one of her knives now remained to her as she had not been able to retrieve the other one after using it on the treacherous doorkeeper. One would have to do.

Her vision was blurred now and Imarwyn knew darkness soon would come. She willed her failing muscles to obey her as she poured all strength, anger and indignation she had left in one burst of movement. And her last rohirric knife shot from her hand. But Imarwyn herself was oblivious whether it reached its intended target or not for as soon as the knife had left her hand, she slumped unconcious and exhausted on the ground.

~~~~

Tareod surveyed the woods around him and his company. Before him rode Malagar and Finrod, both also very alert to their surroundings. Behind him came Iriana and Elise, talking in hushed tones to one another, but Tareod paid little attention to their conversation. Yet he assumed the women were as much on their guard as the rest.

A strange chill seemed to grow in Tareod's heart. It reminded him of how horses must feel the approach of wargs. "We're getting close now." he muttered softly.

"We are indeed," anwered Malagar, much to Tareod's surprise who hadn't thought the man would have heard him.

[Yodaman]

Thorondor and Liren had been traveing for several days, getting closer and closer to the Shadowhand fortress as the days went by. They had taken barely any breaks since they set out for their destination, and that decisission finally took a toll two weeks later.

"I'm tired", said Liren. "We've been walking for two weeks without a break!"

"And we still have two more weeks left", said Theodar.

"At lease there havn't been any Orcs or other Fell Beasts in our area", said Liren.

"Don't get your hopes up", said Theodar. "It seems strange that their havn't been any orcs in the area, especially since we're close to Shadowhand territory. It's almost like someone wants us to arrive at the base".

"Well, we should..." said Liren before she was cut off.

"IT'S A TRAP!" yelled a voice from afar. "GO HOME! IT'S A..." Once the voice silenced, Theodar and Liren sped with their horses as fast as they could through the grey feilds until they came upon a site that no man would want to see- the site of a dead man.

"He has five arrows in his throat and two in his gut", said Theodar. "Someone didn't want his message to get across".

"Or mabey that was the trap", said Liren. "Mabey we should avenge his death".

"No", said Theodar. "Someone would not sacrafice their life so idly just to make sure are mission goes unsuccessfull. We should heed his advice and go home". Theodar then turned around to go home, but he then heard a faint whistling sound behind him and would here no more after that.

[Lief Erikson]

Dagankor started as the dagger skipped off the stone wall beside his head. He raised a weak barrier quickly, protecting himself from any following strikes.

His grip on Imarwyn was gone, but it didn't matter. The generals were rushing her, weapons extended, and she was nigh unconscious.



*That's our characters' cue, Falathion *

[Lief Erikson]

Calebial entered the room anxiously, a heavy burden of anxiety on his heart. He was human, a short and slightly thick man, though not fat. His eyes focused upon the men behind the desk the instant he entered, and his body began to quiver slightly, with his fear.

There were two men behind the desk, opposite Calebial. One was dressed in rich, scarlet robes, embroidered in swirling patterns of daisies and lined with gold. He wore a heavy looking golden necklace around his neck, with a ruby at the end of it.

The man beside him was dressed in unadorned black, and wore the expression of someone that was forced near a dung mound. His eyes were cold, and they glittered slightly upon Calebial's entry.

This man's name was Fhorin, and the other one was Peymost.

"I should burn off your feet, Calebial." It was Fhorin that had spoken.

"What's the use in that?" Peymost laughed, as if the statement had been a joke. "This one's too thick to ever learn!"

Peymost laughed jovially again, as beads of sweat appeared on Calebial's brow.

"Councilors," Calebial managed, weakly. He knew there would be no hope in asking them for forgiveness. "Allow me to atone. I'll destroy that company, Councilors."

Peymost laughed all the louder. "Destroy them? As if you could do that- that's a good one! Told you he was thick, Fhorin!"

"I have followers . . ." Calebial stammered.

"You will not waste our men," Fhorin stated, flatly. "At the base of this tower, there is one other corridor, from the one you came in through. Go down this corridor until you reach the end of it. There you will find a cave, and a guard beside a locked door. Tell him I have given you permission to enter, and inside you will find a man that will give you your instructions."

Calebial bowed and left the room hastily. He felt lucky, incredibly lucky. They might have tortured him. Whatever they asked him to do now, it could not be so bad as what he left behind.





Peymost waited until Calebial was well out of earshot before looking up at Fhorin. "He might be too thick for Bearcore's teeth to penetrate."

"I have seen Bearcore's head smash through a stone wall, and I have seen his teeth pierce plated armor," Fhorin said, smiling softly. "The taste of blood will put hunger into his chest, cause him to demand satisfaction."

Peymost, of course, did not question Fhorin's decision to send that worm, Calebial, to feed Bearcore. Calebial had failed to report the progress of a small company, approaching the Shadowhand citadel. A company full of individuals that matched the description of those that foiled Dagankor's earlier plans to capture Enedwaith. And one other man, one they called Malagar. The only one of these enemies that the Shadowhand Ruling Council believed had actually met Vardor, the founder of the Shadowhand.

They had been permitted to get too close to the Shadowhand fortress, and the time had come to put a stop to them. Calebial had been right about the importance of destroying them quickly, but if Dagankor could not do it, there was no chance Calebial could.

Peymost glanced at Fhorin, the more senior of the two, at the Council. "And then he shall find this company?"

"Alone, I doubt that Bearcore could defeat the entire company," Fhorin answered. "First we must send a company of Great Orcs to scatter them. After that, it will be easy for Bearcore to finish them."





Bearcore looked up, as the door to his prison opened. A sliver of light entering his place of dark confinement. He hated the man before he began to see him. He hated him. He hated everything that lived, that breathed. His mind was twisted, even to his knowledge. He hated the Shadowhand Ruling Council, the force that had put life in its limbs, more than any others that lived.

"Hello?" said the man, cautiously, at the entrance of the cave.

Bearcore waited in the dark recesses of the cave, watching his prize.

Perhaps two meals, rather than one? Bearcore wasn't hungry, but his will to destroy consumed him.

The guard knew little of what lay within, and so foolishly had left the door open a few seconds longer than he had to, talking quietly to the other man.

Bearcore was across the room in an instant. He had already tossed the first man into his mouth, and was on to the second. The guardian was a Great Orc, Bearcore noted. His claws slipped past the door, even as the panicked guard used all the strength in the bulging muscles of his ten foot height to slam the magical door closed.

The door's magic stung Bearcore's paw, caused him to withdraw it quickly.

He swallowed the first man, and then licked the Great Orc's blood off of his claws, slowly. Bearcore's belly felt more hollow than before, suddenly. Something had cleared from his mind, a realization of his hunger, that he must eat.

For an instant, something like tears came into Bearcore's eyes. Tears born of the long years of his suffering, tears of hatred for the Shadowhand, for the people that had made it.

Yet he had no choice but to do their will. He sensed that they would release him soon. They never waited long after feeding him to release him, to let him fill his hunger. And again, as always, he would be forced to do their will. How he longed to twist about, to use his steel muscle to obliterate his enemies. Hate consumed him, was all that he was. It gnawed on his insides, waiting tensely to be released. As always, he would do the will of the Shadowhand.





Fhorin looked out of the window of the comfortable room he was in, his eyes searching the horizon, as if seeking his enemies that lingered in the distance. Yet he knew that he would never see him, for they would be gone before they reached his eyes.

[Arat-Falathion]

His sabre sheathed and the dagger consealed, Glimdrell entered the house, his surcoat now turned inside out, wearing the silver coloured side for everyone to see. His presence shone of nobility and wisdom, a cunning weapon indeed in these halls. Behind came Dolais and Hruad, flanked by Aralle, as a woman.

His stride was jentle and noble, nearly floating above the stonefloor. At the end of the entrance hall they came to the stairs. Glimdrell turned to the others and nodded determingly, they could hear the voices of a crowd on the top of these winding steps. Eather this would work, or it would fail tremendously, but it was their only chance now.

"Blood." Glimdrell acknowledged as they came over some drops of blood on the stairway. On the end of the stairs they got their answer.

"I'll kill that woman if I see her again!" a man shouted. He was standing in the stairway, surrounded by people that was tending a wound on his arm. On the floor lay a bloody knife.

Not until Glimdrell stood before them did they notice him, their eyes widening in puzzlement...

[Arat-Falathion]

"Im Celeborn, past Lord of Lórien." Glimdrell lied with a short, curtious bow. "I've come now in these hours of last hope to stop the evil plans that has been plotted in dark chambers for too long."

The wounded wizard looked at the elf in dismay, the others, more easily fooled, looked at the elf in awe.

"With the blessing of the Valar, I now hold powers beyond any mortal man. So be warned, that which I speak shall only be of truth, and know that this truth may be hard receieved, for a curtain of lies have been shut before your eyes."

Confused talk errupted among the crowd, and the face of the shadowhand wizard redenned more with every moment passing, quickly turning crimson.

[Lief Erikson]

Dagankor raised a single hand, summoning a magical blow. With ease, he tossed Glimdrell out of the chamber.

"The blessings of the Valar seem to have lost power of late," he mocked.

Aralle hurtled past into the room, seizing Imarwyn and heaving her upward, into the air. Her wings beat heavily as she pulled back. Glimdrell had his sword out, but the Shadowhand wizard from behind him had dispelled his illusion with a word.

"Liars to the end," Dagankor stated, coldly. "But it will be their end."