T Lain - Return of the Damned

“You know, when I was in the military, I used to hate these parties,” said the duke.

Regdar was surprised. “Why, my lord?”

“Because those damned dress uniforms are so itchy and stiff,” replied the duke. “No matter how much ale I drank, I never got comfortable. I was always glad to take it off at the end of the night.”

Both men laughed.

The relaxed demeanor of the duke put Regdar at ease. “May I ask you a question, Duke?”

“Of course.”

“The bottle we retrieved. It felt so… unnatural… strange…”

The big fighter fished for the right words. “It was as if it was trying to speak to me,” he blurted. He looked to the duke then shrugged. “What is—”

The duke cut him off with a stern look and a shake of his head. “Let’s just say, it’s important that it stays out of the wrong hands. It’s best if we leave it at that.”

Regdar nodded, a little irritated at being brushed off.

“Now can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, my lord,” Regdar replied.

“Drop the formal crap for now, Regdar.” The duke sat up straight. “Tonight we talk like soldiers, fighting men enjoying their ale together.” He pushed a mug toward Regdar, who scooped it up.

“All right, Christo.” He raised his mug. “What do you want to know?”

The duke’s smile turned into a grimace. “Why do you keep volunteering for these suicide missions?”

Regdar wiped froth from his upper lip. “I didn’t know you considered my missions suicidal.”

“What else could I consider them?” replied the duke. “Sending a small group of men into the ruins below the city…” He shrugged. “If that bottle hadn’t been so important, I wouldn’t have asked anyone to go down there.”

“Would you have rather sent someone else, someone with less experience?”

“Frankly, yes,” replied the duke. “Regdar, you are a terrific soldier and a fantastic fighter—”

“So what’s the problem?” Regdar raised his voice. “I got the job done.”

The duke chuckled. “Yes, you did. Calm down for a minute and listen to me.” He looked Regdar in the eyes. “You’re a captain, Regdar. Anybody can smash a door and kill an orc, but it takes a real soldier to lead men into battle.” He sighed deeply and patted Regdar on the shoulder. “I didn’t make you a captain so you could get yourself killed by volunteering for every dangerous mission. I made you a captain because you’re an excellent leader. Your job is to command others and send them on dangerous missions. If you’re gone, who’s going to keep order in the barracks? Who’s going to see that the new recruits are properly trained and motivated? Who’s going to inspire the men to defend our homes?”

“I understand,” said Regdar, looking down at the table.

“Being a soldier is never going to be without risks,” the duke added. “Now that you’re a captain, you need to be careful about which ones you take on yourself.”

Regdar was silent, deep in thought.

“Look.” Duke Ramas opened his hands wide. “This wizard you faced in the ruins isn’t going to be the last. There will always be another threat to New Koratia just waiting around the bend, and I need commanders who can handle the troops. Losing soldiers in battle is unavoidable, but losing valuable captains to an umber hulk under the city isn’t. You see that, don’t you?”

Regdar looked up from his ale and nodded. “Yes, Duke, I do.”

“Good.” The duke smiled and lifted his mug. “To your successful mission.” He took a big drink.

Regdar looked up into the sky. Perhaps being a captain wasn’t what he wanted after all. He sighed.

A high-pitched whistle shrieked over the barrier wall to the north, followed quickly by a massive fireball.

Regdar launched himself from the bench and dived on top of the duke.

The fireball smashed into the table, turning it instantly into an inferno and vaporizing Regdar’s ale.

Ladies in fine dresses and merchants in feathered hats ran every which way. Screams echoed inside the protective walls of the duke’s keep. The delightful celebration dissolved into chaos as New Koratia came under attack.

Regdar lifted himself off of the duke while pulling splinters out of his ceremonial uniform and feeling his exposed flesh for other wounds.

“Damn,” hollered the duke, still flat on the ground, “where did that come from?”

“We’re under attack from the north,” answered Captain Masters, who had appeared suddenly after the blast.

“Why didn’t the guards sound the alarm?” barked the duke.

“The attackers came down the river on a raft.” The gnome waved two soldiers over to help lift the duke from the ground. “No one saw them coming. They just appeared out of nowhere.”

The duke got to his feet and brushed himself off.

Regdar shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears while he listened to what Captain Masters had to say.

The gnome straightened up to his full height. “We need to get you to safety, my lord. They’re attacking the keep directly.” He ushered the duke toward the inner keep. “They’re on the other side of that wall.” He pointed to the north, indicating the corner of the courtyard not more than a hundred feet from the duke.

Regdar didn’t wait to hear any more. He sprinted across the courtyard, dodging or bowling over panicked guests on his way to Whitman and Tasca. The two fighters met their captain halfway, hammer and sword already drawn.

Regdar shouted to be heard above the screaming and chaos. “Whitman, you help direct the guests back inside the inner keep. Then find Krunk and meet us at the north wall.”

The dwarf grunted and jogged away, herding panicked partyers to safety.

“Tasca,” Regdar shouted, “have you seen Clemf?”

The elf nodded. “Right behind you.”

Regdar turned around. The big man with the longsword tattooed on his forearm stood behind him. He wore the same military dress uniform as the rest of the soldiers, but the sleeves were torn off, exposing his enormous biceps.

“So much for formality,” mumbled Regdar. He grabbed the big man by the shoulder. “Follow me.”

Another huge fireball screamed over the north wall and impacted the stage in the middle of the courtyard where the bards had been performing. Flaming splinters of broken instruments fluttered in every direction. All three men ducked to avoid the missiles.

“What do they have against music?” asked Clemf.

Regdar looked at the big man and shook his head. “Come on,” he yelled over the roaring flames. Then he ran toward the north wall.

The noise from the crowd had died down now that most of the guests were safely inside the inner keep. Only soldiers or guards remained in the courtyard.

The top of the wall buzzed with the sound of bowstrings. At the farthest northern point, where two walls met to form the top corner of the diamond-shaped courtyard, two armed guards stood near a wooden sally port. Regdar ran up behind them with Tasca and Clemf in tow.

“What’s the story, Plathus?” he asked.

A tall elf wearing the colors of the duke’s elite guard and peering out through a bolt hole in the wooden door answered. “There’s a raft full of soldiers preparing to climb the wall,” he said. “As you’ve probably guessed, they’re accompanied by wizards.”

“How many wizards?”

“Two that I can see.”

Regdar turned around. Whitman had arrived with Krunk—a white-bearded dwarf with a mace in one hand and a symbol of Pelor in the other.

Regdar smiled as he looked at the four men assembled behind him. “You know the first rule of combat.”

“Kill the wizard,” replied all four in unison.