Strength of Swords (First Cohort Book 2)

by M. R. Anthony

  “The Duke has let his security slip,” said Ploster in semi-disbelief after the two guards had been killed.

  “Yeah, maybe we should have a punt at the old bastard himself,” said Weevil.

  I actually paused for a moment and thought about it. It was tempting, but then I caught myself before I could commit to anything stupid. The greatest of prizes carried the greatest of risks, I knew, but I was also aware that the Saviour was a great prize. If we failed to kill the Duke, then the Saviour was doomed. I judged that our chances of escaping with her was far higher than our chances of fighting through to the fourth floor and then taking out a sorcerer as brutally accomplished as the Duke was. I’d never been as high as his chambers, but I was reasonably sure he had more things guarding them than just the men we’d seen so far.

  “No. We’ll get the Saviour,” I said, already marching across to the far doorway. Nobody complained and everyone fell into step behind or to the side.

  The exit doors were the same as those by which we’d entered and I threw open my door, as Beamer did the same to his. We entered another passageway, similar to the ones we’d already travelled. By crossing the mess hall, we’d gone right over the middle area of the keep and saved ourselves from walking all around the perimeter. I didn’t need to point the direction of travel, since the dungeon entrance was close to us and I was certain that every man was familiar with the way.

  There was a small guard station just outside the mess hall – little more than a cubby in the wall, to allow the guards to watch who walked the corridors of the Duke’s home. There was a man in there, and by his fluster I could tell that he’d been asleep at his station. Chant stabbed him twice in the neck, and then pressed his palm and the hilt of his dagger over the guard’s face to muffle any sounds he might make. He fell with a sigh, dead and forgotten immediately.

  We reached the dungeon door. I could have announced it, but chose not to waste my breath on speaking the obvious. It was a thick wooden door, bound in black metal. I knew it was just for show, since the prisoners were kept in cells below and the chances that this door would ever be needed to prevent anyone escaping were slim. Wondering if luck would favour me, I grasped the handle and twisted it, hoping that it might have been left unlocked. It wasn’t unlocked and it refused to budge even when I pulled firmly, in case it was simply tight in its frame. I reckoned I could probably get it open, but it would be noisy and would take far more time than we had.

  “Corporal Ploster, we can’t afford the time to hack this down. Please open it for us.”

  Ploster said nothing, but stepped forward until he was in front of the door. A few of the men shuffled away to give him some room. I felt the familiar sensation in the air as I always did when the strands of the warp and weft were pulled at nearby. I felt a riffling in my hair and a coolness upon my skin, though there was no draught. There was no build-up beyond that. After a few seconds of Ploster’s concentration, the door simply crumpled inwards, the iron bands bending and tearing as the door was twisted free of its hinges. The wood made a distressed crunching sound as Ploster’s magic compressed it and crushed it. The door fell away with a loud bang, which would definitely have been heard elsewhere in the keep. There were steps directly behind where the door had been and the smashed remains slid downwards a few feet before coming to a rest at an angle.

  “Can you still sense her, Corporal Ploster?” I asked for one final time, before we committed ourselves beyond the point of no return. He nodded and I started down the steps without delay.

  9

  The steps leading into the dungeon seemed to exude menace. I wouldn’t say that I was unusually sensitive to such things, but a part of my brain reminded me what had happened down here and it wasn’t something I wished to spend a lot of time contemplating. It could be that somewhere deep within I felt as though I had been complicit in the torture and death which the Duke had partaken of so happily, and when I looked back upon it, there was no way to avoid the conclusion that we in the First Cohort were partially culpable. That is not to say that the Duke would have been toppled without us in his service, but things may have turned out differently. Who can tell what will happen to the future when you change even the smallest of details in the present?

  I walked down the first of the steps. They were wide enough for two men abreast and made of the same grey stone as the rest of the keep. There were oil lamps mounted on brackets in the walls, but the darkness seemed to swallow the light, as if the misery that came from the cells also fought against the weak, flickering glow. The broken door blocked half of the stairwell and we had to walk past it single file. I’d considered having it pulled back up into the passageway so that we could descend in pairs, but it didn’t seem worth the small investment of time.

  The steps seemed to go on for a long time. I’d been into these dungeons before, so I was prepared for the long descent. My previous visits had been few. The Duke didn’t actively encourage visitors and I had never decided if it was because of his shame or because he didn’t want his secrets to become active gossip. I’d not known the man to suffer from feelings of shame, nor had he ever shown any concern about what his people might be saying about him, so I had not drawn any conclusion on the matter. Either way, the sounds in the keep told their tales.

  Even before we reached the bottom I could hear something in the room that I knew lay at the end of the steps. Whoever was down there, they’d been roused by the sounds of Ploster breaking through the door. I’d thought they might have sent someone to investigate, but they seemed content to wait and see what transpired. I wouldn’t have minded fighting one or two guards on the steps, but if they’d sent up more it could have become a dirty business. All things considered, I was happy for them to remain below.

  Once I could see the doorway leading into the guards’ chamber, I checked behind to ensure everyone was prepared for immediate combat. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, I readied my sword in case of surprise attack and entered the guard room, with Chant at my side. What greeted me wasn’t what I’d expected.

  The guard chamber was large and was usually home to anything between four and eight of the Duke’s trusted soldiers – men who wouldn’t gossip and who wouldn’t be upset at the activities that went on down here. When I entered, I saw at once that something was wrong. There were no armoured men waiting to die on our blades. Instead, there were two small figures sat at a low wooden table, which was placed in the middle of the room. The light wasn’t good enough to make out details, but they looked to be little more than children, dressed in filthy rags. I had never been a man to gape at the unexpected and I advanced into the room with my sword pointing forwards, giving the men behind room to enter. Ploster was one of the first inside.

  “Blood drinkers,” he announced at once. Then he raised his voice a little more to be sure that the figures would hear him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

  The rest of the men continued to file into the room. They didn’t ask questions and simply spread out to the left and the right in their squads. There wasn’t room for us to stand in a line, but we were able to stand two deep across the room. One of the figures looked up, raising its face so that it caught the light. It had the infinite, teasing patience of a creature that was filled with evil and an everlasting hunger. I saw the face – it was that of a girl aged about twelve years old, though somehow deprived of whatever innocence it had in life. The flesh was sunken and in the imperfect light, there were great shadows beneath its eyes and its cheekbones. There was a mass of dark hair on its head, tousled and filthy. When it stared at me, I saw the longing in its red-rimmed eyes. The blood drinker spoke to its fellow, in the voice of a child, mixed with something deeper and filled with hatred.

  “Why has the Duke sent us these dead men?” it asked. “There is no blood in their veins and no life for us to feed on.”

  The second creature had also once been a girl and it, too, spoke. “They may yet have something for us,” it said
. “Can you not feel what it is? It shines brightly amongst them, like the pathetic desires of a starving dog.”

  “Ah yes,” said the first. “There is no blood and there is no life, but these men all have hope. It will make a paltry meal, but I am bored with sitting here for so long. The Duke seems to have almost forgotten about us.”

  I wouldn’t normally have permitted them the time to play out their carefully-staged conversation, but I was genuinely curious to hear what they’d say. I had nothing I wished to say to them in return. I suppose I could have told them they were going to die or that they were evil creatures who didn’t deserve our mercy, but what was the point? There is a time for words, but it is not always necessary to speak.

  I was the closest of my men to the table and the first blood drinker flew at me. There was no warning or coiling of muscles to indicate it was coming. The creature just shot across the room, parallel to the floor, with its hands outstretched for my throat. The table had been in the way, but it was dashed to one side as if it had been kicked by a giant foot.

  The First Cohort had seen the blood drinkers in action before, though we’d never fought them. I wasn’t surprised at the attack, but the speed of it was immense. Still, I was able to half-swing my readied sword at the same time as I leaned to one side. My blade caught the creature a glancing blow across the upper arm, but lacked the power to deflect it from its flight. It felt as if I’d struck a rotten tree stump and white light shrieked along the runes of my sword. The blood drinker shot past me and cannoned into Lamper, who was standing behind. The soldier was knocked from his feet and landed heavily. I saw that a great tear had appeared across his chest and his ribs were visible through the tattered cloth of his vest and his skin. The blood drinker sprang eight feet upwards and across, landing to one side and in front of our lines before anyone could strike at it.

  At the same time, I felt something else. There was a strange sensation that came from nowhere. It told me I was safe and that there was no need for any concern. There was a tugging at my limbs as they struggled with the effort of lifting my sword. I shrugged the feeling off at once, knowing that the second blood drinker had cast some of its magic upon me. I didn’t know why it had chosen that particular spell, but there was nothing about it that had been subtle enough to make me believe it for a moment. I looked at the men around me and saw that a number of them were struggling with the same fugue that I had dismissed. The creature is playing upon their hopes that they will one day find peace, I thought, suddenly realising that the blood drinker was cleverer than I’d given it credit for. Even Jon Ploster had a faraway look on his face, though I could see him struggling to overcome the insidious sorcery.

  The first blood drinker must have noticed that I wasn’t tricked and it sprang at me once again, fast and vicious. This time I was able to see the long, razor-sharp nails that sprouted from the ends of its fingertips as they came for my neck with incredible speed.

  Somewhere inside me, I felt something activate a switch and the movement in the room slowed to a crawl. In the past, the slowing had usually been gradual and in stages, as if it were unconsciously controlled by a part of me that dripped the ability into my limbs and my eyes as I needed it. On this occasion, I felt that the activation had been much closer to something in my control. I knew this to be significant, but could not think on it immediately.

  I saw that my sword would be too slow to block the creature’s attack, so I thundered a fist into its face. It was much heavier than it looked, but my punch stopped its flight and it dropped to the floor, hissing in anger. It was still quick, but I was its equal and I kicked it hard in the ribs, knocking it several feet away from me and into the centre of the room. It was back on its feet at once, but instead of attacking me, it leaped towards Nods and slashed at him in his dazed state. Nods looked surprised and tried to block, but he was much too slow and his belly was ripped open, spilling his entrails halfway down his legs, where they dangled and glistened.

  The other men were already showing signs that they were recovering from the magics that affected them, and three of the closest swung their swords at the creature. In my heightened state, they looked as if they were wading through a thick mud and only the blood drinker was moving at a normal speed. It evaded their attacks and jumped away once more.

  I had become aware that the second blood drinker needed to concentrate on its sorcery and it was less able to attack as it did so. It remained on its chair, unmoving, though its eyes followed the combat. I switched my attention to it, approaching quickly with my sword aimed at its face. At the same time, I felt Jon Ploster shrug himself out of the creature’s weavings. He unleashed a burst of force at the first blood drinker, which lifted it from its feet and hurled it another ten feet, where it smashed into a wall at speed. I knew the creatures were strong and hardy, but the impact had clearly injured it and it fell to the floor, writhing as its concussed brain tried to get its body to stand.

  As this happened, I came close enough to the second creature that it had to retreat in order to prevent me from crunching my sword through its skull. It jumped away as quickly and easily as its fellow had, landing further across the floor. I’d thought that its soothing magic had not affected me, yet I still felt a veil lift as its concentration was broken by my approach. I followed it, forcing it to retreat towards the far wall.

  Having recovered from Ploster’s sorcery, the first blood drinker had got to its feet again and jumped towards a group of three of my men, just as they recovered from the dullness that had afflicted their minds and bodies. Freed from their shackles, the soldiers were too close to use their swords. We all knew that our unmagical daggers would be useless against the dead flesh of these creatures, so no one even had theirs drawn. Instead, they grappled with the blood drinker as it thrashed left and right, trying to cut them to ribbons. It was strong and fast, but I watched as it was overcome by numbers, until it was held firmly by four of us. The faces of my men were grim and determined.

  The second blood drinker had run out of room in which to retreat and I knew it would shortly attack. In my battle trance, I caught the subtle nuances as it prepared to spring at me and this time I was able to avoid the attack with ease, crashing my sword off the top of its skull as it went by. I saw a chunk of bloodless flesh and bone fall to the floor as I spun around to face it again. Before we could engage, Ploster struck it with another concussive wave, which threw the tiny body to the ground. It had no time to recover and I drove my sword through its skull. As soon as I felt the tip scrape over the stone floor beneath, I twisted the hilt to increase the trauma to the creature’s brain. Its eyes opened for a moment, but they were no longer red-rimmed, nor did I detect anything evil there. Rather, I saw for the briefest of moments the eyes of the child that had once lived in this body. I would like to say that I saw relief in those eyes, but I saw only terror – the last emotion that the girl must have felt before she was taken.

  On the far side of the room, the men had the other creature pinned by the arms and legs. It hissed and spat as it struggled with unnatural strength to be free, but could do nothing to prevent Beamer from cleaving its skull with his sword. Even from here I saw the soldier’s muscles bunch as he put everything into the blow. There was no blood, but I saw the damage of his cut and the blood drinker slumped at once. The men laid the body down, almost reverentially. We all had a hatred for the suffering of children and when I thought about it, I wondered if it was the greatest reason we’d turned away from the Duke. We’d fought for him for many decades before our suspicions had become too great to ignore.

  I crossed to where the men were gathered, the world around me speeding up as I did so. I saw Nods stuffing his intestines back into his body cavity as if he were doing nothing more upsetting than pushing a loaf of bread into a bag.

  “No time to stitch me up, is there?” he asked Maims, knowing the answer already.

  Hacker pulled off his shirt and threw it to Nods. “Tie this round your middle till we can ge
t out of here. I don’t want to be slipping over your guts if they fall out again.”

  Nods smiled at the gallows humour and did as he was asked. It had been a long while since we’d felt much in the way of physical pain and sometimes it had its advantages.

  Lamper had been sliced open across his ribcage in the first attack, but he didn’t seem bothered. Similarly, Scratch had a deep tear along his left bicep, where he’d been caught as he’d grappled with the blood drinker.

  “Not to worry, lads…” he said.

  We’d all heard this one before, many times. Grids rolled his eyes and dutifully completed the sentence. “It’s just a scratch,” he finished.

  There was only a single exit from this room and we formed up in front of it. There was a closed wooden door sealing the exit, which had never been locked as far as I could remember it. I swung it open to reveal the passageway behind, which led off into the distance. I could see branches leading to the left and right. There were numerous metal doors set into both walls – these were the cells. We entered two abreast. I had three men injured, but they could still fight almost unhindered by their wounds, so they remained in their usual positions. Chant was at my side, with Ploster and Beamer behind.

  We set off at a measured pace. I wanted us to move quickly, but I didn’t want any unexpected surprises so close to our goal. We all felt the oppressiveness in the air as we walked into the dungeon. It swept down upon us at once and spoke of the frailties of life and the susceptibility of the weak to the cruel and strong. The soles of our boots usually made a crisp noise upon stone, but in here the sound was muted even though I am sure we made no effort to walk in silence. There were other sounds for our ears – sounds that were native to the dungeon. I heard wailing, faint and echoing. There was the occasional bang and clash, coming from a source I couldn’t fathom. The one sound that overrode all the others was that of weeping. This wasn’t the open weeping of someone in distress, but the quiet, rending sobs of people for whom there is no longer any hope. I heard it through the grilles in the metal doors as we passed, with each one hiding its own story of misery and despair.