“Are there really no underground exits or tunnels from the fortress?” Brother Mikh asked after peering out the loophole and spitting down onto the ground outside. “It’s an old structure, so there have to be lots of them.”
“There were,” Martin replied. “But they were all filled in ages ago. Some of Hassan ibn Kemal’s people got in through them with orders to grab scrolls from our library, there was a big fight, and we filled them in afterward.”
“That’s a shame,” Brother Mikh said, thinking about something.
I looked at him, and then back at Martin. A thought was spinning around in my head, but I couldn’t quite pin it down.
Florence turned to me. “Thane Hagen, what brought you here to this castle? You were starting to tell me something when—”
With a thud, we were interrupted once again, that time by the ram.
“The gate won’t be able to take that for long,” one of the last few guards said. They had all made their way over to us, and it looked like everyone left alive in the fortress was there with us on the landing of the third floor: a few guards, a dozen inquisitors of different ages, a cook in his white smock and kitchen knife, Bonne, and a few kids, presumably, pupils of the college.
“Of course, not. Those big guys out there have that huge log,” one of the kids said, sticking his head out the window. “There are woodchips flying everywhere.”
He really was just a kid, and the whole thing was one big adventure for him. In his thirteen-year-old brain, death did not yet exist. Someone would come to get him, just not the beasts down below… If only death were as clueless as he is.
“So, what did you need us for?” Florence asked me graciously.
“Some time ago, I had the honor of meeting monsieur Gilles de Blassi, and he asked me to find the Sword of Zigfrod. The first thing I had to do was kill a witch.”
“Yes, yes, I remember,” Florence nodded. “You were the one he gave that quest to? Ah, he spoke very warmly of you. You were able to free some of our brothers from a group of witches, and even kill some of them, were you not?”
“Yes, something like that.” I only hoped I’d complete the quest before we were killed. At least, I’ll get something that way. “I also have a letter for you from Chancellor Jean de Gross.”
I dug around in my bag, looking for the letter, saw two scrolls, and remembered that Brother Yur had also given me the one for the local treasurer. What was his name? Oh, right—Romul. The treasurer, and Brother Yur’s friend. At least, if he remembers Brother Yur, and if he’s still alive…
“Hey, where is your treasurer, Romul?” I asked the inquisitors.
“Probably downstairs in his office,” one of the boys replied. “He doesn’t like straying too far from his quarters and treasury. He doesn’t let anyone else in there, either.”
“Take me to him,” I replied quickly. “Brother Mikh, you’re coming with me.”
Brother Mikh smiled. “Got it. I heard our Master Yur was Romul’s mentor or something like that.”
He threw off his robe, under which he had on exquisite, tightly fitting black chainmail. Black leather pants and a wide belt completed his look, and he was armed with a curved dagger as well as a dozen throwing knives in special pockets.
“More comfortable this way,” he told me. “But you didn’t see anything.”
“Nothing at all,” I replied. “Gunther, take the rest and follow me. If Monsieur Martin doesn’t want to come, pick him up and carry him.”
“That is unacceptable,” the head of the college replied indignantly.
“What’s unacceptable is the death of a person like you,” I said as I walked away. The kid had already set off quickly down the stairs.
The way fortresses were built, it was easy to get lost even if you had a map—all the turns, nooks, and narrow corridors were brutal. If it hadn’t been for the clever guy named Renny, we wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. Happily, we had him with us and made it in time.
A short guy with a leather sack strapped to his back was just about to dive down one of the corridors, and we definitely wouldn’t have found him in the maze.
“Romul?” I called after him.
“Not me,” came his shaky voice. He darted off a few steps, but the throwing knife that smacked into the ceiling above his head brought him to a halt.
“Oh, stop shaking,” I said rudely. “We’re on the same side. Brother Yur sent me, and this is one of his bookkeepers.”
“What proof do you have of that?” he asked with a suspicious squint.
I silently held out Brother Yur’s letter, while Mikh pulled a torch off the wall and handed it to the treasurer so it would be easier for him to read.
“Ah, I thought you were marauders down here,” Romul exhaled. “Yes, this is Master Yur’s handwriting, so it looks like you’re telling the truth. I’d be happy to help, but I’m really in a hurry. You’ll have to forgive me.”
“Do you know where the secret passage out of the fortress is?” I asked him.
“There aren’t any secret passages,” he blinked. “Many years ago—”
“I’ve heard that story,” I said. “Do you know where the secret passage is?”
The treasurer’s brows furrowed as he thought about whether to talk with us. Brother Mikh was bringing the torch closer and closer to him when some more faces joined our little group.
“The gate is about to fall,” von Richter said as he walked up to us. The head inquisitor was hoisted over his shoulder, and he looked crestfallen at being handled that way. “I saw gaps in the wood as we walked by, so they’re just a few more blows away from taking it down.”
“Romul,” I said, grabbing the treasurer by the front of his shirt. “I need to save this man and everyone who’s with him, including you.”
“The archives,” Florence wheezed. “We need to grab the archives!”
Something crashed above us, and we heard a chorus of voices. The gate had fallen.
“Yeah, right,” I replied. “I’m very sorry, sir, but we’re going to have to come back for your archives. I doubt those creatures out there will have any need for them.”
“But they’re going to burn them!” the old man said, practically in tears. “I can’t have that!”
“At least, they won’t kill us,” Brother Mikh said. “That would be worse.”
“Follow me,” Romul said finally. “Let’s go.”
“Good choice.” Brother Mikh went up next to Romul, illuminating the path forward with the torch he was still holding. “They won’t need much time, so let’s get going.”
“We’ll stay and lead them down other corridors when they get here,” one of the guards said grimly. “Hurry—we won’t be able to hold them for long.”
Two inquisitors stayed with them, not letting Martin see them go—he probably would have tried to stay, as well. I saluted them with a clenched fist, recognizing their right to immortality in the annals of the college, and ran after the group. We rushed down into the cellars underneath the fortress.
Chapter Three
On guests and hospitality.
We walked past some barrels, probably filled with wine, then shelves holding fat tomes, stands with dusty armor, and piles of curved and rusted pieces of iron. We walked down, down, down…
“Is there any point in running like this?” Martin suddenly asked from Gunther’s shoulder. “We can’t hide. The beasts of the Dark Lord will find us, one way or another. We should have met them with swords in our hands and died with honor.”
“Dying is easy,” Brother Mikh replied from his position up front with the torch. “Surviving in spite of everything, that’s the hard part.”
“The college is no more,” Florence muttered sadly. “The city is burned, the fortress sacked and will soon be razed, and the archives are going to be destroyed, too. What’s there to live for?”
“The people you have left,” I said sharply. “A new beginning for the college. Sure, it’ll be hard, but it’s possibl
e.”
“You’re very young, Thane Hagen,” Florence replied with a shake of his beard. “And you’ve never seen destruction like this. How we underestimated the might and will of those upstarts from the West…”
“Who is ‘we,’ and who did you underestimate?” I asked offhandedly.
“‘We’ is we,” Florence groaned as Gunther tossed him to his other shoulder. “The inquisitors, the head of the order the young man carrying me around like a sack of potatoes belongs to, the head rector of the Academy of Wisdom, and a few other people. We were told about an enormous abscess building on the left bank of the Crisna, that all the beasts of the Night now in Rattermark were heading there, but we didn’t think that creature could unite them and take the black crown to rule over the dark hosts. We didn’t even think it survived. We were told the Last Dragon melted it in its flames. How wrong we were. Somehow, he found it!”
I was listening to the old man carefully, and it took me a second to realize that Romul had stopped near a wall that marked the end of the deepest vault we’d walked through.
“Well, this is it,” Florence said, looking around. “We’re going to be stuck here forever. I just wish I could see the sun again, and, more than anything, I wish that these boys could know what it feels like to be men.”
The head inquisitor’s emotional speech was interrupted by the shiver-inducing scrape of a well-concealed lever. Romul had thrown his entire weight against it. With one more screech, a passage appeared in the left-hand corner, smelling dank and musty.
“There’s a secret passage here?” The old man’s beard fluffed indignantly. “I don’t remember anything about that. Why didn’t anyone report back to me?”
“Nobody knows about it,” Romul replied coolly. “I found it myself. The last owners of the fortress must have made it, or, maybe, the ones before them. The college built it, of course, but the foundation, many of the vaults, and, therefore, the passageways date back further.”
“Who were the last owners of the fortress?” Gunther asked.
“I’m not sure.” Romul strained an ear. “Hey, be quiet!”
I listened, too, and heard what was bothering the treasurer—an echo. The unhumans capturing the castle didn’t care about treading quietly, and they were stomping around with the confident strides of conquerors. Judging by the sound, they were in the vaults, too, and would get to where we were in five or six minutes.
“Hurry, everybody get inside,” a pale Romul ordered before turning to one of the boys. “Hey, kid, wipe up the resin here, and brush away our tracks.”
We really had scuffled our way through the dirt, and the torch Brother Mikh was holding had thrown bits of charred resin around the area.
The boy got to work, while Romul, having rushed everyone into the tunnel, pulled one of the racks over to the entrance, dropped some broken shelves near it, and strewed some rotten wood around the wall.
“Okay, that’s all we have time for,” he whispered to me before kicking the boy into the black hole of the tunnel, grabbing the sack he’d set down, glancing at me, and nodding back the way we’d come. Flickering light was already starting to play on the walls, and we could only assume the torches were being held by creatures who wanted our blood. They still had some distance to cover, though they looked to be only a few minutes away from where we were. “Hurry, hurry.”
We stepped into the secret passage, and Romul heaved his body against another level on our side. It slipped easily and silently down, the walls closing behind us. With a happy nod, Romul stuck an iron bar through the lever.
“Excellent,” he said, brushing his hands off. “The only way they’re getting through there is to break the wall down now. And it isn’t stone; it’s steel made to look like stone.”
“That’s original,” I said approvingly. “Whoever used to own this fortress was a smart guy.”
“He was a warlock,” Florence said suddenly. “The college’s founding fathers captured the fortress and burned him in the city square.”
“That’s very informative, but we have to hurry.” Brother Mikh, who was staring into the dark passage, said. “Those beasts have great hearing, so let’s go.”
It was a wide tunnel, and side passageways split off into the darkness here and there. Once, we even walked past a few cells with rusty bars over the doors.
“He was a warlock,” the old man said again, just as suddenly. “My instructor told me that he laughed when the flames licked at him and roared at the first inquisitors, the ones standing there watching him, that the one he served would be back to avenge his death. And here we are…”
“Who did he serve?” I asked Florence.
“Torg, Lord of Death,” he replied with a convulsive sigh. “Dying oaths always come to pass… First, there was the darkness on that bank, then the omens, and then our people started disappearing. Some of them we know were killed, since we found their bodies, while others went missing without a trace. It’s all one long chain of events, though. Master, your order has been struck by the malady as well, has it not?”
“Yes, venerable Florence,” Gunther said. “Many knights have been dying recently.”
“They found the bodies of some knights not far from our fortress the day before yesterday,” Martin said. “Almost twenty, complete with an officer—they’d been to see us not long before they were killed. But I can’t figure out what they were doing in the old Kadrans works. Besides empty mines, we don’t have anything. And why was my assistant with them? He didn’t tell me anything.”
You completed a quest: Matching Facts.
Reward:
1200 experience
600 gold
A piece of parchment with a map on it
Oh, there goes the gold in my bag again. There was something wrong with that picture. Although to be fair, it would have been equally unrealistic if Gunther, as a representative of the order, had turned to me, dropped the old inquisitor off his shoulder, and started pulling gold out from under his armor.
And where was the next quest? Do I need to check the map? If that was the case, it could wait until a more convenient time.
“Is it much farther?” one of the young inquisitors asked Romul.
“No,” Romul said, giving the air a careful sniff. The path was easing upward, and the treasurer was clearly tiring under the load on his back. “We’ll get up to the surface before the torch burns out.”
It was already smoking and flickering, so I figured we really were close.
Soon, we found ourselves out in the fresh air, three kilometers from the city walls. We were in a ravine overgrown with willows and small rivulets.
“Water,” the exhausted, overwhelmed boys cried, throwing themselves at the gurgling liquid and sloshing it into their mouths.
“You’re not doing a very good job training them,” von Richter said to Martin as he pulled him off his shoulder and carefully laid him under one of the trees. “They’re breaking cover, making noise, and not bothering to offer you water first. Outrageous!”
He walked over to them, pulled them up onto their feet, pulled off a plated gauntlet, and gave each of them a resounding cuff.
“Did you hear what that was for?” he asked them coldly. They stood there rubbing their heads.
“Yes,” one of them said, while the other two just nodded.
“I want to hear, ‘Yes, sir, Junior Master,’” he said, and then started barking out orders. “Okay, you climb up to that side of the ravine and keep an eye out; you, go that way; you, that way. If you see any movement, don’t shout or make any noise. Just make your way back quietly and report to me immediately. Questions?”
“No questions, Junior Master,” the three replied briskly.
“Then get to it.” Gunther pulled a leaf off a tree, rolled it into something like a cup, filled it with water, and offered it to Martin, who was still lying on the ground.
“I’m not an invalid,” the old man replied with an unexpected dose of hurt in his voice. He gro
aned as he stood up. “Your courtesy is commendable, however. You were well trained.”
“We need to start moving out of here,” Romul said, also getting down for a drink.
“He’s right,” Brother Mikh said. “Sire, what about heading back to our village in the Borderlands? Portals probably work here.”
“They do,” said Florence. “Thane Hagen, your man is right. Get out of here, and take the boys with you. My men and I will try to get to Toulon—I sent a large contingent of inquisitors there recently, including a battle group.”
“A battle group?” I asked.
“Well, yes.” Florence looked at his beard sadly. So recently groomed and in order, it was disheveled and covered in burrs. “Thirty warriors and a master instructor.”
“Some of the best fighters on the continent,” Brother Mikh whispered to me. “Sword, bow, knife—they know no equals. Well, I mean, our bookkeepers can more than keep up, but they’re still very experienced warriors. I’ve heard a lot about them.”
That’s interesting. A fallen patriarch at the head of a scattered group of homeless followers and pursued by a terrifying giant dressed in black was one thing; a worthy adversary of evil suffering from a treacherous and sudden attack with a squad of professional fighters was something entirely different. The college wasn’t that small, either. Wasn’t there something about a second circle, and then a third? If there are that many people, where are they? They couldn’t have all been killed in the assault.
“Monsieur,” one of the young inquisitors asked, in unison with my thoughts. “What will happen to our men coming back from raids and missions? They’ll walk right into the mouths of those beasts, won’t they?”
“We need to warn them before they even get close,” von Richter responded instead of the head of the college. “I don’t think there are many roads leading into the city, so we need to post someone on each of them.”
“There are three roads leading into the city,” Romul said quickly, digging in his sack. “If we hide in the woods a few kilometers out from the city, the risk will be minimal. Of course, that’s only if they don’t send werewolves out to patrol the area.”
The Crown and the Key Page 4
