The dark of night had settled over the landscape, bringing with it the peace of deep slumber to all inhabitants, save for one exception. General Sylpa scanned over the map she had spread on the ground, inspecting details that she had long since memorized on this month long trek. Beside her was an oil lantern with a glass covering stained red. The red cover prevented the light from being too bright and did not obscure her night vision as a clear covered lantern would. The entire army around her moved about with these lanterns, performing each task slowly so as not to make too great a mistake and accidentally ruin all of their careful efforts. One way or another this night would find its way into the history books of Titan military tactics. Whether it would be spoken of in amazement or in shame, no one would know for the next few hours. They had made all of the preparation that could possibly have been made. Now, it was time for action. A single figure was motioned passed the guards that surrounded the general, and snapped off a quick salute to her.

“Fighlyn,” Sylpa addressed her. “What have you to report?”

“Our first wave invasion force was successful. They have infiltrated the city and eliminated the necessary sentries.” the field commander replied. “So far, no alarm has been raised.”

General Sylpa nodded. “And our siege engines?”

“In position and awaiting the signal.”

“Pass on the first signal to the infiltrators.” she ordered. “They have thirty minutes to escape the city before we commence our attack. In the meanwhile, begin moving our catapults into position.”

Fightlyn snapped off another salute, before leaving to carry out her orders. Sylpa returned her attention to the map once more. History would be made this night.

*************************************************************************************

Marid sat fidgeting in her cell for perhaps the hundreth night in a row. It took great amounts of will power to avoid touching the collar around her throat once more. Stars above, it took great amounts of will power to avoid clawing at her neck in a vain attempt to rid herself of the accursed thing. She had been a prisoner in the Thylaran dungeons for many months, and it would be many more months before she was allowed to walk away with her freedom.

Freedom. The word was almost foreign to her now. She had been locked away for abandoning her post during a campaign not long ago. In the Thylaran military, abandonment of one’s post was comparable to treachery, as it endangers the entire camp. For that, she was shrunken down, and the metal band clasped around her neck. She has remained in such a state ever since. It was not healthy for Titans to remain this small for long periods of time. It made one ill, both physically and mentally. Every night Marid dreamed of walls closing in around her, ropes constricting themselves around her body, and her own giant comrades holding her in their hands and squeezing the life from her husk. Nights were not pleasant and she longed to finally be rid of her fetters.

This line of thinking drew her mind back to the events of the morning, when that girl had escaped. It was all any of the prisoners could talk with each other about that day. The young woman had somehow rid herself of her collar, leapt from her cell the moment it was opened, fought against two trained guards of the palace, and killed them both before making her escape. And not a single woman in the dungeon knew how she had done it. There was certainly no shortage of theories, yet very few made any sort of sense. She had not been brought back to the dungeon yet, which means she had either made good on her flight from the palace, maybe even the city altogether, or had been killed while attempting to flee. Many of the inmates had spent much of the day making plans of their own with each other. Annallya Rhaolin’s departure from the dungeon had given them the kind of hope that Marid had long believed was dead in her. Were she just able to lift herself from the bondage of the prison, she would use the opportunity to take vengeance upon those that had shackled her in the first place. Then, the city would never see her again. Mere months before, Marid was considered a cowardly individual, who would never entertain the thought of seeking retribution upon anyone. Let alone collect said payment in bloodshed.

Her time spent in prison had not been kind on her.

A loud clamor was suddenly heard coming from the top of the stairs leading out of the dungeons. Without ceremony, the unconscious form of the palace jailor tumbled down the last few steps, before coming to a crashing halt at the very bottom. What followed were the sound of footsteps descending the same stairs, slowly coming into sight. The figure was one all too fresh in the minds of the prisoners. Dressed in a borrowed set of armor that fit her tall and athletic figure nicely, longsword at her hip, and determination on her face, she was quite the imposing intruder. Annallya strode over the sleeping body of the jailer and made her way first to the wall that housed the many tiny cells. What drew the eyes of each woman in the prison, giant and tiny, were the keys she held in her fist. The Titan swordswoman stopped in front of the shrunken prisoners, one hand on her hip as she studied them over. A slow smile formed itself on her lips.

“You are all fortunate today.” she announced. “I am in need of a distraction. How would the lot of you like to earn your freedom?”

*************************************************************************************

Mistress Oragale Rhaolin, staff in hand and cloak around her shoulders, strode briskly into the ceremonial throne room of the Queen. Upon the throne sat Phelonous herself, looking particularly distressed, yet not any less regal than befits her position of authority. Bowing respectfully to her, Mistress Rhaolin approached the throne while the Queen ordered her guards to secure all entrances to the room. The task took the guards out of earshot of the two women, so that their conversation may have some form of privacy.

“How is the situation out there?” the Queen asked.

“Worse than we feared.” her advisor explained. “We had erroneously believed it to be an attack on the palace by an invading force. Rather, these women are prisoners that have all escaped the dungeon.”

The Queen sat up straighter on her throne. “Indeed? All of the prisoners?”

“Only the ones in the dungeon. Not the ones locked away in the arena.” she clarified.

“That is something at least.” the Queen replied. “How many from the dungeon, then, have escaped?”

Mistress Rhaolin grimaced. “All of them . . .”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed in thought. “They could not have all gotten out on their own. Especially not the tiny ones . . .”

“No, your majesty.” her friend agreed. “They must have had help . . .”

Phelonous reached the same conclusion as Oragale. Standing up from her throne, she stepped down, and took her childhood friend’s hands in her own.

“I am truly sorry for all of this Oragale.” she assured her. “You know how much I cared for her as well. Had I known what was happening with Annallya, I would have done everything in my power to set her right again.”

For the first time in a long time, Queen Phelonous watched her friend fight to hold back tears, and fail as two made their way down each cheek.

“I know, Phelonous.” she whispered. “And I know that you have to do what you have to in order to stop her from wrecking more havoc.”

Phelonous sniffed, barely holding back tears of her own. She had watched that young woman grow up besides her own daughter. They were both her children. “I am truly sorry, my sister.”

“I do not blame you,” Oragale assured her. “I blame myself. And I blame that man, who poisoned her mind.”

Phelonous hesitated. “I will advise my guards to try their hardest not to use lethal force if they do not have to.”

But Mistress Rhaolin shook her head. “There is only one way we may stop her without killing her. And I shall not have any more good soldiers die at her hands.”

Oragale Rhaolin brushed aside her cloak, revealing the short sword of a soldier buckled at her waist. An old memento from their respective days in the military. Turning briskly, she walked towards the doors leading out of the throne room.

“Oragale.” the Queen called out to her. “You are an advisor now, not a soldier.”

“And I advise you not to order me to stop,” she replied.

*************************************************************************************

The palace guard approached the blank wall, two prisoners in hand, all the while she nervously looked over her shoulder. A huge commotion had been raised down in the levels of the palace below her. From the sounds of things, guards had engaged in combat with the invasion. Or perhaps, the woman considered, it was more of a revolt. Whatever the case was, she needed to get inside before any of the ensuing chaos found its way to where she was. Placing her captives on the ground of the highest step, she reduced her size, until she was just a tad shorter than the other two figures. Though their hands were bound, and their heads were covered by sackcloth bags, she took no chances, drawing her longsword for comfort as she approached the tiny door. The guard banged on the knocker, casting occasional looks towards the stairs, and waited. Eventually a slit was opened and a set of eyes peered through, taking in the sight of the new arrivals.

“What is the meaning of this?” the woman on the other side of the door asked.

“I am to deliver these two to the arena.” she replied in a rushed, yet professional voice. “Now hurry and open the door! Can you not hear what is happening down there?”

“What has happened?” the guard behind the door asked. “And why are you transporting two prisoners by yourself?”

“Prisoners have escaped the dungeons and are running loose throughout the palace!” she exclaimed. “The two others that were with me left to help reinforce the guards fighting them off! If they come up these stair seeking safety, I cannot hold them back by myself.”

The slit on the door was closed, and the heavy door groaned as it was pulled open. The guard prodded the two captives with the flat side of her sword, herding them to the safety of the new prison. The escaped dungeon inhabitants would not dare invade such an area. After such a long time spent shrunken, most of them were likely deathly afraid of putting themselves in such a vulnerable position again. The first captive, hands bound in front of them, crossed into the threshold of the new jail. At once the figure turned to the guard that had opened the door, ropes suddenly falling loose from his hands, and struck her a massive blow across the jaw. It was a textbook perfect punch, backed by all of the considerable power of his upper body and arms. The guardswoman barely had time to grunt, as she was thrown backwards against the wall. Her head struck the thick stones, before the lights went out in her eyes, and her body dropped limp to the floor. The first guard had been dispatched without raising any alarm.

Lyal removed the bag and looked down impassively at the guard he had knocked out. Though he had had reservations over striking women, he had been correctly reminded that these were not just women. They were killers, and slavers to his people. The simple craftsman and husband took in the sight of the woman lying unconscious on the floor and spat.

“For my wife.” he muttered.

Tull Val’ Anders took off his bag as well, and stepped aside to allow Annallya to lead them further down the passageway. They had to pass two more checkpoints on their way. The second one, Lyal and the Whistler remained out of sight to the side while Annallya talked her way in again. This checkpoint, however, had three guards stationed, and dispatching them caused much more noise than the last one. By the time they had reached the third one, the guards on the other side saw them coming, and engaged all of the numerous locks on their side. Fortunately, they had the one tool with them capable of making all locks in the world redundant. Lyal drew Gaelin’s sword and stabbed it through the top of the door. Shrieks could be heard through the thick wood as he cut downwards, slicing through both wood and metal. Annallya and Tull stepped backwards, before stepping forward and delivering two simultaneous kicks, throwing the door back, and into the faces of those that hid behind it. Sheathing the sword, as he was far more adept with his bare hands, Lyal slipped in through the opening and took advantage of the guards surprised disposition. Annallya and Tull stepped in to reinforce him, and within moments they had subdued the last checkpoint.

The group then sprinted down the last of the hallway, heading for the opening up ahead. A guard stepped into the opening from each side, creating a final barrier for them to pass. The difference here, however, was the fact that these guards stood on the other side of an opening that lead to a much bigger room. They began to grow, which would mean that Annallya would have to fight the two of them herself, putting her at a disadvantage. She knew it had to be done, though, and was preparing herself for the fight ahead, when the Whistler sprinted on ahead of her. The Titan guards had only had enough time to grow to the same height as himself, before he waved his arms at the women. At once a small flock of about five doves materialized from the air, and swarmed towards the guards, who were taken completely aback by the sorcery before them. The birds flew passed the guards, completely obstructing their view. Lyal took advantage of the distraction, and charged the woman on the right, while Tull took the one on the left. They had not had the time to grow too big, and were overpowered and dealt with easily.

Annallya emerged into a cavernous room, circular in design, and lined with various levels of cells. She took a second to catch her breath and look wonderingly at the Whistler.

“You can perform feats of magic?” she breathed.

Tull grinned slyly at her. “All good Whistlers know how to perform a few magic tricks. Sleight of hand and misdirection are all that you need for a good prison break.”

Prisoners all around rushed to the bars of their cells, trying to get a glimpse at who was invading their place of torment. Before them on the chamber floor were two men and a Titan woman wearing the guise and armor of a Thylaran palace guard. The woman stepped apart from her companions, and began to grow to a height of fifty feet.

“Gaelin!” she called. “Gaelin are you here!”

“Annallya!” answered a deep voice from the third level, the one level with her face. Gaelin rushed to the door of his cell, not quite believing what was happening before him.

“Annallya!” he roared in both joy and confusion. “What under Sun and Stars are you doing here!”

“It is good to see you too, my friend.” she replied with a grin.

It seemed that his time in prison had not robbed him of all of his charm and grace. Reaching down, she gently wrapped her fingers around the bodies of Lyal and Tull, and brought them up to the level Gaelin was held on. Guards immediately ran to meet them. Annallya also noticed guards on the ground running towards her, growing bigger with each step. She had to leave Lyal and Tull to themselves while she turned to deal with the two coming for her. The first guard had grown as tall as her knees by now, so she dealt her a swift kick to her helmet covered head, sending her flying backwards, and knocking her out cold. This gave the other guard the time needed to grow to an equal height with Annallya, and the two engaged in a grapple for control. Allowing her opponent to press her back a bit, Annallya surprised the guard by snaking her right arm around her neck, and pulling her body in close, so that she could knee her squarely in the stomach. The blow was not particularly powerful, but managed to stun the older woman by forcing the air from her lungs. Pushing the guard passed her, while simultaneously brushing the helmet from her head, Annallya gripped the back of her scalp and slammed her face against the stones of the floor as forcefully as she could. She had to deliver two more strong blows to the woman before she was down for the count. Turning back to her friends on the third level, she was relieved to see that they had dealt with their own opponents. Annallya gripped the edge of the walkway, and held on as she began to shrink, until she had reached her human height, and hoisted herself up to join them. Before her stood a stunned but impressed Gaelin Val’ Saida. Despite all of the fighting and running about she had just been doing, Annallya secretly hoped that she did not look too sweaty. From her belt, she drew the same set of keys she had used to free the other prisoners, and unlocked his cell. Gaelin opened the door, and immediately embraced her.

“You shouldn’t have come back for me.” he told her. “You could have been killed.”

“You are hardly one to talk,” she reminded him. “Casting your life away simply so that you could give me more homework to study.”

Rather than reply, he only squeezed harder, before letting go, and observing the other two who had come with her.

“Lyal?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “Come all this way to settle the score?”

The burly craftsman chuckled. “You helped free my Jess from this place. This was the least I could do.”

“Jess?” he exclaimed in surprise, turning to Annallya, who shrugged.

“Trust me, it makes sense when you see them together.” she assured him.

Gaelin nodded in uncertainty then looked back at Lyal, holding out his hand. Lyal took it in a firm grip and the two men shook, nodding respectively to each other. The sound of approaching guards to the left drew their attention. Five more guards women had ascended the stairs and were sprinting towards the small group. All the while, the cheers and jeers of the other prisoners provided some oddly comforting motivation to the humans and rogue Titan. The Whistler stood apart from them all, drinking heavily from a small bottle of whiskey. Tossing the bottle aside, he pulled out a pack of matches, and struck a few to life. Just as the guards were within fifteen feet of him, the Whistler spewed the fluid at the matches, which ignited the alcohol, creating a maelstrom of intense fire and heat. The flame almost seemed alive with fury, as it launched itself at the group of guards. Some of the women, taken by surprise by the sudden fire, and scared of the possibility of real magic being used against them, hurled themselves over the railing. Only one was not fatally injured. The other two still on the walkway were the closest to reaching the Whistler, and found themselves severely burned by the torrent of fire that had surrounded them. They ran away screaming in agony, some of their clothing still burning. The Whistler looked back at the group, his face was neutral and betrayed nothing of how he felt over the acts he had just committed.

“Tull,” Gaelin addressed him with a nod.

Tull returned the gesture, walking back up to them. “I suppose it would be an appropriate time now to make our grand escape.”

“You’ll need this,” Lyal said, handing him his sword. Once it was buckled back onto his belt, Gaelin found the familiar weight of the blade comforting to him. He cast a side look at Annallya.

“How do I look?” he asked her.

Like a warrior, she wanted to say. Instead, she put on a considering face. “Not at all bad for one who has clearly not washed his face in many months.”

He snorted. “I’ll take it. May I borrow those?” he asked, indicating to the keys Annallya held.

She handed them to him without question and Gaelin proceeded to walk down a few cells, until he had come to the one he was looking for. There stood a woman with deep black hair, tan skin, and lips that pouted in the shape of a heart. She stepped back while the Guardian unlocked her door.

“Gaelin,” she greeted him.

“Kollen.” he replied, tossing her the keys. She caught them gingerly, and looked back up at him in open amazement. Gaelin nodded.

“Free the other captives, get everyone out of here.” he instructed. “And work on that underhanded slash.”

Without another word, he lead his small group of friends towards the stairs, Annallya stepping in beside him.

“You have been making friends with the women trying to kill you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They’re not so bad, once you beat them up enough times.”

The Titan chuckled to herself, but stopped abruptly when an enormous tremor caused the entire chamber to shake. Everyone was forced to steady themselves against the nearest rail or wall. Before they could regain their balance, another tremor, this one even stronger, hit them all again. Stones were shaken loose from the ceiling, and cracks were beginning to form along some of the walls. Smaller tremors followed this.

“Blazing embers!” Lyal swore. “What was that? A Titan?”

“Impossible!” shouted a recently freed prisoner. “This entire wing is designed so that no Titan may approach it at full height!”

Annallya looked frantically around as more tremors continued to rock the very foundation beneath them. “I must find a way outside!”

“Follow me!” Gaelin yelled.

He took off at a sprint for the main doors opposite the way they had come in. The party travelled through two hallways, one set of stairs, and a room full of weapons, before they emerged in the arena where Gaelin had been fighting battles for more than a month. The arena, being at the highest peak of the Thylaran palace, was designed to be open to the sky, allowing them a view of the stars above. Running out to the middle of the arena, Annallya grew to her full height, and beheld the unspeakable sight below her. As far as the eye could see the grand city of Thylara lay in the night, torn asunder and burning!

Gigantic balls of fire fell from the sky, collapsing houses and setting them alight. Inhabitants scattered in all directions, screaming in fear as they sought shelter. Off in the far distance, beyond the walls, Annallya could make out massive fires that lit the landscape outside of their borders. These fires are what allowed her to see the siege engines surrounding the entire city, which launched volley after volley of tar soaked boulders at Thylara. Close to the fires were immense banners. Though they were too far away to make out any details, Annallya recognized the colors used by them.

“Nashvani!” she called down to the men by her feet.

“What?” Gaelin asked.

Annallya shrunk back down to their size before answering.

“Nashvani! They are a city whose military force we had been tracking. We had believed that they were marching on another city, and were making preparations to take theirs while they were away.” she explained. “But it seems we have been tricked and now they are here! Thylara is under siege!”