“Just above, there you damn’ Amadons! I see the Harbor Torch!” Thunkeroy called to the others. Lazuras followed, but moved with slow precision. Mavrik and Abel had drawn weapons and crept around the circular stairway, impatience boiling in their blood. Thunkeroy could tell they had run through enough emotions today to last them a life time. He figured by their determined faces, they had stopped on the last emotion they’d care about, vengeance.
They crept carefully up the oaken planks and even from this great height, could smell the ocean salty and thick with brine. The storm was unleashing it’s fury upon the harbor below. If the Torch went out tonight, much more than the nobility of Edessa would be lost. The Patral Houses would be devastated! Climbing ever higher, they began to hear weeping and sobbing and then there was yelling as well. “Quiet you lot! Your time has come. Lads, come tie this last one up, we’ll especially need his body placed perfectly here. We need him found after the wreckage. Hurry, or else Gronk will leave us behind, just like he told us he would.”
Thunkeroy held his hand up to stop the others, and perhaps, form some type of plan. But Mavrik couldn’t help himself. His anger was thick and the throbbing in his temples, his hatred for these foes had taken it’s coarse. Quickly he nearly leaped up the stairs onto the Torch’s platform. He spun around in a circle, sword waving in the air. He didn’t realize how many people there would be that needing saving! All around him were perhaps a hundred of the nobility from various houses in the Patral lands. They were tied to various metal struts. Scattered amongst them were armed Antichans. No longer wearing their fake attire, they were finishing their work of setting the black rock barrels in a huge pile. One of them held a small torch. In the middle of the platform was the Harbor Torch, glowing and sizzling fiercely. It was so bright that after an initial view of the platform, Mavrik realized he could no longer make much out except for faint outlines of figures and what looked like many barrels. He had to shield his eyes.
Barrels thought Mav, In the name of Patra! “Abel, Lazuras, Thunk, hurry they are going to..”
“Kill them!” Yelled the man who’s voice had been giving the orders. Who, like the other kidnappers, was wearing special goggles, clearly making their work around the Torch planned. He ran to the man with the torch, grabbed it and set it down, flame end, on a small thin piece of rope which began to hiss and smoke. The other end entered a barrel of what Mav could only guess must be black rock and that barrel was placed next to many other barrels! They had only seconds to stop the impending doom!
As the armed Antichans attacked the party, this same man ran out and upwards on a different stairwell. To where, they didn’t know!
“Hey big guy, we need that fire put out!” yelled Abel to Lazuras. He knew he’d be cut down trying to get through the barrage of swords leveled at them.
“My pleasure, Master Abel.” Lazuras stomped into the fray knocking several of the enemy aside like a bull in a sheep’s pen. While several of them tried to hack at his metallic body, he ripped the lit cord out of the barrel and squished the smoking end between his fingers. It winked out, and he yelled in his monotone voice, “All clear. Pay back time.”
At the same time, Thunkeroy gave a whoop and knocked two of the villains clear off the deck and down hundreds of feet. Their bodies landed atop the rocks of the harbor’s bay. “I’m tired of elvish chefs, I’m tired of this party, and I’m tired of your crap!” Roared the blacksmith, and from his pocket two shadowy hands from behind him pulled magical arrows that sizzled into the foreheads of two guards holding Thoros, the elderly statesman of Edessa.
Mavrik and Abel both hacked down two of the enemy apiece and came to the aid of Thoros. Just as he was about to fall over the rail and into the sea himself! At just the right time, they gripped his robes and together hauled him back on the deck. On either side of what they now knew to be their own grandfather, although he wouldn’t know, the brothers struck and parried with their swords and took out the last of the enemy. They had done it! The lighthouse had been saved. All around them, despite the fact they were still tied, frightened and bloodied, the nobles cheered.
Mavrik looked into Thoros’ eyes, and Thoros looked back into his. “Sir, do you know where that villain has gone? The one who is called Gronk?” Asked the thief.
“He intends, I think, to escape somehow from above,” replied the elderly royal. Mavrik and Abel could both tell that despite what he must have gone through tonight losing his son, watching his subjects die, he was still regal and resolved, kingly, in fact.
Thoros pointed towards the stairwell that the leader had run up, and then he looked once more at the boys, the blacksmith and the warforged man. “You are heroes, all,” said the King, and that’s when his eyes took in Mavrik’s sword. Despite the ash, blood and cuts smeared on his body, and face, a knowing wonder began to spread across his face, and he put his hand to his mouth, gasping.
Lazuras broke the metal ties of several nobles and instructed those freed that the keys for the rest were tied to one of the dead kidnappers lying on the platform. He then ran over to the ascending staircase and followed Abel and Thunkeroy up towards whatever they might find there. It was Mavrik who followed slowly. The entire way he couldn’t rest his eyes from Thoros, who kept his hand over his mouth and watched him go. While Mavrik climbed upwards, his real father’s sword in his hands, Thoros’ eyes told him he had finally come home. At last.