The Siege Against Tolkeen

Shaard sat alone in his palatial mansion, stretched out on an enormous couch, with a tiny, ancient book clutched in his claws. In gold leaf on the leather cover was written, "The Prince." The dragon sighed deeply, and flipped to the first page. Written there in Italian was, "To my good friend Antonio. I know that your mind is keen enough to properly interpret this book."

For a moment, Shaard flashed back to an earlier time, when he masqueraded in Renaissance society as the Italian poet Antonio Monoco. He had met the greatest human minds of history, and had befriended more than a few of them. "Poor Machiavelli," he sighed. "You should have been a dragon. Frail human flesh just didn't do you justice."

"I've got no problem with frail human flesh," barked out the voice of an unseen intruder. The man walked before Shaard, a lit cigarette clutched between his index fingers. He was bundled up in thick robes, to withstand the cold inside the ice dragon's home. The robes practically stank of magic, magics which only High Council members had access to.

"What brings you here, my dear friend?" asked Shaard, gently placing the valuable book down. "Is it a social call, or government business?"

"Melenee was killed a few hours ago," said the sorcerer coldly, pointing an accusing finger towards the dragon. "Somebody killed a guard, then cut Melenee up with a vibro-blade when that poor kid was leaving. Melenee didn't have his protective robes on."

"That's a pity," said the dragon softly. "That elf had some talent in him."

"Damn it!" yelled the human, reaching into his voluminous robes and tossing his cigarette aside. He pulled out a slim wand, crackling with magic energy, and pointed it at Shaard. "Was this your doing? Did you have him killed?"

The dragon's manner suddenly became quite icy, and all pretense of politeness was dropped. His slitted eyes focused on the glowing wand. "Why do you care?" he growled. "You and the others are simply my pawns. Your lives are mine, since I am the greatest amongst you."

"But what if we team up, you bastard?" asked the human. Suddenly, Shaard became aware of two other presences in the room. The Lizard Mage twins stood at opposite ends of the room, clad in robes similar to those of the human.

"Three are stronger than one, Shaard," hissed on the brothers. "Even when that one is a dragon."

"This is treason!" cried Shaard, suddenly quite alarmed. The three intruders all suddenly felt the temperature in the room drop another few degrees, and suddenly man-shaped shadows were advancing towards them, cruel claws of total darkness outstretched. The dragon himself was suddenly enveloped in an aura of energy.

"We don't want to fight, Shaard," said the human, leveling his wand at a nearby shadow. "Call off your beasts." The dragon nodded, and the shadow-men melted away into the walls.

"We just wanted to let you know that we will not tolerate this," snarled a Lizard Mage. "Your assassinations can not and will not continue."

"I did not kill the elf boy."

"But you have killed Council Members in the past. You will never kill another one again. If there is another death, then we shall rebel."

"A battle between us and our minions would destroy Tolkeen. You know that, don't you?"

"If we must destroy Tolkeen to save it from your machinations, then so be it." With that, the three wizards disappeared, leaving Shaard sitting alone once more. The dragon growled, looked down at his copy of "The Prince," and then grabbed up a cellular phone, large to humans yet tiny in his hands. Shaard hit an autodial button, and then said, "I have need of your services, Gilail." He then hung up.

Moments later, a portal of shimmering force opened up in the room. A tall man in black, demonic armor which was scarred from many fights stepped through. Slung over his back was a light Triax rail gun, half a dozen assorted vibro-blades hung from his belt, and a polearm engraved with magical runes was gripped tightly in his hands. "What's the job?" he asked, his voice garbled by a white noise device in his helmet.

"I need you to put the fear of Shaard into a few people, Gilail," the dragon said, smiling ever so slightly.

"This is a bad idea, Perrin," said Rick Freedom harshly. "What kind of statement does it make? It doesn't prove a damn thing!"

"It proves that we need money," said Perrin, inserting a fresh clip of armor-piercing bullets into one of the twin automatics he was using. "I looked at the arms cache yesterday, and it was full of archaic shit like these. We need some money if we want to get the good stuff."

"But.."

"I don't want to hear it," said Perrin, slipping on a pair of mirrored sunglasses and a headset microphone\radio. "This is hardly the time to argue." With that, he picked up a pair of digital binoculars, and began looking down at the National Bank. Two security guards, in bright red combat armor, stood by the door, weapons in hand. A large, armored hovertruck was parked in front. The truck's front doors opened, and its two pilots stepped out. They were well armed, and dressed in the same red armor as their comrades.

"Alpha squad, go," said Perrin.

Inside a parked van, about 100 feet from the armored car, was the headhunter who had been at Perrin's hospital bed and a diminutive street rat. The headhunter held a light bazooka in his bionic hands. Upon the signal from Perrin, he kicked open the door, and fired.

There was an enormously loud "fwoosh" sound, and a mini-missile flew down the street, just over the heads of the civilian passerby. The projectile slammed into the hovertruck, and instantly began vomiting thick black smoke. Pedestrians began gagging, and running for cover. The guards, blinded by the smoke tried to run out of the thick cloud.

Perrin switched his binoculars to infrared. He saw the fuzzy, brightly colored outlines of the pedestrians, and the dark, nearly room temperature heat signatures of the guards, who were insulated by their armor. Perrin could see that there was mass confusion down below, as the passerby tried to flee from the apparent battle and as the guards tried to figure out where their enemies might be.

"Bravo squad, go," said Perrin.

Three men in combat armor, with built-in multi-optic vision, hurried out of a second van. In their hands were light laser weapons---Perrin didn't think the heavy stuff would be necessary. They jogged down the street to the hovertruck. One of them attached a light explosive to the rear door, and then they all ran to cover. A moment later, there was a flash of light and a loud roar, as the thick metal door was blown to bits.

The guards noticed this, and spun to where they thought the intruders were. A couple of them began to fire their techno-wizard rifles, and a few of their shots nearly hit.

"Charlie squad, go," said Perrin.

Snipers located in a nearby building began to fire at the guards, using their infrared scopes to full advantage. One of the guards fell as a laser penetrated his helmet and burnt his head to a crisp. The others fell back into the building, not wanting to meet his fate.

The members of Bravo squad ran to the rear of the hovertruck, and crawled inside. There was suddenly the sound of an ion blast, and one of the armored robbers flew backwards, a scorch mark on his chest. He struggled to his feet, very dazed by the blast. There was then the sound of some more laser fire, and a fifth guard fell out of the truck, his armor pierced by laser fire.

"Get out of there, Bravo squad!" yelled Perrin. The men in the truck came running out a moment later, carrying briefcases full of money. They dragged the third man over to their van, and then drove off at top speed. Alpha team's van sped away, and the Charlie squad snipers ran from their post.

The mini-missile had run out of smoke, and the street had cleared. The guards ran back outside, and began to fire after the fleeing van until the car was out of sight. One of them looked back inside the armored car, and then screamed and tried to run. He had gotten less than a yard away when the hovertruck burst into flame, tossing him and his comrades away like dolls.

"Mission accomplished," said Perrin, standing up and beginning to walk off. "The Human Freedom Association won't be using antique weapons and gear ever again."

"I still think it was a bad idea," muttered Rick Freedom.

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998 David Haendler. All Rights Reserved.