Thinblade

by David A. Wells

  The heavy hammer slammed into the table and drove it back about a foot, just enough for a man to slip between the table and the wall only to be pinned there as the three pushed back. Another hit with the hammer and he’d be in the room. The enemy had a couple of heavy shields held high to protect against Abigail and her bow. She stood, arrow nocked, waiting for a clear shot.

  Alexander called out, “Lucky, whatever you’re doing, do it faster.”

  Lucky came out of his room with a clay fire pot in hand.

  Anatoly looked twice at his old friend. “You sure about this?”

  Lucky shrugged, “Desperate times and all. Quickly, all of you get into my room.” Abigail scooped up her pack and went without a word. The three holding the table released their pressure just as the hammer struck again driving the table back several feet.

  Anatoly spun. He knew the man pinned between the table and the wall would be free the moment the pressure was off. When the enemy slipped into the room, Anatoly used the momentum of his spin to bury his axe blade in the man’s chest, cutting him nearly in half at the torso. Blood flowed freely.

  Alexander and Jack were moving toward Lucky’s room, followed by Anatoly as Lucky tossed his clay fire pot through the doorway. It broke against the shields and splashed liquid fire into the hallway. Smoke began to flow along the ceiling, both from the now burning curtains covering the windows and from the new conflagration in the hall caused by Lucky and his well-placed fire pot. The screams of burning men could be heard over the growing roar of the fire.

  Inside Lucky’s room, they were met with a three-foot hole in the floor, burned around the edges as if by some type of potent acid. Anatoly’s rope was secured to the bed and trailed down the hole. Abigail was already in the room below, which was thankfully unoccupied.

  She called out quietly, “Come on,” and motioned for them to follow.

  Lucky went next, followed by Jack, then Alexander, and finally Anatoly. They could hear shrieks of pain coming from the hallway above as they slid down the rope. The fire was growing and the other guests were in a panic to get out of the building. As guests fled, more soldiers raced up the stairs to reinforce the Reishi Protectorate in the hall above, leaving a clear route to the kitchen where they could flee out the back door.

  Anatoly cracked the door just enough to see down the hall. “It’s clear this way.”

  Alexander took a look out the window. Wizard Rangle stood across the street, looking up. He was flanked by a dozen men with crossbows. Fortunately, they were all looking at the second floor. “We have to move fast. Anatoly, lead the way to the kitchen and out to the stables. We have to get out of here before they realize we’re not still in our room.”

  Anatoly considered for a moment. “Agreed, but they’ll have men waiting for us at the stables, probably with crossbows. Jack, do you know of another way out?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Jack answered. “There’s a way into the Southport underground a few buildings down but that can’t help us unless we can get there.” Just then they heard the bells of the fire brigade. “Perhaps the authorities will provide us with the distraction we need.”

  Alexander had his bow out with an arrow nocked. “I’d rather face whatever’s out back than that wizard and his crossbowmen. I say we go out the back way and hope we can make it to the stables in one piece.”

  Anatoly nodded, slung his war axe, and drew a throwing knife in each hand. “Hit them before they hit you and move fast.” He checked the hall again, stuck his head out, then back in quickly. “There’s one at the end of the hall guarding the door to the kitchen.”

  Alexander took a deep breath. He’d never killed a man before, unless you count the guy he just stuck with his sword through the door, but he didn’t even know if that guy was dead. “Open the door for me,” he said as he put tension on his bowstring.

  Anatoly nodded, positioned himself and looked to Alexander for the go. It happened very quickly. Anatoly swung the door wide, Alexander glided into the hallway, drawing his bow as he moved. The enemy saw him and pulled his crossbow up to take aim. Alexander was faster. The soldier took the arrow straight in the chest and staggered back with a look of confusion and disbelief. He looked Alexander straight in the eye for just a moment before slumping to the floor.

  “Move!” Anatoly commanded as he turned the young Lord of Valentine Manor away from the first man he had ever killed and toward their escape route.

  Alexander obeyed, even drew another arrow, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was the shock and surprise of the man he’d just killed. He felt like he might throw up.

  Then he heard the shout of a guard from the staircase above. “They’re downstairs!”

  Alexander’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the sound of heavy boots running in the hall above. The shock of killing a man slipped into the background of his mind, and the need to survive shouldered its way into his consciousness, demanding his full attention.

  They made it to the kitchen, which was now deserted because of the fire. The door leading outside behind the inn was standing open. There was only an alley between the inn and the stables, and the side door to the stables stood open.

  Anatoly stopped and crouched at the door to poke his head out. He yanked it back quickly. Crossbow bolts whizzed past and glanced off the side of the building from both directions. There were men at either end of the alley and probably in the stables. They were trapped again and more men were coming from behind. They only had moments before they’d be in a pitched battle in tight quarters.

  “Over here … it leads down to the cellar.” Jack had found a trap door in the floor of the kitchen. The stairway leading down was steep but sturdy. The air in the cellar was rank and musty.

  “What if it’s a dead end?” Anatoly said as he unslung his war axe. “I’d rather face ’em where I have room to work.”

  “We might be able to get into the underground from down there. I know for sure there are passages that run down the street out front. Besides, we won’t do well against all those crossbows.” Jack made his case while he took a kitchen rag, wrapped it around a long wooden spoon, and lit it on fire from the stove.

  Anatoly still looked skeptical.

  Alexander made up his mind for him. “I’d rather not be caught in a crossfire. At least they have to come down the stairs before they can get a clear shot off, and we can shoot at them from the dark.”

  The cellar was dank and musty but well stocked. The shelves were lined with tightly sealed jars filled with all manner of vegetables and preserves. A few jars contained chickens. Boxes and crates were stacked all around the low-ceilinged room. But there was no door out.

  Anatoly was the last one down. “You picked a fine spot for a last stand, Master Colton,” he growled as he pulled the trapdoor closed, then worked a leather strap free from his pack to tie the hatch closed.

  Alexander enlisted the assistance of Lucky and Abigail in stacking a few of the heavier crates for cover.

  Jack was busy examining the walls, for what, Alexander didn’t know, but didn’t take the time to ask. The room above filled with the sound of heavy boots and the shouts of at least a dozen men as the enemy burst in from both entrances. They sounded confused and angry, each group accusing the other of letting their quarry escape.

  There was a moment of quiet before the men of the Protectorate began to search for another way out of the kitchen. Alexander knew it wouldn’t be long before they found it.

  “Here! Anatoly, bring your axe.” It seemed that Jack had found what he was looking for. “This wall is all that separates us from the Southport sewers. Can you knock this wall down right here?” Jack pointed at a spot in the wall.

  Anatoly gave the bard a grim look, spun his war axe around to bring the long spike on the back of the gruesome-looking weapon to bear. With a mighty swing, he shattered a single brick, leaving a small hole in the wall. Cool, foul-smelling air flowed in from the sewers beyond. He gave Jack a quick smile and picked
a brick several rows down for his second strike. As the brick shattered, the men above found the trapdoor and tried to open it. Anatoly’s leather strap held.

  He swung at the wall again and another brick shattered into dust. He was picking his targets carefully to weaken the wall enough so that he could push a large section through all at once.

  Alexander and Abigail stood behind the hasty barricade of crates, looking from Anatoly to the trapdoor, wondering who would break through first. Alexander had an iron grip on his fear. He knew without doubt that there were powerful forces hunting him, trying to kill him for an accident of birth. He also knew they would kill his sister as well. He thought of Darius and deliberately changed the pang of grief he felt into anger. There would be time for mourning later, but he had to live through the day first.

  Anatoly shattered another brick. Then the big man with the hammer struck at the hatch in the floor. Alexander could see a sudden sliver of light through the now cracked floorboard. He knew the trapdoor wouldn’t last long under the punishing force of the blacksmith’s hammer. But that wasn’t what worried him the most. He could hear the fire engulfing the front of the inn above. Once the trapdoor was open, he had no doubt that Wizard Rangle would fill this small cellar with flame. They probably wouldn’t even get a shot at any of the soldiers before Rangle sent a gout of fire down the hole to burn them out.

  Another brick shattered and Anatoly followed by smashing into the wall with his shoulder backed up by his considerable weight. A small section of the brick wall fell into the sewer with a muted splash. Fetid air flowed into the cellar. The hole was almost big enough for Abigail but no one else. Anatoly stood back and took another swing, again carefully picking the brick he wanted to attack.

  The broken floorboard in the trapdoor shattered into splinters under the weight of a second hammer blow. “Be ready, men,” said the blacksmith. Then an arm snaked into the hole and fished around for the strap that was holding the door closed. The arm found it and unlatched it just as Abigail’s arrow found him. The man shrieked with the sudden pain of having an arrow driven clean through his forearm. He tried to snatch his hand out of the hole but the arrow caught on the boards as he yanked up and he screamed even louder as his flesh tore.

  Alexander drew back on his bow and took aim. Anatoly broke through another brick. The trapdoor was thrown open with the man’s arm still through it; the heavy door crashing over on top of him with a thud. He wailed in agony again while he tried to work his arm free.

  Anatoly smashed another section of the wall and motioned Lucky to get through into the sewers.

  Alexander took careful aim and loosed his arrow. It just slipped through the open trapdoor and drove into the ankle of one of the men standing on the floor above. He would have given Abigail a cocky little grin if the situation wasn’t so desperate and if his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest.

  Jack was through the hole in the wall and into the sewers. Alexander had another arrow ready. Abigail sent an arrow at the hole. It made it through but didn’t find a target. Then Alexander heard what he’d been expecting to hear.

  “Stand back, let me set them on fire.”

  It was Wizard Rangle and he was getting ready to send fire down on them. In the confined space of the cellar it wouldn’t take much to fill the room with flames and kill them all.

  Alexander gave Abigail a gentle shove toward Anatoly, shouting, “Go, both of you!”

  He didn’t look back as he raced around the crates to the base of the steep stairs with an arrow half drawn. He looked up to the kitchen above and saw Rangle drawing power for his spell. Alexander could see the glittering of magic in the wizard’s eyes as his power coalesced. An almost insubstantial ball of fire began to form between Rangle’s outstretched hands. Alexander snapped his bow up and let the arrow fly. The wizard cried out when the arrow drove right through his left shoulder and stuck out the top of his back. The fire that hadn’t yet formed fizzled out and Rangle threw himself out of harm’s way.

  Alexander dashed to the hole in the wall and scrambled halfway through. Anatoly grabbed him and drew him through the rest of the way. The look on the big man-at-arms’ face as he roughly set Alexander on his feet was one of boiling anger.

  “We’ll talk of this later, young Lord Valentine.”

  The passageway was a good eight feet across with an arched ceiling at least that tall. There were two-foot ledges on either side and a fetid, stinking, slow-moving canal of raw sewage four feet across running down the middle of the dark corridor.

  “This way.”

  Jack was at the end of a corridor, motioning frantically for them to follow, when Alexander heard men starting down the stairs into the cellar. He drew another arrow, but before he could take aim, Anatoly gave him an angry look.

  “Not this time. Get moving.”

  Lucky was fishing around in his bag. “I believe I have something that will slow them down a bit.” He drew out a glass vial that was stoppered at each end and separated in the middle by a thick glass divider. In each half of the vial was a liquid of a different color, dark red on one side and a milky white on the other. With a mischievous little grin he unceremoniously tossed it through the hole into the cellar. “Come along now,” he said as he shooed the rest of them away from the sound of shattering glass.

  Jack led the way with the dim light of his makeshift torch. When they made it to the end of the corridor and rounded the corner, a strange hissing noise rose up from behind them, followed by screaming.

  Alexander’s heart raced as they moved away from the horrible screaming. “What was that?” he asked his old tutor.

  “Oh, just a set of compounds that are completely harmless by themselves, but when put together release a thick gaseous vapor that burns like acid. It’s especially nasty if you inhale the stuff. I’m afraid those men in the cellar won’t make it.” Lucky gave him a look and a shrug that was at once proud and guilty.

  Alexander had known the old alchemist for his entire life. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body but clearly his rotund, jovial tutor did have mettle.

  Chapter 9

  They moved as quickly as they could along the narrow, slippery ledge without risking a fall into the sewage canal. The stench was so overpowering, Alexander almost gagged.

  Jack seemed to know where he was leading them. He took each turn or passed it by like he was in familiar territory. Alexander couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly set foot in such a place. It was as filthy and unpleasant a place as he’d ever been … except maybe back in the little cellar where he thought they were going to be roasted alive by Rangle.

  The light from Jack’s makeshift torch began to sputter.

  Anatoly stopped and asked, “Where are you leading us?” There was a hint of wariness in the question.

  “There’s a hidden door just up ahead that leads into the basement of one of the local merchants. He’s a friend and, um, well, business associate. We can go through his shop to get back on the street.” He handed the spoon-made-into-a-torch to Abigail and used his knife to cut a strip of cloth from the bottom hem of his tunic, which he then carefully wrapped around the burning end of the torch to keep it from going out. He took it back and started moving again.

  Jack stopped so abruptly that Anatoly bumped into Alexander in the dark as the four of them halted behind the bard. He raised his torch, looking carefully at the wall. After a minute of searching, he found a loose stone and pushed on one side. The brick swiveled, allowing access to a lever. Jack pulled the stiff metal rod and pushed on a two-foot-wide by four-foot-tall section of the wall.

  They found themselves inside a cool, dry storage room lined with wooden shelves crammed with boxes, jars, cartons, and other containers. Jack carefully closed the secret door and started for the stairs leading up.

  Anatoly caught his arm. “What should we expect at the top of those stairs?” Anatoly was charged with protecting Alexander and Abigail. He took his duties seriously. Jack had been helpfu
l and was probably telling the truth about his motives but that wasn’t good enough. Anatoly needed to be sure.

  Jack stopped and nodded. “My associate is usually in the showroom of his shop during the day or in the workroom just off the showroom floor. The room at the top of the stairs is a storeroom in the back of the shop. It will probably be empty and it has a door leading out the back. If we’re quiet, we should be able to slip out into the alley without anyone even noticing.” Jack was clearly offering as much information as he could. He seemed to be going out of his way to earn the trust of the big man-at-arms.

  “Does your friend have any employees or others who might be in the storeroom?” Alexander asked. He allowed his vision to go out of focus so he could see Jack’s colors. He wanted to trust the bard, but the events of the past week had reinforced his father’s lessons about trust. Deception was the most powerful weapon in the arsenal of evil. A simple lie was all it took to undo whole nations. Believing a lie could cost you your life.

  “His wife works with him. I don’t think he has any other help.” Jack didn’t shy away from the questions and the colors of his aura were clear and honest.

  Alexander nodded.

  “Okay, once we’re in the alley, what’s our plan? The Reishi Protectorate isn’t going to give up that easily. They probably have spies all around town. We left our horses back at the stables, not to mention Lucky’s wagon. Suggestions?” Alexander had decided that he was going to accept the mantle of leadership. He didn’t like it, but it was the only sensible thing he could do given the circumstances.

  Lucky cleared his throat. “I’d like to get the contents of my wagon, if we can do so without notice. Many of the items I brought along are of great value and may prove very useful in the future.”

  “We’re going to need horses to get to Glen Morillian,” Anatoly mused. “I suppose we could make our way back to the stables at the inn and take a look. We might get lucky. Then again, they’ll probably have someone watching our horses in case we come back. The alternative is finding horses on our way out of town and leaving ours at the stables. I don’t much like that option but it might be the safest route.”