Chaos At The Castle (Book Six)

by Craig Halloran

  Melegal, still frozen, felt a gentle brush between his legs. Looking down, he saw two pale white eyes. “Octopus,” he murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Creed. Now listen to me. Do you want to go in hard and fast or quick and easy?”

  Truth was, Melegal had to wonder what would happen if others were in there. Could he slip back in and seal the door? He hadn’t thought long enough about it; he’d had no choice. And what if the underlings were inside? He straightened his cap. Be ready for a nose bleed.

  “I don’t suppose there really is a fast and easy way, is there?”

  “I don’t think we’ve much choice. Just be ready to fight…” Melegal found the handle and started to pull.

  “…or Die,” Creed finished.

  Quick. Quick. Quick.

  Melegal pressed the latch downward and shoved the door open. He darted straight forward, rolled, and rose to his knees, swords ready.

  Creed spun along the wall, blades whirling.

  The massive chamber was silent, torches flickering, forcing a wavering light.

  Narrowing his eyes, Melegal noted the figures lined against the walls in the shadows. Their eyes were glimmering. Bish! It’s underlings!

  Whamp. The door they came through shut.

  Leaning against the wall with two swords crossed over his back was an underling as tall as him. His copper eyes glowered at him.

  “Ah… you must be the one called Melegal.”

  The other underlings emerged from the shadows.

  The tall underling continued. “I just missed you the last time, it seems. You are the one Sefron calls The Rat.”

  Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I should have taken my chances in the streets! One. Two. Three... Seven underlings. No crossbows. No darts. Two torches. Where to go? Where to go?

  That’s when he caught the heavy stare of Royal Lord Almen. A sword was pressed into the Vulture-like man’s back. Wary, Melegal turned in his spot. Sefron’s eyes were on him as well.

  The cleric shuffled, wheezed, and squirmed at the side of an underling that held a blade to his belly.

  Melegal allowed a grin and returned his focus to the copper-eyed underling.

  “I am that rat. And who might you be?”

  “Master Kierway.” The underling pushed himself off the wall.

  “Oh, so you are the one that Sefron wanted me to get the Keys for?”

  Lord Almen shot Sefron a look, but the cleric remained silent.

  “Indeed, and I assume you have those Keys?”

  Slowly, Melegal nodded his head. There was no reason to lie now. All they would do was kill him and take them. He searched Lord Almen’s face and saw nothing of help. It seemed the Castle was at a loss. But even if the underlings didn’t kill him, he was certain Lord Almen would. After all, he’d tried to kill Lord Almen and failed.

  How will you squeeze out of this one, Rat?

  He glanced at Creed. The man stood tall, eyes darting from one underling to another, ready to fight anything and everything.

  “I do have the Keys.” Melegal sheathed his swords. “And they are yours to have.”

  Lord Almen’s face turned pale.

  Melegal reached inside his pockets.

  Creed harrumphed. “Let them take those Keys from your dead body. Don’t make a deal with the underlings, Detective. There are only a few of them.”

  “Mind your tongue, Bloodhound,” Lord Almen said. “It’s not your back that’s dancing with a sword.”

  “Huh,” Creed said. “At least I’ll die with one in my hand, not in my back.”

  “As much as I’d rather not admit it,” Kierway said, “I agree with this man over here. I’d rather die than make deals with the enemy. That’s the kind of fighter I am. But at the moment, that’s not my mission. The Keys are. Let me see them!”

  “Certainly.” Melegal fumbled through his clothes. No rush. Not too fast. Not too slow. Producing the 1st Key, Amethyst, he placed it on the floor.

  Every eye in the chamber widened.

  “And, Master Kierway,” Melegal said, “considering my inevitable death, I would like you to consider another request.” He set the 2nd Key, a diamond set in a brass setting, down on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Almen fidget the slightest.

  Sefron’s wheezing picked up.

  “Say whatever you like, Human,” Kierway said, “as you are intelligent to realize that your death is inevitable.”

  Melegal stood up and pointed.

  “Let me sink my blades into that bug-eyed bastard, Sefron. He’s the reason I came back. To cut his throat. I can’t imagine you have any practical use for him. He failed to get the Keys. I didn’t. And now I lay them at your feet with that one tiny request.”

  Sefron managed a fearsome snarl.

  Melegal jumped. Still, he set the 3rd Key down.

  “Let’s just fight them, Man!” Creed urged. “I’ve killed underlings before.” He eyed Kierway. “Dozens.”

  “Perhaps you’ll get your chance, Human,” Kierway said, still focusing on Melegal. “But first, let me see another Key. And maybe, assuming you do have all seven, I’ll grant your request.”

  It made sense, what Creed was suggesting. If they fought and made it to the doors, they could escape. And so far as he understood it, he could go wherever he wanted, if he used the same door. Two-Ten City might be nice right now. As for the other doors, where did they go and which Key fit which door?

  Of all the things to forget, he hadn’t noted which Key was on which peg next to which door. It had been dark when he took them. Clumsy fool! For now, all he could do was buy a little more time and see what happened.

  He set the 4th Key down. Its gem burned like orange fire.

  As for overpowering the underlings in the room, it didn’t seem likely. The ones in plate armor were of the likes he’d never seen before. He ventured any of them would be a match for Creed, who was certainly a superior fighter to himself. And Master Kierway wasn’t at all worried. The underling and his brood made the men look wholly inadequate. He didn’t even ask us to disarm ourselves.

  “You’d made a fine Bloodhound,” Creed said, “on account of you wanting to kill that Cleric and all.”

  Melegal ignored him, his shoulders and back tightening as he laid the 5th Key down. So much had happened since Lord Almen had acquired his service and made him a detective. He remembered those days in the man’s office, the pressure, the fear the man put into him. He could feel Lord Almen’s eyes heavy upon him, but he no longer felt that fear. I wonder what he has in mind. He must have some plan. Reaching inside his vest, he felt the long case he had tucked away. Might not ever get a chance to use this. A shame.

  “Here is the 6th Key, Master Kierway.” He knelt and rubbed his hands on his pants. “Can I cut that cur’s throat now? Before I hand over the 7th? Just let me take his life, and I’ll freely give you mine.”

  Kierway came closer. “You’ve made it interesting; I’ll grant you that. Perhaps, I’ll make you prisoners and lock you in a cage together instead. I think we underlings would find that entertaining.”

  “Would you want to be put in a cage with him?” Melegal said, unable to help himself.

  “Well spoken!” Creed said, shifting on his heels.

  Kierway showed him his sharp teeth. “Sorry, Human Called Melegal, but I see no reason to make such a deal.” He paused and gestured. “I wouldn’t be what I am, giving such consideration to a human. Now,” he held out his clawed hand, “the 7th Key, please.”

  Shing!

  In a blink, Kierway had pulled out his blade and put it at Melegal’s throat.

  For the first time in recent memory, Melegal felt beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “You worry me, Human Called Melegal.”

  Melegal swallowed. “And why is that?”

  “It seems foolish that you keep all the Keys on you, understanding their value. If it were me, I’d keep them hidden in many places. A ba
rgaining chip if my life depended on it. A smart man would have hidden them all, would he not?”

  I can’t be that stupid. Of course I should have hidden them. Am I really going to die a fool?

  Melegal’s memories flashed to his friends: Venir, Georgio, Lefty, Billip and Mikkel.

  I can’t be as stupid as them.

  But he had thought briefly about hiding the Keys and concluded that so long as they thought he had even one Key, they’d hunt him―the Royals and the underlings―forever and ever. A clean slate or a clean death is what I’m going for. Let the rest of Bish plot and scheme all they want.

  “I did think of that, Master Kierway, but why risk the torture? They say, ‘A quick beheading has no sting.’” Clasping his hands around the final Key, he summoned power from the hat that rested on his head. His mind cleared. Blood and mystic energy mixed in his veins. Faster. Quicker. One step ahead.

  Everything around him slowed: Sefron’s breath. Creed’s blinking. The flickering of the torches. The clutching of Kierway’s fingers.

  Ahead of Melegal, behind Lord Almen, the outline of the ancient door glowed with new life and started to open.

  Kierway’s sword arm flicked backward.

  Move or die! Melegal. Move!

  Kierway’s arm came forward.

  CHAPTER 41

  Catching her breath, Jarla fumbled for the latch on the door. In the darkness, she was alone with Tonio’s ragged breathing.

  “Don’t do anything foolish,” she said, brushing against him and pulling away.

  “Where are we?” he said, heavy feet shuffling around.

  At the moment, Jarla wasn’t so sure whether or not it would be a good idea to tell him. It didn’t really matter either way. Lord Almen would be waiting, and what other surprises he had in store she couldn’t imagine, but he must have needed her.

  “Just be ready, you bloodless goon, because you’re going first.”

  She pushed the door open.

  Over Tonio’s shoulder, the torches were bright beacons. It took a couple of seconds for Jarla’s eyes to adjust to the figures in the room. Lord Almen, a few other men, surrounded by underlings.

  “Father?” Tonio’s body tensed in front of her.

  Lord Almen had a look on his face she’d never seen there before. Surprise.

  Behind him, an underling had a blade pointed at Lord Almen’s back.

  It stirred Jarla, her energy renewing, her senses firing a warning.

  “Father!” Tonio’s garbled voice echoed in the chamber.

  Jarla stepped forward.

  Another underling stepped between them and Lord Almen. Two long knives were gripped in his hands, ruby eyes glinting, bare muscular chest stuck out.

  Across the chamber, two more underling soldiers armed with barbed spears filed inside as well.

  Other than that, no one moved.

  “The odds aren’t going to get any better than this!” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

  Clang!

  Bang!

  Lord Almen moved. Fast as a cat, he spun behind his underling oppressor and drove a dagger in its throat.

  The bare-chested underling closed in, cutting out a portion of Tonio’s chest armor.

  The big man rammed his sword through its belly, lifted it from its feet, and slung it into another wall.

  “Jarla!” Lord Almen screamed.

  When she turned to his voice, an underling in black plate armor stepped in her path, swords moving like striking snakes.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Parrying with two hands, she found her back against the wall.

  Fast and fluid it came. Jarla parried and countered, stabbing its chest, her sword glancing off the armor.

  “What in Bish are you?” the underling yelled at Tonio.

  Krang!

  Tonio hit it so hard he knocked it from its feet.

  A split second later, Lord Almen kneeled down and jammed his dagger under its chin, piercing its skull.

  Huffing, Jarla found Lord Almen’s eyes.

  “Get the Keys!” He ordered.

  “What Keys?” she said.

  “On the floor! Don’t let the underlings have them.” Ducking under an underling’s arm, Lord Almen ripped out a long poniard and started swinging.

  “Keys!” Tonio was pounding his way through his underling assailants. “Get for Father!”

  Another underling adorned in black leathers surged at her, two short swords in its hands, sharp teeth bared.

  Slice!

  It howled and jumped back, clutching its split and bleeding chin.

  “Don’t you chitter at me, you little fiend.”

  ***

  When Tonio emerged through the door, Melegal swore he heard his heart stop. The Yellow-Haired Butcher had arrived. Behind him, the insufferable woman, Jarla. He was uncertain whether to be glad to see either one of them. They both deserved horrifying deaths so far as he was concerned. Perhaps they’ll get them.

  Tonio’s face showed an ounce of humanity as he called for his father.

  Jarla’s scowling face, riddled with scars, showed creases of concern.

  Behind Melegal, Sefron wheezed.

  Kill Sefron.

  The footfalls of more underlings came down the stairs.

  Creed took in a deep breath. “The odds aren’t going to get any better than this!”

  Kierway hissed through his teeth, glowered at Melegal, and cut at his neck.

  Everything in the room moved slowly except the underling’s blade.

  Melegal jerked his head down and jumped away.

  Swish!

  He touched the thin red line dripping on his neck.

  Slat, that was fast!

  With a brush of his foot, Melegal scattered 6 of the Keys in all directions.

  Clang!

  Whew! Keep him busy, Creed. Keep him busy.

  Kierway caught Creed’s swords in a crossed sword parry.

  “Sefron,” Kierway ordered, “get those Keys while I cut this man to ribbons! Brethren, help him!”

  Man and underling squared off, lightning fast strokes ringing off each other like bells.

  But Melegal had his own problems to worry about. He tucked the 7th Key back inside his clothes. Slat on the Keys! Kill Sefron! Save yourself!

  The battle was furious.

  Underlings swarmed, jumping out from all directions at the human attackers.

  Tonio stood in the middle, a one-man army.

  Jarla’s sword darted at underling throats, her eyes darting after the Keys.

  Lord Almen. Slat! Where is he?

  Melegal let his heightened awareness take over. Ah, there he is. The haunting form of a man hung like a shadow near the wall, striking down an unsuspecting underling that crossed his path. Interesting!

  A dozen yards away, Sefron slowly shuffled over the floor, bending over to grab one of the Keys.

  Melegal extended his dart bracers and let Sefron have it.

  Clatch-zip! Clatch-zip!

  Sefron whined like a dying sheep, falling over, clutching at his legs.

  Melegal crossed the room―deftly avoiding the melee―and kept shooting.

  Clatch-zip! Click! Click!

  Melegal overpowered Sefron and straddled his belly, pressing a knife to his throat.

  “Remember my friend, the servant girl? You know, the one you almost whipped to death?”

  Sefron’s bulging eyes were merciless. “Hard to say. There’s been so many.” He licked his lips. “And there’ll be many more to come, I assure you, long after you’re dead.”

  Melegal felt Sefron’s clammy hand wrap around his wrist. It was cold, ice cold.

  “No, slug, it’s you who’ll be dead. And if I had the time, I’d whip you to death myself.”

  Melegal pushed his dagger into Sefron’s throat, but no blood came forth, just Sefron’s cackle.

  “Fool, do you really think I’m so weak that a rodent such as yourself could take me?”

  A wave of nausea o
vercame Melegal. What’s happening!

  Sefron’s grip became as solid as iron, squeezing his wrist to the point of breaking it.

  His dagger fell from his numb wrist.

  Before his eyes, Sefron changed. His hair thickened. His teeth straighten. His body firmed like a fighter’s beneath him.

  No! What is this!

  Melegal watched his hand curl and shrivel. It horrified him.

  “No!” he groaned, trying to pull his rawboned body away.

  Sefron cackled and sucked his teeth.

  “Ah, such succulent life from such a scrawny man. Surprising.”

  ***

  Creed’s father had told him that the first time he picked up a blade and swung, he was three. He’d cut into a leg of mutton and saved the butcher some trouble. He’d been swinging steel ever since.

  Bang! Chang! Clang! Swish. Swish. Chang!

  His opponent: an underling that weaved steel with skill he’d never seen. He thought he’d seen everything. He’d thought he knew everything.

  Creed parried, dodged, ducked, and jumped backward. Forward and followed up with a chop-chop-chop.

  Always attacking at the same time, the copper-eyed underling batted every blow away.

  Not possible! Creed backed away.

  The underling’s blades were of the finest craftsmanship, archaic and curved at the very end. They moved like black flashes of lightning. Quick as a blink of an eye.

  Creed had trained all his life, defeated every man he faced in fence or battle. The ones that would fight him, that is. Many Royals never gave him the honor. It bothered him. And now, entering his prime, for the first time in his life, he was worried.

  “I never believed an underling could be so fast,” he stalled. “Quite remarkable.”

  Kierway showed his sharp teeth. “Remarkable is my lowest level of skill, Human. Whatever it is you’ve done, I’ve already done a hundred times a year over a hundred years. You should know: this battle is over.”

  Creed wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “Then I suppose this is what I’ve been training all my life for. Ee-Yah!”

  In a flash, his gleaming blade leapt at the underling’s throat.

  Kierway deftly shifted his body a foot out of the way and swatted into the backs of Creed’s legs with the back of his sword.