by Riley Keene
“I am not kidding. I will kill you. Get down on the ground!” the guard repeated, tensing to charge.
Detlev sighed and rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to be rude and butt into the middle of someone’s conversation, at least be halfway decent at your job.” He tilted his head curiously, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Like, aren’t you supposed to order me to drop my weapon first?”
The guard blinked at him twice, confused, but still disciplined enough to maintain his fighting stance. His move to charge was forgotten. “What weapon?”
Detlev’s brought his hands out from behind his back. His arms up to his elbows were spattered with blood. With a slight coil of his muscles a dagger leapt from his fingers before coming to rest in the guard’s eye.
The man flinched just right so that the blade didn’t pierce into the brain for a killing blow, but he still shrieked in pain and fell to the ground. His sword, forgotten, dropped as he grabbed at the hilt sticking out of his face, as though there was anything he could do about it.
“That weapon,” Detlev said in the same sing-song tone. He smirked with satisfaction.
The headsman barked a brief shout of surprise, and hefted his axe, charging at Detlev in a powerful overhead swing. The unbalanced execution weapon cut only air as Detlev danced back out of reach. Detlev planted his foot on the head of the axe as soon as it hit the ground, driving the blade into the soft dirt before he stepped in around it, shoving the headsman back from the stuck weapon.
He struck the headsman three times. His right fist, with one knuckle extended, was driven into the man’s chest. The other fist smashed into the space below the nose, right above the upper lip, whipping the headsman’s head back from both the impact and the pain. And with a final, vicious right cross, Detlev finished the fight by driving his fist into the headsman’s exposed throat.
The headsman hit the ground choking, both hands on his throat. With the wind driven from his lungs, and his throat swelling closed from the strike, he was already suffocating.
Detlev calmly approached the guard, who was curled up on the ground trying to comfort his now-empty socket. The knife lay on the ground close at hand, and blood drenched the guard’s face from the wound. Detlev bent, picking up the man’s discarded sword, and kicked him in the shoulder, rolling him over onto his back. The guard cried out from the pain just rolling over caused, his hands pressing up against the wound even tighter, as if trying to squeeze the pain out of himself. Detlev ended that pain quickly, the sword leaving a bloody ruin in the man’s throat.
“Well, that went about as well as I expected.” Detlev said, calmly crossing to the gurgling headsman. “Usually they just say ‘drop your weapon’ on reflex. Maybe that’s just outside of prison.” He sighed, calmly driving the sword blade into the headsman’s chest, piercing his heart and ending his suffering as well.
“Still, I feel like there was a missed opportunity there. Something about ‘taking a closer look’?” He shrugged. “The good one-liners were never a ‘Detlev’ thing, and now it’s going to really bother me that maybe I was him for too long. What if I’m just no good at them anymore?”
“You killed them?!” Elise yelled, having finally struggled back up to her knees at the execution block. “You just—you just killed two men! When they were already down! You killed them in cold blood!”
“Listen,” Detlev said, digging around the dead headsman’s pockets, leaving the sword sticking out of the man’s chest. When he found nothing, he moved over to the guard to do the same. “I know it probably seemed like a very cunning ruse, but I actually do need someone to help me with a door. If you’re that concerned with morality and the Gods’ judgment or whatever else? Feel free to come back here and wait like obedient little prisoners.” Detlev came away from the guard with a key ring.
“They were suffering,” Ermolt offered to Elise. Detlev smirked, but the barbarian continued. “The guard may have survived, but the headsman was beyond the aid of anyone but the Gods. But even the guard would likely have died to infection. Or a prisoner coming at him on his blind side. Killing them was a mercy, to a degree.”
“Whatever helps you folks sleep at night.” Detlev crossed to Athala and Ermolt with the keys. “It’s no concern of mine. If the Gods cared overmuch for either of these two, they should have said something about it sooner. I would have really liked the opportunity for a chat with them.”
Detlev fiddled with the keys a bit and Ermolt’s manacles fell to the ground. A moment longer, Athala’s followed. She looked relieved, but Detlev held a special smile for her.
“Just hold yourself still for one moment there.” He fiddled with the key ring before he found a small oddly-shaped key, and popped the cuffs off of her pinky fingers, freeing her hands at last.
“Thank you,” Athala said, massaging the knuckle the rings had held in place. Detlev could see the decorum that kept her from shrieking in joy, and he respected it. It still would have been nice to hear out loud what he knew she was feeling.
“Don’t mention it,” was what he said instead. “All in a day’s work for a hero and all that.” He walked over to Elise, who still knelt by the block.
“Some hero,” Elise said bitterly, still staring at the cooling bodies.
“Saving your lives is what made me heroic,” Detlev said. When Elise looked up at him to argue he held her gaze. “Killing them is a necessary byproduct of that. Morality is a scale that is colored in shades of gray. If you believe I’m wrong, that is only because you miss all of the possibilities of that scale by seeing only the light and the dark.”
Detlev paused. He was getting too philosophical. This wasn’t the time or the place, although he knew eventually the conversation would need to happen and that she’d need to see his reasoning. “In the end, I need to get through the door. So, like I said, if you don’t agree with my methods, you’re free to stick around and try and do it your way.” He gave the executioner’s block a pointed look. “Seemed to be going pretty well for you up until I showed up. Should I have waited a few minutes more?” He bent down and started unfastening her manacles. “I mean, I only needed Ermolt. I didn’t need to walk in until it was him on the block.”
“Do you think I would have helped you with them dead on the ground?” Ermolt asked, his voice holding an edge of anger.
“If you didn’t know I could have saved them? Absolutely.” Detlev grinned as he changed keys and removed the ring cuffs from Elise’s hands. “But since they both survived, do you mind? I’d be halfway to Jalova right now if I could open this door from the inside by myself.”
“Alright, fine,” Elise said as she struggled to her feet, rubbing her now-freed wrists. “But only because we’ve got business outside this prison as well.”
“Yes, and I can see you found an efficient way out.” Detlev went back to the guard, picking his dagger up and wiping it off on the dead man’s pant leg. “But I appreciate you taking the time to help me with my way. Quite generous of you.”
“Do you think we can still make it?” Ermolt asked, turning to Athala. Detlev felt a surge of pride. “If there’s a chance we can still stop Ingmar from getting the spell, we definitely need to hurry.”
“It depends on how much help he had,” Athala said. “If he worked through the night, we’d need to be in the sewers right now to have a chance. If he didn’t, then there’s still time.”
“Let’s move, then.” Elise said, crossing to the armored guard and pulling his shield out from under him. She unstrapped it from his arm gingerly. “Grab what you’ll need in a fight and we’ll get moving.” Elise strapped the shield to her own arm and then pulled the guard’s sword from the headsman’s corpse.
Ermolt grimaced at the blood-spattered armor and helm on the dead guard and instead just peeled the bracers from his wrists.
“You both look ravishing,” Detlev said. “Let’s go. Back this way. We should be fine to get to the door, but there might be reinforcements on the way.” Detlev headed back
to the door he’d entered from. “They might be a little sparse, though,” he added with a smirk.
Before they left, Ermolt stopped and grabbed the headsman’s axe. It would be a terrible weapon in a fight, but in the absence of other options, it was better than coming to a sword fight bare handed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
As soon as they were out of the courtyard, Athala had to fight the urge to vomit.
Every fifteen fen down the hall there was a dead guard. Ribbons of blood were spattered across the walls. Other than the bright splashes of color, the halls were empty. Their footsteps echoed against the stone walls, marring the silent hopelessness of death.
Detlev didn’t stop or even pay attention to his victims.
He led them down the hallway and through a side door, where a corpse had been roughly kicked into a corner. Through the door was a guard station that was littered with corpses. There were only three visible on the floor, but the desks of the guard station were splattered with blood as well, indicating that behind or under them there would be more guards locked in death’s vicious embrace.
Detlev led them through the guard station to the only room with no corpses in it. Though it was not so much of a room as a blocked hallway. From the door there was maybe twenty fen of hallway leading to a massive metal portcullis. The bars were relatively thin but they were made of heavy iron. The winch to open and close it was obviously visible on the other side, well out of reach of even Ermolt’s long arms. The hallway was only ten fen wide, but the metal grate made for an imposing obstacle.
“Is this all?” Ermolt said, sizing it up. “This shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Um, actually,” Athala looked over the grate, counting the bars. “I’m not sure if this is physically possible. A total of, ah, forty-two bars of iron. This weighs at least as much as seven men. Probably a little more.”
“Well, we don’t have a lot of other options.” Detlev shrugged. “You only need to lift it high enough for me to get under and operate the winch.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Elise said. “What’s to stop you from bolting and leaving us behind?”
“Oh, ouch. That hurts.” Detlev put a hand to his chest. Athala almost smirked at his antics, but the ribbons of drying blood along his sleeves brought her back to the idea that he was a murderer, not a friend. “Just know that I always keep my end of bargains. Or, at least, Detlev does.” He nodded to Athala. “I didn’t need to skip my sentencing to get her out of Ingmar’s spiked musical concert. It’d be wrong to turn traitor on the last deal I, er, he gets to make for a while.”
Athala furrowed her brow. “You keep saying that. What do you mean?” She tilted her head curiously. “Are you not Detlev?”
“You know, glad you asked. But it’s a really long story and I’ve just about run out of time.” Detlev flashed a smile to Athala and she frowned, recognizing the statement from his playful banter with the guards. “Can we get that portcullis up, Ermolt?”
“Give me a moment.” Ermolt tossed the headsman’s axe to the side, stepping up to the metal grate, laying his hands on it experimentally. He tugged against it a bit, but it didn’t give. Bending at the knees, he squatted down and settled his hands against the grate. Ermolt started to straighten his legs, holding his back tight. He felt the slightest give to it and relaxed. “Yes, I’ll be able to get this. Let me just make sure I don’t break my back doing it.”
“Right. See? We have time.” Elise fixed Detlev with a glare. “So who are you, really?”
“It’s not really important,” Detlev said, and he sighed dramatically. “But, see, Detlev isn’t a real person. He’s an identity I’ve been carefully crafting and cultivating for a few, what now, months? Might be a year at this point. Ask around Khule and the right people will recognize the name as one of the best second-story men in the city.” He shrugged. “It’s not important why I’m doing it. It’s not even important enough to be upset about losing him.” He picked at the dried blood on his forearm with his free hand. “There’s no way he keeps his reputation for having a cool head once word gets out he killed half the guards in Auernheim, and no one’s gonna hire a hot-headed killer.”
“I’m...” Elise paused and shook her head. “I’m not even sure which follow-up question is the most important at this point.”
“I would say that I get that a lot, but I don’t often pull off the mask in front of other people. Don’t worry about it.” He shot a look at Ermolt. “Less procrastination, more elevation.” He pointed to the portcullis. “There’s no telling when more guards are going to show up. We don’t have all morning.”
Ermolt squatted down bending deeply at the knees. He leaned forward and grasped one of the lower bars of the barrier, turning his head as his face pressed against the portcullis. Athala assumed he was trying to position himself with his center of gravity aligned with his feet. He took a deep breath, arching his back to lift with his legs, and slowly straightened, pulling upwards. At first there was no movement but slowly—so very slowly—there was the clank of metal on metal as he began to take the weight of it off the floor.
A noise began that sounded at first like the portcullis rattling in its housing, but Athala realized it was an alarm bell ringing in the guard station. It was soon joined by sounds of marching feet and calls for help.
“Time is kind of at a premium here,” Detlev said.
“Don’t distract him,” Elise snapped. “Athala, we’re probably going to need you to throw as much magic as you can at this. If anyone touches Ermolt, we’re done for.”
“Right.” Athala raised her hands with a nod, flexing her fingers. “It’s been a few days, so I should be at my peak potential about now.”
“Get ready!” came a shout from behind the door.
“Wow,” Detlev said, chuckling. “Good thing they’re so good at announcing themselves. Wouldn’t want to catch us unaware.”
“Well, technically, if we were helping Ermolt lift the door, then forcing us to let go would send it slamming back down. He would have to start over, and it could cause him to strain a joint or pull a muscle when it drops.” Athala shrugged. “It’s not sound tactics when we’re actually preparing to fight to keep him working, but they don’t know that.”
Before Detlev could shoot back a snappy response, the door burst open and guards started to rush into the hallway. Athala rattled out a few Draconian syllables and caught the first one full in the face with a blast of flame, sending him screaming to the floor. He tore at his helmet to try and put out the flames in his hair.
The on-fire guard was roughly shoved aside by the guards rushing in behind him. It threw the whole charge off-balance, effectively narrowing the doorway with those who were trying to force their way past the burning guard, and those who only slowed things down further by trying to help him.
Athala managed to fling two more bolts of fire as the guards moved forward. One of them slammed into a splint mail chest piece, heating the metal, but doing no lasting damage. Some well-meaning guard caught the second fire bolt on his shield, and the fire splashed against the metal, spraying burning embers into the eyes of the two men beside him.
The pull of so much magic so quickly caused Athala to pause. She’d need to rely on her companions while she rested for a moment.
The guard leading the charge rushed directly at Elise. She set her feet and met his charge with her shield, stopping him dead. Momentum without balance was not a terrible challenge for her to deal with, and she knocked the man to the ground so hard his helmet sounded like a metal block hitting the stone floor. He didn’t get back up.
Detlev met the second guard before he could evaluate his target. His dagger danced dangerously between his fingers. A slash across the backs of fingers sent a sword clattering away on the ground. Detlev’s hand seemed to flutter in front of the man’s face, and a deep cut appeared just below his jaw. There was a pause before the jet of blood flung itself out of the cut, the man falling to the ground dying.
Athala blinked, confused by how Detlev, or, perhaps, Not-Detlev, moved so quickly. Was it a form of magic?
Elise rushed forward and slammed into a guard, drawing Athala’s attention her way. The Conscript kept her balance and the charge sent her target stumbling off to one side, crashing into the wall. Elise followed up with another vicious shield bash. As the guard sagged, Elise gave the armored woman a kick in the ribs for good measure.
“Stay down!” she yelled harshly at the guard. Athala hoped she listened. The fewer guards that needed to die by Detlev’s flying fingers, the better.
Elise rushed the next guard in line and shouldered Detlev out of the way of his current engagement, bringing her shield up to catch the guard’s attack. Her sword lashed out, the point driving home between the metal plates of the splint mail, digging into the guard’s thigh. His knee buckled from the pain, and as he went down, Elise’s knee caught him on the chin, snapping his head back as he fell. He hit the ground clutching his jaw, snarling as his eyes gushed tears from the pain.
There was a bellow of effort behind them. Athala spun around to find Ermolt with the portcullis a considerable distance off the floor. “The grate is up!” she called to her companions. “Someone, go!”
“Detlev!” Elise said, raising her shield to deflect another attack. “Go now! Get the portcullis raised!”
Detlev opened his mouth, and snapped it closed, as if realizing there was no time for discussion. He took a hopping step back out of the fight and hurled his dagger into the oncoming guards. One of them caught it with his throat and went down choking on his own blood. Detlev nimbly dove and rolled under the bare gap between the floor and the bottom bar of the gate Ermolt held open.
“He’s clear! Ermolt!” Athala cried out as a guard broke from the group and made his way toward her. She fired out a quick spell, pointing her writhing hands at the guard. Her attacker stopped, caught by the hesitance spell. The guard blinked and stared blankly at Athala.
