The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

  The tavern keeper clutched at the bleeding stump of his arm, cursing Garnuk over and over again. Behind him, Garnuk heard the other warriors under his command drawing their weapons, then mass panic as the tavern’s patrons shrank back against the walls of the dining room.

  “The cellar,” Garnuk commanded, a steely glint in his eyes. “Unless you want your life to go the same way as your unfortunate hand.”

  The tavern keeper looked around the room, then glared at Garnuk and tilted his horned head back, growling. “Find it yourself, outsider.”

  Garnuk nodded, appreciating his opponent’s fortitude, then beheaded him in a single, violent stroke. The truncated corpse collapsed behind the bar in a puddle of blood.

  The Exile turned back to face the room at large, his eyes finding Danur among the warriors. “Stay here with five of our warriors. Nobody leaves, but do not harm any of them either.” He scanned the tavern’s patrons. “As you were. This will be over shortly.”

  The vertaga hesitated, then slowly returned to their seats. Danur called the names of five warriors and stationed them around the room at strategic points. Garnuk meanwhile gathered the rest of his fighters and went behind the bar, exploring the rest of the building.

  The cellar was easy to find, at the base of a staircase that started right at the end of the bar. At the bottom of the stairs was a heavy oaken door, reinforced with iron strips at the edges, a heavy padlock securing the hasp. Garnuk crushed the lock with a few short blows of an axe, then led the way into the cellar, his warriors fanning out behind him.

  The room was dark, lit only by a single lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling. Against the walls, row upon row of barrels, firkins, and casks were stacked. The floor was scrupulously clean, devoid of grime, filth, or mold.

  The one thing Garnuk did not see in the cellar, was a passage into another room. He scanned the walls again, then sighed in frustration. Teszalk had said the entrance was through a door in one of the walls, but he had not said which wall, or what the door looked like.

  “Spread out,” he said to the others, aware of passing time. “It’s here somewhere. Be as quiet as you can, we don’t want to alert them that we’re here.”

  The warriors spread out in pairs, examining the casks, shifting them to see what was behind. Garnuk inspected the floor of the cellar for any trap doors, but found nothing.

  After several minutes of searching, the vertaga were forced to begin tapping on the walls, checking for hollow noises, resorting to any means necessary to ferret out the secret passageway. Garnuk himself stood back a little, sword and shield in hand, just in case the enemy appeared unexpectedly.

  Finally, one of his warriors called him over in a low voice. “General, here!”

  Garnuk crossed the dim room to where the warrior stood, at the end of a line of casks. There was a hairline crack running vertically from floor to ceiling, nearly invisible in the gloomy corner. Garnuk gathered the rest of his warriors around him, then gestured for the vertag who had found the door to give it a shove. The warrior obliged, and the portal swung open smoothly.

  Garnuk raised his shield so that it covered most of his body, peering over the rim. There was nothing but a dark passage beyond the doorway, stretching away into darkness.

  “Stay close,” he murmured. Then, ever so carefully, he began creeping forth into the passage.

  His eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and as they did, Garnuk realized that the passage did not stretch on as far as he thought. In fact, just a few meters in, it made a sharp turn. Garnuk peered around the corner cautiously. For a long ways, there was even more nothing. Then, a dim yellow light seeping from an opening on the right side of the passage. Garnuk could see no other doors at the moment, but that did not mean they weren’t there. He started off down the hallway, moving a little faster now that his quarry was so close at hand. The others followed as quietly as they could.

  When they reached the lighted archway, Garnuk did not pause but instead ran right into the room, shield and sword at the ready, eyes sweeping the space. It was a square room, well lit, with lanterns hanging all around the perimeter. There were several bunks against one wall, a large wooden table standing near the center of the room. Hunched over the table were six vertaga, studying a map. Five of them had the look of scholars, bearing no weapons and clad in robes. The sixth, though, was clearly a warrior. And all around the edge of the room, more warriors, perhaps a dozen in all.

  The warrior at the table looked up in surprise, then snarled and snatched up a curved, single-edged sword from where it had lain on the table’s scarred and pitted surface.

  Garnuk’s warriors crowded into the room, driving Hunon’s fighters towards the far end, where another passageway was visible. The back door Teszalk had spoken of. There were smaller rooms branching off the main room, but none of these looked like an exit passage. Hopefully Tarq was in position with his fighters. Garnuk advanced down the middle of the room, giving his own soldiers time to analyze the situation and prepare themselves for battle. As he started to give the order to attack, Hunon spoke.

  “So, you have found us, Exile,” he said, speaking quietly. “I had wondered when you would take a more active role in this little war. And here you are, delivering yourself to me so that I can take you back to my master. You saved me a great deal of trouble, my old friend.”

  Garnuk shook his horned head. “I’m not here to surrender, Hunon. You are outnumbered and outmatched. If there is anyone who surrenders here today, it will be you.”

  Hunon sneered. “Then nobody is surrendering today. And I am not so outnumbered as you think.”

  Garnuk staggered forward as something slammed into him from behind, then he heard the clash of steel on steel. He wheeled around and saw that his warriors were being set upon from the rear, by a small force of about ten soldiers. Not enough to turn the tide of the battle, but plenty to provide a distraction.

  “Black Hawks, take the Exile!” he heard Hunon shout. Garnuk looked about wildly, but could not find the Black Hawk leader. Then, he was forced to defend himself as the Black Hawks attacked.

  A desperate struggle ensued. Besieged on all sides, cramped for space and confined in the archway, Garnuk’s warriors were being driven into a smaller and smaller knot of thrashing bodies. A few of the enemy fell as well, but not enough.

  Meanwhile, Garnuk was fighting for his life, swiping at the attacking Black Hawks with sword and shield. He caught one in the jaw with his shield, shattering the fragile arrangement of bones, then gutted another one. A third Black Hawk scored a long cut across Garnuk’s stomach, and a fourth took down the two warriors to Garnuk’s left, trying to separate him from the others. As the snarling warrior struck at Garnuk though, an axe flashed out from behind the Exile and severed the Black Hawk’s arm. Garnuk finished him a moment later with a short thrust.

  With three of the Black Hawks wounded and the initial momentum of the ambush fading, Garnuk’s warriors began to push back. They started driving both groups of Hunon’s warriors back, crushing the force from the hall and scattering the warriors who had been in the command center. Garnuk finished off a fourth Black Hawk with some assistance from three of his own warriors, then lowered his sword and surveyed the scene.

  The room was littered with bodies, the floor slick with blood. Rams from both sides lay slain, and many more were wounded. A few had surrendered, crouched by the wall with their hands on their heads. Garnuk picked his way through a tangle of shattered furniture, looking for Hunon among the dead.

  He reached the table at the center of the room and found the five robed vertaga, all slain. They had been killed with short, savage slashes across their necks. Not one of them still lived, and there was no sign of Hunon, or his other two Black Hawks.

  “Secure the area,” Garnuk snarled to the others. “You, you, and you, with me.”

  With his three chosen warriors, Garnuk ran out through the back door of the hideout, reckless in the pursuit of his adversary. Huno
n would not get away, not this time. He would pay for his treachery, for the ten years Garnuk had suffered –

  Garnuk rounded a corner and was forced to drop flat and slide on the stone floor as an axe whistled over his head, nearly clipping his horns. The Exile rolled to his feet and lunged at this attacker, then stopped abruptly as he recognized Tarq.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Where’s Hunon?”

  “Never saw him,” Tarq grunted. “Did you let him escape? You’re covered in blood.”

  “There was a battle,” Garnuk explained tersely. “But Hunon was not among the fallen. I thought he ran this way.”

  “He didn’t get past us,” Tarq promised. “We’ve just been waiting here for someone to try and escape.”

  Garnuk swore and turned to run back the other way. “Stay here!” he shouted at Tarq over his shoulder.

  The Exile hurried back to the site of the battle as fast as he could, nearly running over the warriors that had accompanied him. When he returned, he found his force totally disorganized, several clutching fresh wounds.

  “General, they came out of a side room,” one of his warriors said through gritted teeth, clutching at his side. “They took the prisoners and went back to the cellar.”

  Garnuk nodded and continued running, making for the cellar as fast as he could. Would Danur be able to slow Hunon down enough? They had vastly superior numbers now, but if Hunon escaped they would have to start over and track him down again.

  He rounded the corner back to the cellar and ran into a wall of blistering flame.

  Garnuk cursed and took a step back, shielding his face with his sword arm. Through the flames, he could see Hunon and five vertaga retreating up the steps. The cellar floor was covered in liquid, from which the flames had grown, and several barrels were lying on their sides with their lids knocked off.

  “Gather the others,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Get back to the surface and try to cut them off.”

  Then, without another word, the Exile charged through the flames, covering himself with his shield, trusting his armor to protect him from the worst of the heat.

  He made it through, barely, his exposed flesh dry and tender. Even the air felt abrasive as he raced up the steps and back to the dining room. But Garnuk ignored the pain and carried on, the clash of metal on metal and howls of pain reaching his ears.

  He stumbled into the main room, caught himself against the shelves behind the bar, then vaulted the counter and joined the fray. Danur and his five warriors were battling furiously against Hunon and his comrades, but they had been taken by surprise. Two of Garnuk’s warriors were already down, and Danur was badly wounded, his left arm hanging useless at his side. Hunon and his band were fighting in a small, unified group, combining their strength to batter down the defenses of their outnumbered opponents. Inch by inch, Danur and the others were being driven back towards the door of the tavern. One of them was struggling with the door, trying to throw it open, but it appeared to be jammed.

  Garnuk fell on the rearmost foes with a savage snarl, impaling one on the blade of his sword before they even knew he was there. Before the Exile could free his blade, Hunon had turned to engage him, his sword darting and weaving with deadly precision, his brow furrowed with concentration.

  “I told you that you wouldn’t escape, Hunon,” Garnuk snarled as they dueled. “No matter how many tricks and traps you have, I will continue to hunt you, until this little war of ours is over.”

  “It will end with your capture,” Hunon replied calmly. “You see, I can never give up. If I leave here without you, my life will be forfeit.”

  Garnuk parried a thrust then swung at Hunon’s neck. “You could betray him, as you betrayed me.”

  Hunon laughed coldly and struck Garnuk’s blade aside. “Do you know why I turned the first time, Garnuk? I sensed that the power and security you had provided was about to fail. And, being a survivor, I decided it was time to find a new employer who would provide what you no longer could.”

  “Someone who will kill you for failure?”

  Hunon shrugged. “I will not fail. Besides, you can offer me neither power nor security at the moment, so you have no room to bargain.”

  Garnuk locked his blade with Hunon’s and strove against him, rage building within him, a familiar burning that yearned to be unleashed. “Is power and safety the limit of your desires? Do you have no loyalty? I trusted you, Hunon!”

  Hunon shoved back with a snarl, and kicked at Garnuk’s right knee. The Exile winced at the blow but did not yield.

  “Loyalty?” the Black Hawk sneered. “What use is loyalty? There is only power, Garnuk. And when you lost yours, I had to go and find someone else to provide me with the power I wanted. And I did. Once you are dead, I will be richer than any king, second only to the Ramshuk. And who knows,” he added with a twisted smile, “Maybe someday I will grow tired of being second in command. And then I will take for myself the leadership of our people.”

  Garnuk disengaged his blade with a savage wrench that threw Hunon off balance. The Black Hawk stumbled, suddenly wary, and Garnuk raised his sword in both hands, throwing his shield to the side with a crash.

  “You betrayed me,” Garnuk growled. “These last ten years I have suffered as you cannot imagine. I curse you, Hunon. May the spirits deny you passage to their halls, may you wander these mountains for eternity with no power or ability, merely existence.”

  Hunon’s jaw tightened and he took a half step back, glancing towards the entrance to the building. The other vertaga, Garnuk’s warriors included, had already fled the tavern, apparently through the shattered windows on either side of the door, but he could not fathom why. Then, he felt the heat building at his back and feet and noticed the air seemed thicker.

  Garnuk chanced a look down at the floor and swore to himself. Smoke was rising between the floorboards and pouring out of the stairwell behind him, filling the room. Any moment now the flames would burst through as well, and consume the entire building.

  The Exile did not care. He was not afraid of fire or smoke. He was here for one purpose only, to end Hunon’s life and have revenge. He looked up at the Black Hawk leader and fixed him with a grim stare. Anger and furious strength pulsed through him and he bared his fangs.

  “Tell me, traitor, do you fear death?”

  At that moment, the first tongues of flame burst through the floor, licking at the boards around their feet. Hunon’s nerve failed him and he sprinted for the door, turning his back to Garnuk. The Exile was after him in a heartbeat, bounding across the burning floor, ignoring the choking fumes and thick, black smoke. Hunon reached the door and fumbled with the handle. Before he could throw the portal open though, Garnuk was on him.

  The Exile dropped his sword and grabbed Hunon with both hands, turning and heaving him back towards the center of the room. Hunon bellowed with frustration and landed in a tumbled heap by the fire ring, howling as the flames seeping through the floor licked at his flesh. He got to his feet unsteadily, retrieved his sword, and ran towards Garnuk.

  Garnuk picked up his own sword and met the Black Hawk halfway, his vision turning red as he roared a challenge. Their blades crashed together and whipped apart, then met again with a screech of steel. The two warriors smashed and hacked at each other, technique forgotten in their battle of raw strength and emotion. Even as he slashed at his opponent with all the strength he could muster, Garnuk acted mainly in defense, striving to keep Hunon away from the door until the flames had done their savage work.

  The heat was growing oppressive, the polluted air difficult to breathe. Hunon continued his attack, hammering at Garnuk’s defenses until both of their swords were notched and bent from the blows. When his sword no longer resembled a blade so much as a crooked length of scrap metal, Garnuk threw it end over end at Hunon and grabbed him with both hands, wrestling back and forth across the flaming room. Both vertaga suffered burns as they wrestled and punched and kicked, but neither would y
ield to the other. Eventually, Garnuk pinned Hunon against the hearth, a forearm across his throat, his knees and other hand trapping the traitor’s hands. Both were gasping for breath, choking on the smoke, their flesh crisping in the intense heat.

  Hunon tried to bite at Garnuk’s arm, but the Exile increased the pressure inexorably, cutting off his breathing. The traitor’s eyes bulged in their sockets, his movements becoming more and more feeble. He gnashed his fangs and convulsed under Garnuk’s weight, his struggles weakening. Then, he lay still, chest heaving raggedly, eyelids drooping.

  “This is the end,” Garnuk told him savagely, “You will not find the power you seek. I always win in the end, Hunon. Do you know why?” He leaned in close, his voice a deadly hiss. “Because I fear nothing. Not hurt, not death. Not you or your Black Hawks or even the Usurper.”

  Hunon tried to say something, his mouth moving soundlessly. Garnuk smirked and increased the pressure a little more, enjoying his total control over his enemy.

  “Prepare to wander for eternity, oath breaker,” he murmured. Then, he grabbed Hunon’s head in both hands and broke his neck with a savage wrench. The traitor shuddered horribly, then was still.

  Chapter 32:

  Aftermath

  Garnuk knelt over the still form of his nemesis for a few seconds, savoring his victory. Then, as the red rage began to drain away he became aware of his surroundings once more. Howling with pain from his burns, the Exile scrambled to his feet and made for the door. All around him, the walls and furniture were ablaze and the floor was beginning to collapse beneath his feet.

  A heavy beam fell from the ceiling, nearly crushing Garnuk as he dove to the side. The massive log punched a hole in the weakened floor and suddenly Garnuk was pitched to the side, sliding towards a hole a meter wide and several meters long. Through the gap, he could see the raging inferno that had consumed the cellar, the flames obscuring the floor and any barrels which remained. Digging his clawed hands into the floorboards, Garnuk slowly pulled himself away from the hole until he was on level flooring once more. Then, he stood shakily and ran for the door. He did not bother trying to open it, instead lowering his head and smashing straight through the weakened portal.