Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  "Good work," Gawl said. "It looks like we'll have a clear shot from here. Take half the men and move to the other side of the street. In five blocks you'll come to a large plaza with a fountain in the middle. Three streets run into it. The one on the extreme right leads you up to the temple. If I should fall, do whatever you have to, but make sure Marek doesn't leave there alive. You'll need to find your way back to the coast road and from there to Victoria Point. If everything goes well, Bain will be waiting to take you off."

  "Us off," Haynes corrected. The colonel turned to go, but Gawl put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Thank you for always being there, Shelby."

  In the dim light the old man smiled. Seconds later he was gone.

  The trip to the temple lasted less than ten minutes, but they were the longest of Gawl's life. Shortly after they had started up the street a series of explosions could be heard coming from the harbor. From their vantage point he saw the Sennian ships moving in two lines toward Coribar's fleet, which still lay at anchor. At the head of each line was a fire ship.

  The forts at either end of the harbor responded quickly. Cannonballs streaked across the sky, joined moments later by the catapults. Thus far all the shots had fallen short, but that wouldn't last long. Trumpets were blowing near the city center and there was a great deal of activity going on down at the docks as the Coribar ships tried to get under way. Gawl had no more time to spare. His business was at the temple. Priests were coming outside to see what the commotion was about.

  Gawl had never laid hands on a priest in his life, and part of him recoiled at the idea now. Possibly these were innocent men and possibly they were not. He didn't know the answer, and circumstances weren't going to permit him time to dwell on it. The fury of battle rose in his chest. Quite probably he would go to hell for what he was about to do, but so be it. At his signal, the archers on both sides of the street opened up.

  Gawl rose to a low crouch and sprinted for the church door, fifteen yards ahead of the nearest man. Two white-robed priests who weren't cut down in the initial flight of arrows ran back inside and were attempting to bar the door when he hit it with his shoulder. Though made of heavy bronze, the door flew backward, knocking one of the men unconscious. The other produced a pike from somewhere and charged.

  Gawl easily parried his attack and could have killed the priest, whose back was now exposed. Instead, a blow from his fist knocked the man senseless.

  Colonel Haynes and two other men joined him, step­ping over the priests' bodies. The other soldiers flooded into the temple from the side doors.

  "Is everyone all right?" Gawl asked. "Sire," one of the soldiers answered, pointing toward the altar.

  Gawl turned and looked.

  There, at the front of the temple, were three more priests. The one in the center was elderly and completely bald.

  "You have come to do murder in God's house," Ter-rence Marek called out. "Put up your weapons and leave this place at once."

  The soldier nearest Gawl notched an arrow, raised his bow, and would have fired, had Gawl not stopped him. "Marek, you will come with us."

  The Archbishop stayed where he was. "I know you, Gawl d'Atherny. You will never leave this place alive. The Lord protects his followers and his retribution shall be swift and terrible."

  "No doubt," Gawl replied. "We can debate the matter when we meet Him, but right now you're coming with us." Both of the priests immediately stepped in front of Marek, drew their daggers and started down the steps to­ward Gawl. Neither reached the bottom. At a gesture from Colonel Haynes, the soldiers fired, killing them both. Marek hardly glanced at them. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his robe and produced a glass cylinder ap­proximately six inches long. It was filled with a black liq­uid. Before he could throw it, four arrows in succession buried themselves in Marek's chest. A puzzled look ap­peared on Marek's face and he took a step forward, then slowly collapsed to his knees and fell over onto his side. The vile shattered on the floor and the liquid changed into a yellow-tinged mist that began to spread and creep down the steps.

  "Poison!" Haynes shouted. "Don't breathe in the fumes, sire!"

  Foam and spittle filled Marek's mouth. A second later convulsions racked his body. One of his hands, claw-shaped, reached out toward Gawl.

  "Out!" Haynes ordered. "Everyone out, now!"

  Whether Terrence Marek died from the arrows or from the thing he had just released inside the church, Gawl never knew. He felt no joy at his passing, only a grim de­termination to rid the land of the other pestilence that was inhabiting it.

  "Get the men together, Shelby," he said, speaking to the colonel. "We go to Victoria Point and on to Stewart Vale."

  "And then?" Haynes asked.

  Gawl looked down the hill toward the bay. The Cincar ships were burning and it looked like the lower portion of the city nearest to the docks was also on fire.

  "And then we end this," he said.

  52

  Outside Rivalin

  The moment Mathew realized that Shakira was in the cave, he understood the nature of the trap she had set, and his thoughts immediately turned to Lara, Father Thomas, and Ceta. They were the real targets, not Collin or him. In the fleeting seconds before he closed his mind, he saw the Orlocks take his wife and friends as soon as they crossed the stone bridge.

  His choices then were simple: go to their aid and lose Collin, or stay and try to find a way out of their predica­ment. It was unlikely the Orlocks would harm them, be­cause they were more useful as hostages.

  By letting Shakira block his access to the ring he had done two things: The Orlock queen would believe she had won, or was about to, and he had gained additional time so he could explain his plan to Collin. He only hoped the creatures didn't look under the bridge.

  Shakira and her two Orlocks were waiting for them at the bottom of the hill. In daylight she looked even taller than she had in the cave and a great deal older. He had heard that Orlocks didn't live very long, but she was obvi­ously the exception. Her skin had a translucent quality and it seemed to be stretched across her skull.

  She watched them approach, unblinking. The expres­sion on her face was enough to tell Mathew how hard she was concentrating to maintain the block. Neither said any­thing to the other as he passed, In fact, Shakira barely seemed to notice him at all.

  "This path will take you to the bridge, humans," the nearest Orlock rasped. "We will follow behind you."

  The path was not in the best condition. For the first half hour they descended down the hillside into a forested val­ley. Through the trees Mathew occasionally caught glimpses of the stone bridge, at least a mile off.

  It soon became clear that Shakira was having diffi­culty negotiating the trail. Several times Mathew and Collin found themselves having to wait for the Orlocks to catch up.

  From what he could tell, the path would emerge into an open area, with the bridge about a hundred yards beyond that, and spanning a deep river gorge. He didn't know the river's name.

  "There's the bridge," Collin said. "And there's Lara, Father Thomas, and Ceta."

  "With three Orlocks," Mathew added. "Do you still have your pipe?"

  "Sure, but—"

  "Let me borrow it, would you?"

  Collin looked at Mathew like he'd taken leave of his senses. Nevertheless, he pulled the pipe out of the pocket of his vest and handed it to him. "When did you start smoking?"

  "I didn't," Mathew said. "As soon as we get to the bridge I'm going to slow down to light this. I want you to keep going, and whatever you do, don't stop. Do you know anything about black powder?"

  "Only what I've heard."

  "It makes a hell of a bang, and when it does, you don't want to be anywhere around. There's a keg of it under the base of the bridge right now."

  "That's impossible."

  "No, it's not," Mathew said. "I created it and placed it there once I knew what Shakira had in mind. They were after Lara, Ceta, and Father Thomas all this time.
That's why I let her block me."

  Collin held Mathew's eye for a moment. "So what hap­pens now?"

  "I'm going to set it off. I don't know how long the fuse will burn; that's why you need to be off that bridge."

  "You're a rather sneaky fellow, Mat Lewin. Has anyone ever told you that?"

  "Several people, actually," Mathew replied, giving his friend a push to get him started.

  Collin took two steps and stopped. "What about you?"

  Til be fine. I've worked with black powder a hundred times. Just make sure you're on the other side thirty sec­onds from now."

  As soon as Mathew reached the bridge, he stooped down and pretended to tie his bootlace. Collin continued on without him. Shakira and her Orlocks were at least fifty yards behind them. On the opposite end of the bridge the three creatures waited with Father Thomas, Lara, and Ceta.

  Mathew stood up, walked to the side, and casually glanced down. Just beneath the foundation of the bridge was a trail of black powder. He couldn't see the keg, but he knew it was there. When he told Collin that he'd worked with black powder before, he omitted mention­ing that his past experiences were with cannons and can-nonballs; still, he judged the principles were about the same.

  Shakira was forty yards away when Mathew took the tin of matches out of his pocket. He made a show of light­ing Collin's pipe, though there was no tobacco in it, then casually dropped the match over the edge, praying it would stay lit. It did.

  Twenty yards, Mathew broke into a trot and then a full sprint.

  The explosion was deafening. Stone and dirt flew sky­ward and a hot blast of air all but lifted him off the ground. Arms and legs wheeling, he launched himself for the oppo­site bank as the bridge was blown to pieces. One minute it was there and the next it was gone. He hit the bank chest first, clawing for anything he could get a hold of. Lara dove to the ground and grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

  Collin, who was ready for the explosion, charged di­rectly at the stunned Orlocks, driving his sword through the nearest creature's stomach. It let out a terrible scream. Father Thomas grabbed its companion by the wrist and twisted outward sharply. The bone broke with a snap. He wrenched the sword from the creature's fingers and slashed backward. For one horrible moment a headless body swayed on its feet in a macabre dance before it col­lapsed to the ground.

  The third Orlock finally realized what was happening and rounded on Ceta, its axe raised. The killing blow never arrived. Not knowing what else to do, she kicked it be-tween the legs. The creature let out a grunt, its eyes going wide, and slowly sank to its knees. Collin clubbed it across the back of its skull and pushed it over the side of the hill.

  He looked down for a moment and nodded his approval to Ceta.

  In the meanwhile Father Thomas went to help Lara. They got Mathew up without difficulty. On the opposite bank Shakira and her two Orlocks were lying on the ground. Mathew couldn't tell if they were dead or simply unconscious as the the power flooded back into his body.

  Collin explained what had just happened to the others while Mathew continued to stare at the opposite bank.

  Lara went to join him. "Are they dead?" she asked.

  Her presence jarred him back to the present and he kissed her cheek. "I don't know .. . maybe."

  "Is everyone all right?" asked Father Thomas.

  Lara and Ceta both nodded.

  "I'm fine," Mathew answered over his shoulder.

  "Why don't we talk while we're walking?" Collin sug­gested. He cupped his hands around his eyes and searched the surrounding countryside and hills. "I think we should get out of here before any more of her friends show up."

  "Agreed," said Father Thomas. "This path appears to

  head in the right direction. If we can get to the docks we should be able to book passage on a ship."

  Lara had to tug on Mathew's elbow to get his attention again. He was still staring at the Orlock bodies on the op­posite bank.

  On the way into town Father Thomas filled Mathew and Collin in on what had happened to them. Six Orlocks took them by surprise.

  "But there were only three when we got there," said Mathew.

  "Father Thomas killed two," Lara told him. "And Ceta and I killed the other."

  That nearly caused him to miss a step, and he looked from Lara to Ceta, only to be met by a pair of enigmatic smiles. It occurred to him that he might ask exactly how they had killed the Orlock, but he decided that his life would be just as rich if he didn't know.

  The terrain flattened out quickly once they reached the valley floor, which enabled them to make better time. No one talked much during the trip, especially Mathew. He responded to Lara's questions with nods or one word answers.

  The village of Rivalin was small enough so they had no trouble finding the tavern. As a precaution, Father Thomas sent Collin on ahead to make sure the way was clear be­fore he let the others follow. Once there, they took a table in the corner of the common room.

  While they were waiting for their food, Father Thomas leaned over and whispered to Mathew, "A word with you please, my son."

  Mathew, preoccupied, seemed to notice Father Thomas for the first time. He pushed his chair back from the table and followed the priest.

  Once they were outside, Father Thomas folded his hands across his chest and leaned back against the side of the building, tucking one leg up under him. "Are you all right, Mat? You seem distracted."

  "I'm sorry, Father," Mathew replied. "I was just thinking—"

  "About what happened back there. Yes, I know. It would have been wrong to kill a helpless enemy, even an Orlock."

  Mathew looked at the priest sharply. "I don't have the luxury of always knowing I'm right. A lot of people are going to die because I didn't act."

  Father Thomas looked down at his feet and smiled. "You'd be surprised how many times priests are wrong, my son. Am I correct that you believe Shakira survived the explosion?"

  "She's alive. She regained consciousness a little while . ago, and she's not in the best of moods."

  "Pity. You're certain of this?"

  Mathew nodded and stared at the street. It was small and unpaved and reminded him of the way Devondale used to be when he was growing up.

  Father Thomas watched him for several seconds before he spoke again. "Mathew, you can no more change your nature than a river can change its course, or that horse over there can sprout wings and fly. You are the child of a good man and a good woman. Both were friends of mine and they raised you to be a certain way. Your life experi­ences have tempered this, but the mold was set a long time ago. Something that is morally wrong does not become right because circumstances seem to call for it."

  "But—"

  "But people will die, as you have said. That is unfortu­nate and tragic. A war is coming. That is also tragic. It would be more tragic still if the first casualty proved to be your soul. I'm proud that you stayed your hand when you could have struck. The end does not justify the means. It never will, my boy."

  Mathew let out a long breath. "I'm going to have to fight her, and probably Teanna, too. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to manage it."

  A strange look passed over Father Thomas's face at the mention of Teanna d'Elso, but it disappeared quickly.

  "You will do what you must. That is all anyone can ask. As for fighting Teanna, let us deal with one situation at a time. You told me the Guardian said she has been instru­mental in rallying the East and West to meet the Orlock threat. Perhaps we should keep an open mind where she is concerned."

  "The last time I trusted her, she nearly killed me. I won't give her a second chance."

  Father Thomas nodded. "Nor should you. Protect your­self first, of course. I only suggest that it is possible for people to change. If what we have heard about Teanna is true, this threat is one that faces all humans. I ask only that you look at things objectively."

  "And how am I supposed to do that?" "There's no easy answer to that question," said the priest. "I wish ther
e were. You will have to judge for yourself. She is a very unusual young lady, so this is the best advice I can give: Her mother was a great influence on her in the past. As we both know, this is no longer the case. Perhaps she has learned something over the last four years."

  They talked for several more minutes, but Mathew was still confused.

  "Was this all that was bothering you?" asked Father Thomas.

  "Not really."

  "Would you like to talk about it?"

  "No .. . yes. Father, even if Teanna doesn't try to kill me again, there's still the problem of the Orlocks. The Guardian said this war is for our survival. I think he was telling the truth. You said as much yourself a moment ago. I don't have the strength to fight them all. There are too many."

  "Mat—"

  "Listen to me," Mathew said, taking a step toward the priest. "He showed me things the Ancients did—that their weapons did—things that scared me. I admit that. Those weapons are still around. Did you know that? I don't... I don't want to use them."

  It was several seconds before Father Thomas spoke. "Your father was my best friend, and he once told me that heroes and cowards are both afraid. The difference lies in how they deal with it."

  "He told me the same thing and I'm no hero."

  "Nor are you a coward, my son," Father Thomas said quietly, taking Mathew by the shoulders. "I have no ques­tion of this. You doubt yourself more than others do. When the time comes, and the decision is before you, you'll know it. Trust in yourself."

  Mathew looked away. "Father, will you promise me something? If anything happens to me, will you take care of Lara and Bran if I'm not there to do it?"

  The words struck at Father Thomas's heart. And he looked at the young man, but Mathew continued to stare down the street at nothing.

  "I promise," said the priest, "but it will not come to that. In this you must believe."

  There was still no answer.

  "Let's go back inside now, Mat. The others will think we're lost."

  "I'll be in in a little while."

  Father Thomas's words usually helped to put things in perspective, but this time they didn't. Mathew thought about what the Guardian had shown him, and the con­tempt for his own weakness grew larger in his mind. He thought about Teanna d'Elso. Both the Guardian and Father Thomas had their own views on her, though where they were getting them from was a complete mystery to him. The simple fact was that she had tried to kill him. Moreover, she had manipulated Father Kellner in Sennia four years ago and was indirectly responsible for the deaths of at least three other people.