“Charge!” the command came from a captain among the Illisean forces. Hundreds of armored soldiers ran across the field as the first dozen catapults fired. Boulders hurdled from the sky, crushing men and women fighting on the frontlines for the Low Lands.

  “For the Shining Capital, Listagan!” cried out a rally as pikemen marched forth.

  The Low Land forces were a standing four thousand when the battle of Khadrak began. A young kobold took to the field, his black fur and half drooped left ear distinguishing himself among the other soldiers invading the Low Lands, wearing a white kamishimo with slashes of green and gold down the front, and a katana at his side. An elf woman strode beside him, no more than forty years of age and pale complexion; her fiery red hair kept in a high ponytail to her mid-back swayed calmly as the pair of them overlooked the ensuing chaos on the field. Her kimono was white with slashes of green across the midsection and blue at the bottom. Her green eyes met his dark brown eyes. “Are you ready, my student?” she asked.

  “I shall remember my honor, Master,” he said.

  She placed a hand on the black and gold hilt of her blade, and the two of them dashed forth. A flurry of strikes, the pair of them mowed down soldier after soldier of the Low Lands. Fountains of blood rained around them, boulders smashed others around them as they found themselves back to back. The kobold giving a leap toward a centaur man wielding dual clubs, steel of the katana against the stone cudgels sparking intensely as they met, in a flash a short tanto came up and pierced the horseman’s ribcage causing him to collapse.

  The red haired woman blocked her two amphobos opponents’ bidents with her tachi still in its scabbard. She gave a wry smile before she moved quicker than a blink, darting between them with the blade out, holding it in her left hand and the scabbard in the right. One frogman fell unconscious while the other’s head landed atop another human body five paces from her left, eyes glazing over.

  Her gaze fixed back to her student who took a dagger to his left arm, howling in pain he darted forth, katana in the right hand and spiraled upward with blade acting like a blender on the human’s flesh regardless of his leather armor. It all shredded the same.

  “Is that the best my student can attain?” she scoffed. “Don’t get sloppy on me Gunnolf! Osinara is ahead and that is where we find our next target!” Gripping his arm, he looked to the right to see a two alligator-like men coming up from behind and before he could shout out a warning, her blue-green blade spun and─

  “Gunnolf, wake up.”

  Sitting up abruptly, Gunnolf’s eyes shot open. Lylen was beside him and his gaze met hers as if he was awake the whole time.

  “You were thrashing in your sleep,” she told him.

  “Yeah, it was really unnerving,” Atzler chimed in who was standing near the tent flaps with his arms crossed. “Were you having nightmares?”

  Gunnolf sighed, “This is why I need more liquor. Keeps my sleep…tolerable.”

  “Most of the other amphobos soldiers are preparing to return to Lilthiken, we should get going,” Lylen said.

  The two elves vacated the tent while Gunnolf gathered his things, his tanto had gone missing in the battle last night but he still had the Kazesuki-zhuken. Aside from some of the rips in his kamishimo it was still considered to be decent clothed for him to wear it. His palm ached from the previous night still. He gazed at his right palm, the crescent moon rune etched heavily into it reminded him when he first received it. I cannot keep using the blade like this. Twelve more souls. I began at three hundred all those years ago.

  Outside the large leaf tent, Lylen and Atzler waited with Olin and Dusaak standing with them as well. The sky was already turning a faded gray blue, clouds hanging in large blotches but revealing sky between them. The sun would be rising within the next hour or two. Olin faced Gunnolf, “Good morning,” he greeted the kobold. Gunnolf remained silent as he stared at the monk. “I understand you and the elves are traveling to Domon Valley next. I am going the same way, would you mind now if I tag along?”

  “He has shown he is quite dependable,” Lylen spoke on his behalf. “Especially with that technique you used last night with your hands shooting that white light.”

  Olin grinned, “It wasn’t anything special, a simple Chi-Shot is what most experienced monks can do when they find their inner peace.”

  Gunnolf was silent as he strode up to them, “Do as you wish. I’m not responsible for you or your pet’s safety.”

  Olin gave a smile as he pet Dusaak on the head, “Are you sure it is me that should be concerned for our safety?”

  “Gunnolf,” Lylen called as she caught up to his side. “Is everything Olin said last night true?”

  Without stopping Gunnolf merely replied, “Believe what you wish. I have always done what I must do.”

  Her steps came to a halt as the others caught up to her. Why do you choose to suffer alone? She wanted to ask but kept it to herself.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Leaving the amphobos camp behind, they found their way back to the dirt pounded road and headed south. Five of them in tow, counting the beast, Dusaak. Passing through Jakara Woods this time was uneventful despite the serenity that surrounded them. Leaves and branches crackled and snapped beneath their feet; the chirping of birds added a calmness this morning. Following the road to the fork where it split off with Saha’dryr south and Domon Valley to the northeast a familiar sounding shout was heard by Gunnolf.

  “Attack!” a shout from behind a large boulder stuck in the ground as five bandits came running toward Gunnolf’s party. Climbing to the top of the boulder, a stout human man stood there with an axe over his head, “Surrender before your throats are cut! Bazurr the Bone Snapper demands your money and valuables!”

  “This guy again?!” Lylen said incredulously.

  Gunnolf stared as the five tall and slender humans darted for his companions.

  Bazurr stopped as his arms lowered, shock was across his scarred face, “Dammit! You again?! We can’t catch a damn break!”

  As the first two men got in close one with a spiked club and the other with a pair of short swords, Olin and Gunnolf took the lead. A flick of Olin’s wrist using his quarterstaff cracked the man with the short swords across the face while Gunnolf held the Kazesuki-zhuken still sheathed in front of him and parried the club effortlessly as he grabbed the man by the throat. Lylen and Atzler barely had time to draw their weapons. Dusaak stayed back and remained calm during the exchange.

  “Why do I keep running into you?!” Bazurr yelled.

  Gunnolf maintaining his grip on the henchman’s throat called out, “Fool, you keep trying to attack me!”

  The bandit caught in the kobold’s grasp was struggling for air and began flailing.

  “Retreat!” Bazurr called to the other men as they arrived to attack the five travelers.

  “Gunnolf, that’s enough,” Olin said.

  Reluctantly, Gunnolf let the man go so he could collect his companion who was still on the ground facedown from Olin’s staff.

  Bazurr stepped forth, “Stop getting in my way furball!” he demanded.

  “Stop trying to rob people on the road!” Lylen yelled back with a throwing knife dancing between her fingers.

  “Come on boys, let’s get out of here!” Bazurr demanded his men to escape going west and he followed.

  “You know they will just do it to another person,” Atzler complained.

  “Not our concern,” Gunnolf said flatly.

  Olin gave a grin, “If we catch them in the act, we beat them again. Teach them the lesson as many times as it takes. It is the way of the Sun Temple.”

  Atzler slumped, “Since when is it a ‘teaching’ of a practiced monk to beat the hell out of people?”

  Olin had a wide smile, “If you’d like to lecture robbers and murderers instead, go ahead and I’ll be your pupil.”

  ***

  Hours passed and midday took effect as the party trekked downward well into Grok Pass. Walls of jagged rock were on both sides of them; the slope was steeper here. They passed a few merchant wagons going the opposite direction. All were being pulled by galcudos and the riders varied between ratface folk, known as the raxen or dwarves. They only stopped once to purchase some dried meat, refill water gourds, and Atzler made it a point to acquire a couple more of those clear healing gels for the journey.

  Coming to a cliff edge, it overlooked all of Domon Valley that they could see. Lush grasslands dotted with trees was everywhere below, had to be nearly one hundred paces to the bottom as the slope winded back and forth all the way down. In the distance, stood an oval shaped town with a large pond behind it that had a pouring waterfall coming out of the cliffside.

  “What town is that?” Lylen asked in amazement.

  “Parcielle,” answered Olin. “A nice little town shared between dwarves and raxen.”

  “Have you been there before, Olin?” Lylen asked.

  The man gave a nod, “It’s been a few years but yes. The waterfall you see spills down from the cliff wall from a subterranean river, and Axo Mine that’s east of Parcielle serves as the town’s big commodity with precious gemstones of ruby and amethyst to be mined.”

  “Shall we see what the town is like?” Atzler asked. “I bet the food is better than Lilthiken by a long shot!”

  “We are to reach Axo Mine,” Gunnolf said curtly. “However, these merchants we’ve seen along the way, don’t seem to have a new tanto for me. Perhaps,” his words cut off as he spun around toward the trees on the ledge behind him.

  Lylen and Atzler gave a jump, “What is it?!” they both cried simultaneously.

  Launching out over the trees, three feathered creatures flew at them. Brown and orange feathers with faces like birds, feminine nude bodies and arms as wings. Each of them screeched as they wildly descended.

  “Drywood harpies!” Atzler shouted while everyone drew their weapons.

  Dusaak leaped to a tree and climbed it, disappearing into the branches.

  “Where is he going?” Lylen asked.

  “We don’t have time to ponder that,” Olin chimed in cheerfully as he had his quarterstaff ready.

  Twelve more. Kill them!

  Gunnolf kept his tachi sheathed with an effort, as the first harpy dived at him with the falcon talons out ready to claim flesh. A diagonal slash followed by a sharp thrust knocked the flying beast to the ground alive but dazed.

  The second harpy lost a wing to Atzler’s hand axe that whirled through it before it crashed to the hard ground in a bloody mess. Lylen flung three knives at the third where two struck it in the chest. Two more burst from the trees and as they approached Olin relaxed. As the beasts drew in Dusaak exploded from the tree behind Olin and tackled both to the ground, biting into the neck of the first one, and then spat in the face of the other which left it twitching as Dusaak stepped away from it.

  Olin gave the reptile a gentle pat on the snout, “Yes, you may go feast. Just be careful of the hollow bones this time Dusaak.” The jormagand swiftly skittered back to the twitching drywood harpy and began eating it while it was still alive.

  The one Gunnolf knocked the wind out of flailed helplessly on the ground as the kobold stood over it and stomped its neck, breaking it on impact.

  Must kill with blade, damn you! He resisted the urge with great effort.

  Atzler turned away swiftly, “What did Dusaak do to that creature?” he jerked like he was about to lose that dried meat from earlier.

  “He paralyzed it,” Olin replied. “Jormagands like Dusaak have a special gland that secretes a paralyzing fluid when it comes in contact with another creature,” he grinned toward the elf who was still trying to keep down what little food he had. “He especially likes to feast on smaller monsters while their alive but unable to defend themselves.”

  Lylen shivered, “What a way to go.”

  Gunnolf merely strode on without another word once Dusaak had his fill. They would draw near the town before the sun had banished itself from visibility.