by Narro, B. T.
The mages on the balconies had retreated back into the castle, perhaps needing to regain energy, but the warriors remained. They continued to throw knives, but they weren’t capable of piercing armor. A dagger needed to hit bare skin to do damage. Luckily for us, they haven’t any bows yet, Cleve thought. Or perhaps they just don’t possess the skill.
There was a deep thud. “I got it,” Rek announced. “Open the door!”
Two warriors ran to the door and shoved their shoulders into it. Slowly, it gave under their weight, opening wide enough for them to slip through, but they did not enter. Instead they returned—following Rek’s plan.
Rek’s arms pushed outward, and the hundreds of remaining rats ran through the door. It took about a minute for them to flood in.
It was followed by an eerie moment of silence.
They had opened the door. The first part of their plan was complete—the easy part, Cleve reminded himself.
Their mages needed a few breaths to regain their energy. Cleve used the time to ready his bow and calm his breathing.
When their mages were ready, they provided cover by casting fireballs at the warriors on the balconies while Rek ran toward the door. Cleve and the rest followed.
Chapter 42: Orders
CLEVE
As soon as the Elf was through the doorway, Cleve noticed him glancing straight up.
“Move!” Rek shouted, pushing those who’d gathered in front of him and diving after them. Cleve knew what it must be and went the other way, doing his part to push a few others with his free arm who were slow to react.
Cleve pressed himself to the floor and covered his head. Then he heard a jug break against the ground behind him. Next came the sound of what had to be boiling water raining around them, but only a few drops found his legs. They were absorbed by his pants, doing no damage.
He hopped to his feet, anticipating a flood of warriors rushing down the stairway, but no one awaited them on the first floor. It gave Cleve time to check on his group. Most were still rising, checking each other for injuries. Half of them hadn’t made it through the door yet when the jug had been pushed over, and they were cautiously entering now.
One of the mages was holding his leg. Under their robes were usually thin garments made of cotton, and Cleve saw this mage was no different. The stone around him was wet, but he reassured everyone he was fine as he gripped his leg.
The screams within the castle took Cleve’s focus. He found chaos and panic everywhere from the second floor up. Warriors, mages, and other inhabitants dressed without importance were yelling and running frantically in every direction. Two prostitutes, showing more skin than clothing, hollered their way down the stairs to the first floor as they ran for the door.
A few of Rek’s warriors parted to let the women through. The frightened prostitutes were pulling rats from their hair and plunging bodices. One rat fell from between the legs of a poor woman. With incredible speed, it hurried back up the stairs to be lost among the other vermin swarming the second floor.
More people made for the exit. Chefs, servers, chemists…each ran past Cleve without so much as a glance at him or the others. They were all too busy throwing rats from their clothes.
“Are there any other exits?” Cleve asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Rek answered. “Unless some secret passage was developed, the King has no way out but through us.”
Dozens more ran past them to escape the infested castle, each bringing several rats that diligently climbed back up the stairs once their victims had tossed them aside. The second floor was nearly empty by then, so most of the rats had moved farther up. Cleve followed them with his eyes when suddenly a falling water jug intercepted his view. It smashed into the ground where the stairs began, cracking open with a sharp explosion so that boiling water was thrown in all directions. A small cloud of steam quickly rose and dissipated. Luckily, no one was running by as it happened.
Cleve looked for more water jugs waiting to be pushed over. He wasn’t sure what caused the others to fall, but most likely it was an accident caused by the rats. The castle was well lit, so it had taken some time for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. Now he could see there were too many water jugs for his two arrows, but most rested atop banisters on the third and fourth floors, perhaps close enough for the mages. He addressed the two nearby who’d used fire to help defend their party outside. One was the man whose leg was burned.
“Either of you able to knock those water jugs over?” Cleve asked, then pointed.
They each looked with squinted eyes. The victim of boiling water said, “It’s a tough shot. No mage is known for accuracy with fireballs over long distances.” He shook his leg. “Perhaps from the second floor we may be able to.”
They were interrupted by the shouts of a black-haired guard clad in an ornate steel breastplate. “This is Hem Baom, the commander of the King’s Guard!” He stood stoically on the sixth floor, leaning over the railing. “I demand that you stay where you are and call back the rats or you will be attacked!” Baom…it’s Alex’s brother. This could get ugly, Cleve realized. I mean even uglier, he corrected himself as he watched Hem swat a rat from his shoulder.
Colimp limped forward and held the stair banister, straining his neck to look above him. “Hem, it’s Colin.” He cupped his other hand around his mouth. “Rek just needs to speak with the King. He’s on our side. We need him for this war.”
“You know our orders!” Hem pointed aggressively, then shook a rat from his arm. “He must have control over your mind for you to go against the King. Think for yourself!”
Rek put a hand on Colimp’s shoulder to draw him back a step. Then the hooded Elf looked up at the commander. “Hem, you remember me as a child. I would never hurt the King.”
“Because of our past you haven’t been killed yet, but this is your last chance before the rest of the King’s Guard comes at you.”
“Come here and detain me. These men will stand down as long as you bring me to the King so I can speak with him. That’s all I want.”
“I can’t allow that. But I’ll do everything in my power to set up an audience with him before your trial.”
King Welson Kimard would never meet with Rek unless forced, Cleve thought, and figured Rek was thinking the same. In fact, it looked as if that had become obvious to everyone listening. Members of their party drew their swords and wands while guards from the higher floors ran to rally behind Hem.
“The future of Kyrro depends on the King speaking with me,” Rek replied. “These men know it and are willing to fight for Kyrro and its people, but there is no need for bloodshed. Just let me pass, and the King will thank you.”
“I’m sorry, Rek,” Hem replied.
He must be too far for psyche, Cleve figured. He readied himself for battle by gathering Bastial Energy into his stomach and chest.
Hem stepped away from the banister. In his place appeared a woman with hair as dark as Hem’s, but her skin was golden brown, the color of fresh bronze. She stuck out her head as if just curious about what was below, but then she produced a bow and pulled an arrow over her shoulder. To Cleve’s surprise, she aimed it at their group. Everyone started to scatter—everyone except Cleve.
He was sizzling with energy. It burst through his arms and danced across his fingertips. Faster than he could think, he drew an arrow of his own, pulled back on his string hard and steady, and aimed at her weapon.
The arrow soared upward, and he saw with relief that his shot was perfect. It smashed her bow in two with a loud snap of what could only be wood shattering.
The young lady gasped so loudly he could hear it six floors below. With half her weapon still in hand, her wide eyes fell on Cleve. She had a silly, open-mouthed grin, and her palms were outstretched with bafflement. She said something, and Cleve thought he heard it as “Bastial hell!”
Cleve let down his bow and wagged a finger at her. It came out so naturally, he surprised himself. It was the same feeli
ng as belching after a long drink. The young lady laughed and shook her head.
His showy reaction confirmed a suspicion he had about himself. I guess I’m one of those kinds of warriors, he thought, but more self-reflection would have to wait because Hem was rushing down the stairs with dozens of warriors behind him.
Cleve couldn’t let poor old Colimp be the first line of defense, but with one arrow left, Cleve needed a different weapon. He’d left the shabby broom outside the castle walls, unable to hold it and his bow.
“Colin, you’ve been through enough,” Cleve said. “Get behind us and lend me your sword.”
“If you need a sword, get one from the wall in there. No need to insult me.” Colimp pointed to some sort of formal meeting hall.
Looking behind him, Cleve first saw the room’s walls were adorned with a variety of banners, and it hosted a large oval table surrounded by embroidered seats. When he entered, he saw what Colimp was referring to—two swords mounted over a hearth.
Inside, two rats appeared lost. They were running along the walls, stopping to sniff every few feet. Above the swords was an exaggerated portrait of Westin Kimard, the late father of their current king. His arms were folded below a stern expression as if judging Cleve for bringing rats into the castle. I know, Cleve agreed, the rats are a bit much.
The two rodents followed Cleve out and ran up the stairs toward their attackers, who were now speedily descending to the third floor. The sound of their boots slamming against the wooden steps was a deep, thunderous noise and steadily getting louder.
But Cleve was ready, confident even, and he knew psyche had nothing to do with it. It helped that every guard seemed to have his own battles raging against the rats within his armor, for they all danced and shimmied with wild hands while trying to maintain their speed. But Cleve knew that wasn’t the main reason he was unafraid. He trusted his ability. This was battle. This was what he was trained for. This was the opposite of Reela, who made him weak with a mere smile.
Still, he was worried. He felt it low in his stomach, heavy like a brick—not because he was worried about himself but because he didn’t want to injure others. Cleve gave the sword a few good swings as he thought about what he should do. The sword was a high-quality weapon. But his longbow around his back was bound to slide down his arm the moment he swung his sword.
He glanced around for a place to hide his precious bow, then noticed the room on the other side of the stairway. It was no more than a narrow entranceway to a portcullis that Cleve could only assume separated the rest of the castle from the dungeons below. That may be where I end up, he couldn’t help but think as he ran toward it.
Outside, the locked metal grille that led underground was a jug like those filled with boiling water that were thrown at his party, but this one held quarterstaffs. The tops of the melee weapons rested against the nearby wall. With time to spare, he gladly traded his sword for the blunt weapon and stored his longbow there as well. Rek was saying something to the group, but Cleve was too far away to hear.
Back near the entrance to the castle, Rek’s valiant warriors and mages were keeping their feet steady with weapons drawn. All of Hem’s men had drawn their weapons as well and now were turning onto the last stairway.
Cleve found a place beside Rek in the front.
“Nice work with the bow earlier,” Rek told him. “I’ll admit it was impressive, but get ready because I’m about to top it with my own trick.”
At that, Cleve decided to take two steps back. Whatever Rek had planned, it felt safer being behind him.
Chapter 43: Heavy Rain
CLEVE
There must have been at least thirty warriors behind Hem descending the last stairway toward them, close enough now that Cleve could count the rats crawling on them if he had the time. It looked to be more than two and less than five per guard, most protruding from the tops of the warriors’ chest pieces, poking their little heads out nervously. A few of the more squeamish men were still twitching as they approached, digging rats out of their sleeves and shaking their hips.
Rek was only a few seconds away from the tips of their swords when he finally raised his arm at them and released a deep grunt. All at once the King’s men cried out in anguish. Their weapons and bodies fell, rolling over one another in a loud mess. No less than fifty rats exploded from the puddle of steel and flesh, squeaking in terror. Some must have been catapulted, for they flew through the air, flipping at dizzying speeds, their bodies and tails stretched from the force as they soared.
Hem lifted his head to find himself staring down Rek’s dagger. “Don’t get up,” the Elf told him, kicking away the sword nearby. “No one needs to be hurt.”
Too late for that, Cleve thought, glancing over the dismayed warriors. He knew what the pain from the psychic spell was like, as well as being covered in rats. The thought of both combined made him empathetic. Still, he readied the quarterstaff, knowing this wasn’t over.
Rats were poking their heads from between crevices of steel and pulling themselves out with their tiny front legs. Once atop their carriers, they leapt back to the stairs to find a different host on another floor.
Warriors were gingerly picking themselves up and nursing their wounds. Some cleared the stairs, admitting defeat, while others stayed on the ground grunting. Much of their armor was stained with blood, yet based on the number of crushed rat bodies Cleve spotted, he figured all of it was rodent, not man.
“Rek, I can’t disobey an order,” Hem said as he strained his neck to look the Elf in the eye. “I can’t permit you to see his majesty without his approval. You know that.” Hem’s tone was dark, and a looming silence followed.
There’s more than a little history between these two.
Soon, Rek was nodding his head sadly. “I know,” he nearly whispered, switching his hold on the dagger. “But he tried to have me killed. I can’t leave until I speak with him or he won’t stop until I’m dead.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t make me do this, old friend.” Rek held the dagger close to Hem’s scalp.
“Even if you kill me, you won’t ever see the King.”
“Where is he?”
Hem covered his ears. “You’re not going to get that information from me.” He got to his feet for a breath before Rek aimed a hand at him for another psychic spell. Hem dropped once more, shivering in pain.
“There is no other end to this. The King and I will speak, and then I will be fighting alongside you, not against you.” Rek put the knife back on his belt. “Hem, where is he?” He sounded desperate.
“The safety room, along with many women, children, and others who serve in other ways than fighting. Hundreds of mages and warriors stand in between. Not even all the rats in Kyrro could get you past them. Just surrender now to us.” Hem began to stand once again. A few others already on their feet drew their weapons.
Cleve steadied his hands against the smooth wood of his quarterstaff, stepping toward the daring men. His eyes found someone hidden among the pile who was pulling a throwing knife from his belt. As he cocked his arm, Cleve leapt through clusters of chain mail and steel and used the quarterstaff to smack the knife from the man’s hand. Before he had time to think, he noticed a sword slicing at him from the side. He ducked under it and swept the legs of his attacker with the hard wood of his weapon.
His heart jumped as he felt his balance slipping. Those nearby who were still on the ground had ahold of his ankles. One drew a dagger, so Cleve slammed the quarterstaff into the man’s wrist.
“Discard your weapons and get back down!” Rek shouted. Then Cleve saw that many had risen with their swords drawn, all with a bloodthirsty look in their eyes.
They obeyed, slowly lowering themselves to the ground and letting their weapons fall. Yet their eyes remained harsh and steady.
Hem warned Rek, “This is about to get much worse for you and your helpers. Let me detain you now before I can’t anymore.”
> “Or you can go back up there and tell the warriors and mages to let me pass,” Rek pleaded. “This can all be—”
Hem interrupted by sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling sharply. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you convince me of anything. It’s time for this to end.”
Cleve heard a storm of boots coming from somewhere above them. The sound of a door being thrown open followed, and the feet carrying each pair of boots were then somewhere within the great room, echoing off every wall.
Hem jumped to his feet. Privy to his plan, the other warriors on the first floor did the same and ran back up the stairs with frantic quickness. They looked to be fleeing from something.
A gust of rats suddenly burst through the air on the fifth floor, followed by another burst, then another. Many flew over the banister, raining down on Cleve and his party. They covered their faces with their arms or shields, for there was no chance to dodge all the vermin. Many of the rats died against the stone floor, their heads and bodies cracking open, but some survived to hobble toward a room or a crevice in the wall.
The screech that came from the rats tumbling through the air was that of a hundred rusty reels being wound. Cleve soon deciphered the cause of the flying rats when he saw the shoulders of mages nearing the banister. Bastial wind. Mages are coming and blowing away any rats in their path with hot Bastial Energy.
The King’s mages each found a spot along the banister that circled almost completely around. The only gap was directly above Rek and his party, as they stood just inside the entrance with the open ironbark door behind them. The mages were mostly women, but all wore red and carried a staff—but no wands—from what Cleve could see. They care not for mobility, just power, he realized when he noticed their weapons. He glanced at Rek. The Elf whipped down his hood to get a better look.
“Are they in range?” Cleve asked optimistically.
