Vero, Pentarch, and Vladimir Mikhailovich waited in ambush with bows drawn, but out of sight. Isolde cast her first working. Vero lacked much experience with illusory magic, except in its defense.

  The amulet kept her on the periphery of the working, she could see the spell itself as only a smoky – but roughly humanoid – shape, which floated just above the ground. According to Isolde, the illusion would wrap itself around the mind of whatever subject she focused it on. The victim would then perceive the image as whatever they personally desired.

  Vero knew not what the men at the door believed they saw, only that, like the will o’ wisp, it drew them towards their deaths. They approached the shadowed place between the hovels where the ambush was set.

  One of them mumbled in atrociously accented old Imperial, “Here chickee… here chickee…”

  The other made loud catcalls in a dialect Vero could not parse.

  The odd blur entered the killing field, followed by the men a few moments later. When they saw Vero and her companions, they were so stunned by their sudden reversal of fortune that, for a moment, they froze in place.

  Vero’s shaft took one of the men in the shoulder. Vladimir Mikhailovich shot the same man just above the groin, and he collapsed to the ground. Pentarch’s arrow struck the other man in the neck and he fell to his knees, while urgently attempting to gurgle for help.

  Fra Heward and their other local fighters were waiting to cut off any retreat. Now they showed themselves and the templar finished both the dying men with his knife. The others took the bodies and moved them out of sight.

  Vero drew her next arrow and waited again. She could not see the guildhall from where she hid, but she could hear another man calling out in the same unknown speech the second had used. From his tone and inflection, he was carrying on conversation with someone else she could not hear.

  She waited and soon heard the crunch of footfalls in the snow drawing near. The next man entered their trap wearily. As soon as they fired, he was already screaming, but his cries were brief- before being cut off by the impact of three arrow shafts.

  “Move to the second phase!” Pentarch called out clearly, but calmly.

  There were more shouts from inside the guildhall. Vero stowed her bow and drew her sword. They moved forwards to join the others. Around the corner, the guard at the window was in a panic, calling and pointing towards a growing phantom force-at-arms Vero could distinguish only as hazy mist.

  Vladimir Mikhailovich took a shot at him, but the arrow planted into the building wide left. Pentarch fired a moment later, and the guard recoiled with a scream. Then the shutters were slammed closed.

  Vero and Fra Heward led the way while the archers kept their path covered. They reached the main doors and, as expected, they were barred. They all took cover while Pentarch left his position and prepared the door with a smear of reagents for a major working of elemental force and fire.

  He opened a cut across the palm of his hand while chanting mixed phrases of Sylvan and Liturgical. Then he placed his hand flat against the door, before turning to run as fast as he could.

  Behind him, the doors erupted with a terrible sound like the crash of thunder. Vero and the others were safe from the shocks, but Pentarch was knocked from his feet. There was no time to check on him.

  Vero and Fra Heward entered the hall first. The others were still dazed by the blast, perhaps one of them would check on Pentarch. Several of their foemen had been attempting to brace the doors and were thrown back by the explosion, but two of them were still standing with their weapons.

  Vero directed Fra Heward towards one of them and moved towards the other herself.

  “Kill those on the ground before they recover!” Vero shouted to their other companions, as they finally stumbled into the hall behind them.

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  The opponent closest to Vero was still physically whole, but his mind appeared shaken by everything that had happened. He held his sword only loosely, and when she cut open his forearm he dropped it completely. He backed away from her with an unreasoning expression until he reached the back wall. There, with no room left to retreat, Vero was able to carefully approach and impale him through the chest.

  He died, almost, at once.

  Fra Heward’s heavy armor and shield made him slower than Vero, but they also allowed him to ward off his foeman’s clumsy strikes without difficulty. Then, with a series of slow and deliberate movements, he herded his enemy into a corner. Vero watched him bring the fellow down with a succession of tactical strikes, which more than proved that he outmatched the man as a fencer.

  Several of the injuries the templar dealt would have eventually been fatal with time, but it was a conglomeration of all of them which eventually brought about a collapse into mortal unconsciousness. The other defenders had been run through on the ground with pitchforks. The hall was clear for the present.

  “Godsdamnit!” Pentarch stumbled through the door with a wood splinter nearly the width of Vero’s wrist through his right leg. “Vero! After the vampyre, take the templar! I’ll stay up here with the others and secure the rooms above ground.”

  His wound looked bad, but with the splinter in place, he would not bleed to death for the time being.

  In the back of the hall the heretics had excavated an opening in the floor, which led down rough stairs to an earthen floor and a small cavern. Fra Heward needed both hands to hold his sword and shield, so Vero lit a torch and held it aloft in one hand, while keeping her sword ready in the other.

  The blade was not as light as her own.

  There was only enough space for one of them to proceed at a time. Fra Heward went forwards first with his shield raised. Vero came after with her torch high enough to light the way ahead of them. The walls and ceiling were reinforced by buttressing.

  The Fra halted, and Vero approached him carefully. “What is it?”

  “Do you see that?” He gestured with the point of his sword towards a thin strand of silver, which was suspended in the air at shin height across their path, and shimmered in the torchlight.

  “Yes, there’s a trip wire there. Well spotted, but you’d better let me deal with it.”

  Fra Heward pressed himself against the side wall of the passage so that Vero could go to the front. They both stowed their weapons and Vero passed the torch to him. She knelt and examined the shining wire.

  It was connected at either end to the lumber holding up the passage. Breaking the wire would release the tension holding back several sharpened stakes, which had been hidden in a recessed ceiling. There were also iron bells along the walls Vero was sure would be rung as well. From what she could tell, the spears would swing down from the ceiling in an arch and impale the one who set them off at about the head or torso.

  She related her findings to the templar. “We could step over it easily enough, but we don’t know what we’ll find ahead. If we need to return this way in a hurry it may become a problem.”

  “Can you disable it?” he asked.

  “In a manner of speaking. It’s aimed to strike an unaware man while walking. If I cut the wire with my sword from here- the spears should pass above me.”

  “Is there anything I can do to assist?”

  “Well, perhaps you should hold my leg and pull me away once I’ve cut the wire, if only for an abundance of caution. And I’m sure this will make a fine racket, so once the trap is launched make a scream of pain, and perhaps we can benefit by our enemy’s overconfidence.”

  “I defer to your greater experience in these matters, my Lady.” So saying, Fra Heward took a firm grasp of her boot at about the ankle and waited.

  “Now!”

  Vero cut the wire from the greatest possible distance, and was immediately dragged yet further away on her belly by a powerful yank. The bells clattered a horrible cacophony. She winced reflexively as the spears swung down, and then arced up to impact the ceiling of the cavern with a tremendous force. Fragments of metal tore off at all angles. The sudden gust from the movement put out their torch, and Vero held herself still in the darkness as she waited for the storm to pass.

  She expected a sudden rush of pain, but none came.

  When the torch was relit, she saw that Fra Heward crouched over her and covered them both with his shield as best he could. Several large pieces of shrapnel let loose by the shattering of the spears had imbedded into the shield, or ricocheted off his heavy plate. Some wicked looking piece of metal had landed very near her exposed arm- but missed her only by fortune.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, with a controlled sense of urgency.

  “No, I’m not. Though I believe you may have just saved my life. Thank-you, brother.”

  “I do not believe the danger was so great as that, but it is my honor to serve.”

  “I shan’t even complain that in all the excitement you forgot to scream.”

  Heward helped her to her feet. “I have a natural disinclination for theatrical acts, my Lady.”

  “As I said, I shall let it pass.”

  They readied their weapons again and continued as they had done previously, albeit more wary for the experience. The way went on and on, until Vero was sure they were well out from underneath the guildhall. Then, ahead of them, they saw the passage end with a wall of wooden planks, and a simple door in the center.

  They approached it carefully, although there was no sign of any immediate danger. Heward tried the door, but it was bolted from the other side.

  “Shall I knock it down?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think so.”

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