by Peter Plasse
There was a loud crash as both doors of the Great Hall were flung forcefully inward by the guards to admit Luke, The Conqueror. Only a man of his stature in Rolan’s military machine could get away with this; his words made it obvious why he did what he did, “My Lord. The Trolls have succeeded in breaching The Great Wall. You will get to the tunnels. Immediately. Borok, Dorin, you will accompany the King until you have cleared Belcourt and he has made safe haven on Pine Island. It is the last safe place. The Gnomes now hold everything North of Belcourt, all the way to Dark Hollow and the Forbidden Region. I have just gotten word that not only does the Gnome army control all of this land, in Westeryl they have set up a full garrison, with central mess area, a complete armory, reconnaissance, prisoner facility, the whole business. Sire, our army is devastated. There is little chance we can survive this, now that they have broken through the Great Wall.”
His eyes became downcast. It was as though he felt personally responsible for the first violation of the Great Wall in its history. He continued slowly, with great deliberation. “We must get you to the island. From there, you know where we will all have to go.”
He glanced at Blake and Jessica. Clearly he was not about to give away future movements of the King without knowing his audience. “Right now, you and the Queen can only think of survival. And as many of the remaining forces as we can round up must survive as well, if there is to be any hope for us.”
Rolan looked his Commander hard in the eye. “There is always hope, Luke. Always.” Blake looked at Jessica. It sure didn’t sound hopeful.
Luke continued. “The Trolls obviously hold the South, and are by now pouring over The Wall. It will take them days to make the trees, weeks, perhaps, if we can hold them off, but we need to get you to the island. The Queen is there. She is safe, thanks to the wizard Paulimas. At least as of my last report.”
It was the King’s turn to speak. “This is Blake and Jessica Strong. They have a right to any and all information you would give to me. I grant them the same authority in this regard that I grant the rest of you here. Now, we go.”
As he was finishing, he had already begun moving swiftly towards the back of the Great Hall. He motioned for Blake and Jessica to follow him. His final orders to Ravenwild’s military leadership were, “We meet at the end of the tunnel. Final retreat. That is also the order for the remainder of our citizens and fighting forces. Final retreat. Make it happen without delay.”
His commanders saluted him, sword arm across heart, and went out a side entrance to enforce his command.
Both Blake and Jessica were impressed with the complexity of the tunnel system underneath the castle as they sprinted further and further along in the underground network that exited the fortress under the north end. They passed dozens and dozens of rooms, all filled with foodstuffs, weapons, body armor, and a great range of supplies to outfit the retreating forces, as they raced away from the danger above them. The thing that stuck out the most as they ran along the halls that grew darker and darker was how the lights behind them winked out as they passed by, leaving everything completely black.
“A little trick by our wizard Taber,” Rolan called out softly. “Hopefully, it will help our troops when they are being pursued where we now run. I suspect many will have to fight their way out of here very soon.”
And with that they ran on. They were heavily armed, all of them, with food and water in the packs on their backs, and it looked like at least Rolan not only knew where they were going, but had ordered the things necessary for such a fall back that might actually work for a while, at least long enough so that they could recover their daughter and get the heck out of this nightmare. Those were Jessica’s thoughts as they ran along. Blake’s were much the same as he concentrated on his breathing. He flashed back to his orientation at Naval Hospital Groton, in Groton, CT, where he had done a brief tour of duty as a submariner. It was shortly after he had graduated from college, and most of the reason he had signed up was that they had the best broadsword instructor in the country. He had never lost in the nationals. Jessica, in fact, was the only competitor to have fought him to a tie. This was where they had met. Her blade of choice had been the fencing foil, but he had quickly converted her to broadsword. Many a night they had dueled long after the other swordsmen had gone home, or out for pizza and a beer. Each had wanted the national title. Each had won it. “Who ever thought that we would really need this skill in real life,” thought Blake. “Breathe, breathe, breathe.” The air grew heavier, wetter. It began to smell of mold. Soon, a fine mist began to surround them. It clung to them like the embrace of an old aunt who doesn’t know when to drop it. In the distance they could hear the sound of running water, which grew louder and louder as they ran along.
“We will all three take one boat,” called out Rolan. “The going will be rough for the first several minutes, but don’t worry, I can handle it myself. Still, it would be helpful if each of you could man a bracing stick to fend us off of obstructions.”
Another minute passed.
They burst into a chamber that was as dark as a moonless night in a cave, which suddenly flared to brilliance as they entered.
The smell of the mist became a stench. It was a stench that Blake recognized immediately, having spent his last ten years in the trenches as an Emergency Room physician. It was the stench of blood, lots of blood.
Out of the blindness of the sudden illumination rushed their attackers, four of them, howling with the anticipation of an easy victory.
The three of them formed a tight circle, their backs together, and prepared to do battle. The whole point now was to cut. To kill. But the cuts had to be set up with feints, and parries, and strokes designed to appraise the swordsmanship of their opponents. Blake and Jessica had done this a thousand times before, not only in the actual fighting arenas across the country, but watching tape. Hundreds of hours spent studying tactics.
The eyes of the Trolls gleamed like lava in the light of the cave. The largest came at Blake, the next largest at Rolan, and Jessica was left with the two smallest to contend with. She noticed immediately that they did not fight together, but seemed to be getting in each other’s way. She moved slightly to put the one in front of the other and quickly dispatched the first with a straight lunge to the chest when he swung his sword too wide on an attack stroke, then shoved him forcefully backwards with her left hand, causing the second to stumble. Seeing her opportunity, she quickly changed her sword to her left hand and struck a critical blow to the neck of the second on a vicious downward swing.
Having taken care of her two attackers, she moved to help Blake, who was barely holding his own with the largest one. With her sword still in her left hand, rather than prove a hindrance in the battle her husband was waging, she dropped low and severed the Achilles tendon of the beast. Down he went with a great howl, just as Rolan pinned his with a mighty lunge straight to the abdomen, driving his blade all the way through him and into the very stone of the wall of the cavern. The hamstrung Troll scurried backwards, and it was then that she made a terrible mistake. She took her eyes off of him to see if Blake was all right. “Watch it!” he called, and threw his blade, deflecting the deadly crossbolt that the wounded Troll had managed to get off. There was a slight ping as the bolt struck the hurled sword and ricocheted harmlessly upwards, and a mild thunk as one of Rolan’s daggers buried itself in his neck. He went limp on the floor, and his eyes dulled.
“To the boats!” commanded Rolan. “There will be more.”
They launched one of the small boats into the raging waters. It was all they could do to sheath their weapons and man the large push poles, which they used to fend off the angry rocks that threatened to capsize them every few feet as they careened wildly on their way. The wind howled mightily and the waves attacked them incessantly but, true to his word, Rolan guided them skillfully on their way towards safety.
The last thing they saw as they exited the cavern was the fierce redness of the eyes of a do
zen Trolls as they screamed in fury and waved their huge swords and battle-axes over their heads. A few crossbolts whizzed past, but none struck true. For the moment, they had won.
“Are you watching this?” Mark whispered to Ryan.
“We have to go help him,” said Ryan. “If we don’t, Orie is toast.”
“No way,” said Mark. “We need to get some help. Officer Corey’s house is two houses down from the end of Mr. Strong’s driveway. We need weapons, man. What are we going to do against that thing?”
“You may be right,” said Ryan. “Okay, you get to Officer Corey’s house. Make sure you get back beyond the curve in the driveway and then book it, man. Orie needs help. Now.”
Mark eased away from their hiding place.
Ryan held fast. There was no way he was going to leave his friend. Never happen.
“Come out of the truck,” said Minos. “I mean you no harm. Your entire family is going to die unless you let me help you, and your two friends, and countless others. I could have killed all of you with no more effort than it would take to swat a fly. You need me. I need you. It’s as simple as that. I’ll meet you in your living room. You can run away if you want. I will not chase you, but I promise you we will meet again. I am not your enemy, Orie. Time is your enemy. Time that neither your father, nor your mother, nor Stephanie has right now. Your choice.”
And with that, he backed slowly away from the door of the truck, which opened on its own, and Orie felt a slight, strange force moving him in the direction of the now open door.
Minos Arterios climbed slowly up the stairs. He was slightly stooped, almost as though a great weariness was weighing down his enormous frame. The deck groaned loudly under his weight as he crossed it, and he went in the door, closing it softly behind him.
“Ryan!” Orie called out. “Mark!”
“Here,” called Ryan.
“Where’s Mark?”
“He went to Officer Corey’s house to get help.”
“This guy told me he wanted to meet me in the house. He told me he won’t hurt us, that he wants to help us.”
“I know. I heard everything.”
Orie had no idea what to do. This was all too strange. The night was loud with the croaking of the bullfrogs, and insects buzzed noisily about. Except for the bizarreness of all that was unfolding, it was a beautiful early-autumn night.
He made a decision. He climbed out of the truck and shut the door. “C’mon up,” he called to Ryan, who stood up and walked slowly over to join his friend.
“Are you all right?” asked Ryan.
“Fine.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t think we have a choice right now. We have to go meet this guy.”
So up the stairs they went, cautiously, peering all about, as they proceeded to go and meet the scariest thing that either of them had ever seen in their young lives.
Their faces white with fear, they paused at the door. They made eye contact. Orie simply nodded, and in they went.
Sitting on the couch was a huge man, dressed in an imposing black robe, the hood of which covered most of his face. In front of him on a coffee table was an old newspaper, opened, which he seemed to be reading. Beside him was Mark. He looked frightened, but unharmed.
“Mark!” cried Orie. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” he answered. “I was running up to Officer Corey’s house … and then I was here. What’s going on, man?”
“I have no idea,” said Orie, “but I think we’re about to find out.”
Chapter 10
Stephanie kept her eyes shut as the Troll nursemaid turned her on her left side and gently but firmly scrubbed her backside with warm water and soap. Having cleaned up the mess, she turned her back and dressed her in her clothes, which too had been scrubbed clean.
The doctor entered. “Any progress?” he asked.
“Only that she seems to startle when there is a loud noise. She still soils herself, as you can see.”
She bundled up the dirty linen and went off to launder it.
“Is there any chance she is aware of her surroundings yet?” he asked, before she left the room.
The nursemaid paused and wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe that she would lie there in her own waste if she was,” she said. “A young girl, especially a young Human girl, would never submit to such a thing if she were aware of what was going on.”
“You are probably right,” said the doctor. “You are probably right.”
Alone with his patient, the doctor stroked her hair. There was kindness in his touch. There was also kindness in his voice, Stephanie decided, as she feigned unresponsiveness.
“My poor child,” he murmured. “I don’t know how you ended up with us, but I swear I will do everything in my power to make things right for you. You don’t deserve this … I don’t deserve this.”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the necklace that she had worn ever since she was eight. It was adorned with a striking, heart-shaped, synthetic ruby that was inset with a golden Caduceus, the universal symbol of medicine and healing. Her mother and father had given it to her, and a matching one to Jacqueline, for a Valentine's Day present. She had always loved it, and since it stood for her parents, both physicians, she had never once taken it off. He gently kissed it, placing it carefully around her neck. Then he stood and moved away.
He had no sooner left the room than he encountered none other than Malance Venomisis, Lord of the Trolls. High leader. He was dressed in a pale robe that looked almost dress-like. With a sneer, he greeted the doctor.
“Has she awakened?”
“Not yet, Sire. But she is becoming more responsive. She now startles with loud noises. Any day now. Any day.”
“You have two. Two more days and we boil her. If she is awake enough to startle, perhaps she is awake enough to scream. The troops grow restless. They need some diversion. Watching the young Prince squirm should entertain them. Two days.”
He turned and left.
The doctor decided to return to the bedside of his charge. He had been going to make inquiry with a circle of trusted contacts to see if he might come up with any ideas that might help him awaken her. In his former life he had had quite a lot of experience with comatose patients and their awakening, and he knew that constant stimulation with information that the patient could be expected to recognize, such as the voices of loved ones, news about home, and the like, could be helpful. He desperately wanted to awaken this girl. In fact he was determined to, but not for the malicious design of this sick and twisted Emperor. No, he had quite another plan in mind.
He sat down beside her. Again he commenced stroking her hair. “You must wake up Stephanie. You must. I can help you. I will help you.”
He stopped stroking her hair and slapped her hard across the face. It hurt badly. He struck her again, and again. He was about to strike her a fourth time when the nursemaid reentered the room. She dropped the basket of fresh linens she was carrying and rushed to the bedside.
“What are you doing, Doctor?” she asked. He raised his hand to slap her again and the nursemaid intervened. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “What in the name of the Agden Woods are you doing that for?”
Stephanie was terribly glad that the nursemaid had decided to jump in. Her face stung like a thousand hornets had bitten her. Tears slid down both cheeks.
“Daria,” said the doctor, “I mean this girl no harm. But I must awaken her. I must. Malance Venomisis plans to boil her in oil in front of the young Prince of Ravenwild to watch him squirm. And to provide some sort of sick entertainment for the troops quartered here at the castle.” He paused to gather his thoughts.
More than anything, he wanted to include Daria in his plan. More than anything, he wanted to be able to trust her. Not to mention that, were she a willing participant, it improved the chances for success a thousandfold. He rubbed his chin and pursed his lips as he mulled it over.
Daria brok
e the momentary silence. “That is despicable,” she said. “How could anyone even think of doing such a thing to an innocent young girl? It is a terrible age we live in. Terrible.” She sat down on a nearby bench, first picking up then setting down her basket of linens beside her.
“I can’t imagine it was always this way. The old ones make mention of the fact that there was a time long ago when all of the races got along. When we lived peacefully with each other. But now all there seems to be is killing, and killing, and more killing.”
“Well, Daria, I will tell you, I have made up my mind that I’m going to do everything in my power to stop the killing as far as this girl goes.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, well, I’m going to try and escape with her. There. Now I’ve said it. I’m going to try and get her back to her homeland. She’s far too young to have done anything serious enough to warrant being boiled in oil for the sick amusement of the depraved mind of Malance Venomisis.” He spat out the name of the Troll leader as if it were a poison in his mouth.
The eyes of Daria grew wide as he spoke. “You will die,” she said. “Nobody has ever escaped from this fortress. There is no way.”
There was another brief silence as each retreated into private thoughts. This time it was the doctor that broke it.
“There was one who did,” or at least this is what he had heard long ago. “But you’re probably right,” he said. “But I would rather die trying than be part of something so perverse.”
Then,
“Will you help me?”
Daria looked at him. She seemed to be studying his face. All the acts of skill, and wisdom, and compassion, to which she had been witness in the years they had worked together flooded back to her as snowflakes in a storm. Never once had his course been steered by thoughts of what was best for him. It had always been dictated by what was right for his patient. She had seen him save lives, set broken bones, deliver countless babies of both Troll and Gnome descent, and ease his patients into the next plane when their time in this one was at an end. She had seen him work tirelessly when all of his attendants were too exhausted to keep going, refusing to give in to the demands of sleep as long as his patients needed him. She thought back to the day he had told her something his mother had said to him early in his training, “If you always do for your patient what you would do for me, or your father, or your wife or child, you will always do well in this noble profession. As a doctor, you will take care of paupers and you will take care of kings. Remember this always: If you put them all in a hospital gown, they all look the same.” And he had. He truly had. Suddenly, she knew what to do.
