little but thankfully he regained his senses in a matter of seconds.
Then it struck him. If Moredin was sleeping in his tent, then why was there so much light in the room? As his brain quickly processed this information, he instantly dropped his mind into the state of Ty’erm.
The answer to his question was quickly revealed. The situation appeared in slow motion. He saw Kiln to his left and Alerion to his right. But standing right before them was Lord Moredin, Prince Bomballa, a huge orc, and a dark cleric of Dykreel. Jonas recognized the red spiked halo that was painted on the black breastplate that the cleric wore, the mark of Dykreel, master of torture and pain. They were standing around a table going over what looked like battle plans. The surprised looks on their faces clearly told Jonas that they were not expecting guests.
Kiln and Jonas exploded into action, launching forward like striking adders, their blades leaping into their hands. A part of Jonas’s mind heard Alerion muttering behind him, preparing another spell, but it was a distant sound as he concentrated on the task at hand.
Lord Moredin’s eyes opened widely in surprise as he frantically jumped back from the table while trying to draw his long sword. He screamed for help at the top of his lungs. “Guards! Help! We’re under attack!”
Prince Bomballa, wearing his typical garish outfit of teal and purple, reacted with lightning speed, his thin rapier materializing in his hand as he jumped backwards to create more space between him and his attackers.
The gigantic orc was slower, the surprise of the appearance of three men in the tent still registering in his tiny brain. But he was Ongesett, chief of the orcs, and he was a warrior tried in many battles. He stumbled backwards and reached for his heavy morning star that was leaning against the table near him.
Kiln assessed the three men quickly and perceived Prince Bomballa as the most serious threat. In a blur of motion his arm flashed to the side, hurling his dagger at the flashy clothed warrior. Simultaneously he leaped onto a nearby chair with his left foot, jumped onto the table with his right, launching into the air directly toward the stumbling Lord Moredin. Kiln’s long sword arced through the air, leaving a trailing path of green light as his blade sought its target.
As Kiln and Jonas sprung into action, Alerion heard commotion behind him as Lord Moredin yelled for help. He had two choices, abandon the mission and teleport them back, or somehow seal off the tent so that Jonas and Kiln could do their job without guards storming in and overwhelming them all.
Thinking of his prince, he chose the latter. Alerion concentrated on a spell until he remembered the necessary words of power to bring forth the magic that he needed. He began to chant, focusing on saying the words exactly, and after a few seconds he released the energy of the spell with a wave of both hands and the final word, “Fulstarris”, the word for fire.
Lord Moredin’s eyes went wide with terror as he tried to get his blade up to deflect the impossibly fast warrior that was flying through the air at him. All he could do was trace the arc of green light with his eyes as he felt a tight, hot pressure, and then a release at his throat. Lord Moredin’s head flung backwards, tenuously hanging on by pieces of skin and flesh, his life blood showering the legendary swordsman as he landed lightly on his feet.
Jonas moved with liquid grace, leaping at the surprised cleric, both swords spinning their dance of death. The cleric unsheathed a coal black blade with a wickedly curved edge. He got the blade up just in time to block Jonas’s first strike. Sparks flew as the two magic blades clashed. Jonas knew that the cleric’s blade had been forged with dark magic and that the slightest cut would cause damage and pain to him, but be deadly to others. The dark cleric was not wearing his helm but he was protected by his cursed armor. Everything he wore had sharp edges and spikes, any of which could be used as a weapon. His gauntlets were covered with spikes as were his wrists, shins, and greaves. His skin was pale and his eyes burned with madness. He looked almost skeletal except for the straggly black hair that draped his scalp. But he was a powerful cleric