by R J Hanson
“What of Lucas?” Eldryn asked.
“I have fared down here for over two decades,” Lucas said. “I think I should be alright for a few minutes.”
“Very well,” Eldryn said.
Roland walked off into the dark. Eldryn observed the hallway that Roland had entered. He counted the steps from that opening to the tunnel that led to the outside. Then Eldryn went back to the opening and tried to memorize the exact angle from the doorway that would put him on a direct path for the tunnel leading out. He didn’t want to do this blind, but he might have no choice. Eldryn paced the steps off again and arrived at the same number. That confirmation made him feel a little better. He led Lucas to the pathway out and told him about the pit in the entrance tunnel. Even from this far away from the entrance Lucas drank in the smell of fresh air. As he completed his third walk and registered the number in his head Eldryn heard Roland call out.
Roland continued into the hallway thirty feet and discovered one of the rooms he had been in before. He continued another thirty feet into the hallway beyond this room. There Roland could still here the voices coming from ahead of him, but he saw a dead end to the corridor. Roland had watched Ashcliff open similar secret doors on their way in and he tried some of the same tricks now. However, none of those tricks worked for Roland so he stopped to listen.
“We are growing tired of this, little man. Yorketh will resort to attacking you if he must, but none of us want any harm to come to those precious items you carry. If you force me to chase you down, then you will not like what happens to you. You would only go to the torture chamber tired.”
Roland knew the voice, it had to be Dawn, and somehow coming from the other side of this rock. Roland tried the tricks he’d seen Ashcliff perform one more time. Nothing worked. Roland stepped back and looked the dead end over. He called out to Eldryn, “Battle!”
Roland looked again at the dead end and kicked out at it powerfully. The rock gave slightly but did not open. Roland remembered a lesson his father had taught him. ‘Do not punch the bag, son. Punch behind it. It is the same with any strike. Aim a few inches beyond your target.’ Roland took in a deep breath and kicked out again, aiming his boot three inches beyond the surface of the rock. The hidden door crumbled underneath the might of Roland’s boot.
Roland looked beyond the settling dust to see that the dead end had only been a sheet of rock less than half an inch thick. He saw that the hallway continued another fifteen feet and turned both right and left. Roland walked down the hallway with an axe in each hand. He stopped before he reached the edge of the intersection. Roland put away his iron axe and took one of Ashcliff’s mushrooms from his pack. Roland stuck the mushroom inside his mouth in his jaw where he usually kept the smoke leaf he chewed. He took his iron axe back up and continued. Roland reached the turns in the hallway and saw a movement that could have been no more than the gust of a vapor off to his right. Roland set himself and then began down the hallway leading right.
Roland walked for twenty more feet and entered a round room set with tables, bunks, and furniture. A barracks. Roland scanned the room for movement or a sign of the voices he had heard before but saw nothing. The voices had stopped. That meant something. However, it probably meant something bad.
Roland could hear Eldryn coming up the hallway behind him. He had to get them out in the open before Eldryn got here. If one of them was ambushed, they would still have a chance. If both of them were ambushed, then they might very well be lost.
Roland strode to the center of the room. He looked around him again and then he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Roland dropped to his knees and spun in time to see two daggers fly over his head. Dawn, who was now suddenly easy to see, rushed out of the darkness toward Roland with a falchion in one hand and a mace in the other. Roland stood, but just barely in time to begin to parry Dawn’s attacks. She was quick, and vicious. Roland struggled to keep his footing and knew he was being pressed back in a particular direction.
He bit into the mushroom and began to chew. Roland could feel his muscles tingle with the sensation of speed. This was a different feeling than the one he got from the Shrou-Hayn, but the quickness in his movements was the same. Roland held his ground, but he was still parrying more than attacking.
Yorketh appeared from a corner of the gloom where he had somehow been concealed. Roland saw the movements of Yorketh’s hands, but he could do nothing about it. Yorketh chanted, and his voice rose with each word toward the climax of the spell.
Eldryn bolted into the room with torch in one hand and Shrou-Sheld in the other. He saw Yorketh in mid cast and charged him. Yorketh changed targets with ease and uttered the final word, ‘dactlartha.’ The frosty bolt of dead fire shot toward Eldryn who could only accept the blow.
The cold fire struck Eldryn in the chest and flowed along the edges of his new armor. The impact and effects from the attack were lost among the inlay of arcane letters in his breastplate. Eldryn was still holding his breath when he came out of the cloud and it was a few moments before he realized that no damage had been done. He had suffered no injury.
Yorketh looked at Eldryn in disbelief. He immediately began another chant. Eldryn smiled and stalked toward the now nervous wizard.
Roland and Dawn struck blade upon blade, and hilt upon hilt. Roland fought harder and more desperately than he ever had in his life, but he could get no attacks through Dawn’s defenses. She seemed invulnerable.
Yorketh, in desperation, cried out a rapid spell, which shook rocks and earth all through the caverns. The floors churned, and the ceilings buckled. Stone and dust fell from above, and all could hear different hallways collapsing outside the room. Eldryn was knocked to his knees when the floor bucked underneath him. He steadied himself, and then continued toward the mage.
Roland and Dawn were locked together in a blur of steel flashes. Both were knocked from their feet when the caverns twisted and shook. Roland landed flat on his back and Dawn crashed down on top of him. Roland caught her attack with the falchion with his black glass axe but discovered that his iron axe had been lost during his fall. Dawn came down with the mace and Roland caught her arm in mid strike. Dawn pushed hard with the falchion and Roland thought it foolish of this woman to try to force by brute strength anything upon him. Roland pushed back and hard. His surprise was complete when Dawn let go her falchion and dropped her hand to her waist. The momentum of Roland’s push against the falchion drove his axe far wide of his body as Dawn came from her waist with a drawn dagger. The speed from the herb saved Roland’s life that day.
He called his hand back down to block the intended strike to his exposed throat. Roland’s arm responded with the speed of thought and caught Dawn’s arm just as the dagger had sliced through Roland’s chin strap. He arched his back and bucked up hard, throwing Dawn from him. He leapt to his feet and lost his helmet in doing so. Roland, now seeing by only the weak torchlight from across the room, heard Dawn’s charge before he knew where she was. Roland knew what he must do.
Among the many lessons Velryk insisted on this was one of Roland’s least favorite. He was taught to find that calm within himself during the bonfire of battle. Often while wearing a sack over his head, and sometimes in the darks of a nearby cave, Velryk would teach Roland to listen to that quiet voice of instinct. Roland would likely never know that the patience required for such training was as taxing on Velryk as it was on him.
Roland released his anxiety and tasted the air with his nose. He felt her on his flank and whirled to parry. Roland stopped the mace in its flight for his unprotected skull. Dawn sliced through the air with her dagger but only caught the edge of Roland’s hair as he jerked back away from the attack.
Yorketh threw several more energy bolts and swirls of dark-fire at Eldryn, but his armor seemed to ignore each of them. Eldryn stalked toward the mage with his weapon ready.
Dawn reached down and took up the lock she’d cut from Roland’s hair.
“I got
close that time, boy,” Dawn said. “Can’t stand against a woman? You must be the shame of all your kin.”
Roland’s blood stirred, and his anger burned like the embers of a smith’s fires. He disregarded everything else in existence, and rushed Dawn with the tact of a bee ravaged bear.
They all heard the words from Yorketh’s mouth. Those words saved Roland’s life that day for she surely had gotten the best of his emotions. ‘Sectlartha’ was uttered on the far side of the room from Roland. He would never forget what that word meant. Yorketh disappeared, and Dawn was gone from Roland’s grasp.
Roland’s faded blue eyes glared around the room but all they found was Eldryn. Roland retrieved his fallen helmet and placed it on his head. Even with his vision cleared he could not find Yorketh or Dawn.
“We had better get out of here,” Ashcliff said from the doorway, surprising both of them.
“He’s right Roland. This place may come down around us.”
Roland looked around the room again, praying with everything that he might find the female warrior. That prayer was not answered that day.
The three hurried out of the room and down the hallways with Ash in the lead. Eldryn followed Ashcliff, and Roland trailed behind his two companions. Roland continually looked back hoping to see the female warrior.
“That fool of a mage may have awoke more than the dust and earth in these caverns,” Ashcliff said. “We have to get as far from her as possible.”
“Awoke what?” Eldryn asked. “A fallen champion, or maybe even a god’s mount, a dragon?”
“Worse,” Ashcliff said as he made the turn up into the entrance tunnel.
“This is Lucas,” Roland said as they approached the starved barbarian. “He is Slandik, and another wayward traveler.”
Lucas smiled, although faced no one in particular, and fell in step behind the companions.
“What is worse than a dragon?” Roland asked.
“You do not want to know and now is not the time,” Ashcliff said.
The four ran toward the area of the pit that nearly claimed Roland and Eldryn. Hope for escape fell from their hearts when they saw at least twenty drow blocking their path. Eldryn turned toward the path behind them and heard footsteps in the hallway, a number of them. Twenty or more drow marched into the torchlight from the hallway that led deeper into the caverns.
“Any ideas, Ash?” Eldryn asked in a whisper. Eldryn looked both groups of dark elves over noting the well-crafted armor and fine weapons each one possessed. These were not the common soldiers he and Roland had fought in the hallways before. These were warriors.
“I’m working on it,” Ashcliff replied quietly.
“Warriors of the underdark,” Ashcliff said in a loud and clear voice. “Do you realize who stands before you?”
Roland and Eldryn both gave Ash questioning looks.
“I see three sun dwellers and an old blind man who are about to die,” a large drow wearing black steel alloy armor and two scabbarded Shrou-Shelds said. He was big for an elf, and thick through the chest.
“You stand before the son of Lord Velryk!” Ashcliff said with authority.
“I am Maloch of the Black Lance. I am the Knight of Sorrows, of Shadows. I have seen the son of Lord Velryk in battle,” the large drow said. “This is not him.”
Roland stepped forward away from his friends toward the group that had approached from within the cavern. He removed his left gauntlet and threw it down at the feet of Maloch.
Eldryn noted Maloch’s light gray eyes that almost matched the white of his long hair, and the fact that both contrasted his dark skin. His frame was much larger than the average elf, drow or fair, and Eldryn could see that there was power in the muscles of his chest and arms. What Eldryn noticed most was the absolute confidence in Maloch’s steady gaze.
“Roland, what are you doing?” Eldryn asked in a whisper.
“I do not know what man you speak of, but I am Roland, son of Velryk. I challenge you to single combat, before your warriors and whatever gods you worship,” Roland said. “I stand before you an honorable warrior, and I call upon that honor which your title as knight represents.”
Maloch smiled.
“State the terms of your challenge then,” Maloch said as his right eye brow cocked.
“The cavern is too confined for combat with the Shrou-Hayn, or the honorable weapons that you wear at your side,” Roland said. “It should be dark outside. I challenge you to single combat with the weapon of your choosing in the grove above us. Should you win my companions and I will surrender to your will and be either your voluntary slaves or docile captives while we await execution.”
“I see,” Maloch said.
“Should I win, then I and my companions walk from here unharmed by you or your troops,” Roland finished.
Eldryn gave Roland an incredulous look.
“You can’t beat him,” Eldryn whispered. “It is suicide.”
“If you have a better plan then say so,” Roland whispered to Eldryn.
“Very well,” Maloch said. “I accept your challenge and terms. I do, however, have one condition. When I win, you will admit before all here that you are not the son of Lord Velryk.”
Roland looked directly into Maloch’s eyes.
“That I will not do,” Roland said in a deadly voice. “I will not disgrace this armor, this weapon, myself, or my father, Lord Velryk, by speaking a lie on the battlefield of honor.”
“Then we will prove that you do not share the blood of Lord Velryk, nor that of Verkial, on the battlefield.”
At Maloch’s gesture the drow nearer the entrance pulled a concealed switch that, in turn, secured the panel above the pit.
Roland turned and walked amongst the drow guarding the exit. Roland’s mind raced with the implications Maloch’s taunts suggested. Roland had nearly died earlier because he had failed to control his mind. If not for Yoreth’s cowardice, Roland son of Velryk would no longer draw breath. He thought of that now and pushed his questions and his anger to a dark corner where his thoughts would not trip over them.
Roland continued until he reached the entrance. One of the drow slipped up and out of the tunnel with ease and lowered a rope. Maloch had reached Roland’s side. Maloch took the rope and climbed up. Roland followed.
The dark elves created a ring around the grove with Ashcliff, Lucas, and Eldryn held at sword point.
Roland walked to the center of the grove, drew Swift Blood, and knelt before it. He began a quiet prayer to Bolvii. Maloch faced Roland, drew his paired Shrou-Shelds, and knelt in a similar fashion. He began a quiet prayer as well. Both warriors concluded their prayers, stood and saluted one another.
Maloch assumed a stance holding one Shrou-Sheld straight at Roland, and the other low along the side of his outstretched leg. Roland held the Shrou-Hayn high above his left shoulder.
“Shall we limit ourselves to only honorable attacks?” Roland asked.
“You are fighting for your life,” Maloch replied. “I suggest you conduct yourself accordingly.”
“I invited you to this battle ground under honorable terms,” Roland said. “I would not have it said that I cheated you in any fashion when I beat you.”
Maloch looked Roland over again, as if he had missed something the first time. This one was too confident and there was something familiar about him.
“Well then, I release you to any methods you choose in an attempt to defeat me. My brethren and your friends shall be our witnesses.”
They began to circle one another weapons at the ready. Roland started an overhead swing that followed a fat arc through the air. Maloch brought up his extended Shrou-Sheld to parry the attack, bringing his lower sword up to cut toward Roland’s throat. In mid swing, Roland reversed the path of the Shrou-Hayn, which brought the hilt down and his blade in position to parry Maloch’s attack.
The Great sword kissed the Shrou-Sheld that was slicing for Roland’s throat just enough to knock it wide. Roland was amazed
at his own luck. For that matter so was Fate who looked on with interest through her scrying basin.
Maloch’s other blade had continued its arc and would be coming in for an upper cut soon. Roland quick-stepped forward, allowing the blade of Maloch’s Shrou-Sheld to pass over his shoulder as Roland moved in with his weapon hilt snapping forward.
The hilt struck the nose guard of Maloch’s helmet, crushing it in and breaking his nose. Maloch staggered backward as blood flowed from his nose. Roland had to roll away to the side to avoid Maloch’s blade that was coming in at an upper cut. Roland narrowly avoided Maloch’s second edge as he rolled away. Maloch was removing his damaged helm when Roland came out of his roll and stood.
Roland called upon the speed the of the smoke colored blade as he and Maloch closed in on one another again. Their blades clashed, and Roland had to work feverishly to keep Maloch’s Shrou-Shelds from his flesh. Roland began to feel genuine fear as Maloch’s skills with his weapons became more apparent. He did not fear losing his life, he feared to fail his friends. Roland knew, without a doubt that he was outclassed by Maloch’s swordsmanship.
Ashcliff began examining their surroundings, and Eldryn fought the knot building in his stomach as he watched Roland fight for all their lives. Eldryn was better with the sword than Roland, however, he knew this opponent, Maloch, was far beyond even him in skill. Lucas wore a blank expression on his face but Ashcliff noticed that the blind man’s feet were positioned to attack the drow behind him to his left when the time came.
Roland slapped one of the Shrou-Shelds wide only to find the other diving again for his throat. Roland had never before worked so hard and solely in defense. Roland jerked his head back as the tip of the blade glanced off of his jaw guard. Roland quick-stepped back, but Maloch pressed his every move and his Shrou-Shelds never hovered far from their targets.
Roland had been accustomed to fighting in armor that was much more restrictive than his newly acquired suit. When he made his roll earlier to avoid Maloch’s follow up attack he discovered that this new armor encumbered him no more than a leather coat but remained as hard as any steel when struck. This might be a valuable advantage. Roland thought again of Ash’s tale of the first man that he had killed.
