*
The reaction that the sudden appearance of the mounted knights had on the collective Sunraiders was remarkable to see. One minute earlier, Hal had found himself leaning against the wall of the wagon, his axe held limply before him, giving no menace whatsoever to the three hooded men facing him and Renora. The next, almost every Sunraider to the man, turned and bolted for the relative safety of the trees. All it took was one blaring call of a trumpet and the highwaymen were completely spooked.
Quietly, Hal also believed that the graphic scene of three of their associates being grotesquely speared upon the lances of the charging knights probably had something to do with their hasty retreat as well.
Seeing that there was no longer an immediate threat in his vicinity, Hal allowed his half-moon blade to slide from numb fingers as he collapsed to the slushy surface. Soon after, the excruciating pain of his leg overwhelmed him and he gripped at it fiercely with both hands, biting his lip to keep from screaming.
He watched the three knights methodically barreled after the stragglers, hewing them down with their gleaming broadswords. The mounted men finally halted their charge at the tree line and shouted epithets and politic warnings after the fleeing Sunraiders. They waited there for several minutes before turning back.
Ceorn was a mess. He was lying flat on his back and was bleeding from dozens of different wounds. To Hal's untrained eye, none of the slashes looked very deep, but it was hard to say. One of the knights knelt down beside him and began to assess his needs.
Tasha was next to Shiann and the twins. Miraculously, she appeared to be unharmed. But Hal was unsure if the blood that covered parts of her tunic was her own someone else's. A knight with a red plume flying from his helmet and a likewise colored tabard covering his armor, strode up to her and raised his visor. He and Tasha seemed to make quick introductions and so forth as the man proceeded to remove his helmet. Nicalla was frantic, tugging at Tasha's pants leg and sobbing hysterically. With the ease of a man much used to the act, the knight scooped the little blonde-haired girl up into his arms and began to speak soothing words, rocking her back and forth.
A fourth knight rode up from the road dismounted from his steed, quickly assisting Renora to her feet. She was sitting not far from Hal's prone form and accepted the hand up gracefully. The knight was ridiculously handsome, but there was something about the knight's eyes as he looked at Renora that set Hal's teeth on edge. A fifth knight arrived on the scene soon after, taking Hal's attention away from Renora. The knight was carrying a very dirty and disheveled Ambori on the back of his horse. Both men dismounted near Garnthalisbain's unmoving form and advanced on him quickly.
"Are you all right, good sir?" inquired a voice from right beside him. Hal managed to turn his head enough to look up at the man who spoke. It was the red-plumed knight. He was still holding Nicalla gently, casually cradling her in the crook of his left arm. Tasha stood right beside him, a look of exhaustion on her face.
Hal muttered something non-committal under his breath and tried to roll onto his back. Tasha knelt down beside him and assisted as much as she was able. The knight reached down with his free hand. Hal gave it a guarded look, then took it firmly in his own. The knight heaved mightily while Tasha helped as much as she could. In the end, both were able to get Hal to his feet without him crying out too much. Together they helped him hobble over to a fallen log and allowed him to sink gratefully upon it.
Looking down at his leg, Hal was alarmed to see a slight trickle of blood flowing down his calf. Once again he had managed to tear open the half-healed cut. Hal tried not to groan too loudly.
Tasha sat beside him and peered at his face. "What is it?"
Hal looked away from his leg and into her amber eyes for the first time in what seemed like (and actually was, now that he thought about it) days. "Nothing, milady," He said. Then he winced at a sudden twinge of pain. "At least nothing that can be helped right now, milady," he amended.
But it was too late. Tasha had already seen the trickle of blood. She cast the big man a dark look. "You and I still need to have that talk," she muttered before sliding off the log to examine how bad his wound now was.
Noting the conspicuous silence from the armored man, Hal looked up into the knight's face questioningly. Hal was surprised to see that he was roughly middle-aged. From the way that he handled himself in battle, Hal would have guessed him to be a man many years his junior. His hair was streaked with grey at points and cropped just this side of being considered long. He wore a mustache that trailed all the way down to his chin and had piercing blue eyes. That along with his long nose and sharp, weathered features made the man seem almost like a hawk at times.
And at this time, his gaze was locked firmly on Hal. On his face, to be precise. He seemed to be studying Hal's features intently, as if he was trying to see something that he wasn't sure was there. Hal didn't know what to make of it. There was nothing remarkable about his face save that even after three days without shaving he still had little more than stubble on his cheeks.
Unable to take the treatment any more, Hal spoke. "Is something ami... ames... troubling you, Sir Knight?"
The knight seemed to shake out of his stupor, almost alarming the quiet child in his arm. "No, son. Not at all." He took one last piercing look then shook his head slightly. "In this light … I could have sworn that you reminded me of someone is all. Pay it no mind... Hal, is it?" Hal nodded his shaggy head affirmatively. "Good lad."
Hal caught a glimpse of both Ambori and the knight with him slowly backing away from the mage's prone form. Garn's frail body was glowing a soft shade of red and had begun to levitate slowly into the air. There was a sudden lurch and Garn grunted, forcing both his arms out in front of him. A slightly bloody object dropped to the ground, from the distance Hal barely recognized it as an arrow. Garn straightened then into a standing position and lowered himself to the ground. The glow disappeared and he looked none the worse for wear save for a slight in the front of his dark colored robes. He looked at Ambori and the knight before him curiously, both were staring at him with their mouths wide open. "What? Hurry up and say something before the flies learn about the new spaces available for rent."
Realizing that the red-plumed knight had said something, Hal returned his attention to the man before him. "I'm sorry, Sir Knight. What did you say?"
The man smiled, lines of age crinkling around his mouth. "I was merely introducing myself, Hal. Sir Terius, Head Knight of Southmoor, at your service." He even managed a slight bow in his armor.
Tasha removed the bandage from Hal's leg and drew a sharp intake of breath. Looking down, Hal noted that the wound had been more or less scabbed over and had been well on its way to healing nicely. Now that it had been torn open once again, it was a red, bleeding mess. Tasha looked him dead in the eye. "You've really got to stop doing this to yourself," she admonished, one eyebrow arching at him accusingly.
"Greetings milady, it's nice to see you too. How've you been?" Hal muttered. Tasha surprised Hal by actually laughing at his small attempt at humor.
Terius gazed down at the wound and whistled sympathetically. "I'll bet that one hurt." he commented.
"Yes," Hal stated, completely dead-panned. "It hurt very much. In fact, it still hurts quite a bit."
Terius quirked a small smile and tucked the gauntlet from his free hand into his belt. "I should say so lad." He knelt down as much as his armor allowed and reached out to Hal's wound with his bare hand. "Let's see what we can do about that."
Tasha gazed at him curiously. "What are you doing?"
The knight winked at her. "Trust me."
Interlude - Contact
A pause in the energies.
Xir opened his eyes. A new surge of power flowed in from the staff, replacing the temporary void left behind after his last attempt.
What has caught my attention?
Casting his dark souled gaze, both physical and ethereal, in all directions, Xir searched fo
r the source of his disturbance. In the grayness and the mist, there was no change. The mist began to crawl away from the outburst but now was returning to its former position and standpoint.
It was nothing in the prison itself, of that much the archmage was certain.
Then what?
Feeling the emotion of bewilderment for the first time many centuries, Xir clenched his fingers repeatedly. Twisting his hands along the staff and drawing on as much power as he was able, searching as far outward as the energies would allow him with the prison.
There!
Faintly, off in the mystical distance, came a magical symbol. It flashed like a sort of beacon, one that Xir could only imagine in his expansive mind. It pulsed beckoningly, begging for his attention.
Smirking to himself Xir deigned to respond to the beacon.
YOU HAVE ACQUIRED THE ATTENTION OF XIR, THE ALL-POWERFUL! PRAY THAT YOU ARE NOT WASTING MY TIME!
The answer to his cry was immediate.
Almighty, Xir. I am but a humble wizard of the mortal plain. I have spent my entire existence in this life trying to follow your life's accomplishments.
WHO ARE YOU?
I am called Abalanor by my peers. I have spent many years attempting to make contact with you, oh mighty one.
Xir let the words sink in and said nothing.
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, MORTAL?
There was a pause.
My Lord Xir, it began. Would you like to be free?