<HTML> In the exact same moment, Orrusk also grins triumphantly as he spots the last three Keepers in the tunnel ahead of him, just under the trapdoor - one VERY large one holding up two children, apparently for his fellows on the surface to grab. Most of those ignorant fools who call themselves Lutin commanders would be disappointed at the low number of available targets in the tunnel, but he's well aware that if they hadn't hurried he wouldn't have had any. He makes a note to himself to praise his fellows behind him once they're done with this particular assault; keeping your troops feeling good reinforces the desire to serve, according to Markesh's rules. But that's for later. There are other things to do now. Hoping to intimidate the bull's passengers and thus keep the bull out of combat just long enough, Orrusk decides on the direct approach. Accordingly, he whips the Blackhand Scimitar out, pointing it before him, and with a cry of "CHARGE!" starts barreling towards the remaining Keepers. * * *   The cell they were in was surprisingly good. It was twenty feet long and ten feet wide. Two beds that were set on either side had real feather mattresses and a small magic stone lit it brightly. The floor was clean and dry and there wasn't even any lice or other bugs in bedding. They were placed on the beds, still bound, and had nothing to do but wait and wonder what would happen to them.   Finally the door opened and a short man dressed in armor entered. Behind him came two soldiers, he recognized one as the lynx who had brought him here. The other soldier was a tall man that had also helped bring him in but whose name he didn't know. Those two were known to Ferwig, it was the stranger in the lead that had him curious. The man was dressed in chain mail armor and looked at him with cold, hard eyes. There was a mace hanging from his belt and two hand axes were tucked into the same belt. The weapons marked him as a warrior, but the items he took from his sack and laid on the floor were the tools of healers.   "How long have they been in here Janet?" the healer/warrior asked.   "Several hours," the lynx answered.   "Several hour?" the man said surprised. "And has anyone seen to their wounds?"   "They're prisoners Jotham. They tried to kill George."   "That's no excuse!" Jotham shot back.   "Yes sir," the feline said coldly.   Jotham removed the gag from Teria's mouth and began to examine the woman's head. A girl of about ten entered the now crowded cell and held out a bowl of water and a bag to the healer. He took it and placed them on the floor. The girl looked at Ferwig with large, frightened eyes. Then she turned and fled the room.   Ferwig gave a small chuckle. "The way she ran out you think I was a monster."   "You are monsters," the feline answered.   "We're only doing a job," Teria said, speaking for the first time.   Jotham stopped his examination and looked the woman straight in the face. "You work for Nasoj, that's close enough."   The mage opened her mouth to say something but Jotham cut her off. "Shut up and don't move your head."   The next few minutes passed in silence as Jotham tended to Teria's face. "What did this wound? It doesn't look like any weapon I know."   Teria didn't answer but looked straight ahead into space and Ferwig was in no mood to answer either. Janet finally broke the silence. "George knocked her out with a plate."   Jotham stopped cleaning the woman's bruises and looked at the lynx. "A plate?"   "A big dinner plate," she replied mimicking the plates dimension with her hands.   He nodded and laughed out loud. "Leave it to George to fight someone with a plate and win."   The two guards laughed in agreement. "What did he use on you," he asked pointing to Ferwig. "A butter knife?"   The fighter held up his arm, revealing a long, bloody wrist. "He did that with his teeth."   The humor disappeared from Jotham's face instantly. He took a rag and dipped into the water. He wrung out the cloth and pressed it to the woman's bruised face. Then he took Teria's still bound hands and brought them up to the rag. "Hold that there." Without waiting to see if she obeyed his order Jotham moved over to Ferwig and began to work on his wrist.   "I'm surprised George took you two alive," the male guard said. "He's not know for showing mercy to his enemies."   "Dead bodies can't give you information," Janet answered.   "You two are lucky that George needed information or you'd both be dead now," Jotham commented.   "So, the two of you tried to kill George by yourself?" he asked.   "Yes," Ferwig answered plainly. "We were paid quite well."   "Just you two?" Janet asked.   "Yes," Ferwig answered calmly.   Jotham stopped cleaning Ferwigs wrist and looked him in the eyes. "Are you sure of that?"   "Yes," he replied without a pause. The healer went back to working on the man's wrist without commenting.   "Only fools would go after George without a lot of help," Janet commented.   "It was a close fight," Ferwig said, angry at being belittled. "I almost killed him."   Jotham laughed, "I find that hard to believe. George is an old bandit. You don't get to be his age by being easy to kill."   "Yup," the feline said. "One man actually slit George's throat. Not only didn't he die but he killed the assassin with his own knife."   "Oh Janet," the male guard said. "Don't tell me you actually believe that tale?"   "It's true Pepin," the feline countered. "I've seen the scar myself."   Teria lowered the rag from her face. "What did he look like before the magic changed him? Was his nickname The Cutlass?" she asked.   "Why do you want to know?" Jotham asked.   "I think we served with him once," Ferwig said surprised. "About eight maybe nine years ago."   "It cannot be him," Teria said flatly. "The odds against our meeting him are astronomical."   "George's past is none of your affairs," a figure said from the doorway.   Standing in the doorway was a tall fox man, dressed in chain mail armor and carrying a five-foot long, black battle-axe. The canine standing behind him was well known.   "Hello Ferwig," George said calmly. "Been many years."  "You know them?" the fox asked.   "A long time ago Misha," the jackal answered.   "I wish we had known it was you we were to kill," Teria commented.   "Why?" Misha asked. "Would that have stopped you from trying?"   "No," Ferwig replied. "But we would have raised the price."   Misha just shook his head in disgust. "I'll never understand mercenaries."   "Everybody out," the jackal announced suddenly.   No one moved for a moment except for the fox who looked at George. "Are you sure?"   "Yes. Leave us alone."   The fox nodded and waved everyone else out of the cell. He paused at the door himself and looked at the jackal. George gave a wave of the hand and shooed Misha out. The door closed behind the fox with a solid thump.   The jackal looked his two prisoners over with a cold, calculating glare. "You both look older, and thinner then the last time we met," he said finally.   "You look fat," Teria said.   "Things have been going well for me the last few years," George answered.   George was now dressed in full plate armor, taken from some armory. Ferwig noted that he still had both of those weapons he had used so well to defend himself. "You were George the Cutlass." It was more a statement then a question. "We fought under you some nine years ago in Talshet."   "I remember," the jackal said. "You both fought very well."   "Those were good times George. I can see why the Duke would hire you," Ferwig commented.   "I wasn't hired by Thomas," George answered. "I swore an oath of loyalty to Duke Hassan."   "What?" Teria said, surprised.   Ferwig was just as surprised. "You can't be the George we knew. George the Cutlass never had any loyalties except to himself."   The jackal removed the metal collar of his armor and dropped it on the bed. Then he tilted his head back and spread the fur on his throat using both hands. The scar was plain to see. It didn't go all the way from ear to ear but it was still impressive nonetheless.   "It is you," the man said.   "Why the change of heart?" Teria asked.   "I came here because a friend told me the Duke would pay good money for a man of my abilities and he was right," the armored canine explained as he put the collar back on. "I'm paid very well for my services."   "Why the oath?"   "The Duke hired me in spite my past. He knew exactly who I was and it didn't matter. He said that if I was a wanted bandit and was still alive then I must be good. And he hired me right then and there. Now I'm a respected, trusted and well paid officer of Metamor. The people here at the Keep accepted me without hesitation." The jackal paused in his speech and seemed lost in thought. "Plus Metamor is the first place that I've ever truly felt at home."   Ferwig shook his head. "To a mercenary no place is home."   "Metamor is my home," George said his voice hardening. "A home I'm going to protect." He drew a dagger. "Now, tell me how you got in, how many were with you and exactly how many other assassins are loose in the Keep." There was a dark gleam in his eyes that Ferwig recognized.   The man looked to his partner and saw the usual air of confidence was gone. Instead he saw real fear in her eyes. "We entered the Keep about an hour before we met you after coming in the South gate. There were four others with us, all fighters."   "Where are the other four?" the jackal asked in clipped tones.   I don't know. We lost them soon after coming in. One moment they were behind us, the next all that was there was a stone wall."  George nodded. "Kyia protects her own. How did you get past the guards at the gate?"   "Another group had killed the guards before we got there."   "How many others came into the keep besides your party?"   "I have no idea. We were kept separate."   "Who else were they after besides me?"   "The Duke, the Lightbringer priestess, the Follower priest, and a porcupine alchemist," the fighter answered. "I'm sure there are others but I don't know them."   "The main force, what's the composition?" George asked. "How many and what types?"   "At least three or four thousand lutins. Plus around five hundred human mercenaries and a score of ogres and the like," Ferwig explained.   "Plus at least two groups of mages," Teria added. "Powerful mages."   "Who and how many?"   "No idea. They were very well shielded."   "Any other information?" the jackal asked coldly.   "No," Ferwig responded.   "Good," George said and then turned and left. ***   George walked slowly away from the cell. There was too much to do to waste time thinking of the past and old friends. "You hear what they said?"   Misha fell in step beside the jackal. "Yes. Are they telling the truth?"  The Jackal nodded. "Yes, they were too spooked not to. When are you going out again?"   "In an hour or so," the fox answered. "Too much to do. I want you to stay here and take command. There's no telling who or what is out there."   "You think they'll attack Long House?"   "Yes I do. Its too important not to attack." The fox stopped and looked around to be sure they were alone. "And don't forget we have a traitor among us."   The jackal stopped and looked at his friend. "How do you know I'm not the traitor?"   "Because old friend if you were, I'd be dead by now."   George laughed, "True enough. Now lets go see to the defense of Long House." ***   Long Hall was the heart of Long House. From the large hall rooms, corridors and stair radiated in all directions. It was the place people trained, relaxed or congregated for meetings. Usually the hall was quiet at night aside from the odd person moving about. But it was far from quiet now. Misha, and George stood at the doorway looking over the countless people who filled the hall. There was at least one hundred of them; refugees. Every time a patrol went out it came back with more refugees in tow.   "I didn't think we brought in that many," Misha commented.  "You didn't, many of them seem to wander in by themselves," George explained. "In little groups mostly." The two began to walk across the hall, moving around the various people. "And they're still coming in. I think Kyia is deliberately directing people here as a refuge."   Misha nodded. "Makes sense. She's also taking people to the chapel and the Lightbringer temple. Do you have enough food for all of them?"   The jackal nodded. "For the time being. I figure about a month's worth."   "We won't be in here that long," Misha commented. "I hope."   "So do I." The two reached the opposite side of the hall. In front of them was the only exit to Long House, the single doorway that Ferwig and Teria had been brought through. Flanking the exit were two other doors. The fox and the jackal opened the right hand door and stepped through.   The room they entered was small about twenty feet long by twenty feet wide and had a table and several chairs. Three of the walls were lined with racks filled with spears and quivers of arrows. A doorway was set into the wall at Misha's right. The two soldiers in the room came to attention. "Relax," Misha said. "What's your duty?" he asked the woman who was in charge.   "Sir," She said saluting. "If an enemy tries to enter Long House we are to use our spears and arrows to stop them."   "How?" George asked.   The woman pointed to the one wall not holding weapons racks. There were numerous slits in the stonework. "Those arrow slits open into the entrance passage. All we have to do is shoot arrows and poke spears through them. In that small room we can't help but hit someone."   "Good," Misha said. "Carry on." Misha and George moved through the doorway and up the circular stairway on the other side. After several turns of the steps they reached the upper floor. The smell of hot oil filled his nose and the sound of something boiling reached his ears.   Two large cauldrons sat facing each other in the center of the room about twenty feet apart. Small fires were burning under each of the large pots. The space between the two pots was surrounded by a small wall barely a foot high. Misha noted the kegs of oil that lined a far wall. Two people were in here carefully tending the pots of boiling oil, keeping them from boiling over or going cold.   "Good," Misha said. "I see we can give any lutin who attacks a hot reception."   George nodded. "Yup. We keep both pots simmering constantly. With a tip of a cauldron we can pour gallons of boiling oil into the murder room right below. They don't even have to be neat about it. The low wall keeps the oil from splashing back." The jackal pointed to a steel door set in a nearby wall. "That's our next stop."   Misha opened the door and stepped through onto a balcony. This was the same battlemented balcony that Ferwig had seen on his way in. Misha saw four guards standing on duty watching over the battlements.  He noted numerous quivers of arrows hanging from hooks on the inside of the battlements. Misha leaned on a stone merlon and looked at the hall below. Empty, the hall was devoid of any cover for an attacker.   "Why is this hall still here?" George asked. "Long House was easier to defend when the sole entrance opened onto a small corridor."   "Kyia has her own plans," Misha answered cryptically.   "What does that mean?" George asked.   Misha shook his head. "Have there been any lutins inside yet?"   George didn't like the fact that Misha had changed the subject without answering his question but he knew his friend wouldn't answer it. "A small group this morning. We killed them all easily."   "In one of the store rooms by my office there was a disassembled ballista. I think we can assemble it up here. It would add considerably to the defense."   "Sounds good," the jackal said. "I have the feeling we're going to need it." *** End part 47</HTML>