Chapter 4

The seat of the Duchy of Malkur sat at the crossroads of The Old Kings' Highway, and was the trade hub for the Central Plains. The highway went west toward the Western Realm, and the Elven lands; east toward the kingdom of Aithen, and into the Thangdaemon Forest; south toward the Southern Reaches, and the Great Desert; and finally, north toward the Northern Reaches, and the lands of Gnomes, Goblins, and the other mountain dwellers.

The walls of Malkur sat on a large embankment (or berm, if you will), ten feet high, with a twenty-foot high stone wall encircling the city. The city had one main gate, leading into an easily defendable covered inner gateway with portcullis, and then into the city proper. The gates were opened and manned, day and night, and could easily be closed at a moment's command.

The Duchy of Malkur was a city-state, owing no allegiance to any king, or realm. The first Duke of Malkur was a merchant master who founded the site and established the city, passing his title down through the generations. The current Duke of Malkur, was his Excellency, Lord Benjamin Ragnarack, 13th Duke of Malkur.

The city was built on two levels. The lower level housed all the shops, mercantiles, inns, guildhalls, and military barracks, as well as the working class residents while on the upper level were the wealthier residents, temples, and the ducal palace.

The city had no natural resources but held great wealth due to its one economic resource, trade, and its principle human resource, fighting men. Large trade caravans stopped at Malkur daily and commodities flowed back and forth. The Malkurian Merchants' Guild owned large warehouses that housed all manner of goods, destined for consumption throughout the five realms.

The Duchy housed a large garrison of guardsman to protect the shipments coming in and out, as well as the city itself. Caravans needing more protection could hire guards from Malkur. The Duchy was renowned for its elite corps of guardsmen; Malkurian Guardsmen were honored and respected throughout the realm.

Guardsmen were recruited early, at the age of twelve, and spent six years in training, before being called up to duty. Their commission lasted ten years, at which time they were eligible to retire. Some of the realms' finest warriors were Malkurian Guardsmen, some of whom eventually went on to become Swordmasters.

That's not to say that Malkur was crime free. With the large amount of trade and commerce exchanging hands, there were ample occasions for theft. The Thieves' Guild also did a brisk business in Malkur, and the black market (the buying and selling of dangerous or rare component items for potions, poisons, and the like) was a thriving enterprise. Malkur was a great place to live, whether you were merchant, fighter, or thief.

Tanith appeared off the highway, a few miles from the Duchy, and began walking toward the city's gates. The lead wagon of a merchant caravan approached her, slowing as the driver addressed her.

"'Tis a warm day for a walk, pretty lass," the skinner called down to her. "Would you like a ride, and rest your pretty feet?"

"Depends on your definition of ride," Tanith replied with a laugh.

"Oh, lassie, ye cut me to the quick," the skinner grabbed his chest. "I meant no disrespect. Please, hop up, and rest awhile. I will drop ye off after we reach the other side of the city gates."

"I thank you for your offer of hospitality," Tanith replied climbing up to the seat next to the driver. "It is a fine day for walking but I am a little sorer than I thought I would be."

"Where ye coming from, if ye do not mind me asking?" he queried.

"Dragon Tooth Mountains," Tanith replied absently, stretching out her legs.

"A long travel indeed, lass," the skinner replied. "My name is Driscoll, by the way."

"Please to meet you, Driscoll," Tanith replied with a laugh. "I am called Tanith."

"Pretty name for a pretty lass," Driscoll smiled, looking down at her legs.

"Do the oxen have their own head, Master Driscoll?" Tanith asked cocking her head. "Or should you keep your eyes on the road ahead?"

"My apologies again, lass," Driscoll chuckled. "The view was worth the risk, and yes, the oxen know their way."

"Just so we understand ourselves, and you keep your eyes on the road." Tanith leaned back, closing her eyes, and crossing her arms.

"What is your business in Malkur?" Driscoll asked. "That is, if ye do not mind me asking."

"No, I do not mind," Tanith answered, eyes still closes. "I am meeting my betrothed there."

"Oh, he is indeed a lucky man," Driscoll replied. "What does he do?"

"I really do not know," Tanith smiled. "I have never actually met him. Truth be told, I do not know who he is."

"But you are meeting him in Malkur?" Driscoll asked. "I do not understand?"

"Yes, he will come to Malkur," Tanith replied. "I will know who he is, when he arrives in the city."

"Does he know ye are waiting for him?" Driscoll asked.

"No, he does not even know we are betrothed," Tanith replied. "But that does not matter. He will know when we meet."

"Well, I wish ye luck," Driscoll said, slowing his wagon.

"Oh, luck has nothing to do with it, Master Driscoll," Tanith smiled, sitting up as they approached the city. "I have waited an age for this moment. It is fate."

The merchant caravan slowed as it approached the city gates, allowing each wagon to enter the gateway, one at a time. Tanith noted arrow slits, as well as openings in the roof of the enclosure. A clear killing field extended the distance of the gateway, where a portcullis could be dropped in place, trapping the unlucky occupants.

The lead wagon reached the other side of the gateway, and slowed to a stop, allowing Tanith to hop out.

"Thank you for the ride, Master Driscoll," Tanith called up.

"No, no, the pleasure was all mine," he laughed as he shook the reins starting his oxen forward. "I hope your betrothed is everything you want him to be."

"Hail and well met, Tanith, the Great!" And he was gone.

Staring after the vanished wagon, she just chuckled, "Ox skinner, indeed!"

Shaking her head, Tanith strolled over to the bazaar, which she looked around before asking, and receiving directions to one of the nicer inns.

Walking through the bazaar her senses alerted her that she was being followed. She continued nonchalantly through the bazaar until she saw an alleyway and took it. Moving faster and further down the alley, she abruptly turned around and pulled her weapons. Four rough looking men, brandishing shortswords, spread out in an arc in front of her.

"It would be in your best interest to turn around and leave," she announced to the men, and turned obliquely leading with her rapier.

"Come now, pretty lady," the apparent leader replied. "We were just looking for a good time. Why do you not put those pretty little ornaments down and be nice to us?"

"Last chance," she replied. "I play for keeps; none of you will live through this encounter."

"So do we, pretty lady," he replied. "Get her!"

The two outer would be rapists, moved in to flank her while their compatriots attacked. Tanith backed up and pulled Eldritch from the surroundings.

"Stop!" she commanded, magic flowing from her, freezing her attackers in their path.

Walking slowly to the flankers, she pierced their hearts with her sword, and they still stood, frozen in place. Moving to the third man, she calmly slit his throat. Finally, standing in front of the leader she chastised him.

"I told you, I play for keeps," and she spit on him. He began screaming as he burst into flames.

"Silence!" she commanded, as once again magic flowed from her, and the screaming was cut short.

The fire burnt silver hot and consumed him completely, until all that was left was a pile of black ash. She pulled the power back, releasing the magic and the three bodies fell to the ground. Kicking the pile of ash, Tanith left the alley shaking her head, "They never listen."

She arrived at the 'Dragon's Horn' Inn and smiled at the irony of staying there. Asking for, and getting a room on the first floor in the back, Tanith closed the door to her room.

Scooping her hands in the air, she created a platinum sphere of energy, and gazed into it, looking for the WitchLord.

Aaron was up before first light, and made preparations to leave after breakfast. The plan was for a hunting party to escort them to the castle, or as close as possible.

A party left during the night, to scout the path they intended to use. The sidhe might control the forest, but any creature using the highway was allowed safe passage, as long as they didn't stray from the road.

The scouting party returned prior to the group's departure, and reported that orcs controlled the castle grounds. That was bad news. Orcs were not the stupid, slovenly, pig-like creatures portrayed in other minstrel's tales. Orcs of Andor were well trained, intelligent, military-minded fighting machines. Well organized and disciplined, fighting in squad style tactics, orcs were a menace to any adventure party.

Moira led a hunting party of 15 warriors, plus Reg and Aaron, through the forest, avoiding the highway. They made good time, and Moira got them close to the castle by noon. More importantly, they arrived unmolested.

The castle stood on a motte, or mound, some ten to fifteen feet high. The castle was surrounded by a dry ditch, or moat, crossed by an arched bridge. The main gates were accessed from a protruding structure, flanked by towers. The curtain walls were thirty feet tall, and connected four massive corner towers, as well as the two gatehouse towers, and incorporated the keep and its two towers, in the rear.

The four corner towers as well as the gatehouse towers were flat on top, with a stone parapet and battlements. The keep's towers had crystal domed tops. A single slab of quartz was cut, fashioned, and polished till it gleamed in the sunlight.

In front of the gates, on either side, hanging from tall curved poles were cages, not unlike cages for song birds, except these cages were larger. The cage on the left of the gates was empty, but the cage on the right was not. All along the sides of the arched bridge were poles with bodies impaled on them.

The main gates were opened, and the portcullis was up. The castle looked inviting, perhaps too inviting. It smelled like a trap.

Bidding the sidhe hunting party goodbye, Aaron and Reg climbed down into the ditch, and slowly made their way across and up to the castle wall. Crouching down, they crept along the wall to the edge of the gatehouse, on the same side as the occupied cage. With their backs flat to the wall, they inched their way to the cage, and peered inside. A dark elf, badly beaten and bloodied, lay in the fetal position on the cage floor.

"Are you alive?" Aaron asked in dark elvish.

"I still live, human," the dark elf replied in the common tongue. "Perhaps you can increase your honor by killing a trapped Shoc-Du (their name for themselves, meaning Shadow-Warrior), oh great warrior."

"I originally thought about releasing you," Aaron replied. "But perhaps you are right, and I should just do away with you. And I am not a human."

Aaron reached into his cloak and removed an oilskin pouch. Removing several leaves from the pouch, he pushed them through the bars of the cage.

"Chew these,"'Aaron explained. "They will refresh you."

Aaron removed his lock-pick tools, and had the lock open in mere moments. Removing another vial, with a cork lid and a built in brush, he coated the hinges with the contents. After waiting for the lubricant to work, he slowly and gently opened the cage door, and stepped back.

The dark elf took the leaves and chewed them, and then spit the remains out the side of the cage. After Aaron opened the door and stepped back, the dark elf made his way to the opening and leaped down, backing away from the two adventurers.

"Before you leave, will you tell us all you know about the inside of the castle, and its inhabitants?" Aaron asked.

"You have shown me more kindness than I would have shown you, had our positions been reversed, and that shames me," the dark elf replied. "You have healed me, as well as freed me. You have great honor. I owe you Dac-Ur, the life-debt. I am called Rac-Nur, and I am yours to command."

"I do not need a bond-servant," Aaron replied. "What we need is information."

Rac-Nur gave them all the information he had. He was part of a raiding/slaving party that came across the open castle and entered. The party was attacked by two dozen orcs, four squads worth. The dark elves killed fourteen orcs before being overcome. Rac-Nur was struck unconscious, and awoke, finding himself in the cage. The rest of his party ended up impaled on the poles in front of the castle. Rac-Nur had seen no reinforcements, so they concluded that the number of orcs totaled no more than ten. The orcs attacked the party from the barracks area to the right of the gateway. Giving Reg and Aaron a mock salute, Rac-Nur vanished down into the ditch.

"So much for the life-debt," Reg snorted.

Aaron's strategy, was to enter the castle after sunset, scout the area, and possibly eliminate the threat altogether. He figured there would probably be a guard posted, but dealing with one or two orcs at a time, was better than ten at once. So with the plan laid out, they backtracked down through the ditch, to a vantage point just within the forest, and waited.

As soon as it was dark enough, they snuck back to the right-hand gate, and peeked around the corner. There was a fire burning next to a corral and set of doors. A lone orc patrolled in front of the barracks, Aaron noted another across the courtyard on the walkway of the wall, watching the patrolling guard. Aaron motioned Reg toward the barracks, and he made his way into the castle and to the left, hood up, Red Rose out, fading into the shadows.