Seeing this, Tolian pulled his two favorite daggers from their place at his hips. Jaxius couldn't help but smile a bit at the juxtaposition, but at least his friend was ready.
The two proceeded to climb the stairs. They worked their way up the tightly winding stairway slowly and silently. Jaxius tested each step carefully before trusting it. Towers like this were not often filled with traps like some adventurers boast, but Jaxius preferred to err on the side of caution. Ten steps. Fifteen. Jaxius' muscles tensed. Something was terribly wrong. Something very strange was happening in this old tower. An unspeakable evil lurked here. Twenty steps. Twenty-five. Jaxius paused, listening closely. His half-elven ears caught the faintest whisper of a sound from ahead. Whoever or whatever it was tried intently to not make much sound. Then, a solitary sound filled Jaxius' ears: the swish of an unsheathing blade. The seasoned warrior flattened himself against the wall, and Tolian followed his example.
The sound of battle preparation was followed with footsteps echoing down the stairs. Jaxius held his viortassi with both hands. His knuckles whitened with the strength of his grip. His mind focused on the coming task. Jaxius cleared away all thoughts other than his blade and his instincts from his mind. At that instant, Jaxius and blade were one and the same. He almost pitied his coming attackers. Almost.
The first guard rounded the corner with his sword drawn, but was cut down by an upward slash of the elven heavy blade. Jaxius used the momentum to step further up and around the already dying barbarian. He brought his sword down deep into the next guard's shoulder before that one could get his shield up to block. Ripping his sword back and in, Jaxius sent the second guard tumbling down the stairs.
From his new vantage point, Jaxius could see at least three more of the witch's warriors on the stairs above him. Their thick fur and hide armor blocked Jaxius from seeing any farther up the stairwell. He wondered if any men on the lower levels of the tower had heard the commotion of battle. If the witch hadn't been alerted when the pair entered the tower, she certainly had now. The half-elf prayed they would be in time to save young Bergar.
"We have more from below," Tolian said, confirming Jaxius' thoughts. As if summoned, the clatter of blades echoed from just beyond Tolian. Knowing that the battle-tested bard could defend himself better than most soldiers, Jaxius turned his attention back to the barbarians before him.
Jaxius stepped forward to meet a new foe; this one was definitely more prepared than his two unlucky predecessors. The defender thrust out his straight-sword only to have his attempt parried to the side by Jaxius' viortassi. Another guard moved in and swung his axe around, intent on removing Jaxius' arm from his body at the shoulder.
For Jaxius, all time magically ceased to exist. He was astonished at how terribly slow the barbarian's swings had become. The awestruck half-elf had time to contemplate each of his opponent's swings and how to best avoid being struck. This new found consciousness of time dizzied and would have distressed Jaxius if he didn't have an axe blade inches from his shoulder. He ducked his head under the axe and thrust his viortassi out to deflect his original adversary's sword. As if on cue, the axe resumed its original speed and completely missed Jaxius. The other assailant's sword clanged loudly as it rebounded off of Jaxius' perfectly crafted blade. The out-of-control axe continued its suddenly altered path and crashed into his clansman's chest.
The impaled barbarian's eyes widened with surprise. He clutched at the axe embedded in his chest and fell headlong down the stairs. His lifeless body crashed into the small throng of warriors coming up from below.
If his mind had not been completely engrossed in the dance of battle, Jaxius might also have been surprised at the dizzying experience. However, he could not afford himself the luxury of thinking. The feverish fight up the tower must consume him. He must be completely taken by it. So, he let the graceful and flowing dance with the viortassi become the entirety of his existence. Enraptured by the dance of death that he had become, Jaxius pushed forth.
Abruptly, Jaxius' world changed. He was no longer in the stairwell fighting the witch's barbarian guards. Instead, he stood atop a great hill. The full moon shone bright and heavy in the deep night sky. A cool spring wind whipped his cloak about. The gust brought with it the first splattering drops of a cleansing spring rain. Jaxius met a new attacker's charge head on.
The new assailant, a man, was dressed in lush dark purple with rich, blood red trim. As Jaxius caught the man's sword with the pommel of his viortassi, he stepped closer, into the mysterious man's reach. That is when he noticed what he, himself, was wearing. No longer was he wrapped in his ordinary traveler's cloak and winter furs. Now, he wore an unrealistically light suit of plate armor trimmed in gleaming gold and sparkling silver.
Jaxius slid his viortassi past the purple dressed man's guard and into his stomach. From all sides more men dressed in exactly the same colors stormed the hill where Jaxius stood alone. He eagerly awaited the tidal wave of adversaries that marched to their inevitable deaths. He hefted back his blade and began his bloody work.
Lightning flashed across the sky, distracting Jaxius for only the briefest of moments. When he regained his senses he was in the middle of the stairwell again, parrying and dodging two new guards' advances. As Jaxius deflected and evaded these attacks, he wondered why he was continually tormented by these strange visions. Were they somehow related to what the forest fae, Chlora, had said? Or was he merely going mad and imagining these things? He did know one thing for certain, he had to get to the truth of it. But, for the moment, he needed to focus his attention on the task at hand.
He harshly parried the next blade away and drove in with the point of his viortassi. The blade thrust into the man's abdomen and exploded through his back. Jaxius ripped the blade around and out of the pitiful barbarian, sawing him nearly in half.
He moved up and around another step leaving Tolian completely out of his field of vision. But from this vantage point he could see a door at the top of the stairwell looming just beyond the last three defenders. He listened for a moment down the stairwell. Tolian fought off no fewer attackers than he. Although, from the sounds of Tolian's robust taunts, the easy-going bard was definitely having more fun.
Two of the guards, forsaking their own position of balance, leaped for Jaxius. He ducked below their ill-conceived attack, bringing his blade up into the gut of one assailant. The heavy blade sliced the man open, spilling ruby blood out onto the steps. The other man landed at a terrible angle and rolled bonelessly down the steps.
Jaxius glanced back at the enormous ball of animal furs as it bounced down the steps and then turned to face his final impeding guard. A dark and mischievous grin broke across his blood splattered face. He adjusted his grip on his viortassi and set himself for the clash.
"You'll never win. She already has the boy," the barbarian sneered. "The ritual has begun. You cannot stop what has been set in motion. Now, die!"
The barbarian launched himself at Jaxius. His sword crashed down into Jaxius' hastily raised sword.
Jaxius countered with a sweeping strike aimed for the guard's knees, but the guard jumped back and away from the counterstroke.
They both swung again, their blades engaging as each leaned in to push the other away. The overconfident barbarian spat in Jaxius' face. Both men withdrew.
Jaxius wiped the foul spittle from his check with one sleeve, keeping his eyes trained on his foe.
The barbarian sneered once again and stepped to his right.
Jaxius noticed the man's leg tense. Curiously, time had again dilated. He could see every muscle twitch as the man swung his longsword around to Jaxius' right side. The half-elf, with his enhanced reflexes, easily dodged the blow. After his opponent's sword cleared his torso, he slammed it against the wall, breaking its blade with the sudden impact. He quickly followed with an upward thrust of his curved blade, catching the off-balance barbarian in the soft flesh between chin and throat.
A look of terror and surprise
contorted the barbarian's face as he fell to the floor, now at the correct speed. Again, Jaxius had no idea what happened to his perceptions, but he was starting to welcome this peculiar occurrence.
Jaxius took a few steps back down and called, "Tolian, I have the door."
"Go," Tolian grunted. "Don't worry about me. Get Bergar."
Jaxius knew that Tolian could probably use his help, but he knew their mission was more important. Besides, Tolian had proven time and again to be far more resourceful than what was credited to him. Jaxius ran back up the steps and slammed his shoulder into the locked door. Its boards creaked with the force of his blow. Another fierce blow with his shoulder failed to smash in the door. He took a step back and kicked the door with all his might. The door exploded from its hinges, and he stepped through.
Jaxius' face twisted with disgust at the horrifying sights in the room.
Chapter Nine
Grundar slowly backed away from the questioning barbarian.
"I said, 'What are you doing there?'" the man demanded of Grundar.
"Me? Oh, I be lookin' fer me son," Grundar said. "Have ye seen 'im? I think I seen him over here."
With that Grundar dashed off into the woods. He slipped quickly behind the largest tree he could find and waited. These Hawklos clans were full of fools and inbreeds. And as sure as sunrise the dolt fell for it. Grundar grinned a little when he heard the crunch of the snow on the lightly used trail leading into the woods.
"You out there," the barbarian called. "Where you at? You ought not be snooping where you don't belong."
"That's right I shouldna," Grundar muttered. The man had barely passed Grundar's hiding spot when the barbarian chieftain exploded from his concealment, sinking his axe deep into the man's skull. "But ye came t' me first."
At that moment, an idea occurred to Grundar. He couldn't hide. It was against his nature. He was, after all, a member of the Dernegart clan. The proudest of his people. The most fearsome of all of the warriors of the Great North. And so, Grundar laughed aloud as he took the dead man's cloak and furs.
Fully disguised, he picked up his axe and quietly made his way back to the stone tower. Although he was of a similar build to the barbarian, Grundar pulled the hood of the stolen cloak up about his face to make sure he was not recognized. Staying mostly away from the center of the encampment he prowled around and finally found his unwitting prey, a man sitting far apart from his companions, cup in hand.
"Hey," Grundar called from the shadows trying his hardest to mimic the subtle changes in pronunciation between his dialect and his southwestern neighbors. "Help me out over here will ya?"
The man looked up groggily from his now empty pewter cup and nodded. He stumbled as he got up. Grundar thought that a most fortuitous occurrence. The drunk barbarian weaved and half tripped his way to Grundar.
"Eh? What do you need?"
"Well, it's right over here," Grundar said and led the man into the shadows behind the tower. He pointed to spot a few feet away. "Right there, you see it?"
As the drunkard stepped forward to see what mystery Grundar pointed to, Grundar raised his axe. He cut the man down where he stood and then used a handful of snow to scrub his axe clean. He dragged the man to the tower wall where he propped the body up into a seemingly natural position. Then Grundar set off to find yet another victim.
Grundar noticed that the watch tonight was heavy. Something was definitely brewing. He hoped desperately that it had nothing to do with his son. But that foreboding feeling of hopelessness crept back into his thoughts. He focused on it and slowly it changed from hopelessness to anger. Then from anger to furious hatred.
The best candidates he could find for his little trap were a pair of slowly patrolling guards.
"He... Help," he called to them and fell to his face into the shadows.
They both came running to aid their ailing comrade. They pulled him up out of the snow by his arms. He mimed regaining his balance but intentionally wobbled enough to break free from their helping hands.
"Little early to be this dog drunk, don't you think?" one man lectured.
"Aye, and a bit early to be callin' me drunk too." Grundar snapped a dagger from his sleeve and buried it deep into the speaker's throat and heaved his axe up and into the second man's neck. Both men crumpled to the snow-packed ground. Again, Grundar posed the bodies in natural positions to avoid untimely questions.
This game could get to be too much fun. However, Grundar knew he couldn't possibly take out this entire tribe with such devious tricks. So, he stayed to the shadows, waiting for his companions and watching warily for more unwanted attention.
A fair amount of time passed and another lackadaisical patrol came around. Grundar sat as still and quiet as he could. He held his breath for quite some time, hoping to be passed by. The patrol noticed the three bodies laid out in the snow around the tower's wall. The men chuckled at their comrades' seeming drunkenness. One of the two approached Grundar, assuming him to be another reveler. When the patrolman got near enough, Grundar leaped to his feet and drove his readied dagger into the surprised man's chest. The other warrior lunged forward and swung his blade at Grundar, but Grundar ducked away from the attempt. The man dropped his sword and charged in. He bowled Grundar over, pinning him to the ground.
"Intruders!" the patrolman called. "North side of the tower. Raise the alarm! Intruders."
Grundar didn't expect this man's quick reaction time. He mustered his strength and thrust the man up into the air and off of him. The chieftain was up and to his feet a split second later. He slit his foe's throat but was a moment too late. He could hear the sound of at least a dozen of Fylzia's horde headed his way. The group closed in on Grundar; attackers came from both sides of the tower. They formed into ranks, encircling him. Grundar's original assessment of their number was off, unfortunately. There were closer to eighteen of the armed men.
Grundar dropped his axe to the ground and knelt in surrender. The Hawklos barbarians closed in to take him prisoner.
Grundar grimaced.
"Ye took m' boy. Now let 'im go 'n I'll let most o' ye leave with yer dignity."
Chapter Ten
The strong smells of sulfur and woodsmoke permeated the small round room at the top of the tower. A fire roared in the fireplace opposite the door. To the right of the fireplace sat an altar that emanated evil. Skulls, candles, and other, viler, ritual implements perched atop the altar. These religious symbols, carved of bone and wood, bore the signs of age-old dark secrets. A table in the middle of the room held numerous blood-spattered knives and bowls of various sizes. Some of the bowls spilled their noxious green gels onto the table; some sizzled and smoked yellow or red mist into the air. None of that sickened Jaxius. Not nearly as much as the vision of Bergar suspended in the air directly across the room from the devilish altarpiece.
The young barbarian's flesh was stripped away in many spots. His limp body spun there in mid air, ripped and torn. A steady trickle of blood pooled slowly below him. Jaxius watched the witch. The hag was crouched down between him and his friend, still carving her vile symbols in Bergar's pitiful flesh. She giggled and mumbled to herself while she worked her magic.
Jaxius, his attention focused on the plight of his young friend, did not have time to respond when a hammer caught him in the side of the face, nearly ripping his jaw off. Jaxius turned to face Morgrys, the witch's barbarian raider who had taken Bergar that awful night two weeks prior. All of his reigned in anger and hate began to roll and roil in his gut. He could feel it burning and seething. He launched himself at Morgrys with all his pent-up fury. He struck furiously at the barbarian.
Morgrys had been prepared for the onslaught; he parried or dodged every deftly placed strike.
Jaxius' hatred grew deeper the longer their battle raged. He continued to thrust and parry, trying to make his way to Bergar. It wasn't until the table was at his back that Jaxius came up with the beginnings of a plan. He needed to distract both the barbar
ian and the witch. He adjusted his fighting style to be much more defensive. He focused his entire fight on parrying each of the barbarian's mighty blows. Jaxius slipped each parry bit by bit, hoping to draw his opponent in. Morgrys' hammer still came swinging in, getting more aggressive with each blow.
Jaxius' plan was working. His huge foe was getting cocky. When the barbarian took a deep breath, preparing for his final death-blow, Jaxius knew that his chance was now. Morgrys heaved his mighty warhammer with all of his strength and slammed down in an overhead arc.
Jaxius dove to the side, toward Bergar and away from the table, just as Morgrys crashed recklessly into the table covered with the witch's magical and alchemical mixtures. A loud hiss-pop crackled behind him. The barbarian's screams confirmed that the accidental explosion struck something sensitive.
"Ah! My face!" Morgrys screamed. "It burns. It burns! I will kill you, mongrel!"
Jaxius ignored the barbarian and followed through with his plan of rescue.
Finally within reach of Bergar, Jaxius leaped for the crouching hag, slicing with his viortassi at her exposed back. She whirled away just before his strike landed home. One hand raised, she sent a bolt of white light crashing into Jaxius' face. The magical attack flung him across the room, smashing him into the wall. His elven blade was torn from his powerless hand, clattering away across the stone-floored room. The half-elf crumpled weakly to the floor, smoking like a spent ember. His vision reeled, the room spinning out of control. The witch, satisfied with her temporary reprieve, quickly turned back to her dark work on the young barbarian's flesh.
In his delirium Jaxius heard the witch chanting softly to herself. He realized at length what the witch was about. She wasn't simply torturing the boy. She was using his pain and anger. Bergar was the centerpiece of whatever appalling spell she was casting. Jaxius had encountered such infernal magic before, but he wasn't sure where. He did remember that the stronger the spell the more anguish the caster had to cause or take upon herself. The latter, Jaxius was all too glad to grant her. He just had to find his missing blade.
Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 Page 5
