Falowik and Falco
By the time Falowik and Falco slid down the rope, few guards were left standing. They pulled their swords out and took stock, side by side. Eswen was wipping out arrows and shooting guards left and right. Falco's jaw dropped as he watched arrows shot at the Master stop and drop.
"Take care, Wanderer!" Falco slipped into the shadows and made his way as quietly and quickly as he could around to the back of the altar, to the unseen left of the Master. He froze as the Master named himself: Herugor. Falco didn't know the name, but it sounded none too comely. An evil name for an evil man.
***
Falowik attacked the nearest guard and got embroiled in a trade of blows. He saw the front door burst open. Thoronmir, Awyrgan, Finewen, Lumiel, and Furman ran in, sword drawn and ready. Their plan had not worked out as they had hoped, so far. Lira was dead.
Next moment, Falowik froze. The dead guards picked themselves up off the floor, their wounds open and bleeding, arrows protruding, and took stances of readiness for battle. There were a little over two dozen of them. The guard he had been fighting withdrew and started to run from the hall, but was cut down with a single stroke by one of the dead guards. Next moment, he rose, his head cloven from top to eyebrows, and his eyes were baleful.
Then something new caught his eye; where there had been blankness, or blackness, there was now a red smudge. It grew and gained shape. A rope came from it toward the altar, where there was a hole in the floor. No, it was not a rope, it was some kind of living tentacle that became more blood red with each second. Revealed by flashes of lightning, it was large as a troll and wore its shape, red as blood - in fact, it seemed to be made of blood! But its eyes bore malignant intelligence, and its mouth gaped hungrily.
"Uien," Falowik whispered, "I wish you were here now. Of maybe I don't. This may be farewell, my love."
He gripped his sword and began to fight his way toward the others.
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