by Kyle J Cisco
“Ah yes,” the executioner said. “We have found quite a few of your initiates down here over the years and have trained them against you and your Order. One of them waits in the High Executor’s office, ready to pounce once someone enters the room.”
Evon remembered the poor scribe boy who was going to return to notify Evon of the completion of his task. The child would walk into an ambush meant for him. Dodging another blow, Evon knew he had to finish this fight and close the entrance to the cavern before the boy died on his watch. Ducking, he heard yet another set of footfalls; this time it was more than one. When he turned around, two initiates appeared—ones that the Order had believed were lost in the caverns during their trial.
“You betrayed us and left us to die!” one of them screamed at Evon as he charged in with a dagger.
Evon made quick work of him, slitting his throat with his blade, grabbing his dagger and throwing it at the other. It sank deep into the light leather armor and dropped him in an instant. Turning to face the bigger foe, he missed the block and was struck hard across the face with the handle of the ax, breaking his cheek wide open and sending some teeth to the point of no return. He spit, expelling the teeth from his mouth, but before he could regain his focus, a large fist caught him straight in the nose, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing into the hard floor of the chamber.
The big man was on him like a rabid animal, beating down with his fists and hammering Evon’s head into the rock floor with every blow that landed. Reaching for something, anything he could find, he saw the mace of the first initiate betrayer. It was just out of reach. Kicking up, Evon’s armor-plated knee connected with the soft spot on all men, and he sent another furious kick in the nuts, hoping to send them into the man’s throat. Reaching over, he grabbed the mace and smashed it into the man’s face again and again until the man was unrecognizable and gray ooze leaked from the man’s ears and the top of his head.
His head spinning from all the blows he had taken during the fight, Evon struggled to reach the cavern door. He didn’t have much magic, but this he knew how to do. He placed his hands on the stone wall and uttered the words of power, willing the wall to shut. The stones rippled and became liquid, slowly oozing into place. Footsteps sounded from inside the cavern. Evon looked through the closing hole to see nothing but darkness beyond. The footsteps ran. Someone—or something—was coming. Evon closed his eyes and willed the stones to move faster. An arm punched through and the wall slammed shut, pinching the arm in two. The piece of arm slid to the ground and Evon leaned over to vomit.
Stumbling back up the stairs, he remembered what the man said about the High Executor’s office and turned his awkward stumbling into a sprint. Reaching the hallway where the office lay, he heard a screech get cut off and replaced with a horrible giggling noise and the sound of someone spilling water onto the floor. The boy!
Rage washed over Evon Krich. He drew his sword and ran toward the door. Right as he was about to reach it, the assailant slammed the door shut. Evon didn’t even think about slowing down. He plowed right through the wooden door with such force, it shattered into splintering wood shards, and Evon crashed into the killer.
“Get up and fight me like a man!” he roared.
But the young man dropped his weapon and clambered to his knees. “Plea—pl—please don’t kill me!”
Evon could not believe the coward was kneeling before him. Guards ran up to the door, but Evon waved them off. They stopped and tended to the scribe but after a moment, they knew he was dead.
“I said. Stand and fight me. You pathetic coward.”
The man shook his head and Evon approached the man on his knees and put the blade of his sword to his neck and began to push in on the man’s Adam’s apple.
“Then you shall die on your knees.”
Lifting the blade, a line of blood emerged from the man’s neck where Evon’s blade rested. He chopped down with one savage cut and sent the man’s head rolling across the office floor.
Blood painted the polished plate of Evon’s armor with a red hue. He turned to the guards, unable to speak through the fury he felt at the man that would kill an unarmed child but not fight an armed man. Dropping to his knees beside the boy, his sword hit the floor, clattering away from Evon’s limp hands.
“I am sorry, my son, for I don’t even know your name. This will haunt me for the rest of my days. May you be with the Light.”
Rising to his feet but leaving his sword where it lay on the ground, he faced the guards with blank eyes.
“Are the brothers assembled in the main hall?”
The one guard replied with a nod and the other said, “Yes, Master Krich, they await you now. You have time to change if you wish.”
“No. I want them to see that the blood of this war has already been spilled. Send a detachment down to the chamber that holds the cavern door. I want guards there day and night until we can permanently seal the entrance.”
“Yes, Master Krich.”
Passing them without another word, he made his way to the grand hall.
The blood stains were still fresh but had started to dry on his armor. The red hue now turned to a darker brown. He stopped and looked at his gauntleted hands, now tacky with the boy’s blood. Evon’s head ached but the beating he’d taken was the last thing on his mind. That nameless boy’s death, and the haunting giggle the killer made as he’d extinguished that innocent life so brutally, hung like weights around his neck. Reaching the doors to the grand hall, he stood for a second to ready himself for the news he was going to have to bring the Order on the day after the assassination of the High Executor.
Evon looked once more at the extremely ornate design of the doors leading into the hall. He wondered how many hours and loads of gold went into the creation of the intricate design of the six-pointed star on the door. Then he reached out and threw both doors open as hard as he could and let them hit the wall and bounce back closed with a slam after he entered.
Gasps of surprise echoed throughout the hall as the brothers saw the bloodied and the beaten face of the temporary leader of the Order. Never letting his eye veer from the shrine at the front of the room, he reached the stairs in record time for crossing such a vast hall. He knelt as custom dictated in front of the statue of Dvorak and then rose and strode with confidence and fury to the front of the shrine.
“This day, the day after the very foundation of our Order and way of life was threatened and taken from us, I bring more grim news. News of war. From this moment on, we are at war with the shadow realm again.”
Looking out on the assemblage of brothers, many of whom he had trained over the years, he saw no reaction, just silence.
“There was another attack today. It originated from the Cavern of Trials and ended with the death of an unarmed scribe who took a blade meant for my neck. This is the second personal attack against our Order aimed at taking out key members in the leadership.
“There will be no mercy for the enemies aligned with the darkness. There is something at work here and we will overcome it, but only if we work together. There will be men manning the fortress walls day and night from here on out. All patrols are to be doubled, and once the levies arrive from our vassal lands, they will be manning the defenses as well. Ready yourselves for an attack. I don’t know when or where they will strike, but it will come. May the Light be with you all.”
The room remained frozen in total silence. Evon’s armor clanked and echoed as he strode down the hall and out to the training yard. He was going to need some alone time to work through his rage and mourn the boy’s death.
The practice dummy moved as if was trying to escape the flurry of blows that descended upon it. Hitting it only increased the speed of its movement, but the chances of escape were thin as it was tethered to the ceiling in the personal office of the weapons master. Evon had been training for almost three hours straight. His brow was covered in beads of sweat that dripped down his face, fell off his bent n
ose, and hit the plate armor below. The weapons master was wearing down from exhaustion, still a bit sore from the beating he took in the lower levels. Slumping down, he covered his face and wept for the boy who was killed on his watch, vowing silently that he would take his revenge on those who did this. After his first day as steward of the fortress, Evon was ready to hit the sack before another long day of administrative hell.
10
Evon’s eyes fluttered open a few times before waking fully. He had slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares of the boy’s death. His body ached. Rising to his feet, he exited his quarters in the training barracks and headed to the main keep of the fortress. Upon reaching the door, he noticed the initiates lining up for their regular training. Evon headed over to the class leader to run through some of the fighting styles he had taught them so far. “You initiates will have to work on your own for the training session today. I have business to attend to for the Order.”
“Yes, Master Krich.” The boy spun on his heel and began to give command to his class as per the instructions for the day’s training.
When he entered the office of the Executor, he stepped over the fresh blood stain that was still there. Perhaps it would always be there. Sitting in his chair, he found a few replies from the vassal houses waiting for him. Five of the seven houses had replied and would have troops on the march in one day. Most of them were ready to meet the requirements and a couple had offered to send more troops than they were sworn. Good, Evon thought, that will fare well for the Order. Now the brothers will be able to hold out that much longer against an army of Darkness.
Hollering down the hall, he called for a scribe and told him to fetch the captain of the first battle brothers. Watching the boy leave, Evon thought again of the boy whose blood stained the floor. He had been about the same age as the scribe he was using today. With a shaky hand, Evon pulled a small bottle from his tunic and swallowed the contents in one gulp. The burn from the brew made him relax in an instant. His thoughts of sorrow turned to those of anger.
He glared out the window. Down in the courtyard, his class of initiates practiced the basic motions of sword and shield. A few preferred the other more robust weapons of the Order, the spear and mace. He was proud of how this class had progressed. He missed being down there doing the simple job he preferred, instead of trying to pick up the pieces of a hierarchy that had toppled.
“You called for me, Master Krich?”
By the ringing chain mail, Evon knew it was Captain Deater of the First Battle Brothers.
“Yes, captain, I did. I want you to prepare your five finest men, including yourself, for battle. We are going to clear out the caverns of any resistance today.”
“Sir, but what about the trials for the new initiates? It is tradition, sir—we can’t just kill everything down there.”
“I would rather not have another incursion into the fortress killing those who are innocent in this war. Too much evil comes from that foul place. We will think of another final trial. It needs to cleansed. Which reminds me. Bring a sister of Light down there with us. Someone powerful. We will need her to purify the area.”
“Yes, Master Krich. It will be done. When do we leave?”
“Your men have twenty minutes to meet me down there.”
Nodding, the captain exited the room with the grace of a professional soldier. Evon smiled to himself. Deater had been one of Evon’s favorite students. A rare thing—Evon generally disliked everyone he met. Maybe it was age catching up to him and he was getting soft. Evon quickly dispelled that notion and headed out to get ready for the assault on the caverns.
Looking at the steel plate armor in the mirror of his barracks office, a smile crossed his face. He sheathed his broadsword and instead of taking his shield, he put a dagger into his boot—the dagger that had cut the young scribe’s neck. He vowed to get revenge on the leader of the raid on the fortress with that knife and make him bleed out as the boy had done. He would kill every last monster in the caverns and have the sister set it ablaze, purifying the area of all remaining darkness that might linger. A chill crawled up Evon’s spine. Today the Light would fight back.
Suddenly, he heard a shrieks coming from the courtyard, then clashing blades. He slammed into the door leading to the courtyard. There he found an initiate lying dead, his chest ripped open, the boy’s ribs gleaming white under the red blood spewing out from his chest. Standing over the boy was a dweller, and not ten feet away, others were leaping from a newly formed hole in the ground, attacking the undertrained initiates.
Drawing his sword, Evon leaped into the fray shoulder, checking the nearest dweller and sending it sprawling out on its back.
“Into the barracks—now!” his voice echoed throughout the training yard. “Guards! I need guards! Dweller attack!”
Parrying the claws from one of the other dwellers and covering the retreat of his students, Evon pressed the attack, slicing into the meaty flesh of a dweller who foolishly attacked the armored weapons master. The insides of the dweller fell out as the thing tried once more the cleave into Evon, but parrying yet another blow, Evon cut down with his blade, splitting its head in two.
Guards filtered into the training yard with spears and shields in hand as more dwellers sprouted from the hole in the ground. Now the fight was even, but they needed a way to fill the hole and fast before they became overwhelmed.
As Evon ran another dweller through, he wondered what must be going on down in the caverns to have forced the dwellers to come topside. A heavy blow rapped against his armor in another ill attempt to strike flesh. Evon turned and buried his blade deep into the neck of the assailant, pulling it out with enough force to sever the tendons, allowing the head to fall limp to the thing’s chest as it doubled over dead.
“Find something to fill the hole and fast before we are overwhelmed,” he shouted.
Some guards hustled to find something to plug up the hole for the time being before they could get the masons out there to fill it with cement. While dwellers were weak in one-on-one combat, in numbers they were a much more formidable foe.
A guard fell screaming as a dweller stood atop him, ripping through the light chainmail armor of the guards. Evon pulled the small blade from his boot and threw it at the dweller and hit it dead center, throwing it off of the man. But it was too little too late for him; a pool of blood frothed from the hole in the man’s chest.
Seeing the man was no longer drawing breath, Evon went full bore at the dweller who was rising despite the knife. Jumping on top of the dweller, Evon pummeled the eyeless terror with his gauntlet fists until thick black blood leaked from its mouth and nose. As Evon swung harder, he determined to do all he could before another man died on his watch. He rose from the beaten and bloodied body and was struck from behind, falling so hard his head thudded on the cobbled ground and he saw stars. He could feel the thing trying to scratch its way through the thick plate armor, but thank the Mother, it was not giving in to the assault.
Regathering his focus, he swung his forearm around, catching the foe off guard. Rolling over and reaching for his sword, he parried the dweller’s attack. It pouncing on Evon, this time finding a weak point in the plate and scrabbling into Evon’s vulnerable armpit. He recoiled from the pain for only a moment before he shifted, reached his blade, and thrust it up through the mouth of the dweller.
As it slumped off of him, he could feel the claw sliding out of the wound it had created. Evon struggled to getting back to his feet, woozy from the blow to his head and straining against the heavy plate armor. Reaching his feet, he saw that the hole was almost filled with all manner of things, from the yard barrels and dummies and archery targets to make the hole an impassable.
Dead bodies lay strewn about the training yard including two initiates, one a boy Evon did not recognize and the other the class leader who had been leading the initiates’ charge against the dweller elves.
Cleaning the blade of his sword on a nearby cloth, he pushed through t
he doors of the barracks to find the terrified students waiting. Most trembled, faces pale with shock, but a few bowed to the martial prowess of their instructor.
“You are all lucky to be alive after an attack such as that. Who told you to stand and fight those monsters?”
The room was silent.
“That was incredibly stupid of all of you.”
“Sir, is it not our duty to protect those around us?”
“That is the duty of those in the Order and are brothers now. You are but children still. Our responsibility is to keep you safe while you are in your initiate years here. Is that understood?”
“Yes, master!” The answer came in a sloppy unison.
“Now go and get cleaned up and get back to your quarters. Rest. That’s an order. There will be no more training today.”
Watching the initiates put their weapons away on the racks and file out of the barracks, Evon could not help but feel a sense of pride welling up in him at the thought of how much that young class had already learned about the tenants of the Order. Even at such a young age, they were ready to fight and die for their fellow classmates. Evon signaled to the guards to clean up the courtyard. Then he posted guards until a more permanent method of closing the hole was arranged. He hurried inside and travelled through the lower levels to the opening of the cavern and met up with Captain Deater.
“Are we ready to move out?” Evon asked the captain.
The captain raised an eyebrow at the black dweller blood staining the weapons master’s once perfectly shined armor.
“Dwellers attacked the training yard and killed two initiates a few minutes ago. Let’s get down there and find out what is causing all of this to happen. Now.”
And with that, Evon placed his hands on the wall and melted the stones away.
As the door to the caverns opened, dank air and the stench of decaying copses came rushing through the breach. The worst thing was the horrifying screech that echoed from deep within the caverns. It was coming from a dweller but it was filled with terror not rage, and after hearing that, Evon was not so sure they should go through with his plan. But they needed to know why the dwellers would rather risk death by the Order than face whatever it was that was taking away their homes.
