The Knight's Blade (Realm of Lords Book 1)

by RG Long

  "Lord Edrich," one said. The lanky man with his gluttonous sidekick stepped into the light. "I've got some bad news."

  "Fire down there too?" he asked.

  "Yeah," he said. "We were up a floor when it happened. Saw some kind of glow, didn't want to check it out before consulting you, then it erupted."

  "Is it flashfire?" Edrich asked. "Blasting powder? What is it?"

  "I heard some talking a floor down," the man said, "thought nothing of it, but if they planted this to trap us, then I suppose it's sabotage."

  Edrich gritted his teeth together tightly, enough that the grinding sound was heard by all around, a stony, screeching noise that filled the room.

  "The girl," he growled like a mad, throaty dog.

  "The plan," the lady spoke, "does not require her to be fulfilled. If it alleviates undue stress, she can be dispatched at this time."

  "How did she get out?" Edrich demanded. How did she pull this off?"

  "Lord," the composed bandit said, "I heard more than one voice. I think she had help."

  "Traitors?" Edrich asked.

  "Or," the suave lieutenant said, "infiltrators. That wandering wizard from earlier, he might have been a friend of hers."

  "I'll drag them all up to the roof," Edrich roared with a vengeance, "and throw them off myself!"

  His voice was so loud, so powerful, and so commanding that it reached down the keep to the lower floors. In one place, the fire was lessened after a liter of piss was drained onto it by thoughtless drunkards.

  At the other end, the fire worsened, and men were using their weapons to gingerly spread it out after the ones above where the fire reached had the gross misconception to use the very same cloth and pages that caused it to smother it.

  One side, far more populated than the other, emptied out down the stairs and all ran out together into the courtyard. They had a new and far worse problem to handle, out of one fire and into another. The stockpile was an inferno of flames and was locked from the inside, to boot. The first to arrive learned that the hard way and bruised their shoulders trying to open it up.

  "It's jammed!" one of them shouted. "We've got to break it down!"

  "Why!?" another called out. "The fire'll just spread out here then!"

  "We'll catch the whole forest up!" another called out. "The food's all gone by now anway."

  The bandits were in total disarray. Nothing was going right for them, and no one was around to help. Their most important leaders were up on the highest floor of the keep, in the worst possible place as the smoke continued to plume up slowly. It leaked out of the windows on the way from the outside stairwell, but the lower floor inside of the tower was rapidly filled with fumes and thick smoke.

  The bandits were, in effect, defeated. They would fight anyone or anything they saw in an instant that could have caused their horrible predicament, but they were too busy trying to fix their problems to properly direct their hatred. On top of it all, the guards from the prison returned to it all with their own problem unacknowledged.

  "The girl escaped!" the nasty, lanky guard shouted. "She's gone! She -."

  He ran up to see the sight of the fire building and spreading as the bandits kept throwing up weapons attached to chains to drag it all down and widen the fire out along the whole stairs.

  "Who escaped?" someone shouted. "The girl?"

  "The - yeh - what the hell's happened here!?"

  "Help!" another voice called from around the corner. "The stockpile's on fire!"

  "What're we supposed to do about that?" the lanky guardsman asked. "We've got four men untended to and tied up in the prison together and a missing traitor what should be hanging from her arms by now!"

  "MOVE!"

  A great, thunderous voice shook through the hall above. Edrich charged down the stairs one leaping step at a time and ran over the burning path to the bottom of the stairs. Those in his way who didn't throw themselves out of his way were tossed aside when he hit them. He was Edrich the Boulder, Lord of Firstmond, the Mountain Clan.

  He kept running around the long hall and toward the gate to the courtyard. Each long stomp extinguished more of the flames against his thick hide trousers until he was a steaming blur of muscles and motion that raced for the open yard. The bandits saw him going and rallied to join him from the other floor, while those trapped behind the fire were emboldened to hop down the burning steps without catching fire to give chase.

  The whole bandit legion was bound for the outdoors. One by one, hollering voices, cheering and jeering, ran out into the night with the fires half dealt with and mostly removed from their immediate vicinity. All that was left was the fire in the stock house.

  The keep was empty, and the thieves moved out at last.

  Chapter 17

  DARRION, ALADORN, ROSHA, and Kell re-entered the hall. The smell of men and the stench of urine was the first thing they noticed as they made their way around the central pillar of the keep tower again.

  "Gah," Kell scoffed, "what did they do?"

  "Pissed on my flames," Aladorn said. He shook his head and huffed. "What a hideous, terrible lot. I hope the fire in the stockpile eats the flesh from their faces and leaves them with no eyes to see their ugly, brutal world again.”

  "Aladorn," Rosha said, with concern. The wizard sighed and tried to compose himself past his impatient attitude. He held up his hand and summoned a tiny flame into it.

  "When one wields fire," he said, "as I do, the bond of empathy grown with the spirits who I summon affects me as they pass through my spirit to connect with my body and create flames. Fire spirits, specifically, are angsty, antsy, and angry most of the time. Using magic makes me imitate their same demeanor. The more I use my power in a day, the angrier I become. So, I'm sorry if my want to see these criminals and outlaws who have no rights and deserve no pity die cruelly under just circumstances has offended you. I didn't mean it. Mostly."

  "Okay," Darrion said. "Let's focus, then. The entrance to the vault, Kell, where is it?"

  "Where?" she repeated. "You're asking me?"

  "You were caught there," Darrion said. She looked at him curiously. Her eyes seemed to see through him all over again, and when he noticed, she turned away and nodded.

  "I thought you'd forgotten," she said. "It was open when I first found it, but it should be around here."

  She paced around the central column with her hand pressed against the wall the whole way. Aladorn and Darrion mimicked her while Rosha kept a watch behind them. Rosha nudged her back against the wall. The stress of their invasion and the chaos caused by their plan put her off balance a bit.

  Her back pressed into a loose stone, and once it was set in place, the whole wall seemed to peel away as it swung in like a great barn door. She stumbled back and nearly fell but caught herself on the wall with her spear. The others turned around, and Kell approached the hole.

  "Oh. There it is," she said casually.

  She entered first, followed by Aladorn, then Darrion and Rosha to keep up the rear. They left it open, hoping their plundering would be swift enough not to need to hide themselves. The way in was dark and unlit. Aladorn provided a small flame and held it so they could all see. Th act made Darrion worry that his attitude might continue to spiral out of his control.

  They descended down a very steep set of wooden stairs carved and hewn into the face of a narrow rock tunnel that led straight down. The sides of the cave wall were smooth to the touch, which bode unwell for their collective balance on the thin and rickety walkway to the pit of splendor below.

  "We should check the map once we reach the bottom," Darrion said, "for a way out other than up."

  "I read through it already," Aladorn said. "All the secrets are ones we've already explored. There was no mention of the cave, aside from the architects' notes, to carefully avoid it. None about traveling down it."

  "It must be a secret," Kell said, "even among the secret keepers."

  "I just hope the scepter hasn't rusted t
o pieces by now," Aladorn said, frustration growing in his voice. "Or been stolen thrice-over by rats into a narrow hole in the..."

  "Here," Kell said.

  She picked a torch up off the ground and shook it dry. Aladorn lit it, then let his magic fire die and shook himself.

  “My thanks,” he said.

  They proceeded without his aid into a room with a low-hanging ceiling. All across, in sight everywhere, the group saw trinkets of gold and silver, chests full of coins and bags stuffed with fineries. It was a true, veritable treasure trove.

  "There!" Darrion exclaimed quietly.

  He pointed to the scepter, unmistakable and distinct, set apart from the pile on a far side. He and Rosha clambered forward to retrieved it and spoke in hushed, excited tones.

  "This is it, I'm certain," Darrion said. "That thief charged at me with this in their hand and made it flash bright white."

  "Could be enchanted," Aladorn said. "It's a rare occurrence, but if anything would be, a royal heirloom would be my first guess."

  He looked over to Kell to see if she would confirm or deny it, but she was turned away from all of them. She stood in a crouch facing the wall, looking at nothing.

  "Kell," Darrion said. He held the scepter under his arm, completely negating its royal image.

  "Are your things here? What you're looking for?"

  She turned with her eyes widened a bit more. She seemed to be more accepting of his help but still looked away, ashamed to see him in the torchlight.

  "It's a leather set of armor," she said. "With thin metal plating underneath. A bodice, chaps over leggings, boots, and gloves. And two long knives."

  "All right," Darrion said.

  He gladly began looking while keeping a hold on the scepter under his arm. Meanwhile, Aladorn stood watch, not over the entrance of the hole far above, but on Kell, who in his cynical turn of forced emotion, he decided he absolutely could not trust any longer. She hid too much and said too little.

  "Is this it?" Rosha asked.

  She used her spear in the cramped space to hook the flange onto a leather cuirass built to form around her figure that was unclamped and untied but for the straps over the shoulder pads.

  "There it is," Kell said. She crawled over and took it. Darrion took the torch from her and held it up, enduring the heat with a quick sweat, while he watched Kell essentially change clothes. She didn't take anything off, but just putting her things on forced his attention.

  Rosha ducked her way out and stood with Aladorn at the bottom of the long climb.

  "Well," she asked, "now what?"

  "Well, now we leave," Aladorn said, "Presuming, of course, we have the chance."

  "Which way is closest?" she asked.

  "Hmm, the prison again," Aladorn said. He winced at the sudden reminder of thought of what that meant for them. "The prison again."

  "It's just one last walk through the manure," Rosha said. "Comes with the job for most."

  "Human manure and horse manure are very different," he said. "Both are intolerable to smell, but only one can be used on a farm."

  "Well," she said, voicing a point better left unspoken. "I'm going to watch the entrance."

  "Be careful you don't hurt anybody," Aladorn mocked. It was gentle and slightly sarcastic.

  She walked up the narrow way with her spear aimed up and out the middle of the narrow spiral. Below, Kell was fully equipped in her dark leather armor, top to bottom dark with metal covering her joints. Fully practical and regally made armor, though not for a thief.

  "D-does it fit well?" Darrion asked. She glanced at him and grunted affirmatively.

  "Good," he said. "Great. Well, let's leave then. We came in through a secret way in the prison. It should still be the easiest route out."

  "Can we fill it with fire?" Kell asked.

  "It's full of worse stuff than fire," Aladorn said.

  The three were just ready to depart when Rosha reached the top to wait for them and heard someone approaching. The door was still open, and the opening into the cave was exposed. She panicked, uncertain of what to do, and hid around the corner in a small unseen alcove opposite the cave stairs.

  A bandit poked his head in and looked to the hole curiously. The fire from below was casting a glowing orange light from below. He approached to look down, and Rosha came up behind him, aiming the butt of her spear at him carefully.

  "Hey," another voice, from the secret wall entrance, one who saw his bandit friend enter without joining him immediately.

  Their volume scared Rosha into a brief, high squeak, and she jumped forward. Her spear butt nudged into the man's back, startling him off balance, and he fell.

  The man tumbled into the stairs chest first, then slipped down and fell headfirst toward the bottom. He hit his back and sides and legs and arms all the way down, slowing only slightly as he got pummeled and landed, broken, on the floor stories below, barely alive and quickly dying.

  Aladorn looked up and saw Rosha staring down in shock. He threw out his hands and shook his head at her. She was mortified. Even if it was the right thing to protect her friends, she didn't want to succeed with such a grim fatality. She didn't want to kill anyone. She wasn't ready.

  "Hey!" the door-hanger shouted.

  He saw it all and prepared to charge. Rosha's panicked and acted before she could consider any other alternative. She turned with the tip aimed his way and warded him off with a quick little prod of fear. He came at her, one careful step at a time, and she backed away until she was touching the stairs.

  "I don't want to!" she shouted.

  She lunged the spear. The man caught the shaft just under the blade and pushed it away, but the protruding flange beneath still scraped and cut into him. He winced and jerked the spear around.

  Rosha panicked again, stepped back, and leaned in. Her spear was aimed downward, and she stabbed him in the height of his leg, just close enough that anything more would have been a wound where death would be preferred. He fell down, doubled over in pain, and held both hands around his leg.

  "Invaders!" he shouted. "Get the boss! Get the boys! I found them! They're making off with our goods!!"

  She struck again, whirling the butt of the spear into his face. He grunted in pain as his yelling came to an abrupt end.

  Her eyes were wide as she looked down on the bleeding guard, moaning in pain and the realization of what she had done sank deep into her bones.

  The rest of Rosha's party reached the top, led by Darrion, who had the scepter slung across his back, tied up with a valuable and sturdy silken treasure scarf. He took one look at the scene and put his hands around her shoulder. She winced at his touch, but didn’t move. She still held the spear pointed at the guard.

  "It's okay," he whispered.

  Rosha sniffled back a building sob.

  "This is okay. It's what we had to do."

  "But I..." she turned.

  "We," he repeated, looking in her eyes. "We did this. Now, we, all of us, are going to leave."

  Rosha was immediately calmed down. She nodded, and they both hopped past the bleeding man. Aladorn came up next and shook his head at the injured bandit.

  "Not pleasant," he said, pointing behind him.

  Then up came Kell. She gave him no words, just a terrible look as the knives plunged toward his neck.

  Chapter 18

  THE FORTRESS WAS A bright beacon in the mountain. From far and wide, those roving the plains would be able to see it. The fire in the storehouse was massive and brilliant. Once the doors were knocked down and exploded off from the pressure escaping, the extent of the damage was evident to all who remained close by. The walls became so hot with flames that the masonry started to peel and give way. The ancient caulk and molding that kept the bricks in place were melting. A spiral tunnel of flames shot out from the doors as the fire sought the open air.

  The bandit fortress was destroyed, and their chance for revenge was on its way out, fast. Darrion and his comrades ran thro
ugh the keep to the prison. Many of the bandits had returned, however, and flooded the passages. The four guards they took out before were also up and enraged, holding clubs and axes to guard the prison with brutal combat. Their way was cut off, so they doubled back.

  "Where else?" Kell demanded.

  "The servant entrance," Aladorn listed, "the pantry, and an old hanging line connecting the top of the keep to the mountain."

  "That's no good," Darrion said. "Right, the servant entrance next."

  They rounded the walls. Kell took the lead, prepared to do what the others couldn't. Rosha had the spear reversed and held onto it strongly, making sure the bladed tip was behind her so she couldn't see the blood still on it. Darrion was in the middle of the group, protected from behind by Aladorn, who had claimed Kell's old stolen daggers. Darrion carried the scepter, the target of their royal errand. Its weight was more than he had anticipated.

  Men came from around the corner in a rush, blocking off the hall to the servant's quarter, but not the stairs to the keep above. Their paths were numbered. The only other way out was to the courtyard just behind them.

  "What now?" Darrion asked. Rosha had no answer. She was fixed on controlling her panic. Aladorn was nearing enragement and could only stay composed enough to keep the daggers held up to ward off the approaching bandits. Kell was the only one thinking straight, and she only had one answer.

  "There are only five now," she said. "If we kill them now, we can advance."

  "Right," Darrion said, uncertainly.

  "You have to get used to it someday," Aladorn said. "Trust me. The guards of the capitals are the executioners of bandits like these. If that is your aim, then get used to it here."

  "Rosha?" Darrion asked. She grunted back. "Are... Are you ready?"

  She looked at him and gave a single, strong nod. He didn't believe her. The look in her eyes said something different. He could feel it too. It was too early. They just weren't ready.

  "Push through!" Darrion shouted.

  All four of them charged with Kell taking the first major lunge forward. Her blades found only flesh and skimmed across no armor, not even cloth. Necks were cut open, and blood poured from them. Those untouched were mortified for just a moment, and that was when they were attacked.