"I think it's dark enough," Captain Wilde whispered, peering out the edge of the window, "the time has come."

He passed a final guilty glance over the dead replacement guards and the trio hustled back to the cargo door of the space boat, sliding the hatch up carefully.

"I'll go first," Timon asserted, stepping cautiously out into the dusky evening. After a second or two, his face appeared in the doorway, beckoning the others to follow.

"Behind those carts," Wilde pointed, "we can get closer to the steps going around that way."

Picking their way silently across the landing pad, they hopped down to the ground and scurried across a few yards of open space to the shelter of the idle carts.

Timon raised his head and scoped the area, paying particular attention to the troop of soldiers beginning their evening meal just outside the front of the space boat. "Looks clear. Wait until I get to that clump of bushes by the corner. When I give the signal, follow one at a time," with that, he hurried away in a running crouch across another open space and slid to safety behind a stand of thick shrubs.

In a few moments the three of them were huddled by the corner of the palace, a few short yards from the steps.

"Look!" Ramos blurted louder than he intended.

They pulled him down out of sight, hands clamped over his mouth, "Quiet! We'll be through before we start."

"Sorry, I just- did you see-"

Timon took in the body of the dead soldier and hunched back down, puzzled. "It's a body. A soldier. You don't think they've tried to get out already somehow do you?"

Wilde gritted his teeth and shook his head, "Who knows. I don't know what that means," he jutted his chin at the steps.

Darkness was gathering more quickly, and emboldened by its cover, they advanced in a prudent, determined measure. Timon scampered up the steps and listened intently at the door. Turning with a shrug, he waved the others forward.

"Hssst!"

The sound froze the trio on the steps. They turned, probing the darkness fearfully for an enemy.

"Down here!"

Wilde came down a few steps and stared at the source of the voice. He finally picked out the huddle group behind a stone pillar of to one side at the bottom.

"Who are you?" he challenged, the stunner ready behind his back.

"Who are you?" the faceless voice replied.

Wilde hesitated, conferring with Timon and Ramos who had come back to join him, "We're part of the Azwan delegation. We just escaped from the space boat."

"Miracle of miracles! We're here to rescue the others held inside," Isben stood from his cover and waved them down.

Several minutes later they had related their respective stories and resumed their quest, invigorated by their surprising good fortune.

*****

Korvaal's body sailed into the room like a rag doll, plopping in a heap on the floor in front of the prisoners. His arms and torso seeping blood from multiple punctures. Three guards followed, the one that tossed Korvaal on the floor and one pushing a slopping cart with bowls of grey looking stew.

"Judging from the looks of him you'll have an extra meal to share," the cart guard sneered.

Prer Jolly looked up from his kneeling position beside Korvaal and shrugged, "I'm afraid he's right. Korvaal won't be wanting any dinner."

A gurgle sounded from the victim's lips followed by a short spasm and Korvaal's body went limp.

Marc let out an enraged yell and lunged at the cart, hurling one of the bowl's contents into the surprised face of one guard. Zag and Bodluk immediately leaped to subdue the remaining guards whose concentration was disrupted by the surprising assault. A short struggle ensued, requiring Zag to dispatch his man with a brutal thrust to the neck with his smuggled sword; the other guard threw down his weapon and fell to his knees begging for mercy.

"You're fortunate you don't join your friend," Marc snarled, forcing the two remaining guards onto their faces on the cell floor.

"Bind them securely Church. And I don't care if they never get free."

Zag and Bodluk hurried to scout the area outside the cell then waved the others to follow. Tiptoeing silently up the worn stone stairway, they paused to listen to the muffled voices coming from the hall. Terron was ranting and raving about a fuel cap and something about idiot soldiers all deserving a similar fate.

"What's that about?" Prer Jolly tugged at Marc's sleeve.

"Who knows. That Terron seems to blow hot and cold over anything." He moved closer to the top of the stairs and peered down the corridor. "It looks clear to me. Just move carefully and spread out- and watch for that Haxxor beast."

Suddenly the room ahead was filled with the noise of banging doors, clattering feet and angry shouts. Marc caught a fleeting glimpse of figures rushing past the end of the corridor, arms waiving swords violently in the air.

"It's Timon and others from the ship!" he cried, "hurry, this is our chance."

The men broke into a run down the hallway and burst into the great room in time to see the ship's crew, assisted by five other men, battling ferociously with Haxxor and some of his soldiers. Terron was standing by her table, sword at the ready, screaming at her troops to kill the intruders. She spun around in surprise as the band of hostages charged into the melee and immediately bellowed for Haxxor.

The menacing giant turned to face the new assault, arms spread wide, spikes gleaming dully in the room's weak light. Zag and Bodluk flanked the hulk warily, attempting tentative thrusts looking for an opening to attack. Marc and Church turned their attention to Terron and spread out to stalk her.

Prer Jolly stumbled about trying to free the hilt of his sword from the folds of his robe. Finally he found himself a safe corner and, with considerable difficulty, raised his heavy weapon out to the front praying that whomever came at him would just run into its wavering blade.

The room resounded with the clang of metal and the grunts of the battling men, broken by an occasional scream of pain. Captain Wilde staggered backwards, fending off the savage blows of two of Terron's soldiers, his eyes darting to the giant Haxxor with the hope of somehow using the stunner.

The searing burn of a slash to the thigh sent him to one knee and his sword was knocked away by a vicious following strike. He fell to his back, desperately trying to aim the stunner when the two soldiers hacked down at him delivering painfully fatal blows. The stunner fell from his limp hand and skittered across the stone floor.

Ramos, white with terror and dismay at seeing his Captain fall, ducked beneath the slash of his opponent's sword and dove for the lost weapon. He grabbed it and rolled back to his feet in one athletic move, fumbling with the unfamiliar controls of the gun. His adversary had to ignore him as Timon, swearing and yelling, attacked his flank, cutting a swath through the jumble of grappling men.

Seeing the Captain slaughtered so quickly filled him with blind rage and he hacked and chopped like a wild man at the soldier's waning defense. With a mighty shout he thrust his sword straight ahead, catching the soldier just below the breast plate. A forlorn gurgle spilled from the soldier's mouth and he dropped his sword and crashed to the floor in a heap.

Timmon ran to Ramos and snatched the stunner from his confused grip, his fingers flitting over the control buttons, which set the power of the charge. As he turned to find Haxxor, three more soldiers charged at he and Ramos, backing them into a narrow alcove, blades swishing and arcing in a deadly assault.