by Jon Kiln
“Someone you know?” asked Peregrin. He must have seen the recognition on Rothar’s face.
“I believe it is,” answered Rothar.
“Go and get him then, Harwin and I can handle this,” said Peregrin.
Rothar looked from one man to the next. Harwin nodded confidently, a deathly look of determination on his large face. Peregrin possessed the unfaltering bravery of the huntsmen, and needed to give no other sign that he was ready to fight whatever enemy may dare to stand in his way.
Rothar gave them a quick nod and dashed off in the direction of the carriage driver, who already seemed to be disappearing into the darkness of the unlit corridor. Behind him he could hear the fading footsteps of Harwin and Peregrin, running into the courtyard in pursuit of Southland mercenaries.
In pursuit of Southlanders, Rothar thought, what a mad thing to do.
He almost laughed at the notion. In just a few short hours, they had gone from hiding in the hills, to chasing the most dangerous warriors in the world. Rothar supposed that both love and honor could make men do unlikely things.
Ahead, the shape of the carriage driver came in and out of view. Rothar was amazed at how fast the decrepit looking old creature could move, and he had to run to keep from losing sight of him.
Suddenly, the man stood directly in front of him, so close that Rothar’s feet skidded on the stone floor as he struggled to stop. It was the first time he had seen the carriage driver’s face, but the image would stay with him forever in his darkest dreams.
The man’s skin was taught and impossibly gray for any living man. He had a mere suggestion of a nose that more closely resembled two puncture holes in the middle of his face. His mouth was open and long white teeth dripped with saliva and disdain. The most unsettling thing about the man, however, was his eyes - for there were none.
Rothar skidded to a stop and raised his sword, but was astounded to find that the man was already gone, scrambling down the corridor at full speed. It was as if Rothar had been falling too far behind, and the creature had stopped to let him catch up.
The sound of a door creaking open echoed through the darkness. Rothar could see light splayed out across the hallway though an open portal. He entered with great caution, but saw the grotesque man nowhere about.
The room he was standing in was lavishly appointed. High backed chairs surrounded a long table of fine polished wood. Glass chandeliers cast a twinkling light on intricately woven rugs that covered shining marble floors. A great balcony overlooked the courtyard.
Rothar began moving about the edge of the room, keeping his eyes peeled for the strange carriage driver. A large mural dominated one wall of the room. In it, a crowned king that Rothar had never seen before sat surrounded by seven young women of varying ages. Rothar’s eyes moved to the next painting on the wall. He recognized the late Duke Feril, and on his arm was the infamous Duchess Miranda, raven haired and fair skinned, with a sharp nose and deceitful eyes.
Looking from the portrait of Feril and Miranda, and back to the painting of the strange king and the girls, Rothar recognized a young Miranda, seated by the feet of the king. All of the girls in the picture had the same evil eyes as their father. Rothar was thinking about how someone should commend the artist for so aptly capturing such wickedness with nothing more than a brush and paint, when he heard a commotion coming from the courtyard.
With concern for his companions, he rushed to the balcony. Harwin and Peregrin were locked in a heated battle with four Southlanders. Rothar was about to abandon his pursuit of the carriage driver and climb down to help his friends when he heard the slightest sound from behind him. He turned just in time to see the blind carriage driver charging at him with that impossible speed. Rothar stepped aside but the man caught him with one arm and attempted to drag him over the balcony railing. The man’s strength matched his odd speed and Rothar struggled to keep from being thrown over.
With his free right hand, Rothar struck the man hard in the face, stunning him long enough to twist out of his grasp and draw his dagger. Rothar pointed the tip of the blade at the man’s chest. Sightlessly, the creature sniffed at the air like an animal, then smiled. The driver lunged at Rothar with no regard for the weapon, and Rothar stabbed the man in the center of his chest, just below the ribs.
Withdrawing the blade, Rothar stepped back, waiting for the man to fall as soon as the Quietus entered his blood. The driver only smiled and extended his arms out to his sides. There was a hole in the man’s shirt where Rothar had plunged the dagger, but no blood ran from the wound.
Rothar was perplexed, but knew there was no time to wonder why. He only had time to figure out how to kill him.
That is when he noticed the chimes. All about the balcony, chimes of all sizes hung. The air was still and the chimes were silent, but Rothar reached out with his long sword and stirred a set of steel tubes that hung from the overhand that sheltered the balcony.
The eyeless man cocked his head, but otherwise remained motionless. Quickly, Rothar moved about the balcony, disturbing all of the chimes with the end of the sword, then again, moving back and forth, creating a large and cacophonous noise. Once he had prodded a large set of chimes at one end of the balcony and all of the chimes were ringing, Rothar ran silently across the space and stopped a short distance from the man’s side.
The blind driver stepped forward two steps, and Rothar moved behind him. Raising the broadsword, Rothar swept down at an angle towards the man’s neck. Just as he did, the man ducked, seeming to sense the movement of the blade through the air.
Rothar’s blow missed, but the man reeled away off balance and disoriented, and Rothar pursued. Crashing into several of the chimes, the man put himself at a further disadvantage, masking the sound of Rothar’s steps as he chased him. The man turned and ran straight for the edge of the balcony. It looked as though he was going to make Rothar’s task a little easier and accidentally run himself right over the threshold. At the last instant, the man leapt and cleared the rail, disappearing as he fell.
Rothar rushed to the railing. The first thing he saw was that all the men in the courtyard had ceased fighting and were looking at the space beneath the balcony. The Southlanders looked as aghast as Peregrin and Harwin as the eyeless carriage driver stood up and began walking in their direction. The Southlanders were the first to run.
Harwin and Peregrin stood still in their confusion. They would certainly not flee with their combatants, but what should they do. They looked up at Rothar, who was motioning to them from the balcony. He put a finger to his lips.
The carriage driver walked directly towards Harwin and Peregrin, sniffing the air. The two men stood completely still and tried not to make a sound. When he was merely feet away from the men, the driver stopped and continued to inhale the air, taking great whiffs in through his grotesque nostrils.
After a few moments, he smiled his awful smile, face turned directly towards Harwin, then towards Peregrin. He crouched slightly and seemed poised to strike when a door creaked open somewhere below where Rothar stood.
A point of fire flew through the air and struck the carriage driver directly between the shoulder blades. A flaming arrow protruded from the man’s back and he flailed about wildly. In moments, his clothes had caught fire and he scrambled about the courtyard and into the arena, a human torch. He finally collapsed and became still, the flame roaring and a terrible stench filling the yard.
Rothar climbed down from the balcony. Whoever had fired the arrow was gone, but the door had been left open.
“Did you see who it was?” Rothar asked of Harwin and Peregrin.
“Looked like a house servant,” answered the huntsman.
“I was too transfixed by that ugly beast,” Harwin said.
“Well, it's good to know that not everyone in this manor is comfortable with whatever the Duchess is doing.” Rothar turned and looked at the open door.
“I believe that is an invitation,” he told the others. “Shall we?”<
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“Anything to get away from this stench,” said Peregrin.
Chapter 36
Once again, the three men entered the sprawling labyrinth of Miranda’s Manor. This time, however, they entered a much more lavish and beautiful corridor than the service passageways they had been traveling in before. Lush carpets silenced their footsteps and they were able to travel quickly, abandoning some caution with the hope that their mysterious benefactor was leading them through safely. Tall windows let the red light of the setting sun into the manor.
“It is too quiet, why are we not pursued?” asked Peregrin.
“I am not sure, but I doubt it will last,” Rothar answered.
“The devils were as frightened of that creature as we were. It must have been the first time they had seen it,” said Harwin.
“Indeed. l’m glad to see that the Duchess had kept secrets from her hired hands,” said Rothar. “It may work in our favor.”
They came to an intersection in the corridor. Passageways ran in either direction.
“Which way?” asked Harwin.
Something on the floor caught Rothar’s eye. It was an arrow, pointing distinctly to the right.
“Our friend seems to be guiding us,” he said, and the men set off in the direction that the arrow pointed.
At another crossway, another arrow was carved into the wall with a sharp blade. On and on the men traveled though the manor, following the markers left for them by the mysterious guide. Finally they came to a place where the corridor ended. A great set of oaken double doors blocked their path. Carved into the bottom of the doors were the words: “Go inside.”
The three men looked at one another.
“Do we trust this person?” asked Peregrin.
“I do not see that we have any other choice. We have come this far,” replied Rothar.
They pushed open the doors, and were faced by the entire Southland force of Duchess Miranda.
***
A massive ballroom stretched out before them. Every chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling was lit, illuminating the force of over a hundred of the remaining savage Southlanders, arranged in a huge circle around the room. But it was not only the devils who stood there. In the middle of the room was an altar with a dozen children trembling in front, all dressed in white cloaks with their faces hidden beneath cowls.
“Drop your weapons,” a soldier demanded. Southern devils surrounded them, with swords drawn.
“It was a trap! We should have known!” hissed Peregrin.
Rothar grinned queerly and nearly laughed aloud. Harwin and Peregrin looked at him in confusion, and Rothar himself was as surprised by his reaction. Perhaps it was the sheer exhaustion of the last few days, or maybe it was irony, or maybe madness was finally setting in.
“Come, let us face this destiny,” he said to his companions. He dropped his sword and spear onto the ground, but kept his dagger, the one given to him by Esme, hidden.
Peregrin and Harwin were aghast, but they knew that retreat would be futile. Fighting them would be suicide. They were severely outnumbered. After a moment, they resigned themselves to their fate and followed Rothar. A tear fell from Harwin’s eye, for he knew he had failed Esme. Peregrin felt dejection, but also hope that he would soon be with his beloved father, so he could apologize to him over and over again, for all of eternity.
The men were herded into the center of the room. The Southlanders made no sound, but contempt and blood lust was evident on every face.
When the men had reached the middle of the room they stood still and looked about. Rothar paid no attention to the southern devils. He only looked at the children, searching for Esme, but they were all facing the other way and he couldn't tell which was her.
The same soldier that demanded their weapons smirked at Rothar. “We'll take your dagger, too.”
Rothar slowly withdrew his dagger, and dropped it at his feet. The soldier kicked it further away from him.
“What of it now?” shouted Rothar.
A woman’s voice answered from above.
“What of it? Oh, assassin. Do you really want an answer to such a question?”
Looking up, the three men saw the Duchess Miranda, standing alone on a wide balcony that overlooked the ballroom. Rothar recognized the stark black hair and dainty nose from the portrait he had seen, and even at a distance, her evil eyes seemed to penetrate all of them with a dark power.
“You must be the lady of the house,” said Rothar. “Are you not going to offer us anything to drink? We have traveled far, and are very weary.”
A crooked smile twisted Miranda’s full lips. “Do not worry, you will be resting soon.”
The Duchess turned her gaze to Harwin.
“And you there, you must be the one who relieved me of my husband. I must thank you, for you saved me the unpleasant trouble of having to do it myself.”
Harwin looked up at her, seeming to find his composure in the moment. “The pleasure was all mine,” he growled.
Rothar heard the rustling of cloth and realized that one of the children had pulled her cowl down. Esme had heard her father's voice and turned around in surprise.
“Father!” she shouted.
Seeing his daughter, Harwin immediately launched himself at the mercenaries nearest to him to get to her, wading into them with punches and getting badly cut in the process.
“Soldiers! Kill these men!” the Duchess shrieked. “And place their bodies on the altar!”
The circle of Southlanders drew their swords as one. A quick, metallic hiss filled the ballroom.
Harwin took a slash to his right thigh and fell to his knees. Peregrin and Rothar were back to back. Without weapons, they were sitting ducks.
Rothar heard Esme shout his name, and a dagger tumbled awkwardly through the air. Rothar recognized it immediately. It was the same blade he had gifted to Esme back in Harwin's shop, what seemed like eons ago, but was only less than week. By some miracle, Esme still had the dagger.
The blade was blunt when he gave it to her, but he could tell at a glance that the edge was keen, and deadly sharp. He snatched it expertly out of the air. A dagger against multiple trained men with swords would not do him much good. But he knew that if he cut off the head of the snake, the body would soon follow.
Miranda was leaning against the balcony rail, eyes wide in delight. Bloodshed always energized her. It was better when she performed it herself, of course, but death was death, and she relished it all.
Her eyes were on Harwin. He was like a massive bear, roaring in anger and pain, with his child near, but so far, and unable to reach her through the mass of sharp steel.
She did not notice Rothar, who was judging the distance between himself and his target on the balcony. He only had the one shot, and had to make it count. He flipped the dagger in his hand, holding it by the blade. A quick flick of his wrist and he sent it flying at incredible speed.
The quick movement caught Miranda's attention, and she turned just in time to receive the dagger blade between her breasts. She gasped in shock, gripping the railing. Her eyes were wide and she tried to speak, but no words came forth. A torrent of crimson blood washed down the front of her dress. Inexplicably, she tumbled forward, instead of backwards, and fell down off the railing into the mass of Southlanders below.
With their employer, and source of funds gone, the fight went out of the southern devils. In the confusion, Rothar retrieved his dagger. Peregrin rushed to pick up his own discarded weapons, and also Harwin's axe, which he threw to him.
Some of the Southlanders grimly set out to battle the three men. Rothar was sprinting, drawing his dagger, he reached the first of the Southlanders and slid the blade across his arm. The mercenary looked at the shallow wound and laughed a moment before dropping dead.
Good, Rothar thought, The Quietus is still strong.
An arrow whistled over Rothar’s shoulder and struck a Southlander that was charging at him. Rothar turned and nodded to Pere
grin, firing arrows into the havoc with deadly accuracy. Rothar fell another devil with a knick of his blade and saw Harwin hacking through the throng of combatants with his axe, fighting his way towards where Esme had been standing.
Even with his injuries, Harwin was a sight to behold. With his daughter in his sights, the danger felt a lot more real, heightening his adrenaline and giving him the strength and fury of ten men.
The battle waged on for some time before, finally, the Southland leader appeared and ordered a retreat. About two dozen Southlanders scrambled for the door at the far end of the ballroom. Peregrin killed two of them before they could reach shelter. The others disappeared out of the large doorway.
“Father!” Esme cried.
Harwin got to her and took her into his arms, holding on mightily. He was on his knees, weeping without shame. Rothar knew that the two deserved to hold each other in that moment forever, and to never be apart again, but there was still work to be done. Rest could not come yet, not the rest of the body or the soul.
He approached father and daughter and laid a hand of each of their shoulders. Harwin turned a tear streaked face up to him and silently mouthed the words, “Thank you”.
Rothar nodded. “Please help the children back to the city. I must go after the rest of the devils,” he said gently.
Peregrin walked up next to them.
“Not without me, you won’t.”
Chapter 37
The sun was all but gone when Rothar and Peregrin reached the place in the hills where they had left the horses. Harwin remained with the children in Miranda’s Manor. He would lead them down the pass and back into the King’s City come morning.
Some good fortune had smiled upon the duo, albeit in a frightening way. Upon leaving the manor, they had been confronted by two massive ogres who were approaching the manor grounds with tree trunk clubs in hand. It turned out that after the battle in the King’s City, some surviving sons of Waya had deemed to scale the cliffs to free their mother. Rothar had the unfortunate task of explaining to the giants what had happened to their mother within the walls of Miranda’s Manor.
