and Failure
The Prophecy #11
By John Stevenson
Copyright 2010 John Stevenson
Maryanne walked some way in front and led Nicholas through passages and down stairs. Confident that the rebels were crushed; only the service staff were about, but they saw few of them as she took a way that helped avoid anyone in the fortress that was not celebrating. They passed through corridors hidden from the apartments and eventually came to a system of caves deep in the hillside. “We must follow the torchlight, and be quiet; sounds travels far,” she said softly. “These are natural caves formed by the underground river, listen and you can hear it.”
In the distance Nicholas could hear the sound of rushing water.
“The cells cannot be far: it is vital to be quite as we could suddenly come upon them.”
Almost as she spoke they heard a raucous laugh; and she signaled him to wait. Maryanne went on and around the corner: immediately he heard a coarse male voice call out in pleasure. “Look what we have here: see the good Marshal has not forgotten us.” There was sickly laughter from at least one other.
“Gentlemen,” he heard Maryanne say seductively. “The officer upstairs said that after such a great victory, I should see that you poor soldiers had all you need…”
Nicholas felt sick as he listened on to the rest of the conversation. Then he heard footsteps.
“No, no, please; wait until we are alone. I am a shy girl and have no need of an audience.” Maryanne came around the corner with a massive guard draped all over her. The man was too intent to notice Nicholas in the shadow as they passed. With a grunt the guard suddenly pushed the young girl up against the wall. In the half-light Nicholas could see him thrust his hand down her bodice and his ears heard the girls whimper of discomfort.
Nicholas drew the dagger and stepped towards them. It came to his mind exactly where to cut the man’s neck; or where on the man’s back to plunge the blade; but he hesitated. He heard a faint creak and instantly knew the guard wore leather body armor that would hinder, or even deflect the knife. He glanced up at the man’s throat, but he was twisting and moving his head as he greedily licked and slobbered around the Maryanne’s cheek. It was too dark to risk a stab that may injure her. Nicholas glanced about for something to cave in his skull, but the guard’s head would likely smash into Maryanne’s face. All this he saw and considered in the time it took for the man to tear the front of the girls dress. The guard was a good head taller than Nicholas, but as the man changed position Nicholas quickly reached up and around to grasped the guard’s forehead. As his hand clamped onto the clammy flesh his other hand dove under the matted hair and gripped the base of his skull. Using his weight Nicholas twisted, dropped and wrenched the guard’s head around. There was a faint, sharp crack; the slightest of exhales, and the man was dead. He collapsed into Nicholas’s arms as he guided the body to the floor.
Nicholas’s fingers gripped the sword the man wore and drew it silently from its sheath. It was similar to the weapons the Veldt carried, though more refined. A short stabbing weapon; ill-suited to the slashing of battlefield, but idea for the confines of a cavern. He also carried cuffs, which Nicholas hung over his waistband, and a Billy club. This too Nicholas was familiar with. An ideal weapon for crowd control, but this one wasn’t. The balance that made it so easy to swing was ruined by the addition of randomly spaced metal studs. He settled for the blade; it would be all he needed.
Again Maryanne stepped out in view of the remaining guard. She turned sideways her arms coyly stretched down and around her, partially covering her exposed breast. “Who’s next?” She said seductively.
Two immediately began to stand but the closest thrust his hand at the others shoulder pushing him back onto his chair. “That’ll be me,” he grinned stupidly, covering the several paces to her quickly, turning at the last minute to taunt his mates. “This could take a while,” he laughed turning back to see Maryanne swinging her stretched arms towards him. The Billy club was almost between his knees and beginning the upward arc by the time the man saw what was happening. A moment later he tasted the excruciating pain that he had given to countless of his victims.
The grin on the other two’s faces drained as they kicked back their chairs: they were coming around the table for her when Nicholas stepped into view. He held the sword loosely by his side as he took in the scene. Either side: and to the rear were cells. He could see faces in the darkness beyond the barred doors. “Put down your weapons,” he said calmly “There is no need for either of you to die.”
The guard closest to them stopped and began to laugh. “You take the bitch, but don’t kill her,” he said. “It’ll only take me a minute to look after the boy.” He turned his attention to Nicholas and drew his Billy club. “I’ll tell you what,” he sneered. “Why don’t you put down that sword, and I promise I’ll kill you quick; maybe.”
Nicholas wasn’t afraid, but knew he should be; the man was obviously capable of what he threatened. It wasn’t right, fear was natural, but right now he was glad he wasn’t too scared to move. The guard was slapping his Billy club lightly in his palm as he casually strode toward him.
Nicholas could see faces in the cells now. They stared in fascinated horror, undoubtedly expecting him to die, or at least join them. Part of Nicholas welcomed the thought of death; now that the things he wanted to live for were all gone. He looked at the club; one blow would pulverize his hand and smash the sword from his grip. The second would end the job that the mob had begun. But that wasn’t the whole story; life wasn’t just about him anymore. His mother’s words came to him ‘We should fear most, not the evil things that men do, but that good men do nothing’. He stood still and smiled a tender smile: then the warmth was gone, and he knew his move had to be just right.
The man took Nicholas’s calmness as abject terror, assuming him too petrified to move as he lifted the club over his shoulder. Nicholas watched his eyes for the moment in the downward blow when his wrist would tighten to twist the club forward. He knew that the studs had ruined the clubs balance, and for a fleeting moment the club would be unmanageable. Nicholas was still immobile; when with a grunt the guard brought the Billy club down with immense force. Nicholas saw the moment reflected in the man’s eyes, and brought the sword up in a slice that combined both forces in enough energy to cut through flesh and bone before he sidestepped. The club swept past him, the guard’s fingers still gripping the hilt. Then the weight of the Billy club tore it from the fingers, leaving his hand hanging from his arm by a sliver of flesh that remained.
Nicholas didn’t wait to see the result of his cut. He was already turning to face the last man. That guard had fended off Maryanne’s strike at him, and now pulled her between him and Nicholas. The man was unaware that a vision of Harriet: held by the tavern keeper flashed momentarily in Nicholas’s mind. Almost before the guard had time to position her as a shield, the dagger was in the air. It sank deep into his jugular vein. In seconds it was over; two guards were dead, and the others were no threat. Nicholas showed no emotion as he reached for the bunch of keys that hung on a large hook.
There should have been wild jubilation from the poor souls in the cells, but there was an eerie silence as Nicholas tried several keys in the first cells lock. They had all witnessed the fight, and none was quite prepared to believe that they had.
By the smoky glow from the single flaming torch to his left, Nicholas saw familiar faces emerge, but it was Antony who first summed up speech. “I’m Impressed,” he said in an understated way. “We could have done with your help some hours ago.”
“Not all the help in Quone could have helped you then,” replied Nicholas. “The Marshal knew everything you planed, and made his plan
s to suit.” He saw Simeon: he looked in a bad way. “You seem to have fared badly in these last hours,” Nicholas said sympathetically, observing that Simeon’s arm hung limp.
“Aye Nicholas we all have,” Simeon said looking down at the guard with the dagger in his neck. “He said I would never hold a sword again as he broke my arm. But it seems he spoke too soon.”
“He did, and this time the outcome will be in our favour. There is one chance, and we must strike now and strike fast if we are not to squander it.”
Simeon looked at him. “It’s too late,” he said dejectedly. “Look at us Nicholas. Have you seen a sorrier bunch? Half of us can barely stand never mind fight. All we can achieve is escape.”
“Then the rebellion is truly lost. If you run now,
Success and Failure Page 1
