“Small armies can do surprising damage if they’re smart about how they fight.” King Brian Felnus I of Alantar (92-154 A. F. E.).

Garassk darted into the tunnel, and Thora followed him. The dark walls felt like they were shrinking as he moved forward, and strange markings decorated them. He stopped when he reached a dead-end. He looked up to see a coat of arms resembling crowned eagle hanging above the wall. First, Garassk took a look at the sheet of paper Morgwar handed him. Musical notes had been scrawled on it. Then he took out his flute, and blew into it a few times to make sure he could get sound from it. When he was satisfied, he played the notes as they were written.

The wall collapsed when he played the last note. He turned to Thora, handing her his papers.

“Go back to the others,” he whispered. “Make sure they see what I drew. They’ll be better prepared for the attack.”

“I will,” Thora said, taking a moment to look at the drawings. Her face lit up as she skimmed them. When she was satisfied, she turned and walked out of the tunnel.

“Now then,” Garassk whispered, turning toward the entrance. “Let’s do this.”

He moved into the cellars, and poked his head out slowly. Two guards appeared to be standing in the entrance to the kitchen. Neither of them showed any signs of noticing that he was there. He reached for his dagger and made a plan to deal with them. They stood right next to each other, swaying occasionally, but never wavering from their place.

How to do this, he thought. After a few minutes, he finally decided to back up a few steps, and thump his tail against a wall.

“What was that?” one of them said.

“Go check,” the other one replied. “Probably rats again.”

The first soldier grumbled and headed toward Garassk. As soon as he was in the room, Garassk lunged forward, tackling him to the ground, and drove his dagger into the man’s throat. The man managed to let out a few strangled groans before giving in entirely.

“That doesn’t sound like a rat!” the other man said, rushing into the room.

“Squeak squeak,” Garassk snarled, swinging his tail. The man wasn’t ready, and took the blow right in the head. He staggered for a few seconds before sinking to the ground.

With the two guards disposed of, Garassk moved toward the cellar proper, poking his head into the kitchen. He noticed that someone had evidently been cooking recently. A roasted pheasant was lying on a slab, alongside some fresh pies, stew, and various fishes. Garassk took some time to devour the pheasant, savoring the juicy meat.

He pried the leg bones out of his mouth, and slunk into the next room to see what awaited him. The great hall was a vast and colorful room outlined by small windows. Six soldiers patrolled the ground carrying spears, while three archers were on the upper level, ready to loose arrows at anyone below. Garassk slithered towards one of the large tables on the floor, hunkered down under it, and gnawed on the leg bone while he scanned the room. He hoped that the others would find a way in.

“So you spoke to the jarl, right?” a soldier with a nasally voice asked.

“I did, yes,” someone with a more guttural voice replied.

“What did he say?” Nasal asked.

“He says that it’s almost time for the big attack,” Guttural answered. “He wants us to wait for his return, and then we march.”

“Where did he go?”

“Hell if I know! It’s not my business to ask!” Guttural snapped. “And it’s not yours either. Remember what happened to the last man who asked too many questions?”

“I’m just saying, it’s been really boring here,” Nasal whined.

Suddenly, glass shattered on the other side. Garassk narrowly avoided getting hit by the bolt as it landed near him. The men on the ground flocked to the window.

“What the hell?” one of them shouted. “Who’s there?!”

Garassk got on all fours, and waited for an opening.

“You, get down here!” the man with the guttural voice called out. Garassk guessed that he was in charge of the men on this floor. An archer descended hastily down the stairs. When he arrived near the window, the leader pointed to three spearmen.

“We’re under siege,” he barked. “Everyone get into positions. Nobody gets through here.”

“Archers, be ready to loose arrows if you see anything.”

Garassk began slithering toward the stairs. He got halfway up when he felt the rumble of movement beneath his feet.

They’re coming through the tunnel, he thought.

“They’re getting closer!” one of the men shouted. Garassk looked down at the window and froze. They hadn’t seen him yet, but some screams could be heard outside. He could vaguely make out Morgwar’s men outside the window.

“We’re under attack!” someone shouted.

“Ready the arrows!” the captain shouted. The archers prepared their shots. Confident that their backs were turned, Garassk glided up the stairs. When he reached the upper level, he charged the two remaining archers with his shield, shoving them against the walls. Then he hurled one of them to the lower floor, making everyone jump back. When they regained their composure, they looked up and him.

“Surprise!” he hissed. When the archer drew his bow, Garassk grabbed the other unconscious man, and used him as a shield. After his shield had been pelted with a few arrows, Garassk tossed him at the men below, causing them to jump back.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” one of the archers sneered.

“And you shouldn’t be standing there right now,” Garassk retorted.

“What?” the man asked, as Morgwar burst into the room and tackled the archer to the ground. In a few seconds, his screams stopped, and the orc jumped for the leader before he could react. The man struggled, but Morgwar pressed him tightly until he lost consciousness. Four armored soldiers charged in, weapons ready.

Garassk leapt from the upper level and landed on top of one of the spearmen, slamming his tail over his head. The man fell unconscious, and Thora jumped through and slammed her axe into the stomach of the last man. By the time the rest of the soldiers had poured in, the chamber was a gory mess, but Garassk and his allies were safe for now.

“Nicely done,” Garassk said, cleaning the blood off of his weapons. “I hope my drawings were helpful.”

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“We were able to deal with the men,” Morgwar grunted.

“Because of your drawings,” Thora added.

“Let’s get this over with,” Morgwar snarled.

At that command, Garassk and the others moved up the stairs.

The next room, the wardrobe, was small compared to the rest of the castle. Only a few tables and chairs occupied the room, giving them no reason to hide.

“Looks like a place to catch our breath,” Thora said. “Perhaps we can make plans for how to deal with Hrogvorth.”

“So we might have come all this way for nothing,” Garassk said. “The soldiers were talking before you arrived, and it sounds like he’s not here. Apparently told them to wait for him to return, and then they’d launch the big attack, whatever that is.”

“What?!” Morgwar snapped, jerking his head in Garassk direction. “The bastard’s not even here?”

“What am I missing here?” Garassk asked. “Where could he be?”

“Who knows?” Morgwar said. “He sent a messenger telling me to that he was coming to me to talk. We had been meaning to form an alliance against the other jarls. I don’t know what he’s planning, but if he’s not here right now, it must be something big. He could hardly afford to leave his castle unattended if he cared what I was up to.”

“So we’ve come all this way for nothing,” Thora said.

“Looks like it,” Garassk added. “Where to now?”

“We’re not going anywhere. Not now,” Thora said. “We’re too committed to this siege. We’ll have to fight our way through this castle now, or die trying.”

“I was afraid of that. So what’s the plan now?” Garassk asked. Morgwar paced around the room, apparently taking a moment to consider the situation before he decided that he finally had an answer. The screams from outside reminded Garassk that he was in the middle of a siege, but gave no hint as to who was winning.

“Well then... we’re in the wardrobe now…” Morgwar began. “The rest of the solar should be past that door, and the chapel is probably the next room. Whoever he left in charge while he’s away is probably operating from one of those two rooms. So we get there and deal with him as quick as we can, and then we open the gates. Got it?”

Garassk nodded.

“Let’s go,” Morgwar growled. They entered the solar and were greeted by eight axe-men clad in gambesons, and one knight wearing chainmail armor.

“I don’t know how you got in here,” the chainmail-clad man said. “But you won’t be getting out.”

“I guess we have something in common then,” Garassk hissed, pulling out his sword. “Neither will you.”

The axe-men went past him and engaged his companions. Garassk charged and stabbed at the knight. His opponent merely moved to the side and stabbed back. Garassk jumped backwards. His enemy ran towards him and brought his sword down for a cleaving strike. Garassk barely raised his own sword to block the blow. The knight pressed down on the blade, but Garassk pushed back.

The blade isn’t your only weapon, he could almost hear Rathorn growling in his head. Garassk swung his sword around his opponent’s blade, striking him in the stomach with the pommel. His foe stumbled backwards, but blocked Garassk’s attempt at finishing him off. The two swordsmen circled each other. The knight charged and lashed out, delivering a blow that Garassk parried, but it still caused him to stagger. The knight charged, but Garassk jumped up and punched at him. The knight staggered for a moment. Garassk charged and braced for a killing stab.

Only for Morgwar to grab the knight from behind and throw him against the wall. A loud crash echoed in the solar, and the knight sank to the floor. Garassk turned around to see Thora and a few other soldiers standing near a pile of bodies and wiping sweat off of their brows.

“Let’s move!” Morgwar barked, storming toward the chapel. Garassk moved slowly behind him. Rathorn and Thora followed, alongside several other soldiers, all of them taking care not to get too close to the jarl.

The walls of the chapel shined with paintings of holy scenes from history, and statues of Althalos and the Divines stood behind a small stage at the very front of the room.

Six men armed with halberds waited for them.

“What is the meaning of this?!” the plate-armored figure shouted. Garassk tightened his grip on his sword.

“The rightful king is here to claim what is his!” Morgwar bellowed.

“Morgwar,” the knight said, hostility seeping into his tone. “I might have known you were involved here.”

“Surrender now,” Morgwar demanded. “All of this can end right now if you acknowledge my claim.”

“And why would we do that?” the knight chuckled. “Hrogvorth is already on his way over to secure his claim. And instead you’re here. It looks to me like you didn’t even know what Hrogvorth was doing. You have nothing.”

Morgwar growled and the knight raised his halberd.

“Deal with them,” the knight commanded.

“At once,” the soldiers behind him said.

Garassk charged toward the pews, bobbing and weaving through them as the other soldiers tried to trap him. He crawled quickly under the seats while they charged at him. He would rise occasionally when he was far away from them, only to disappear again when they rushed at him. And so the cycle went, over and over again.

When an archer went through the door and shot one of them, the others turned their attention toward him. Seeing an opening, Garassk got behind them and slammed his backpack against the closest one. The man cried out and collapsed, which made the others turn their attention on him.

Garassk backed up a few steps and readied his sword. One man charged and swung high, while his partner swung low. Garassk rolled out of the way. He continued dodging and parrying blows. He thrust his sword forward occasionally, but his opponents dodged.

One of the men finally got fed up and thrust his halberd. Sensing a mistake, Garassk grabbed it and pulled, sending the man straight into the pews. He slammed the man into the seats again with his tail and hit the other man in his gut with the spear he’d grabbed. It only made him stagger for a moment, but that was enough. Garassk lunged at him and sent him to the ground. He lifted him by the shoulders and slammed him back down on the stone floor.

A swing for his head reminded him that there was one more man in the room. He spun around and struck out at the man, sending him backwards, and stabbed his throat. Garassk looked around for someone else to fight, but he heard Thora shout from pain. When he turned around, he saw the chainmail-clad man collapse in front of Morgwar. The plate-clad knight was poised to kill Thora.

Grinding his teeth, Garassk grabbed his sword by the blade, and charged at him, slamming his pommel into the man’s helmet. A dent formed in the armor, and the knight sank to his knees. Before Garassk could do anything else, the man backhanded him. Garassk staggered, and the knight grabbed him by the throat. Garassk removed his backpack from his back and slammed it against the man’s head. The iron grip loosened, and the knight bellowed in rage and pain, backing towards the stained-glass window.

A bolt shattered the glass and planted itself between the weak points in his armor, causing him to double up and scream again. Good old Rathorn, Garassk thought. Morgwar charged the knight and forced him through the hole made in the window, causing it to shatter, and the knight to plummet to the ground. With that, the day was won.