by Peter Plasse
He looked Stephanie in the eye. “So this is the girl. Hello. My name is Maxilius Bravarus. I am Daria’s brother. It is a pleasure to meet you. Would that the circumstances of our meeting were different.” He bowed slightly.
“Hello,” she returned. “My name is Doreen … ”
A fleeting vision of a farm, and two horses, one light-brown, one dark-brown, rolled across her consciousness and she swayed slightly, nearly falling down.
Maxilius Bravarus caught her easily and plopped her in a chair.
“What was it Doreen?” asked the doctor. “What did you see?”
“Nothing,” said Stephanie. “It was nothing. It’s nice to meet you, Sir. Your sister is a wonderful caregiver.
“I too will need a broadsword and a brace of long knives. Can you get these?”
Maxilius Bravarus laughed. It was a hearty, rich laugh that rolled out of him like soft thunder. “Now where did you learn to use weapons such as these, young Doreen?” he asked.
“That I can’t tell you,” she answered, “But what I can tell you is I have used them before. And if we’re going to have to fight our way out of here, I’m willing to do my share of it.”
“Very well,” he said. “I shall see that suitable weapons are affixed to your horse.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir,” she countered, “But that’s not acceptable. I’ll need the weapons as soon as we leave the infirmary. We may have to fight before we ever make it to the horses. Do you agree?”
He stroked his face. “You’re right of course. I’ll see to it and deliver them myself within the hour. Very good, now I need to speak to my sister alone. We need to finalize some of the plans. There’s not much time.”
Daria followed him to the anteroom and Stephanie, now Doreen, and the doctor were left alone.
“Doctor,” she said, “Quite a while back you said that I was not from here. What did you mean by that? Where is it that I’m from, and how did you know?”
“Very good, Doreen. Your short-term memory seems to be working fine. That is very, very good. Yes, well. You, and I actually, are both from a place called Earth. It’s a planet quite different from this one in many ways, enormously different. And I knew because of this.” He reached out and took her necklace gently in his fingers. He lifted up the heart-shaped stone and touched the symbol in the middle of it. “This symbol, here, is not at all from this planet, but from ours. It is called a Caduceus. It is used where we come from as an emblem, sort of, of the medical profession, you know, as a symbol for those who dedicate their lives to healing; to helping others in need. It’s a very long story, and that’s as good as I can do right now, but here’s the deal. If ever you find yourself overwhelmed by fear, or sadness, or grief, or loneliness, or anything, really, you can touch it and it will help you. Because if you do, you will know, deep down inside you, that you do have a home, somewhere. That much I know.”
Each studied the other’s face for a moment. There were too many questions for her right now. It was all jumbled up in her head, and suddenly she was very tired.
“Now, time does not permit me to go into it any more than that,” said the doctor. “We need to make ready. You must nap. You will need every bit of strength you possess, and then some, to survive the next several days. This is going to be a most difficult crossing, and what you need right now, more than anything, is rest. What we are about to attempt is going to be difficult beyond belief. You must close your eyes. As your Doctor, I order you to bed this instant. You’re exhausted. I can see it in your eyes.”
It seemed like no more than an instant’s time had passed before the doctor was gently shaking her awake.
“Here,” he whispered, “These are from Maxilius Bravarus. Put them on.”
He handed her a small broadsword, which fit her hand as though it had been made for her. She drew it out of its scabbard of fine, soft leather, on which were tooled many miniature battle scenes. She checked the blade. It was razor sharp. She took a few swings with it and then twirled it expertly around in semicircles, noting it was perfectly balanced. She even changed hands, never pausing in the motion. Satisfied, she sheathed the weapon and drew one of the long knives. After checking the blade, and the balance, she turned and buried it into one of the upright support beams about ten feet from her.
“Well,” murmured the doctor, “I see. Come now. It begins.”
Doreen slid the long knives one into each boot and slipped the sword’s baldric over her head, then checked to see that the blade was loose in its scabbard. Then, as they were departing the anteroom into the hall, she paused briefly to draw one of the knives and cut a piece of cloth material from the seat of one of the chairs, which she fastened around her forehead, drawing her hair back out of the way of her eyes. The doctor nodded, his face grim. She returned his nod in kind. Her stomach heaved mightily as they entered the hallway, but she touched her gemstone and thought about what the doctor had said to her, how she had a home somewhere, and it helped her gather her thoughts. Frightened to her very core, and unable to remember a thing of the life she had known before she ended up wherever it was that she was, had her light-years beyond vexed, but for now she would trust the man who had saved her life.
Strange words drifted back to her from another place and another time. “Never fight if it can be avoided … Always protect yourself, and if the best way to do that is by running away, then run faster than your opponent … But if you must fight, win. Cut your enemy before he has the chance to cut you. His very first movement … his very first movement … will tell you what you need to do to cut him first. It will either be with his sword arm or it will be with his feet … ” She tore herself from this odd reverie and brought her entire focus onto the situation facing her, facing them all.
They moved down the hallway and were soon joined by two other soldiers. Now six strong, they rounded a turn and came to a doorway guarded by two Trolls who glanced at them with faces that looked to have been cast in iron. Stephanie started to draw her sword, but Maxilius Bravarus put a restraining hand on her wrist, shaking his head, “No.” Both guards saluted him with sword-arms across their hearts, and one opened the door with a heavy iron key. It swung silently inward. Now eight strong, they descended a narrow set of stairs, silent as a leaf drops. The stairs seemed to go on forever, the only light coming from torches placed every fifty feet, most of which were burned out, making it nearly impossible to see. But they continued at a brisk pace, relying on the regularity of the stone steps and the narrowness of the stairway, which allowed them to feel more than see their way along. As they approached the bottom of this stretch of the descent, the stairway brightened slightly from a fresh torch that had been placed in its holder, illuminating another huge door that was also opened quickly by another large key. This door too swung inward without a sound, and Doreen realized that Maxilius had instructed some of his soldiers to walk in front of them and grease the hinges. The air in this lower level was distinctly different than that of the level they had just left. It was warm and moist and reeked of products of decay, stool, and rancid urine. The footing now turned to slop, and they all slowed unconsciously to avoid the delay, and mostly the noise, of slipping. Soon, they had long passed the last of the torches, and they made their way blindly along using only the wall for direction. Each instinctively reached out and took a hold of the one in front of them to prevent getting separated. Doreen’s heart was pounding so hard, she swore she could hear it. She even tried to listen to see if she could hear any of the others’ and took a small bit of reassurance that she could not. Suddenly, and without warning, a huge hand wrapped around her head and pulled her softly. She heard a voice whisper, “We will go down one more level. There will be one more doorway. It opens into the back of the dungeons. We will need to cross over a hallway in plain sight of the guards. They will either be paying attention to their change of shift duties, or concentrating on wrapping up some gambling debts so, hopefully, they will not notice us, but we will do it one at a ti
me. If we are seen, five of us will stay behind and hold them off while you and Daria and the doctor make your way as quickly as possible to the sewers and out to where the Prince and the horses are waiting. When it is your turn to cross, watch the eyes of the guards that are facing you. Try and make it across when their eyes are looking away from you. And remember: Do not make a sound! Good luck, girl. Be brave. Be smart.” A giant mouth gently kissed the top of her head, and she vowed she would honor his words. “Be brave. Be smart,” she repeated in her mind.
Doreen felt more than heard the final door swing open. There was a slight change in the air currents. She felt a hand take hers and guide her slowly forward. Inch by inch, they crept down the final set of stairs. Time seemed to stand still as they finished the last stage of the long descent. She found that her mind wandered back to meeting Erik in the small shack in Ravenwild. She remembered the gardens, well-tended and lush with crop. And she remembered her introduction to Spirit and Cloud, and the wild chase by the Trolls riding those hideous creatures. But she could not remember anything beyond that, except for that girl named Grace. She knew she knew someone named Grace, and she knew that she was her best friend. She tried to picture her face. Nothing. She was brought abruptly out of her daydream when the hand that had been leading her along sought out her face and clamped gently over her mouth.
“This is it,” whispered Maxilius Bravarus, so close to her ear it felt like he was whispering to her from inside her head. “We cross over, one at a time. Not a sound”
She noticed that there was no doorway here, the tiny hallway they were in merely jutting away from the main passage and leading to what she presumed must be the dungeon. Daria and the doctor crossed over without being detected. Maxilius Bravarus bent down and scooped up some dirt from the floor, smearing it all over his face, then peered cautiously around the doorway. In a flash he was across with no one the wiser. One of the Troll escorts squeezed her hand, and she knew it was her turn. She imitated Maxilius Bravarus and dirtied her face. Then she too peeked carefully around the corner. Her heart felt like it might leap out of her chest. There were three Troll guards seated at a table. They appeared to be playing some sort of board game. Two were facing away from her, but the third looked as though he was looking right at her. It was all she could do to not gasp with fright. He couldn’t be more than fifteen feet away. Surely he could see her plain as day.
She waited and waited. His eyes did not move. She waited some more. Even after what seemed like an eternity had come and gone, it did not appear safe. There was no way she could dart across without getting caught. She knew that everyone was waiting for her to make her move, but she also knew if she bolted for it now, she would be seen.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock that came from somewhere off in the distance, and all three of the guards’ heads turned that way, one of them calling out. Quick as a mud turtle, she was across the small hallway and into the doorway beyond, with two out of the four remaining Troll escorts right behind her. In a matter of a few minutes, the last two were across. They had made it!
Now, to meet up with Erik and get as far away from this horrible place as soon as possible. She knew it would not be easy, but if they could only do again what they had just done, there had to be hope that they could make it the rest of the way. Down the last stairwell they crept, a band of brothers and sisters resolute in their determination to escape with their lives.
The Trolls that accompanied them were Maxilius Bravarus loyalists, all willing to put themselves and each other in harm’s way in order to, in any way they could, with whatever effort or personal risk necessary, serve the cause of bringing down their Emperor, whom they all knew to be a sick and evil soul. None knew if peace with the other races would ever be possible, but all knew that with the leadership presently in power, there would never be a chance. The nurse and the doctor shared their belief. Too many times they had taken care of the instruments of Malance’s barbarous ways. Hideous wounds, inflicted as much, or more, for his depraved pleasure as to punish a wrongdoing. More than once they had been impelled to work hard at convincing a young Troll soldier that taking his own life was not the way to fix his deplorable situation.
They reached the bottom and eased the last door open without a sound. Beyond it was an expansive cavern that had been cut from the very stone upon which the castle was built. Far beneath the surface now the air was hot, heated by the magma that roiled underneath them and supplied the fortress with the heat and energy to power its needs. They crossed the cavern without incident and came to yet another great door, this one locked. Maxilius Bravarus turned to the group. Doreen saw the anxious look on his face, and her heart began to sink.
“Not good,” he said in a whisper. “Any suggestions?”
“Step aside, Commander,” whispered one of the Trolls in the group. “I’ve been picking that same lock for years now to feed our boys when the food storage locker was locked and Malance Venomisis thought it would be fun to starve them. I’ll take care of it.”
While he went to work, Maxilius ordered Marcos and Dragor to cross back over the cavern and stand guard to make sure that those who might be pursuing them from behind would not flank them. Everyone else stood by while Stevaros worked the lock. Minutes went by as he struggled with the mechanism.
“It’s frozen up,” Doreen heard him mutter. Great beads of sweat covered his forehead. “This will take a bit longer.”
Maxilius Bravarus put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Finally, with a distinct click, the rusted tumblers fell into place, and not a moment too soon, because from across the cavern behind them there came the crash of swords. They had been discovered! Miraculously, there had been no shouting, only the ringing of the blades and the grunts of soldiers doing battle, and by the time the three remaining Trolls had crossed the cavern to aid their comrades they had already turned to rejoin the group, leaving three dead Trolls behind.
“Go, go, go,” hissed Maxilius Bravarus, as they all dashed through the doorway.
“Stevaros,” he said to the Troll whose locksmithing skills had gained them entrance to the castle sewers, “can you relock it in such a way that it cannot be opened again?”
“I can, Commander. But once I do it, we would not be able to pass this way again if ever we had to. Not without destroying the door and giving ourselves away.”
Maxilius Bravarus stroked his chin. “Do it,” he said. “And join us at the rendezvous point. You remember the way?”
“Yes, Commander. Consider it done.”
Doreen had been so caught up in the excitement of the moment that she had not noticed the fetid stench of the sewers through which they now ran wildly along. More than once she slipped and fell face down in the most disgusting filth imaginable, only to be yanked forcefully to her feet. She gagged and wretched almost continuously for several minutes, then her stomach settled down. The roof of their getaway tunnel started to angle sharply towards the floor, and they all crouched to avoid striking their heads on the ceiling. Soon, the Trolls were all crawling on all fours, but Doreen was spared for a while. In time, however, even she had to crawl when the Trolls were sliding on their bellies.
She heard a voice call out from the front. “We’re almost there. Soon the passageway will narrow and we will have to squeeze through. Beyond that it will open up into a pool. We will need to swim across it underwater. Hold onto the leg of the one in front of you. Do not let go and do not open your eyes or you will never see again. Come now. Hurry.”
Doreen did as she was told, passing easily through the opening and downward into the mucky fluid that clung to her like mucous. She forcefully blocked out any thought about what it was that she was swimming through and concentrated on her swimming strokes, which were limited to one arm and one leg. Just when she thought her lungs were going to explode she found herself angling upward and broke through the surface.
“Don’t open your eyes yet,” Maxilius Bravarus said sharply. “Take my hand.”
She reached out her hand and was led about fifty feet forward where she found herself under a freezing shower of fresh water.
As she rinsed her face, hair, and the rest of her clean of the filth of the castle sewers, she heard Maxilius Bravarus say, “This is a mountain stream that was diverted this way for the keepers of the sewers to wash with when they came in contact with the sewer’s contents. Hurry now. We have to make time.”
She was handed a bar of coarse soap. In a few minutes she was clean enough to move on. From here they made their way along several stone hallways that intertwined in a great labyrinth. All proceeded upwards at a steep angle. Several times they reached blind ends and were forced to turn back. It began to appear that they were never going to escape, that they would die a slow and painful death wandering aimlessly under Malance’s fortress.
But suddenly, they could see light, and Doreen swore she heard the nicker of a horse.
“We are there,” called out Maxilius Bravarus. “Now, we run.”
Rounding a bend Doreen spied Erik holding the reins of Spirit and Cloud. She had thought that there were going to be more horses. Nevertheless, she smiled when she saw him, but was surprised that he did not return it. Something was wrong. She knew it. She could feel it. The group raced forward, and she took the reins of Spirit from his hand, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“Come now,” Maxilius Bravarus said. “Time to ride.”
“Where are your horses?” Doreen asked.
“Trolls don’t ride horses,” he said. “We eat them. We ride Lizardrulls, but there are precious few of those, and they are all far to the north. Have you ever seen a horse big enough to carry a Troll? No girl, we run. Don’t worry, a horse can outrun a Troll in the short run, but a Troll will outrun a horse every time in the long run. Mount up.”
