by Lee LaCroix
“Master, I bring news from the streets,” the young man stated as he bowed his head low.
“Continue,” Rahven asked.
“The band from Erawal has been taken into the fortress. They were last seen headed towards the stockade before we lost track of them behind the walls,” the scout reported after he stood tall before the throne.
“Thank you,” Rhaven concluded with a nod, and the scout retreated into the darkness.
“I can only assume they have been taken to the lower dungeons. We have found the remains of our fellow comrades down there before. I do not know of a single person who goes down there, who ever gets out,” Rhaven explained.
“Kayten and I are responsible for them. We encouraged them to liberate Nacosst, Erawal, and now Andalvia. We cannot leave them to that fate. If you were to help us, they would be more than willing to help Dusk in your fight against the Order, for they have traveled here for the same reason,” Ilsa asked of them, falling to a knee and bowing.
“Rise, shadow sister,” Rhaven asked as he lifted his hand, “I’m sorry, but we will not risk another assault on the fortress. Rakash is not a backline commander. He will be in the frontlines, putting our plans to end, at the very hint of our coming. And even with this new help, he would still be unstoppable,”
“I understand your concern. The Vandari have been and will continue to be a dangerous foe. But defeating them was not our purpose for visiting this city. We fought with Malic in Nacosst, and he subdued two of our warriors with the basest of trickery, two great men. We believe Malic to be here with those two men. Like the sword I hold before you, they too hold unique blades, tempered mursame blades forged by my hand. If we can find these two men and those blades, then Rakash may not be as invincible as he seems,” Kayten explained, motioning to her sword.
“There is no guarantee that those men are in the dungeons with your allies or in Andalvia to begin with. If Malic were here, we would know,” Rahven stated.
“In Erawal, I personally overheard Malic speak the words Andalvia twice. If Malic is as skilled as you say, is it not possible he may have successfully hidden himself?” Ilsa argued.
The master of Dusk looked down upon the two women and stroked at his goatee, looking at them with an upturned chin and downcast glare. He finally lowered his head, breathing deep.
“Fine, you may go. But know that the future of Andalvia rests in your hands. Continue carefully with this great burden,” Rahven spoke as he stood from his chair, scattering his disciples and sending them away like shadow from a blossoming flame.
A short while later, Kayten, Ilsa, Zoreyn, and three other masked acolytes stood around a table in one of the meeting rooms. Kayten squinted to see the rough sketching of the hand-drawn dungeon map over the dim light of the nearby lamps. Zoreyn was surveying the map when there was a knock at the door, and he moved to open it. He stepped aside as another acolyte entered the room carrying a crate and stuck his dagger in, cracking open the top. The shimmering red sparkle of shattered crimson dust shined in the light of the torch, and the crate was soon surrounded as all looked inside.
“Careful,” Kayten warned as Zoreyn went to place his hand inside.
He nodded and withdrew his hand.
“With these materials, we can proceed. Everyone here will accompany me to the dungeons, and we will attempt to free the Kal’reth and hopefully find these Malquian men,” Zoreyn began.
“Are we going in through the front gate? Over the walls?” one of the acolytes spoke up.
“Wait and see,” Zoreyn spoke as he turned about and grabbed some equipment from the shelving behind him before placing it on the table.
The entire group stared as garment of metal and leather sat upon the table. There were two pairs of leather gloves and shoes fitted with serrated spikes out their bottoms and the flat of the palm. Ilsa looked at Zoreyn and had an inkling of what he planned to do.
Chapter Seventeen
The silver shine of moonlight was the only guide as Zoreyn made his way up the sea cliff above the crashing of the waves and the stony teeth of the rocks below. Worn down by salty sea winds, the wall gave way to Zoreyn’s ascension as he dug the spikes on his palm into the cracks in the rock face. A rope rested, curled around his shoulder, as he continued his climb towards the windows of the dungeon. Zoreyn balled his toes as he kicked into the wall and got a solid footing before leaping up again and continuing on his way. Down below, Ilsa, Kayten, and the other four acolytes sat in the darkness of the slender rowboat and navigated between the cave’s teeth where the waves would not turn them about.
Eventually, Zoreyn disappeared from their sight, and Kayten and Ilsa were left in the dark, waiting for anything. Zoreyn had made his way up to the lowest row of windows and began to inspect each one, looking over the wear in their mortar and the strength of their bars. Before continuing on to the second row, Zoreyn tied the rope to the most solid bar he could find and secured himself to it. On the third row, he found what he was looking for. Before him, there was a window with a set of bars where the bricking had been damaged and the mortar was falling away. He dug the left claw into the wall and hung there as he opened the pouch on his belt and began to scoop out the red powder from within. In the corner of the window nearest to the weakest bricking, he made the largest pile. Then, leading towards him, he left a small trail of the bloodfire dust. He tugged at the rope tied to him one last time before striking his right claw against the brick and dust, setting it alight. He watched as the shining sparkle made its way across the window’s edge. Just before the flame struck the pile, he leapt.
Kayten and Ilsa looked up as there was a loud whoosh and a bright lick of flame. They were looking up for Zoreyn when the rocks began to splash around them and the bricks fell from the high height around them. They were still looking into the sky when the coil of rope fell between them. Soon, Ilsa was climbing up the sea wall with the help of the rope and a pair of spiked shoes that fit nicely over her own boots. As Kayten had to venture over water once again, she was convinced to forgo her armour and don a pair of the night-shaded blacks accustomed to the members of Dusk. Before long, Ilsa came to the opening of the shattered window where the entirety of the cell’s back wall was blown out, and she reached out her hand to Zoreyn who waited above. A quiet tinkling of clicking noises was heard as Zoreyn placed his arms through the bar and picked at the cell’s lock while Ilsa helped the rest into the cell. When everyone was inside, they took off the rest of their climbing gear, and Zoreyn opened the cell and peered down the hallway but closed it and urged everyone back against the wall.
“Guards,” Zoreyn whispered as he withdrew a dagger with his other hand.
Ilsa nodded and withdrew hers. The footsteps of the two guards sent to check on the disturbance in the lower cells echoed down through the hallway. The creaking sound of the squeaky cell door was masked completely by the shuffling of chainmail boots, and Zoreyn and Ilsa dove out of the cell as the guards walked past. The guards sunk down to the ground without a sound, and the two assassins began to rummage through their belts and pockets.
“Here,” Ilsa said as she held up a key ring.
The dripping of moisture and the moaning of the prisoners muffled the sounds of the infiltrator’s footsteps as they searched through the cells on the third floor. They were on the lookout for another pair of guards, but none came before they came across the first of their targets.
“I think that’s him,” Kayten whispered as he peered through the bars of a dark cell.
Ilsa looked in and nodded. The rough grating of wrong keys woke the prisoners inside, and Ayden’s wide eyes stared up at the shadowy figures outside of his cell. Before he could stand, Kayten quieted him with a finger to her lips, and they began to look for the key to unbind their chains.
“They took the rest of us down the hall and to the next floor, I think,” Ayden whispered as he rubbed at his wrists, which were numb and bruised from the shackles.
“Come with us, We’ll n
eed you to identify the rest,” Ilsa asked, “but be quiet,”
“Okay,” Ayden whispered and stretched out his stiff body before tip-toeing behind them.
They came to the end of the open-barred cells on the third and fourth floors, but they were still short another seven of Ayden’s followers. The closed door cells of the fifth and final floor dismayed them because they would have to open the cells to figure out who was inside and would take quite some time. The rest of the party were scattered down the hall, trying to look through tiny slats and windows, when Ilsa found the right key for the third door.
“Arrooooooo!” a prisoner screamed as it knocked Ilsa aside and running for the stairs.
Ilsa gagged as the smell of blood and fecal matter began to waft from the room, and she slammed the door, barely heard over the man’s yelling. Zoreyn pushed past her to chase the man of sickening offal who would not relent in yelling. The escapee gagged and coughed up some more blood as Zoreyn’s dagger sunk into his back, only making it a ways down the third floor corridor before he was dropped to the damp floor of stone.
“It had to be done,” Zoreyn explained as he wiped the blood from his blade.
He returned to the rest but abruptly stopped and listened. He could hear the echo of rushing boots against the stony steps above.
“Quickly, my brothers of shadow. We must flee,” Zoreyn ordered.
“But, we have to find Novas and Garreth and the rest… we will not have another chance. This could be our only chance,” Kayten pleaded.
Zoreyn looked at her with a cold stare and dead eyes but frowned and turned aside.
“You have little time. When Rakash arrives, we will flee or die,” Zoreyn warned before the rest of the Dusk formed up behind him, and they made their way up the stairs.
The sound of clashing steel and the screaming song of battle was heard as Kayten continued to look through tiny crevasses, and Ilsa fiddled with the numerous keys. Ilsa began to give up hope as every cell on this floor was filled with death or nothing.
“Quickly! Hurry Ilsa! Kayten! More of them are coming!” Zoreyn called from above.
Ilsa put her hands to her head, becoming frustrated at the game of keys and slammed her fist upon the door. Kayten came to her side and put a hand upon her shoulder. That is when Ilsa saw it.
“Kayten. Quickly, your blade,” Ilsa asked.
Kayten withdrew her sword and grinded its flat against the stony wall, building up its heat. When the blade was red hot and fiery, Kayten unwound a strong swing from above. The wooden door fell to ash as her blade passed through it, and another two swings had the door completely destroyed. Alas, there was nothing inside for them to give them hope, but Ilsa urged her onto the next. Kayten was beginning to pant with exhaustion, and Ilsa was beginning to worry as she looked towards the stairs and expected the wave of Vandari to rush down and put them to their deaths. They came to the last door on the fifth floor, and Kayten lifted her sword and drove it through the wood. As the top half of the door fell away, Ilsa could see a long-haired man with his arms shackled to the wall. As Ilsa kicked apart the last section of the door, she was desperate to see who was behind the final door. She fell to her knees as she pushed away the hair from the man’s face and placed a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasping.
“Garreth. Garreth! Please awake!” Ilsa shouted as she nudged at his bruised and bloodied face.
“I have to go!” Kayten screamed as she ran up the stairs, flames of her blade trailing behind.
“I’m here now, Garreth. They can’t hurt you anymore. Just please wake up!” Ilsa begged as she touched at his chest, and the dry blood flaked off of his shallow wounds.
Ilsa’s tears were as cold as Garreth felt, and she hugged his head against her shoulder.
“Please. Please,” she whimpered and stroked at his bloody and greasy hair.
Suddenly, there was a cough and a deep breath, and Ilsa could feel his warmth once more. She held his head to hers and watched his eyes flitter like candlelight in the wind until they stayed open.
“Ilsa, Ilsa,” he moaned.
“Come, we must go. Try to stand,” Ilsa told him as she unbound his shackles.
Garreth hobbled as they made their way slowly up the stairs and past the fourth floor, which was completely changed and ruined. The floor was choked with Vandarian corpses; so many that Ilsa had to sidestep herself and Garreth through them to avoid tripping. The Vandari were cut open or scorched black, and trails of flame still lingered on the walls and ceilings.
The fourth floor was lit from the blade fire, but the third floor was almost blindly so. Zoreyn stood over one of his comrades and bound a deep wound, keeping his ally conscious. The other masked ones were slain. Ilsa had to cover her eyes from the brightness of the conflagration that filled the narrow hallway in front of her. Kayten stood at the front alone, dragging her sword, white hot and aflame, through the bars of the cells beside her. With each flame she would create in passing, she would toss it in front of her at the legion of Vandari that had begun to form up with their shields front and spears further. Currently at a standstill, Kayten and the Vandari waited between the escape through the broken cell wall.
Ilsa watched as Kayten crept forward, bombarding with Vandari with waves of flame that kept their sight covered and their shields up. As the leather upon their shields began to melt, and the ring of iron around its edge became hot, the Vandarian front line buckled, for the forward most shield bearers needed a reprieve from the terrible scathing. It was then Kayten rushed forward, all the way to the cell of their escape, and continued the bombardment of fiery waves. Ilsa carried Garreth, and Zoreyn shouldered his comrade, and they made their way past Kayten. Ilsa looked to the drop to the dark waters below.
“Jump,” Zoreyn commanded before he pushed his comrade out and then dove in himself.
Shortly after, Garreth felt himself falling like the darkness of nightmares that woke him chilled and sweating. But only this time, he could not wake himself from that infinite abyss. Before he became accustomed to the seemingly endless fall, the cold embrace of the night sea clutched at him.
Kayten only ceased the swirling blade for a mere moment when she saw a man pushing through the divide of Vandari that had now formed. He was tall and tanned like flawless bronze with rippling muscles hardly covered by his leather harness, and he had chiseled legs that broke through his battle dress of leather and chain. A wicked grin tore across his tight face, and his black and gray warrior’s knot bobbed in rhythm with every step that he took. Like a swift storm front, the man walked down the stairs with an assured balance, flourishing both of his swords in front of him. Kayten began to spin her blade against the nearby wall, sending the jets of fire at him again. The Light of Judgment spun his blades and pushed the flames into the wall, creating a cooling divide. He continued to march forward as he deflected Kayten’s fiery assault until he laughed and took a sideways stance, continuing to flourish with a singular sword. Kayten threw up her shield as Rakash began to slam his second blade against the wall, sending thick flashes of light towards Kayten. Kayten knew what was in store for her if she remained, so she veered into the cell and leapt to the sea.
Warm mist clung to the polished tub of bronze as its hot liquid contents continued to give off its heat. Garreth sat within the bathing pool, relaxing some muscles while willing others to life, and tried to surrender all of his pain over to the gentle scalding of the water. His chaffed wrists and weary arms hurt the most; in any position other than raised binding, his joints grinded and his muscles twitched together like flint and tinder. It was not easy for him to steady himself in the tub’s smooth basin, so Ilsa watched over him to prevent him from slipping in and under. Garreth dipped his mouth under the water and breathed through his nose, trying to restore the airway that had been blocked with blood.
“You okay in there?” Ilsa asked as she heard bubbling and snorting from the water’s edge.
Garreth did not speak but met her steady gaze.
<
br /> “Alright, Garreth. Just take it easy,” Ilsa pleaded as she wound a needle and thread through her pants, sewing up a tear from the assault the night before.
She had just about finished her mending when Garreth’s head slipped under the water, and she leapt off her chair to beside the tub. Before she could pull him up, Garreth sat up in the tub with a splash and put both arms around its sides. With a finger to each nostril, Garreth blew the air through his nose, dislodging the dark red blood clots that had formed onto the now wet floor of stone. Deep breaths came back to Garreth, and he recovered the calmness he was worried he had lost. He sank into the tub again and watched as Ilsa returned to her chair.
“Have you seen Novas?” Garreth asked, putting his head against the back of the tub.
“No, not since Nacosst. Have you?” Ilsa replied, winding up the thread around the needle.
“No, I have not. I remember traveling to Andalvia. I remember being in that cell and my interrogation by Malic. And, I remember the other things,” Garreth trailed off.
Ilsa avoided bringing up the memories of his torture.
“So, Malic is in Andalvia then?” Ilsa asked, putting the needle into one of her pouches.
“He was in the days past,” Garreth replied with a nod.
“These people, the Dusk, have had trouble finding him. Malic actually used to be one of them before he betrayed them,” Ilsa explained.
“Can we trust them?” Garreth asked as he pulled his chest out of the water and rotated around his shoulders, trying to work the soreness from his arms.
“They agreed to help save you, and Ayden, and his men. You’ll meet Rahven, their master, as soon as you are up to it,” Ilsa informed him.
Garreth stood in the tub and stepped over its edge, planting his foot on the stone floor. He leaned over the tub, rung out his hair, and then waited for Ilsa to throw him the cloth to dry himself with. With a smirk, she waited as Garreth motioned for her oblige him but would not resist looking over his rigid nakedness, his cut and shapely form undiminished from his prison stay, as the blood washed off and the bruises were hardly noticeable in the dim torch light. She paced over to him, one foot after the one, and put an arm around him, gripping and rubbing herself tight against him. Before he could exhale a breath of pain, Ilsa’s lips were to his mouth and locked in a deep kiss. As they separated, the cloth was left in Garreth’s hands. As Ilsa walked to the door, she sent him a gaze before leaving the room.
