“We should put down over there,” said Orrian, pointing at a dark patch of forest to the west of the castle.
“We’re not putting down at all,” said Dirk. “Get ready to jump.”
Orrian studied Dirk’s face with a queer grin. “Are you serious?”
“Always,” said Dirk, looking ahead at the drop point and unstrapping himself as Krentz had done.
Orrian hurriedly untied himself from the saddle.
“On three,” said Dirk, moving into a squatting position on the saddle. “One, two…three.”
He leapt, and Krentz and Orrian with him. They only fell a dozen feet, and each one landed and rolled, coming up cautiously and alert beside the door to one of the towers. Dirk caught the guard who had been stationed there, having hit him in the neck with a dart on their descent. Orrian seemed surprised by Dirk’s prowess, and he looked curiously to the dart in the man’s neck.
Orrian nodded with respect.
Dirk quietly called upon Chief, and blue mist swirled out of the trinket and through the tower door. They waited, crouched down and warily watching the guard fifty yards away who stood looking in the opposite direction. When Chief’s smiling face appeared through the door, Dirk pushed through and ushered the others inside. Orrian pulled in the unconscious guard and closed the door behind him. This tower was nothing more than a glorified homing pigeon coop, for the stink of the birds was thick in the air. A winding stairway led up to the next level, and the antechamber contained only foodstuffs for the birds and a hanging bucket that could be lowered through the floor, presumably to the kitchen or well house.
“A few rules before we continue,” said Dirk, squaring on Orrian and not missing how the young man’s fingers twitched beside the sheath of his sword. “I am here to exact revenge on Jonathan Gelding. No one else is to die, unless it cannot be helped without bringing harm to yourself or one of us. Understood?”
Orrian glanced at Krentz, who arched her brow. He then looked to Dirk. “Oh, were you addressing me? I thought maybe you were speaking to her.”
“And a smart-ass as well, eh?” said Dirk, crossing his arms.
Orrian winked. “I got it, boss. No one but Gelding bites it.”
“There is a guard approaching from the eastern battlement,” said Krentz.
“I got this,” said Orrian.
He moved over to the door and waited, watching Krentz as she raised a staying hand. She lowered her hand as the knob turned, and to Dirk’s surprise, Orrian did nothing. The door opened, and the guard, noticing Dirk and Krentz standing there, began to cry out. But his voice died with a whimper as Orrian raised a hand. The man froze, only his eyes moving, and looked fearfully at them all.
Orrian forced the man to walk in and shut the door, and as it closed, he grabbed the guard by the forehead and bade the man to sleep. The guard’s eyes fluttered, and he slumped to the floor.
“Chief,” said Dirk. “Find out what is down this hatch.
The spirit wolf disappeared through the hatch and reemerged a few moments later.
“Is it a way into the keep?”
One bark.
“Alright, who’s first?” he said, opening the hatch, which looked like it might be a tight squeeze for Orrian.
“I’ll go,” said the young man. “If I get stuck, just bop me on the head to get me through.”
Dirk looked to Krentz, who rolled her eyes, but there was a twinkle in those eyes. She liked the young man…so far.
Orrian got through the hatch just fine. Krentz went second, and Dirk pulled the latch shut once he was through. The well house was empty but for the occasional spiderweb clogging the corner. Buckets lined the walls, some broken, others new. Through the crack in the door, Dirk made out an empty storage room, which must have led to the kitchens.
“How close is the nearest guard?” Dirk asked Krentz, who scanned the castle around them with mind sight. “Thirty feet or so, up a flight of stairs and stationed by a door. Cooks fill the room to the right of this one. We need to go straight, up the stairs at the end of this hall.”
“How do you know that?” Orrian asked, clearly intrigued and surely wondering if he could do it as well.
“Mind sight,” said Krentz, and seeing his confusion, she added, “I’ll explain later.”
“Come on,” said Dirk, pushing through the door like he owned the place and taking a loaf of cooling bread that was sitting on a cart outside the kitchen door. The doors had big circular holes, and as Dirk went by, chewing from the loaf, he saw the merry morning men hard at work on their craft. None saw him pass by the window, bent as they were and enveloped in their work.
Krentz and Orrian followed close behind, and Chief kept pace with Dirk, small as an ember he was in spirit form, and he cast only the faintest of glows.
“Chief, I need you to go unseen through the rooms above. Find Jonathan Gelding.”
There came no sound from the speck of light, but Chief had heard him, and he understood. The wisp of light shot through the tunnel wall, and Dirk continued to the far door beyond the kitchen. This door led to the main dining hall, and just as Orrian had predicted, the large chimney was fed here by a ten-foot wide stone fireplace.
Krentz pointed past Dirk. “There are two guards at the main entrance to the dining room, and one off to the right through the other service door leading to the kitchen. I believe that he is headed there for food, for he is rubbing his midsection. No, wait…he is headed to the latrine.”
“That’s shitty,” said Orrian, and Dirk couldn’t help a small chuckle that escaped him instantly.
“Oh my…puns?” said Krentz, though she grinned as well.
Orrian shrugged. “So how about enough of this sneaking around shyte? Let’s kick some Gelding guard asses.”
“This is how we operate. Minimal collateral damage, precise strikes. In and out, like a ghost…like a shadow.”
“Ah, yes,” said Orrian, grinning. His eyes shifted between Dirk and Krentz, twinkling with mirth. “You once called yourself The Shadow.”
“You’ve read the book, I see,” said Dirk, shaking his head at the ridiculous nickname he had given himself back when he was just wetting his daggers with the blood of crooked lords and highwaymen.
“What’s with the code of honor?” said Orrian. “Their lord moved against you. Aren’t they all fair game for flying his banner?”
“And what of his family?” said Dirk. “What of the children, the little boys and girls who may grow up to remember your face or not? What do we do with them?”
“You don’t kill them, and you don’t let them go. You take them. Make them your own. But a male child over the age of twelve cannot be trusted to not try to take revenge. These young men you must either kill or banish.”
Again, Dirk found himself glancing over at Krentz, who was now studying the young man with deep intrigue.
“We will not be taking any children,” said Dirk. “We are only here for one head.”
Chief returned as they were approaching the main doors leading from the dining hall, and Dirk bade the wolf to be silent, for the two guards that Krentz had seen with mind sight stood outside, chatting about how dry it had been in the last few weeks and how the locusts had wreaked havoc on the crops.
Dirk pointed at the door to the right and then at Orrian. Next he pointed at Krentz and then the left door. They both nodded, and he ran for the middle. They swung the doors inward, and Dirk leapt through the threshold with a dart in each hand. He spun and flipped forward, releasing the first and then the second dart. At moments like these, time seemed to slow down for Dirk, and he saw the flight of the darts as they spun into the faces of the two startled guards. They hit the guards, one in the cheek and one in the bulbous nose, and laid them both down in two heartbeats. Krentz, and as if on cue, Orrian, slipped around the doors in time to catch the two unconscious men before their armor clamored on the marble and oak floors.
Dirk told Orrian to hide them in a broom closet, and a few minutes l
ater, the young man came trotting over to them at the foot of a large staircase in the main antechamber. He frowned at the four guards unconscious on the floor.
“You had all the fun without me,” he said, shaking his head and heading up the stairs. “Well, you can hide those guys yourself; I’ll take care of everyone upstairs.”
“You don’t know which room Gelding is in,” said Dirk.
“I’ll figure it out,” said Orrian.
“Wait,” said Dirk. “We go together.”
Orrian continued up the stairs as if he hadn’t heard him, and Dirk waited, growing angrier by the second. When Orrian stopped at the landing and looked back as if waiting impatiently, Dirk nodded to Krentz, and together they stalked up the stairs quietly but quickly. Dirk shouldered past Orrian as if he were in the way and, turning left at the hallway, he tossed a dart at the guard fifteen feet down the hall. Krentz turned right and sent a silencing spell down that side of the hall, hitting two guards who stood beside the doors.
Once again, Orrian emerged with no one to fight, and Dirk watched him closely. “Watch the door,” said Dirk. “Krentz and I will be back shortly.”
“Alright, Captain,” said Orrian sardonically.
“I was talking to Chief,” said Dirk, and the spirit wolf grinned. “You stay with him.”
Orrian sniffed cockily and grinned, nodding his head and rolling his tongue. Dirk knew that he was chewing his own bitter, unspoken words.
He forgot the cocky kid and looked into Krentz’s eyes. No guards inside, she mouthed silently. Dirk nodded, silently counting off. They rolled into the bedchamber stealthily, causing not a flicker of wind for the nearest candle. Dirk moved to Jonathan’s side of the bed, and Krentz to the right. She placed her hand on Gelding’s wife’s head, ensuring that she would not wake for the bloody business.
Dirk put a hand over Jonathan Gelding’s mouth and drew his dagger. The man’s eyes opened, but rather than fear, there was excitement, and the glint of vengeance. Suddenly, time slowed down for Dirk as the room exploded with light and motion. He saw first the face of Gelding’s wife, which was not his wife, but a lass that Dirk recognized as one of his wife’s servants. Then there was the explosion of light and the spell that enveloped the room. Dirk felt himself floating in a timeless bubble, his every attempt at movement met with pain. Sounds were muffled here in the bubble, and to see through it was to look through rushing water.
His mind screamed dark elves.
Beside him, Krentz was casting a spell, and as two quivering shadows grew on the wall and corners of the room, her spell erupted from her glowing hands. It seemed to suck in the writhing bubbles that had enveloped them both, and she took that power, which now resided in a shimmering ring upon her finger, and released it back at the closest form haunting the corner of the now dark room. Dirk saw a quick flash out of the corner of his eye, and his dagger shot out of its sheath and met a killing blow. Dirk twirled, bringing his short sword to bare, and deflected a spell that suddenly erupted from the figure’s hand. As they fought, Gelding began laughing giddily and crawling to the end of his ridiculously large bed. Dirk thought to dart him, but he wanted to see the man’s face when he stuck him through.
Krentz seemed to be getting the better of the dark elf that she was fighting, and Dirk had faced better opponents in his life as well. He was about to land the killing blow, when the door and half the wall exploded inward, throwing everyone against the far wall and Gelding through a window.
Orrian walked through the destruction, glowing eyes focused on the dark elf beside Krentz. The dark elf lifted a hand, but Orrian was already in mid-cast. He released a spell from the palm of his hand that hit the elf in the chest and sent him clear through the wall to land in a broken heap on the cobblestone walkways below.
Dirk used the distraction to his advantage, and was already stabbing the other dark elf in the heart when Orrian struck.
“What in the hells was that?” he yelled, pushing Orrian back hard.
“You seemed like you were in trouble,” said Orrian, grinning. His eyes were still glowing with power.
“Come, the warning bell tolls,” said Krentz, and she leapt out through the hole that had been made by Orrian’s victim.
Dirk and Orrian leapt out after her, and they landed in a crouch on the cobblestone. To Dirk’s delight, Jonathan Gelding lay in an awkward position, both his legs broken from the fall in more than one place. Blood pooled behind his head, and Dirk looked into the man’s eyes.
“I win,” he whispered to the man. “But do tell the gods that it was I who sent you on your way.”
This time, Gelding’s eyes widened with not mirth, but fear.
Dirk put a dagger through Gelding’s neck and brain in a quick flash of motion that left Gelding looking puzzled, and that is how his face remained. Knowing that it would be an incredible insult to the religious family, Dirk laid not the silver of a lord, but the copper of a peasant on Gelding’s eyes, eyes that he also left open. To the family, this would mean an afterlife of poverty and misery unless the priests could reverse the curse.
“We’ve got to go,” said Krentz.
Dirk saw them coming, dozens of men from the battlements, through archways and along the garden verandas.
“I think that self-defense comes into play here, Captain,” said Orrian.
Dirk had no time to answer. From Orrian’s sword came a long, snaking beam of light and flame that exploded against all that it touched and left a raging pyre in its wake. In an instant, he had lit the hanging roof of the nearest building on fire, as well as a small garden wagon, four screaming guards, and one unfortunate barn cat.
“Orrian, this way!” Dirk rushed after Krentz, who was running for the eastern wall. She hit those guards in her way with stunning spells and ran up the stairs as arrows began to clang against the stone around them.
Dirk looked back to see if Orrian was coming, but the young man was not. He had been hit by three arrows, and his wounds were beginning to glow as if there were a sun contained within him. Cursing under his breath, Dirk leapt off the battlements at the top of the stairs and landed on Fyrfrost’s back. Chief came swooping to him, and he hollered over the wind. “Go help the little bastard. See that he doesn’t get himself killed.”
Fyrfrost circled the castle grounds, and Dirk watched with growing trepidation as Orrian set the entire place on fire and tore into his burning enemies with unbridled wrath.
Chapter 12
The War Song o’ Kly’Erndar
The moment that Roakore returned to the city, he ordered the tunnels to be sealed. The mountain kingdom was put on high alert, all mining stopped, and every dwarf that could fight was told to prepare for battle.
Roakore’s first instinct had been to call upon Whill. For surely with his godly powers, he could at least shield the minds of the dwarves from the strange albinos’ mental attacks. But Roakore’s pride stopped him from using the speaking stone that Whill had given him. He couldn’t be running to Whill with every problem that he had. In the past, Roakore had received too much help from humans and elves. He knew that some dwarves thought that it wasn’t right, and that Roakore’s great success was due to him having such powerfully magical friends. It was partially true, Roakore knew.
He should have died a dozen times, and it had been the elves’ magic that had first saved his life back when he had begun traveling with Whill. Even now, he should be dead. If it hadn’t been for the golden dragon blood that he kept with him, he would have died from the injuries that he sustained during the explosion in the tunnel.
Roakore felt as though death were looking over his shoulder these days. He felt as though he had been pushing his luck a little too much. He did not fear death, of course, but he would rather live all the same.
“I don’t know what ye were doin’ down in them tunnels anyway,” said Arrianna as she paced back and forth in front of him. He had told her what happened, and instantly he wished that he hadn’t. She had been furious
that he almost got himself killed, and angrier yet that he had used the dragon blood to heal himself.
“Ye should o’ never been down there spyin’ out them tunnels. Ye be the king, for Ky’Dren’s sake!”
“I know, I know,” he said with a sigh. “But listen, me love. We ain’t got time for this kind o’ back and forth. This be a dire emergency, and I need ye to keep a level head and think o’ what be best for our people. How do we fight back against them albinos and their mental magic?”
“Well,” said Arrianna, tossing back her shoulders and raising her chin. “If ye be wantin’ me opinion, here it be. Ye done moved us in here too soon. I done told ye that already. So now ye got yerself in this here tight spot. Ye know that we need to be evacuatin’, but ye be too damned stubborn to admit it.”
“Now listen Arri—”
“I be yer favorite wife, and ye picked me for a reason. Ye know that it be me who gives ye the best council, and ye would be a fool to deny it! Me council be to get the young and their mothers out o’ the mountain at least. Send em to the trade outpost.”
Roakore sighed; his wife and royal brain were giving him the same advice, and indeed, he would have been a fool to ignore it. His pride was the problem—his, as well as the pride of thousands of other dwarves who would be outraged and ashamed if they had to leave the mountain so soon. It was just like the Fall of the Ebony Mountains all over again.
“I feel like if I order a retreat…I be disgracin’ me father and me family name,” Roakore admitted, and a weight was lifted from his shoulders.
Arrianna smiled compassionately. “Yer father ordered a retreat once, and it saved his people. Ye took back the mountain, not once, but twice. Ain’t no reason ye can’t take it back thrice.”
Roakore had to laugh at her, for when she wanted to be, she was the cutest, most beautiful creature in the mountains.
“I be knowin’ that ye be right. I just can’t bring meself to do it.”
“A wise king knows when to put his feelings aside and do what be right for his people,” said Arrianna, surprising Roakore by quoting his late father.
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