The Lizard shook its head, and offered up the empty hide. Mundhir poked his fingers into it anyway, and scraped some of the paste’s remnant into his palm. The wound on his torso had started to burn, and he feared it would soon fall to infection; with this in mind, he applied the meagre amount there. The pain caused by the paste making contact with his damaged flesh was momentarily unbearable, and he fell to his knees, taking long deep breaths between whimpers.
“Thanks, Master Rin,” he coughed, “I took an arrow to the thigh not so long ago, and until this very moment, I thought that was the most painful thing to ever have graced my body.”
"Or if you wish, Rin can pull the poison out by bloodletting..." hissed Rin, revealing his assortment of large teeth.
Mundhir grimaced, and thrust out a palm, “stay right where you are, or by Duranar’s Will, I’ll cut you down!”
Before the Prince could modify his statement to a kinder version, the mysterious Elf spell caster made his appearance. “My name is Kyrtaar, if anyone is curious. I suppose I'll accompany you for the time being,” he said plainly.
“For the time being? Sounds about right for an Elf, I suppose,” muttered Mundhir. “Your peoples have ever been a fickle lot. If Prince Thrandel paid more attention to the changing landscape of a battle, than he did the sweet taste of wine, and the beauty of Elven whores, I dare say my Baalor campaign could well have gone differently. Still, your company is appreciated all the same – I hope you have no misgivings towards me? It’s not that I wanted a war with Nillanor, it’s just, well, you long lived fellows hold grudges for a great period of time.”
"There aren't much trees in the plains... Harder to hide, harder to fight and easier to track." Rin said suddenly, with his usual unnerving tone.
”Wasn’t always that way, Uchfos once covered this entire area for miles and miles,” retorted Mundhir as he picked himself up. ”The Prophet Ebli Khan had his Khanic Mages burnt the trees to the ground, it took many weeks, but eventually the land was a scorched ruin.” He paused, and looked nervously at the Nymph and scratched his head. ”Not that I’d of done that, of course. The Prophet was of a great military mind, and he knew he could not fight the Elves of Nillanor in the trees. He had them burned, so that any army could be seen miles before it reached him. Genius really, though can you imagine such power? There must have been thousands of these Khanic Mages, but in truth, the Bak’Rah says there was only six.”
"Rin will go... at least Rin can smell for danger. Also Rin can track your friends if they do not want to be found. Then we make them clear my name yes? And my fishing pole?"
Mundhir waved his hand, “of course Master Rin, you’ll get your fishing pole and more. I’ll have it seen that you are given land and a nice hovel, or perhaps a ship, that you may sail forth and find yourself some finer land, better suited to your kind?” He stopped, stroking his matted black beard. “If you can truly smell danger, that will be mo-“
The minotaur, with its awesome strength, suddenly surged forwards in a mad rage. Mundhir’s head swivelled so quickly that he felt the tendons in his neck threaten to split, and as he yelled to halt his mighty companion, the door at the end of the tunnel gave way under the weight of its hulking mass.
Immediately strong rays of light sprang into the Prince’s vision, and he stumbled backwards with both hands brought to shield his eyes. The sound of men cursing and making their battle songs rang true, and they were immediately followed by the brutal melody of untold carnage. The minotaur was up to his tricks again, and it seemed he had ambushed the ambushers.
Rin rushed past him, then the nightmare beast, and finally the Dark Elf – whom he’d paid little attention to. The three of them fell into the chaotic melee, which was finally becoming visible through his sun blinded vision. Rin swiped and gouged his attackers, whilst the nightmare beast used its horrifying features to destroy any who opposed it. The Dark Elf, with her shadowy form, slipped past the battle and started trooping towards freedom.
Mundhir went next, beckoning the Halfbfreed to stay behind him. “Stay back, my lady, I’ll find us a way through this dilemma.”
As soon as the Prince stepped from the exit, a dozen arrows crashed off the rocks and doorway. He ducked low, but the missiles had fallen wide all the same.
“It’s the War Giver! Forget the others, KILL HIM! Duranar demands it!” Shouted someone from amidst the battle.
“War Giver? Duranar demands it?” muttered the Prince, but now was not the time for thought. He looked across the bloody scene, where the Insectoid, the Lizard and the Minotaur were locked in deadly battle with a full squadron of city watch.
A spear came at him from the blur of struggling forms, but he parried it with ease. The snarling face of an Eblastani, with his sun blasted skin and oiled beard, spat bloody murder at the fallen Prince. Mundhir kicked the man in his bulk, and crossed his neck with a sabre stroke.
Two more of the watchmen replaced their fallen comrade, and Mundhir stepped back as the venom once again sapped his strength.
“This is not how I die,” wheezed the Prince, batting away his attackers with slowing swings. “The Prophet did not promise me this.”
