The Blue Silk Hat
As Bloodwind's Company marched southwards, Mehmet and Nutbolter made a point of seeking out the four new recruits and establishing whether they were sympathetic or otherwise to half-Khyle. Astrid and Maratac were non-committal, but they struck up a reasonable rapport with Kingill, a tall, thin man from Granmund and Tanarask, a wiry ex-sailor with the biggest repertoire of swear-words either had ever heard. There was plenty of catching up to do with their existing comrades, too, for everyone had some tales to tell of what they'd done on leave. Some of them might even have been true.
Like many of the Company, the two half-Khyle were keen to wheedle what they could from Rurik about their current assignment. He was sympathetic, and told them what he could, but there wasn't much; part of their mission was to find out just what was happening near Granmund.
Mehmet spoke with Percinious of an idea. Maybe, the loyalty of half-Khyle should not be to one or another human lord or nation. Maybe - if there were enough of them - they could create a Company of half-Khyle, wherein all could be comfortable, serving their own aims... maybe even carving their own kingdom?
Late on the second day, Percinious, marching with Mehmet at the rear of the column, decided to experiment with one of their acquisitions from Varroth's house. Taking out the unremarkable blue silk hat, he settled it on his head. For a moment, apart from a faint itch of magic at his brows, nothing happened.
Then, quite slowly, he felt his mind expand. Everything around him seemed to slow to a crawl as compared to the speed of his mental processes. In an eternally unfolding instant, he understood... everything; mysteries crumbled, motivations became clear, philosophy crystallized. Deep explorations into the frontiers of higher mathematics took instants. Vast abstract structures of pure coneceptual logic revolved slowly and majestically across his mighty mind. He knew!
Mehmet was becoming worried. After donning the hat, his friend's expression had become absent and dreamy, and his walk - previously the clockwork click of a soldier's mile-eating stride - had slowed to a saunter, and then a halt. Minutes passed, and there was no reaction. The archer waved a hand in front of Percinious' eyes... no reaction. Enough, he thought, and flipped the hat off Nutbolter's head.
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Percinious blinked, and then dropped to his knees, his face twisted in a rictus of anguish. It was like putting one's head in a bucket; everything leached away. His comprehension dropped back to that of a normal human, leaving him only with the memory of how it felt to know everything, to understand everything. It was gone; and he wanted it back.
With a shuddering effort, he regained control, shaking off the desire to resume the hat. "This could be useful , but it's dangerous to wear for too long!"
As well as the hat, Percinious took the throwing knife Heartseeker, though he had little experience with knife-throwing. He spent the remainder of the journey practicing, and had a nodding acquaintance with the technique by the time he reached Taralos.
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Mehmet took the Thunderbolt arrow and the Vambraces of Vaktal, which latter he strapped to his arms straight away. He was minded to test the arrow, and while on guard that night, cast around through the twilight rain for a suitable target.
About a hundred feet away, a small group of rabbits were feeding on the grass, and the opportunity to combine his test with dinner seemed too good to miss. Mehmet nocked, drew, and loosed.
The arrow flashed across the grass and struck the rabbit perfectly. For an instant it was visible, pinned to the ground and kicking feebly, and then it was obliterated by a shattering flash as lightning stabbed down from the skies with a deafening thunderclap. When the smoke cleared, a small smoking crater and some shreds of fur were all that remained. Of the rabbit - and the arrow - there was no sign at all.
A successful test.
The weather was worsening, and it was in pouring rain that the Company marched the rest of the way south. As they marched, Percinious made some more tests of his hat, and every time the result was the same; towering enlightenment that blotted out everything else. Maybe it wasn't meant for mortals or half-bloods; maybe more magic was needed to control it; maybe a higher native intellect was required to remain in overall control. Or maybe it was just useless. The pair reserved judgement for the moment.
They also studied the books Nutbolter had looted from Varroth's house. These were a goldmine of Khylar lore, as well as containing enough information to teach a willing student the ways of sorcery. To start with, though, sparked by their knowledge of the ring Portalis, they scoured the books for information on Gates.
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What they found was a revalation, a piece of lore that was to irrevocably change their fate. An account, apparently copied from some other source, which revealed that their world was just one of many, and the race of which they were part were fallen indeed from their high dominion of old - fallen, in all probability, by their own hand.
Many things became apparent after reading this. Sorcery, that Khylar... no! Qhalur specific art of magic so feared by the humans, was powered by the energies of the resident Gates of the world. The Gates that brought disaster; hence the terror of sorcery dimly remembered by the common folk. The drowning of Mereval, and the fall of the Qhal here, must have been triggered by one of the shockwaves resulting from the great disaster within the Gate network. Yet, the drowning of the world was not the end! If Gates remained functional on Mereval, then escape was possible; for individuals, or maybe even for all.
Mastery of the Gates and their power might grant dominion of the world for those ready to grasp it. Yet, if the document spoke true, the existence of the Gates posed a threat on a cosmic scale to all life, everywhere; maybe they should be destroyed?
On the fifth day, Bloodwind's scouts made contact with the warband of another captain, Kyrair Skywhite. Over a hundred strong, this company had already located the Marmarkan invaders and was planning a strike against them, in the small town of Taralos where they were bivouacked after sacking it.
The two units merged, and the members camped together. Everywhere, men could be seen swapping tall tales, eating and drinking together, occasionally arguing and brawling, but generally welding into one force ready for the battle. Spirits were high, despite the continuing rain.
Mehmet and Percinious wandered through the camp, their eyes open for what they were now beginning to regard as their own kind. They were fortunate; they found one, a man called Skaven Henbar, of medium height and stooped, with light brown, shoulder length, straight hair and pale grey eyes. One glance was enough, and the three moved off to talk alone. Henbar was very willing to make friends, and to fight alongside the two, but the idea of a Qhalur Company made him quite nervous. "The other lords and captains might well band together to annihilate such a creation," he said. "You'd have to be very careful; and very obviously loyal." He paused a moment. "Nevertheless; if you do it - call on me!"
The combined companies moved forward at dawn. The scouts had reported that the Marmarkan force numbered no more than fifty, and Skywhite was confident that reinforcements were imminent from Lyrus Hornstone and Athagath Everdrinker's companies.
As they reached the edges of the town and the alarm went up, the invaders retreated backwards out of it and formed up in the fields beyond. Mehmet and Percinious got their first good look at them.
The Marmarkans were humans of Dorlanisti stock, of course; taller and fairer than the Vadornisti people found in Cormar. Their gear was different; less metal armour, of course - no other country had the metal reserves of Cormar - and high-crested helms of a conical design rather than the rounder Cormaran ones. There appeared to be three leaders, the senior of which was walking along in front of the shield wall encouraging his men. Mainly, of course, the pair were interested in the fact that there were only forty or so of them.
All along the Cormaran line, men were muttering, bringing up their battle-magic in preperation for the fight. Mehmet and Percinious followed suit, with Protection and Bladesharp. Percinious drew power from his pendant to activate the Bladesharp on Hadraes, but this time the results were different. The familiar flows of the magic suddenly distorted and disrupted, and a flash of intense pain ran through the startled half-Qhal. More power than he'd expected seemed to be drawn into the blade, and suddenly Hadraes was blazing like the sun, humming with power and making the air around it shimmer and ripple. Percinious, gasping, realized he was more than a little afraid of his own sword.
Without preamble, Skywhite gave the order to advance, and the Cormarans started to step forwards. As the two armies converged, missiles began to fly across the gap. Mehmet, empowered by Multimissile, loosed at the Marmarkan commander. His first two arrows, at the extreme of his range, missed, and the man snatched the third out of the air with his shield, but Mehmet's next shot - a Firearrow - did him some damage, though protective magic deflected the worst of it.
During the convergence, the two were urgently scanning the ranks opposite for more half-Qhal. Each located one, and moved to a position from which they could attempt to reach them in the coming battle.
By now, the two shieldwalls were very close, and men were gripping their weapons tighter ready for the impact. Mehmet risked another Multimissile, and this time watched with glee as the first arrow shattered the commander's shield and the subsequent two drilled into him, dropping him into the corn to be trampled by his own charging men.
Then, with a rolling crash, the two shieldwalls met. The air instantly filled with the clash of arms and the cries of wounded men. Despite being hopelessly outnumbered, the Marmarkans' morale seemed high, and they fought well. Amidst the chaos, it occurred to Percinious' suspicious mind that their morale seemed just a little too high...
But both were busy. In the blurring confusion of the melee, both faced and fought two opponents, winning through by luck and skilled weaponplay. Percinious soon found that whatever he had done to his Bladesharp spell had had significant effects; relatively weak strokes clove through armour and flesh like cheese. Mehmet, meanwhile, had engaged the half-Qhal he was tracking, and after a flurry of parries managed to disarm him and force him to surrender. Sending him to the rear, he laid the ground work by hissing into his ear, "We are the same; we should not be fighting each other!" in a mixture of the fluid Qhal tongue and his native Vadornisti. The man goggled at him as if he were mad, but stumbled out to the rear of Bloodwind's Company nonetheless.
Percinious was closing in on his target when a movement through the press caught his eye. He stepped to the side and looked again. Sure enough, soldiers were emerging from the trees behind the Marmarkan line. The reinforcements were here! Nicely timed, they'd be able to close in from behind as Skywhite's troops folded around the ends of the Marmarkan shield-wall and .... He blinked and looked again.
More and more men were emerging from the trees. Tall men. Fair-skinned and pale-haired men. Men with leather armour and conical helmets.
Marmarkans.
The reinforcements were not theirs, but the enemy's.
Percinious dropped back from his intended target and worked along the line towards Rurik, to warn him. On the way he warned Mehmet and Skaven, who began to drop back, preparing to escape if things had gone as badly wrong as it appeared....
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The unfortunate rabbit 