NexLord: Dark Prophecies by Philip Blood

things."
    Aerin and Lor didn't waste words and
followed.  The hallway turned to the right again after a
short way and then went a distance past two doors to another right
turn.
    After that turn, the boys came to a third right turn. They peeked
around the hallway and found themselves looking at the hallway
where the sewer door stood open, but this
time, they were on the far side where they would have to
pass the opening to reach the stairway going up.  They
had traveled in a large rectangle and had come back around to the
start.
    "Do we go?" Aerin asked after telling Lor
that the Togroths had been in that sewer opening a few minutes
ago.
    "They must have gone to fetch me from my
cell, which means they'll soon discover it's empty... we better
make a run for it," Lor suggested.
    The other two boys nodded and they all ran
down the hall together.   They darted past the
opening to the sewer, without mishap, and rounded the corner of the
hall that led to the stairs, only to run smack into the churchman
who had opened the sewer.
    "In Mumand's name, I command you to stop!”
the churchman demanded, but when the boys started backing away from
him the priest yelled out, "I have the child!  And there
are two more of them loose in the fold, help brethren!” Then he
pulled out a curved knife from beneath his robes.
    To the boy's further shock a man suddenly
brushed past them from behind and confronted the knife-wielding churchman.  Aerin was
amazed to see that it was Yearl.  The thin lavender-skinned man reached over his shoulder
to the quiver that was habitually tied there and pulled out two one
inch thick, three foot long, round sticks of
hardwood.  He held one before him, almost like a sword,
with the other held low and to the side. Yearl approached the knife-brandishing churchman and
spoke softly, “Leave them be, these boys only wish to depart these
premises."
    "Sacrilege!” the man screamed in intense
rage.
    His face turned so beet red that Aerin
thought his head would simply explode. 
    "A Wiggen has befouled the holy ground of
Mumand!  Die foul creature!"   The man leaped forward stabbing for
Yearl's throat with the wicked looking knife.
    In a movement that seemed to blur his shape,
Yearl moved.  There were three almost simultaneous
thumping sounds.   The attacking churchman staggered
forward and his knife flew tumbling down the hall.  His
unconscious body fell heavily to the stones. 
    "Sleep on Mumand's bed," Yearl advised the
still body sarcastically, "Quick," he said, turning to the three
startled boys, "up the stairs and out.  Though it might
please me, I have no time to beat this entire enclave of fanatics
unconscious!"
    Aerin saw Lor and Dono staring at the sticks
that had seemed almost invisible in their movement a moment
before.  
    "He's a friend of mine, do what he says!"
Aerin said.
    "But he is a Willowman!" Dono exclaimed, with
loathing.
    "Do you want to die?" Aerin noted, with a
raise of his eyebrow.
    Lor needed no further prodding and dashed
past Yearl heading up the circular staircase; Dono and Aerin
followed hard on his heels.
    They reached the top of the landing and found
a group of four acolytes, led by a priest, coming toward
them.  Aerin smelled the same cheap cologne he had
smelled when they eavesdropped at the door.    The priest took one look and spoke in that
voice of silk Aerin had heard through the doorway
earlier.  "They are defiling the temple, kill them
all."
    Then Yearl was there again.  He
stepped forward almost casually and faced the four oncoming
acolytes who were now brandishing their curved
knives.  "Attacking children?" Yearl inquired.
    Malachai spoke in a strange ritual voice, "He
is unclean.  You cannot allow a Willowman to live, so sayeth Mumand."
    The four Acolytes’ faces turned to masks of
pure hatred and they attacked as berserkers, showing no regard for
their own safety.
    Lor didn't wait to see what was about to
happen, he yelled at the other