Chapter 3 - The Long Road Out Of Eden

From the shadowed corner of a nearby building, a great silhouette emerged shambling with another attached. Heothgar held Goewyn under her arm, but his size made him slouch down, and unintentionally pull her up, until they met halfway. They moved quickly in a hobbling way toward the nearest guards posted at the great hall. " Please, help us!" He called, "We were attacked! Savages defiling the name of the good Christian God. They attacked my sister. She's struck senseless! Please, I managed to push through them and get her to safety, but our elderly parents are back that way!"

The guards bristle at the approach of the hulking stranger. "Halt! Identify yourself." One demands.

Muireann watches the charade from the shadowed corner the three of them had been hiding, methodically nocking an arrow and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Hrothgar stops several paces away from the reach of the guards' weapons, "Hrothgar, and my sister, Goewyn. Our family was attacked by the road. We ran as fast as we could, but the others are back there."  Hrothgar hooks his arm behind Goewyn's back, grabbing hold of her clothes near her waist. If needed, he could give her a good boost in rushing one of the guards.

As Hrothgar whips Goewyn towards the guards she pushes off with her lithe, but powerful legs and she draws her seax out of concealment. Using the momentum of her charge to drive the dagger into the ribs of the first guard she had hoped to feel his legs give out as her blade pierced some vital organ, but the man remained standing. He did, however, appear dazed from the rapid attack so Goewyn quickly yanks the blade out of the man's torso and slashes at the other nearby guard, causing him to step back away from her quick slash. Then before the men could counter the attack she was running back towards Hrothgar as quickly as her legs would carry her!

"Intruders! Intruders!" The second guard bellows as his comrade falls besides him. He lashes out with his spear, jabbing fiercely at Hrothgar, who staggers under the force of the blow, before twisting to fend off the second watchman who comes charging at him.

No sooner were the words out of the guard's mouth, an arrow struck him in the neck, killing him quickly. Without blinking, Muireann swiftly nocks another arrow. Don't worry, Adelmar. We'll get you out. 

The single unbloodied guard stood dumbfounded for only a moment before an avalanche of mass fell upon him. Hrothgar hefted his broadaxe and brought it down with all the fury of his powerful build. Maybe it was the diminishing light, maybe fear, or maybe inexperience, but he raised a shield but only caught the axes haft. The head, though, came down behind the shield with crushing speed and split the man where neck met shoulder. The crumbling heap was discarded to the side and Hrothgar pressed the attack further. The man stunned by Goewyn's surprise attack looked up to see a mountain of death made flesh as the last kne did. This one did not - could not - resist and the end came swiftly with a clean stroke. "We need to move quick, now. No telling who heard the first cry. Nice work, too."

Judging by the shouts and calls that echo in return and the sound of hurried boots on hard-packed dirt, other guards did indeed hear the cry of their fallen comrades.

"Go now! Inside!" Goewyn quietly ushers everyone inside. "Muireann, you know where he was taken?"

Muireann ducks inside, looking around and speaking quickly. "My best guess would be a cell, but there hasn't been enough time. It's likely he's still here, maybe in one of the guest rooms. We must move quickly."

The hall lies in a hush, the hour late enough that only a handful of servants shuffle through with downcast eyes . Torchlight flickers on timber walls, casting long, uncertain shadows as  Muireann leads them down a corridor towards the guest chambers.  At the end of the hall, low voices can be heard from a pair of guards stationed outside a door.

Hrothgar tried to creep down the hallway to ambush the guards. Unfortunately, his shoulder brushes too closely to a lantern on the wall. He hisses as the metal planks and slams to the floor. The guards immediately react, but hesitate when the see what amounts to a small bear in the hallway with a murderous axe. Hrothgar raised his axe a bit in both hands and stared the pair down, "Not worth it. You saw me run the other way and chased after."

The guards hesitate, hands hovering over their weapons. One shifts a step back and the other swallows hard, glancing towards his comrade. "You... you're trespassing," he begins, but his voice lacks conviction-  Hrothgar takes another slow step forward, axe raised just enough to make the point clear, and  the guards exchange a look before bolting past him.

As soon as the guards have darted away, Muireann slips past Hrothgar to the closed door, pushing it open. Her surprise at the door giving way so easily is quickly overshadowed by her nervousness. What if Adelmar was not in here? What if it was a trap? What if, what if, what if.... Scenarios play over in her head of what they might find. "Adelmar? Are you in here?"

The room is dim, lit only by the glow of coals in a dying brazier. Muireann's eyes sweep the chamber... and then she sees him. Adelmar sits slumped in a chair, wrists bound before him, his tunic bloodied but his posture unbroken.

The inside of Adelmar's head pounds like wardrums as he slowly turns his gaze up to look at Muireann. He opens his mouth to speak and only succeeds in coughing up a rough mixture of phlegm, bile, and blood. He spits, the mixture dribbling down his chin to join the dried blood on his tunic. His mouth opens again and he manages a raspy scoff.  "Fools," he says. "You should have left. Where are the children?"

Muireann doesn't say anything as she rushes over, slinging her bow over her shoulder and kneels down in front of him to start untying the ropes. "You clearly don't know me very well," she says. "I don't leave people behind."

Adelmar jerks his hands away from her. "The children. The ones we came here for. Where are they? Did you get them out?"

Hrothgar stands guard in the hallway, eagerly pacing between the hall the came from and the holding room. "No, we brought them along. Lots of hands to hold down armed guards- yes they're safe! You're not getting left here." The big man paces back to the door and slides in a large leather quiver of javelin along with a shield. "This will have to do for now. Do you know where your things are?"

Muireann glares at Adelmar, then grabs his hands again and proceeds to finish untying them. "You think we are that stupid? Like the big man said, the children are long gone. We were not about to leave you behind!"

Adelmar rubs his wrists together. He stands, first rubbing feeling back into his chaffed wrists, then taking the javelins and shield that Hrothgar offers. He wanted to leave, to run for the hills, and count his blessings -- but this was probably the last time he'd be back here. He had to retrieve his father's sweord. "I know it's not practical, but there's something I need," he says, accepting water from a waterskin. His voice returns to something resembling its normal timbre. "From the armory. Follow me, if you would." He steps past Hrothgar and heads carefully for the king's armory, hoping against hope that the king hadn't been able to be rid of the weapon. If that was the case, at least then Adelmar would know for sure that his friend was still in there, behind all Augustine's indoctrination.

The passages within the king’s hall are quiet, but not silent. Every step is a gamble. The distant creak of boots on wooden floors and the occasional whisper of wind serve as a reminder that danger is still close. The  dim torchlight paints strange shapes across the tapestry-adorned walls .

Adelmar, Goewyn and Muireann duck into a servant's alcove, holding their breath as two guards pass, but Hrothgar is too big and slow to stay out of sight.

There's a hesitation between Hrothgar and the guards that manage to spot him. Deciding it was better to sieze the initiative, he charges, axe high in the air, towards the guards. If they would raise an alarm, better it be in fear than in pursuit.

The men walking the passages of the king's hall yelp and turn tail to flee before the fearsome Hrothgar. Meanwhile, Adelmar, Goewyn and Muireann reach a broad door bound in iron bands: the armoury.

Adelmar's mind races as he approaches the door. It was  beyond stupid  to drag this group further into the king's hall in search of something that was a mere possession. But damn it all, it was the last thing Adelmar had left of his family. His father and mother were dead, their lands taken by the West Saxons, his king was now bound up by the Christ-god, and his very name was anathema among the lords he had grown up with. He may have reclaimed the name Adelmar, but he may as well still be Egon -- still in the cage. The sweord felt like his last hope to reclaim some semblance of his family's honor. Without waiting any longer, Adelmar pushes open the door.

The heavy door swings open with a groan, revealing rows of mail and helms that line the walls, alongside neat arrays of spear and axe. Adelmar steps through,  only to be met with stillness. Too still. From the shadows at the rear of the armoury, steps forth Augustine. The bishop is  draped in dark clerical robes and his silver crozier gleams in the flickering torchlight.  Half  a dozen of the king's guards emerge along with him, raising shields and levelling spears. Then, Augustine speaks. "I knew that you would come for it," the bishop mocks, his voice calm and cold. "Some chains are heavier than iron, Adelmar. You carry yours like a fool, chasing ghosts through blood and ruin." He stands besides a stand of oak and velvet, upon which lies Adelmar’s family sweord, untouched and waiting.  So close, yet now more distant than ever.

Adelmar's heart falls into his belly. He had hoped that if someone was there, it would be the king, and that he would have a chance to speak alone with the man. But of course, this was the result. His life had taken too many violent twists and turns in recent memory. Standing bathed in the torchlight, he allows the rage to build inside him. Rolling his shoulders back, Adelmar adjusts his grip on the spear in his hand. "When you fall in the coming war -- and you  will  fall -- I will melt down your chains and use them to forge tools that honor this land and its people. Each scythe and sickle will be a monument to Ing. I humored you, for the honor of my king and my friend, but  no longer . Your Christ-god is not welcome here for my people have their own gods." Adelmar takes a step back toward the door, keeping his eyes on the guards with Augustine.

The air in the armoury tightens with tension as Adelmar’s words echo against stone and steel.  The guards flinch. Not from fear, but from the weight of his defiance. Even Augustine narrows his eyes, lips thinning, but he does not yet raise his voice. "Let him bark his last,"   the bishop murmurs,   "then end it."

"I'm done barking," Adelmar says. "Perhaps you will listen to a different language." As the last word leaves his mouth, Adelmar strikes out at the leading guard, attempting to demoralize him. The guard is quicker than he anticipated and is able to get his shield in the way of the blow.

Goewyn rushes in behind Egon with her spear and shield at the ready, jabbing her weapon at the same warrior Egon engaged. While the tip of her spear does not fully penetrate the armor, her aim was true and the king's guard barely fends off the blow, sending him staggering back as Goewyn immediately disengages and rushes back out into the hallway.  "There are many warriors in there, I fear we cannot overcome them."  She says to Muireann. 

Goewyn's words are muffled, as Muireann has eyes only for the false priest. She nocks an arrow, drawing it back. Foolish man, she thinks. He's left himself wide open. To Goewyn, she says, "Numbers we can overcome. Once we cut off the head of this snake."  She releases the bowstring. The arrow flies, true to its mark. Muireann feels a sense of satisfaction rise within her that is quickly crushed as her arrow.... misses? It would have hit, it should have hit. It was pointed at the man's heart, she's certain. Fury takes the place of satisfaction, but rather than lash out, she simply begins to nock another arrow.  

"It's treason, then," Augustine remarks, voice full of scorn. "Wipe them out," he instructs the king's guard. "All of them." The warrior closest to Adelmar thrusts powerfully with his spear, but the Saxon turns the strike aside with his shield.

The guards advance on Adelmar, moving to interpose themselves between him and the door. The gathered warriors thrust their spears at the Saxon, before raising their shields to hold the line. One strike misses and another Adelmar turns aside, but the other two pass his guard slamming him with the shaft, or drawing thin lines of blood. The guard by the entryway also lunges at Muireann, driving her back.

Adelmar slashes at the forearm of one of the guard with his speartip, causing the man to drop his own weapon. He felt the weight of his decision crashing down on him and the others as his next strike was turned aside by the guard's shield. "This was a fool's errand,"  he says.  "We need to leave."

"Yes, we do!"  Goewyn shouts her response to Egon's announcement as she jabs high with her spear, which is batted aside by the guard's shield. She ducks low this time with a blow that bypasses the shield and sinks deep into the man's armor, but the heavy armor deflects any penetration. Goewyn immediately pulls away, her skills in skirmishing preventing the warrior from retaliating .  She begins moving back towards their exit, urging Muiranne to come along as well. 

A low rumble grew through the hallways as if someone had loosed a horse charging down the narrow passages. When it finally reached the door, Hrothgar filled the doorway and nearly barreled through Goewyn. He smiled at the women, then turned a scowl into the room, "Leave? So soon?" He charged the nearest guards as he raised a shield anticipating wrath to come from above. This was good, though, and Hrothgar swung low instead. Hrothgar's axe caught the man's leg, but this one was too seasoned for that. A boulder of a shoulder followed, driving further into the man, but still he held. "Bastard!" Hrothgar grunted, then took the man with a hand and shoved. That was the final straw, and the guards went tumbling down. Steel rose up as the body struck the floor, and a great swing crashed down that would make an executioner proud. The guards kept a shield up, caught the axe's haft, but missed the head. The steel bit armour, and the impact caused a gasp. Hrothgar smiled, it had been too long since a good fight, and he raised his axe again. This time, the head found its target and slammed the guard's helmet. While it did its duty well, the head inside slammed down to the ground. Hrothgar stood above his startled victim and locked eyes with the nearest guards, "You're next if you step close."

Muireann glances to Adelmar, her stomach twisting horribly. This was rapidly turning into a fight that they couldn't win. And they had to get out. Eyes burning with hatred, she points a finger at Augustine and speaks a chilling phrase, " Loscadh is dó ort!" A sickly green halo of vines appears above the priest's head, melting into his flesh, marking him as her enemy.  Then she casts her hands to either side, slinging her bow over her shoulder in the same motion and begins chanting in an ancient tongue, the language of the Druids from whom she had learned so much in her early years. Mist slowly gathers, filling the room, first around the ankles, but becoming denser and thicker and taller until all are shrouded in fog. "Run," she says urgently. "Now!" 

"RISE!" Augustine demands of the guard who Hrothgar has beaten to the ground. "Rise and serve the Lord!" With the inevitability of faith, the man rises from the ground, only to be struck down by the man's enormous axe. The guard behind rushes in to slam the door to the armory closed and bar it. Behind them, the four other men circle Adelmar harrying him with their spears from all sides. It's only a matter of time before the Saxon falls to a serious wound.

Adelmar uses the shaft of his spear to push the guards near him away, and takes the opportunity afforded by their momentary stagger to round the formation of guards and throw himself at Augustine. He grabs the priest's wrist and yanks it around the man's back, wrenching Augustine's shoulder. Then he uses his other arm as a noose, wrapping it around Augustine's neck. "Call them off, Augustine,"  Adelmar says, trying not to let how tired he was creep into his voice.  "Call them off and you get to live."

Goewyn turns to see the door slam shut and Hrothgar about to hack through it, she immediately spins on her heels and runs back over to the door. Despite her small frame, the momentum behind her lithe form slamming into the door breaks it partially open to assist Hrothgar's attempts. 

Hrothgar slammed a boot into the door behind Goewyn, but to no avail. Clearly, they intended for the armoury to be a sealed space against intruders. Rather than waste further time, Hrothgar turns his axe to the task. The first strike is aimed for the hinges, and the power it brings causes them to rip from the walls. A second strike smashes the frail anchoring, and another shove from Hrothgar's boot sends it clattering out of the way. "Too much work just to get out. All work, no play, eh? Fine, then...Hrothgar comes!"