"Sir, what are we to do once the barbarians come?" A man asked nervously, as he had helped to finish blocking up one side of the hall.
"We kill all of them," Furlac said coolly. The soldier grinned proudly and nodded before grabbing another chair to strengthen the barrier.
Furlac could not believe this was how it was all going to end. They had tried everything they could and still failed, and had nothing left to do but wait for the enemy to cut them down. He racked his mind for anything he could have done differently - he knew it did not matter now, but he wanted that assurance, to ease his failure and the guilt. As if sensing his inner turmoil, one of Furlac's soldiers confronted him.
"We did all we could, Sir - there is no shame in that," the man told him. "Besides, it is not over yet," he finished with a wink.
"Sir, some of the women will stand and fight with us," another man said coming out of one of the rooms.
"Good, make sure everyone has a weapon and anyone who does not know how to use it, show them the basics," Furlac ordered, even though he knew they did not have enough to arm everyone.
"Yes, Sir."
Furlac walked over to a group of soldiers that he knew personally and ones he knew would carry out the task he was about to ask of them. "I need two of you in each room with the remaining women and children."
They looked at him with confusion as to why they were being sent into the rooms, when they should be out here fighting with the others.
"When the time comes, do not let..." Furlac choked as he finished. "Do not let them take the children and women. Spare them the fate that awaits them when we fall."
The men knew what he meant for them to do. He did not want the women and children to have to suffer the barbarian's wrath of rape, torture, and slavery.
"If you do not have the stomach, or heart, I will find others who do," Furlac told them. None of the men said no as they made their way to the rooms, not looking back at the others.
Those in the hallway had not heard what was said to the group that now entered the rooms, but they knew by the look on Furlac's face, what he had asked them to do and all understood it was for the best.
Now, in the hallway, stood a weak army of six-hundred battered men and roughly two thousand terrified women, with less than half of them armed. The ones who were lucky held bloody swords, daggers or broken arrow shafts, while others had taken some of the fireplace instruments that were in the rooms or anything else that could be used as a club or would do damage.
Furlac turned to them as he stood in the front of the hallway awaiting certain death. He could not help but shed tears over all those who had died, or were about to die. He could hear the whimpers and cries of those who stood ready to fight with him, as they prayed to the Creator for strength and courage. He wished he had some momentous, uplifting words to say to them - something that would make it all easier - but he did not. All eyes upon him seemed to understand and accept that.
A mighty roar of laugher burst from the mouths of the barbarians, when they reached the defenders and their pathetic furniture-built walls. One of the defenders hurled his spear through the debris and into the chest of an enemy. The laughter stopped and the enemy roared angrily as they began ripping and chopping their way through the tables, chairs and bookshelves that blocked their path.
Pathetic as it was, the barrier served its purpose in slowing the enemies' assault. The defenders wasted no time in taking full advantage of the hindered savages as they stabbed their weapons through the holes in the makeshift walls into unprotected flesh.
A score of savages died within minutes, and now their bodies added to the defenders' barrier, as the enemy had to climb over their fallen. An ear-splitting blow from a horn ended the attack and they pulled back to the ends of the hallway to regroup.
The meek walls of furniture and the desperation of Mandrake's survivors proved more perilous than either side would have guessed. Only three defenders had died and several more wounded, but they had held.
"Quickly, repair what we can!" Furlac cried out as he and several others took advantage of the moment's reprieve.
"What do you think they're doing?" One of the men asked Furlac.
"I do not know," Furlac answered, "but it cannot be good."
"FIRE!" A scream from behind them erupted and they turned to see a dozen torches thrown onto their wooden barrier.
The flames took easily with all the wooden and cloth debris. Both sides of the hallway were now ablaze and the smoke began thickening.
"Those bastards!" one man bellowed holding a torn piece of his shirt over his mouth and nose. "They are going to smoke us to death!"
"Let us make them think we are all dead!" Furlac replied as a final plan sparked in his head.
The intense firestorm that blackened the stone walls did not take long to devour the fuel that blocked the hallway. Not long afterward, the smoke bellowed out to a tolerable level from the open windows. All was silent - the bodies of the defenders littered the floor, many on top of each other.
The enemy slowly marched in, their cruel blood-caked blades held ready as they carefully picked their way through the bodies and debris until both ends met near the middle. Their eyes shifted all around, taking in everything, expecting something. Several words were passed from both groups before several sheathed their weapons or relaxed them as laugher and cheers were voiced at their apparent easy victory. But soon those cheers were silenced as their eyes rested on the locked chamber doors that held the woman and children, and devilish grins spread through the enemy ranks like wildfire.
"Now!" Furlac screamed, rolling over and stabbing his sword through the belly of an unaware savage. Before the barbarian had even realized he was dead, Furlac was on his feet, his bloodied sword cutting through the flesh and sinew of another.
All around, the defenders' piled bodies became animated with life. Swords slashed, daggers plunged and clubs crushed and the naive enemy died all around them - few had time to lift their weapons to defend. Within heartbeats, scores of savages lay dead, but now more poured down the hallway, roaring angrily at the trickery that had befallen their brethren.
Furlac's blade hissed through the air as he swung it madly into the horde. He had taken more than a handful of serious wounds and could feel the strength dwindle from him. Still he fought on, for there was nothing left, the only way to preserve life longer was to take another's life away. Every horrifying second was bittersweet bliss.
Furlac's sword lanced through the chest of a huge barbarian, the brute twisted with the hit, and pulled Furlac's blade from his hands as he fell. Before he could react, a powerful blow to the side of his head lifted him from his feet and into the sidewall. Everything seemed to slow down as he slumped to the floor. All around him, men and woman were being cut down with ease now as exhaustion and panic dissolved all resistance. They had fought valiantly and to the end, no one could have asked for more. Furlac focused on the brute who had taken him down, a massive axe cutting through the space between them. Furlac closed his eyes - the sound of metal on stone was absolute.
The barbarians toyed with the last surviving women in the hallway, taunting and jeering, but refusing to kill them. Soon the women realized what fate awaited them and without hesitation turned their weapons on themselves, robbing the enemy of that sadistic pleasure.
The once grey stone floors were now thick with gore. The vibrant tapestries and paintings now splattered with drying blood and black soot. Bodies of both sides littered the hallways.
The doors to the chambers were kicked in, eager enemies awaiting unwilling flesh, but once again, their grotesque desires were robbed from them, as the bloody sight of mercy lay all around. The saviors awaited death on their knees, sobbing and shaken by their dark, compassionate deed.
10
The six had no difficulty getting into the city of Dragon's Cove. They had trailed in with other townsfolk and refugees. They had disguised Shania days before, so her heritage would not be noted easily. She h
ad not fought the idea for long, understanding the need for it. Now she passed as a poor farmer's daughter.
The mood in Dragon Cove City was gloomy and depressing as the streets and avenues were littered with refugees and their ratted belongings. Sorrowful cries of mourning and anguished moans of pain echoed throughout the large city as the group shuffled through the milling crowds.
They did not wander far before settling on a well-worn tavern called The Nails Edge. The tavern was not as packed as the group has first expected it to be, but soon understood why as they were promptly greeted by a large bearded brute, who's left eye showed signs of a fresh bruise.
"If ya'll got no coin, then ya'll not welcome here and best be moving on," the brute told them.
"We are looking for a room for a few nights," Ursa replied.
"All rooms are full - all we are offering now is drinks," the brute grumbled back.
Ursa smiled up at the man as he pulled out a silver coin and handed it to the man. "But we have coin." He finished with a wink.
The brute nodded his understanding. "Follow me - I will take ya to the boss." The bouncer led them through the crowd to the counter, where a large brawny armed man was pouring tankards of ale for one of the tavern's wenches.
"What do you want, Bull?" The bartender barked.
"These folk got some good coin they wanna give ya." Bull told the owner and then walked off back to his post by the door before anyone tried to sneak in.
The bartender eyed the group from under his bushy brows for a long moment. "Well, what do ya want?"
"We need a room for a few nights," Ursa told him.
"Out of luck strangers - rooms are all full," the man replied, turning his attention back to pouring more drinks.
Ursa slid a gold coin across the counter. "We need a room," Ursa said again, his voice firm.
The owner looked down at the gold, his brows rising just slightly at the sight of the money. He took a deep controlled breath as he pocketed the gold. "Give me a moment then; I will see what I can free up."
Moments later, the tavern owner led a half-naked man and one of the cities lesser whores down the stairs and ordered them away, fully ignoring their curses and complaints and the eyes of other curious patrons.
"Come on then, this way."
Meath and Zehava did their best to climb the uneven wooden steps without help, and without giving away their condition. Injured persons made easy prey for thieves and cutthroats. Still, to a trained eye, it was noticeable.
They were led down the dusty hallway to the furthest room to the back. The tavern keeper unlocked the door and ushered them in as he handed Ursa the brass key.
"I will have a meal brought up to ya'll in a few moments. If you need anything else just let me know, and I will see what I can do for ya." The owner said, turning and going back down stairs.
The group entered the dimly lit room and was assaulted by the musty smell of cheap love and even cheaper ale. The room had two windows, one on either side of the far corner, overlooking the city street in front and the tavern's ally on the side.
There were two beds set side-by-side along the left wall, with only a small night table separating them. Both looked to have seen far better days.
"Well, I have slept in better." Dahak chuckled, as he unloaded his pack on one of the beds.
"We have slept in worse, too." Zehava chuckled back as he and Meath sat down on the beds, which shifted and groaned loudly under their weight.
"It will do for the time being," Ursa replied, crossing the room to look out both the grimy windows.
"So what do we do now?" Meath asked. "It is gonna take a miracle to get into the castle unseen."
"That or a well calculated plan," Ursa casually replied. "Dahak, I need you to wander the city, find out what is going on around here. What events are taking place, what relief effort is being used to make room for all of the refugees. Anything that might aid us in getting into the Castle without involving scaling the walls in the dead of night."
"What? Why me?"
Ursa turned a stern eye on him and silenced him before he muttered anything else.
"Fine, I will go. How long do I have to be out there for?" he asked, grabbing the doorknob, clearly unimpressed.
"Until you hear something that will be useful," Ursa countered.
"I shall go with him," Shania piped in. "Two sets of ears better than one."
Ursa was about to refuse, but then decided she may be right. "Just do not take your hood off girl, lest you want to wind up dead in an ally somewhere."
"I will keep safe," she replied as she and Dahak left the room.
"You think that was wise?" Zehava asked several moments after the door had closed.
"Wise, most likely not, but sometimes necessity overrules reason." Ursa replied, "our saving grace is the city is packed with new faces. Unless they do something to single themselves out, no one should pay them any heed."
*****
Almost every street and ally was littered with refugees and the meager belongings they had carried with them. Most of them were huddled in small groups around small pit fires for warmth, cooking what food they had or could afford. Those without fire lay up against building walls absorbing the heat that came from the inside. For nights in Dragon's Cove grew chilly with the western wind blowing in off the Serpent Sea.
Anytime someone neared the groups, distrusting eyes and glares shifted at the newcomers, several times verbal and physical fights broke out and the city guards had to break them up. At the beginning, many of the offenders had been courted away to the citizen jails, but now those were full and could hold no more, so now lashings were given, depending on the severity of the offense. The only street ways not overflowing with people were at the higher ends of the city, where gates had been erected, and paid guards posted by nobles and wealthy merchants.
Dahak and Shania slowly moved in and out of the crowded streets and alleyways, ears perked to hear whatever conversations they could. But after a good part of the night they had heard nothing of any value. Just bitter heartbreaking stories, rumors and prayers.
"You hear anything worthwhile?" Dahak asked Shania as they met up at an arranged placed.
"Nothing," she replied. "What we do now?"
"Well, I do not know about you, but I am starving!" He exclaimed as his hand rubbed his belly to ease up the grumbling. "Let us go find somewhere to eat and get a drink, and then we will think of what to do next."
They entered a small tavern on the eastern side of the city called The Crooked Stool, by now most of the patrons had gone home or been thrown out for lack of coin.
Not many eyes lifted their way as they found a table off to the side where the least amount of activity was. The table was sticky with spilt ale and wine and several flies partook in sampling each spill.
The bar itself was just as grimy - the floors were tracked with mud and slick with several pools of vomit that had yet to be tended to or simply had sawdust thrown over them. The walls and hangings had a thick layer of dust, dulling their true colors and details.
"I figuring you have coin to spend or you would not be here," a tired, less than impressed barmaid grumbled. "All we got left for dinner is lamb and leek stew, but as far as drinks go we still got plenty of everything."
"Well I guess we will each have a bowl of stew and a mug of your coldest ale," Dahak replied cheerfully.
"That will be four coppers," the wench said flat toned, not at all fazed by Dahak's friendly smile.
He reached into his coin pouch, pulled out his last silver, and handed it to the server. "Keep the change." He said, his smile not wavering.
The wench looked hard at him. "What is the catch, stranger?"
Dahak laughed, "Well, none really, I was hoping when you return with our food and drinks that this might have put you in a far better mood for the night." Dahak had just caught a glimpse of her smile before she walked away.
"What all that?" Shania asked. "Why would you give her e
xtra coin?"
Dahak chuckled, "Because it is a kind thing to do, we will get better service now, better quality and it made her obvious bad night just a little better."
Shania cocked an eye at him from beneath her hood as if he had been struck by madness. "You strange, but have good heart, me guess. Good quality for husband, bad quality for warrior."
"Yes, well I guess that is why I'm not a very good soldier," Dahak replied, his tone turning slightly solemn.
"I seen worse," Shania said flatly. "You not so bad - back at camp you fought proudly."
"I was scared out of my bloody wits."
"Fear was there, but did not stop you from fighting," she replied without pause. "Man who fights with no fear, foolish. Little fear reminds warrior of what he has to lose."
The bar wench set two steaming bowls of stew down in front of them with a small basket of fresh flatbread. "I will have your ale for you in a moment," her tone and expression far more pleasant.
"Thank you kindly." Dahak dipped his wooden spoon into the thick stew.
They both ate greedily and nearly licked the bowls clean and washed it all down with a tankard of dark honey mead that was only slightly cooler than room temperature.
Shania's eyes swung over to the doorway as three well-adorned soldiers walked in and surveyed the crowd with interest. They stood tall and with purpose, their sharp eyes took in all the aspects of the tavern and its inhabitants.
"I would have all your attention for but a few moments!" the one in the middle called out, silencing everyone in the tavern.
Murmurs and curses were whispered, as eyes turned to see why they were being disrupted.
"My name is Captain Dugger - Lord Marcus and Lady Jewel of Dragon's Cove are offering one gold piece to every man who joins the army and starts training immediately," the man explained. "Those with families, your families will be giving temporary lodgings and three meals a day, until said time, when it is safe enough for you to return to your own towns and homes."
The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Page 25
