by A. C. Cobble
“Unless they’re trading slaves,” growled Ben.
“Do you think they were just hiding here until they were strong enough to challenge the Sanctuary?” asked Amelie.
“I think the answer may lie behind that door,” suggested Rhys.
They turned a corner. Ahead of them, a massive iron door barred the hallway. Torches bracketed it, casting an eerie light across its bands and rivets.
Suddenly, a small window slid open. A crossbow bolt came flying out, speeding toward them.
Ben yelped and jumped back around the corner just in time. The bolt breezed a hands-length away from his face. It crashed against the far wall and fell down next to two like it.
“Sorry,” apologized Rhys. “I should have mentioned that. They have a crossbow.”
“Thanks,” responded Ben dryly.
“There are wards in the hall,” mentioned Towaal.
“There are wards everywhere in this damn fortress,” groused Ben.
“They sensed us when we drew close,” explained Towaal. “That means someone is monitoring the wards. There’s at least one mage behind that door.”
Ben frowned.
“I’m weak,” continued Towaal. “I used nearly everything I had on those demons. Unless it is a rank initiate, I don’t trust myself to face another mage.”
“I’m spent as well,” said Amelie with a sigh. She lifted her arm with the fireball-launching vambrace attached. “I was able to magnify my strength, but I don’t think I could manage more than a spark right now. Even if I could hold it long enough to hit someone, it would only annoy them.”
The party turned toward Ben.
He met their looks. O’ecca was leaning on her naginata, clearly worn out from swinging the heavy weapon. Rhys still seemed eager, but Ben knew he was running on rage. His anger at the Purple for what they did to Corinne would keep him going, but he wasn’t the same man he used to be. His strength wouldn’t last forever. Amelie had her rapier, but it wouldn’t do more than scratch the heavy iron door and would do even less against a mage. Milo had wandered back down the hall and was leaning against the stone wall with his eyes shut. It was difficult to judge what he was thinking.
Ben looked down the hall behind them. Faintly, sounds of fighting drifted to him. Mundane combat he guessed, likely the slaves attacking the guards. The safe bet was to flee. Even exhausted, he’d stake their party against untested guards. They could get out, make it to the coast, and head for Alcott.
He sighed. “We can’t leave yet. We’ve come too far. Sacrificed too much to let this go. I don’t know what it is, but the Purple has something behind that door they don’t want anyone to see, something they thought we’d be more interested in than their rifts. If it’s that important, we can’t go. We have to get in there.”
“How do we do that?” asked Amelie. “That door is solid iron, and we have no energy for magic.”
“Was there a key hole?” queried Milo.
Ben glanced at the timid young man. He was still leaning against the wall of the hall with his eyes closed. Muttering to himself, Ben risked a quick peek around the corner. Immediately, the window in the door slid open again, and Ben saw the business end of a crossbow held up to it. He ducked back before the bolt was fired.
“There’s a safer way,” suggested Amelie, pulling out the small mirror she used for far-seeing. “I think I have strength for this.”
The scene in the hallway flickered in the mirror. Two torches, iron door, and an empty hallway.
Milo sauntered over and studied the image.
“No key hole. No way to pick the lock from outside,” he mused.
Ben studied the door, searching for a way in, but the thing looked impenetrable.
Milo glanced at Amelie. “Can I see your vambrace?”
She frowned and unstrapped it.
“I thought you didn’t have the skill to use it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t expel any anima in the battle with the demons. I still have some strength left. Maybe I can figure it out.”
“You think we can get them to open the window then lob some fireballs through it?” wondered Ben.
Milo shook his head. “We’d still be facing a locked door that can only be opened from the inside. If we kill all the people in there, we may actually make our problem worse.”
“What are you thinking then?” asked Towaal. She was eyeing the former apprentice skeptically.
“I’ll let you know if this works,” replied Milo with a grin. He brushed a loose strand of curly hair out of his face and stepped around the corner.
Ben gasped as the former apprentice raised his arm and a thin stream of fire burst from the vambrace. Unlike the fist-sized fireballs that Amelie launched with the thing, this was a steady blast no wider than Ben’s finger. Even from six paces away, he felt the heat of the flame.
“How are you doing that!” exclaimed Towaal, mouth open in shock.
Milo didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, aiming the beam of fire down the hall.
Ben and his friends followed the former apprentice as he moved closer to the door. Already, the iron was glowing red, hot from where the concentrated beam of flame touched it.
The small window slid open. Milo flicked his wrist and trained the fire through the gap.
A man screeched in agony and the window was slammed shut.
Milo went back to pointing the flame at the door. Ben stared in wonder, realizing that the heat was searing a hole through the thick iron. Milo was directing it to one side, where the lock would be located. In moments, he was going to burn a hole through the thing!
“Get ready,” grunted Milo through gritted teeth. “As soon as it burns through, they’ll have no reason to hide behind the door. It’s going to be a fight.”
Ben, Rhys, and O’ecca formed up behind Milo. The former apprentice was right. The heartbeat the lock was destroyed, it was going to be a battle. Towaal and Amelie stayed behind, prepared to counter any magical attacks that were launched. Ben silently hoped they still had the strength to do so.
“Take advantage of the narrow hallway,” advised Rhys. “These guards are poorly trained, but there may be a lot of them. As long as we don’t foul each other’s blades, we can hold this spot and prevent them from surrounding us. I doubt they have anyone who can meet us one on one.”
Ben nodded and gripped his longsword. O’ecca shifted to the middle of the group. Her naginata would be most effective with ample space.
A third of the iron door glowed angry red. The spot where Milo directed his fire blazed orange and white. The steady stream of heat erupted from Milo in a constant blaze. The metal creaked with the stress. Suddenly, a scream rang out from behind the door.
“I think you’re through,” said Rhys dryly.
Milo dropped back behind them, rivulets of sweat pouring down the side of his face. His mop of hair was plastered to his scalp. He tore the vambrace off and tossed it to the floor where it shattered like a brittle plate. Smoke drifted off Milo’s arm. His sleeve was singed black where the piece of armor had been strapped.
“Are you okay?” asked Amelie.
“I need a minute,” gasped Milo. The young man was gently clutching his arm.
Ben ignored him. Milo was alive, and they could see to healing him later. Ben stayed focused on the door, ready for whatever was going to come out of it.
They waited. Moments passed, and the red glow receded. They heard people shuffling about behind the door. No one spoke, and no one came out.
“Do you think they’re waiting for it to cool down?” asked O’ecca hesitantly.
They heard a loud scrape. Like furniture behind dragged across a stone floor.
“Damnit,” exclaimed Rhys. “They’re not going to open the thing.”
“Then we go in,” growled Ben. “You ready?”
“Let’s finish these bastards off,” snarled Rhys.
“If you get the motion started, we can help,” called Amelie.
Ben charged. The heavy iron door stood shut in front of him, but he knew the lock was burned through. Hopefully, the thing was well constructed with sturdy hinges.
He made it to the door. At the same moment, the window slid open.
A guard stared into his eyes.
“Hello,” called Ben. “Mind if I come in?”
He kicked the door with all of his might and felt a jolt of energy in his leg. Towaal or Amelie was giving him a boost. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. His leg was jarred with the impact, and the iron door flew open.
Ben grinned at the startled face of the man on the other side as the huge slab of metal smashed into him. The man was flung clear, but half a dozen other guards stood in his place.
They surged forward, and Ben yelped and leapt back. Six spears all thrust at him at the same time. He backpedaled, half a pace separating him from the razor-sharp points.
Rhys had drifted along the wall. As the spears flashed by him, the runes of his longsword blazed silver. He chopped an overhand swing and caught all six spears, hacking through the wooden shafts. The tips of the spears clattered harmlessly to the stone floor.
O’ecca stepped past Ben, twirling her naginata. The heavy blade of her spear swept forward and sliced holes in the startled guards. They scrambled back through the door, waving pace-long sticks in a fruitless attempt to defend themselves. Crimson blood flew from where O’ecca had injured them. The tiny lady followed them into the room, her weapon lashing out and inflicting grievous wounds wherever it landed.
Ben chased after her and found himself in the middle of a wide open circular room. Including the one he came through, four doors broke the wall, but Ben didn’t have time to look at them. The room was filled with men carrying crossbows.
“Duck!” yelled Ben.
Bolts sprang from the weapons while he and O’ecca dove to the floor.
A long knife flew over his shoulder and caught one of the crossbowmen in the chest, but several others got off clean shots.
A strangled cry from behind alerted Ben that Rhys had been hit. He looked back and saw his friend stumble into the hallway to get cover. Ben and O’ecca were alone and exposed in the room.
Several of the men had fired, but a dozen more were now taking aim.
Ben crouched, looking wildly for help. The doorway was ten paces away. There was nothing between him and the crossbowmen but open, stone floor.
O’ecca stood and readied her naginata to try and block the bolts. Ben knew it was useless. There were too many of the men, and it was an easy shot. He prepared to charge, thinking he might force the crossbowmen to fire on him, allowing his friends to come in and meet them blade-to-blade. They could meet swords, but that many crossbow bolts would be impossible to dodge.
A yell burst out from one of the other doors and a score men and women charged out. They were wearing plain linen smocks and nothing else. That didn’t stop them from swarming over the crossbowmen. Fists and feet flew as they attacked.
They had the numbers and surprise, but the guards were still armed. They discharged their remaining crossbow bolts into the new arrivals and drew scimitars.
“Who are these people?” cried O’ecca.
“I don’t know,” yelled Ben, “but let’s help them.”
They rushed forward and plowed into the guards. The Purple’s men were trained to watch empty desert and handle slaves. They weren’t prepared for brutal, up close, to the death combat. They weren’t prepared for Ben and O’ecca. Where their blades landed, guards fell.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw a lone purple-robbed man struggling with a set of keys. He was standing by a doorway barred with a massive metal gate.
“Someone get him!” yelled Ben.
He was too late. The man slid a key into the lock. With a twist, he slid a thick bar out of its hasp and yanked open the gate. He fled inside.
One of the smocked men raced after him. Ben tried to follow but had to drop to his belly when a scimitar came swinging out of the press of fighting bodies. He barely made it down as the sharp steel whistled above him.
Ben twisted on the floor, lashing out with his foot. He caught his assailant’s leg and that of one of the smocked men. Both came crashing down. The guard lay on top of Ben and bashed the hilt of his weapon into the head of the other man over and over again. The blows were glancing, though, and the smocked man fought back, digging his thumbs into the face of the guard, trying to rip out his eyes.
Ben growled in frustration and attempted to roll the two men off, struggling to get free to chase after the robed man. He knew it must be one of the Purple’s mages. Ben was certain that wherever he was going, they didn’t want him to get there.
The two combatants were locked onto each other and thrashing. Ben couldn’t get himself out from under them.
Suddenly, Rhys appeared above and calmly slid his long knife along the guard’s throat.
“This isn’t time for a nap,” he jested.
Ben watched as his friend stood and plunged into the battle with half of a crossbow bolt stuck out of his shoulder. He must have snapped off the end of it.
Ben kicked and shoved his way out from under the two men and scrambled to his feet.
The fight in the room looked to be in hand. Rhys and O’ecca were delivering punishing blows to any of the Purple’s guards who made their way out of the melee with the smocked attackers.
Towaal and Amelie had arrived, but they were edging around the side of the room to stay away from the battle. Amelie held her rapier out and ready.
Ben ran after the Purple and the smocked man, ducking through the gated entrance to a dark hallway. A set of plain stone stairs led deeper into the mountain. Ben started running down them, taking the steps two at a time. Three flights down and he still didn’t see the Purple mage or the smocked man. A single torch lit each flight of stairs. The flickering flames cast spooky shadows as Ben charged deeper.
He heard a terrifying screech, and his blood ran cold. He knew that sound. There were more cries, dozens of them. Screams of rage, screams of hunger. He lost count of how many. He stopped by a torch, peering into the darkness below.
Suddenly, the smocked man came flying around the corner, his bare feet sliding on the stone.
“Run!” he screamed.
Ben blinked as the man pelted up the stairs and flew past him.
Another chorus of shrieks broke out and he heard a man’s wailing cry that was quickly cut off. The Purple, he realized.
“Oh damn,” Ben muttered under his breath.
He turned and started to run back up the stairs.
The sounds of claws on stone chased him as he raced higher. Demons were coming after him. Dozens, scores, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to know.
As he reached the metal gate that led into the circular room, he risked a glance behind him. Two of the creatures had caught up and were within eyesight. Thin, with delicate wings on their backs, they’d be the fastest of the bunch. The stronger demons would be coming behind.
Ben flew in to the room of the battle, spun, and slammed shut the metal gate. He found the bar on the outside and rammed it into place heartbeats before the two demons crashed against it. Ben stumbled back as claws struggled to reach through the bars of the gate.
“There have to be over a hundred of them down there,” the smocked man was stammering. He’d fallen to his knees and was spitting out words between ragged gasps for air.
Ben glanced around and saw that all of the Purple’s guards were fallen. A dozen of the smocked men and women and his friends remained standing.
Rhys ran to him, staring at the two demons behind the gate. A dozen were already up the stairs behind the first two. They heard more coming.
“We need to leave, now!” shouted Rhys to everyone in the room.
Towaal and Amelie ran in from the opposite door and slid to a stop.
“What the…” began Towaal. She didn’t bother to finish.
More of the de
mons were coming and pounding against the metal gate. As they watched, a muscled arm squeezed through a pair of bent bars. Sharp claws grasped as the demon tried to reach them. Without discussion, everyone turned and fled.
As they raced down the hallway, Ben realized the other group were slaves. They’d somehow gotten loose and taken advantage of the opportunity to break out.
He also saw that Towaal was grasping a carved wooden staff. It must be the staff Gunther had spoken of, the Purple’s weapon, but he didn’t have breath to ask about it. They had another five flights of stairs to ascend before they would make it to the main floor. Then they would need to get off the mountain. After what they saw, Ben didn’t think anyone intended to stop until they were far away.
Other groups of slaves started to venture out into the halls, and Ben’s party shouted at them to run. Some did, but some just stared in confusion.
“We don’t have time to stop and convince them,” growled Rhys.
Ben kept running and didn’t respond. He knew anyone who didn’t flee would have no chance once the demons broke through the gate, but Rhys was right. They’d be dead too if they stopped.
They charged through the corridors until they saw a set of massive, wooden doors down an elegant foyer.
“That has to be the front door,” panted Ben. He was gasping for air after running at full speed up so many flights of stairs. “Let’s catch our breath. There are likely to be guards at the gate.”
One of the smocked men, the one who had chased the Purple down to the demon pit, limped over to them. Ben was surprised the man had kept up.
“What was that?” asked the stranger through deep, ragged breaths.
“Demons,” Ben replied.
“There were hundreds of them down there,” the man said with a shudder. “That man I was chasing opened a door at the bottom of the stairs. There was a brilliant flash of light, and I saw weird writing on the wall, but it quickly faded. I didn’t know what was happening, and I didn’t realize what the man was setting loose. I came up behind him and smashed his head against the wall. He was stunned for a moment. I looked down and saw a nightmare coming toward the open door. A roiling mass of those creatures. There were only a few lights in there, but I couldn’t see an end to them.”
