by Greg Curtis
Chapter Six.
The keep was dark when Sam arrived, fairly much as he'd expected. His brother had a hatred for wasting anything, even paraffin, and so by the light of the stars Fall Keep was little more than a brooding mountain squatting on the land. A darkness stealing what little light there was. But here and there he could see the odd glow from a lamp as a sentry made his rounds on the battlements, and a couple of the higher windows had light coming from them.
It was a deception of course. Fall Keep was a city as well as a keep. The city was merely hidden behind the keep's massive walls along with the keep itself. It was the massive walls that someone approaching saw. Walls that in the darkness looked like a piece of the mountain that someone had simply carved into shape. That gave no hint that there was anything behind them. Or that there was any way through.
The original keep had been built maybe a thousand years before. It was a massive, hulking structure that sat between two hills. From the front it looked like nothing more than a giant wall of stone blocks. The keep itself lay behind the walls, concealed though it was really a true castle in its own right. It had been added to over the centuries, the keep growing ever larger and more intimidating as time had passed. Meanwhile behind it, sitting on top of the plateau between the hills was the city. It was home to anywhere from fifty to seventy thousand souls – no one had actually ever counted them. But none of that was visible from the front.
It was well built in truth, with its walls ten foot thick and made of solid blocks of stone which were held together by steel pins as well as mortar. It had been designed to take the fury of enemy war machines with impunity. And it was more than just a wall; it was also a battlement.
From the battlements atop the walls archers could rain down arrows all day and all night on anyone foolish enough to attack it. Cannon based in the buttresses that dotted the wall could do the same, and level an attacking army. Fall Keep was a true citadel and considered nearly impregnable by any army. But then it had never been attacked by a wizard. Least of all a master of fire. The rarest and most dangerous of all masters.
And why would it have to defend against such a wizard? After all, there were no such people among the humans. And those found among the magical races didn't much care for either war or the human realms.
Soon, Sam promised himself, the vaunted strength of the keep and its assumed invulnerability was about to be shown lacking. Walls would crumble and light would shine in the darkest parts of the keep itself, before it burned to the ground. Those who survived would speak of this night forever. They would curse Heri's name for eternity. Heri himself though would not survive. He would burn. He would scream for what he had done, and then he would burn until nothing of his evil remained.
Sam felt the fire raging in him as never before and knew it was simply echoing the anger burning in his soul. Anger that had only grown hotter with every hour and every day as he'd raced to Fall Keep. The darkness within his soul that had scared him in Shavarra no longer frightened him. He welcomed it, and it in turn powered him as never before.
His tiredness after that first battle had gone away as if it had never been the moment he had been given the black news, and his magic had returned with every hour as he rode, until he felt stronger now than he ever had before. Much stronger. Yet even his strength caused him pain, as he cursed himself for having only become strong enough to rescue her once Ryshal was finally beyond his reach. The self-hatred and anger fed each other until all that was left was a terrible, aching need for vengeance.
It was time to use a little of that strength. It might have been smarter to try and creep in. To use his skills and his magic to enter unobserved and make his way to his brother's bed chamber as he'd secretly hoped to do before. But that was when he had had to worry about the risk of Ryshal being harmed if he was seen. But she was beyond either harm or further pain now, and he wasn't feeling very smart right then. He was simply too angry, and had nothing left to lose. He was more angry and hurt than he'd ever been in his life, and nothing was going to come between him and his vengeance. Nothing!
Without a second thought he raised his left hand and sent a fireball flying toward the main gate. A blast of fiery fury that screamed with rage as it flew. When it hit it was as though the underworld had ripped its way through to the citadel.
It wasn't even a powerful blast compared to what he could have cast, and yet it did everything he'd dreamed of and much more, as it ripped the gate house apart and tore the draw bridge and portcullis behind it into shattered fragments of wood and steel. The force of the blast blew the foundations under the gate walls into stone powder and smashed a hole in the ten foot thick front stone wall wide enough to march an army through, all while shaking the entire castle and town behind it. Anyone who had been asleep before this had been suddenly and satisfactorily wakened. It was a good satisfying blast, and he'd barely even begun.
Heartbeats later Tyla hurdled the twenty foot wide moat as if it was just a puddle. She was naturally a powerful horse, and he was enhancing her strength and stamina with his own magic. He had been for the six long days and nights that they'd raced here. But far from minding the running, she enjoyed it. If he had never felt so strong, neither had she, and the chance to hurdle a small river was not so much a challenge for her as a joy.
They touched down well inside the gate and then galloped madly across the courtyard, heading directly for the stairs leading to the main halls of the castle.
All around Sam could see the soldiers from the barracks running for their armour and weapons, shouting at each other in confusion even as they tried to work out what had happened. A few were already dressed. They were the sentries on night duty. Some of them even managed to point at him and start running for him weapons in hand. But they were far too slow, and a simple ripple of earth magic turned the ground under their feet into six foot high waves which knocked them back on their butts. A second made the stone fully liquid and they sank into it up to their knees, before it reset around them. They would be no threat until the masons had chipped them out of the floor.
He launched two more fireballs at the side walls of the keep as a distraction, each more than three hundred yards away from him. But distance was no problem for him any longer. They could have been leagues away and he would not have been troubled. Each blast opened up a gap in the ten foot thick stone walls nearly fifty feet across. It would stop the archers reaching the courtyard battlements. It would also leave the keep relatively defenceless for months to come, and the simple power of the explosions as they rippled through the ground was enough to throw people from their feet again even as they tried to dress, gather their weapons, and work out what was going on.
By the time he'd crossed the courtyard, he was surrounded by confusion and chaos. Ironically it rendered him almost completely safe in its midst, as no one knew what was happening and they never connected it with him.
The stairs leading up to the first floor terrace were a little more difficult, but only because Tyla wasn't used to them and he had to take them slowly. But almost no one noticed him – a dark figure on a black horse riding up the huge stone stairs as they ran around in utter confusion. It was not long before he reached the terrace.
He could have taken the main entrance on the ground, knocking the front doors down and racing through, but he knew that there would have been a more substantial army waiting for him if he had gone that way. But Heri's quarters were close to the terrace where he liked to stand and wave to his long suffering people. Of course when he did so he had his archers posted on the battlements so they could take down anyone who looked dangerous as they entered the huge courtyard below.
The terrace proved no more difficult to cross than the courtyard, as the only two archers who'd actually managed to reach their stations on it had to throw their bows to the ground as they caught fire in their hands. Their screams as they desperately put out the flames that started licking at their sleeves followed Sam as he galloped past them. But he pa
id them no mind. Another small blast tore out the armoured doors leading from the terrace to the inside of the castle, and he quickly forgot about them.
Sam raced around the upstairs balcony that completely surrounded the main hall, dining hall, ball room and throne room, Tyla knocking over tables and chairs in her rush. But it was light weight furniture, items put there simply to look elegant and make Heri feel grand. In reality the only people who ever stood on the balconies were Heri's own guards, and like the others they simply stood there with their longbows at the ready while the court was in session, there to kill anyone who looked like threatening him.
At the far end of the balcony he reached the side stairs leading to the royal wing and bed chambers and he knew his prey was close.
Tyla's steel shod hooves made an ominous racket on the stone floors, as she thundered along. A racket that could surely be heard in the royal bed chamber itself. But then his prey would have heard the destruction of the main gate and walls before this, and had probably guessed what was coming. Who was coming. He was probably trying to run even now. But he would be too slow Sam promised himself. Far too slow. The toad would not get away from him.
Up the two flights of stairs he galloped, and then into the hallway where a dozen alert and panicked looking sentries in full armour were posted outside his brother's bed chamber. It was a mistake as their presence told him exactly which of the chambers Heri was using. Obviously Heri had expected his company as the only possible response to his murder. But he hadn't expected it enough. He had assumed Sam would come as a knight and a minor wizard, sneaking in. He had never expected to face a true master of fire. Another small fire ball took out the door and walls to the bed chamber, and blew all of the guards to the floor at the far end of the corridor where they lay in a tangled heap of steel armour and fallen debris.
Were they dead? Sam wouldn't have thought so as he'd limited the fireball's size to only what he needed; just enough to spare them serious injury though he didn't truly want to. It was simply a matter of honour, though in truth he was too angry to really care. They were his brother's henchmen, no more no less.
A heartbeat later his brother was in his view. He was standing beside his bed with a pike in his hands, while a couple of concubines in linen night dresses cowered behind the bed.
“Why?!”
Sam bellowed the question at his half-brother's cowering form, even though he knew he'd never get a reasonable answer. Not for why he'd killed her. Not for why he'd even jailed her in the first place. As an illegitimate son Sam had never been in line for the throne. He'd never wanted to be. And he had said that since the day he was old enough to speak. His brother had never had reason to fear him.
Until now! Now he would know fear.
“You!” Heri grabbed for a lump of white stone on the bedside table, sounding shocked to see him. He was too slow. Sam had no thought as to what the stone was, save that he could feel magic streaming from it. Still, it didn't last long when he hit it with a blast of fire. The stone melted and the table caught fire.
“Be damned!” Heri cursed and leapt away from the burning table before suddenly raising his pike and pointing it at him, as if preparing to charge. His white stone was gone and the weapon was all he had left.
It was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Without even thinking about it, Sam stretched out a finger and his sword of flame cut through the pike and half his half-brother's leading hand. Heri dropped like a stone, screaming as he saw his fingers hitting the floor ahead of him, and for a long time nothing more than his screams could be heard in that room. In fact he could probably be heard throughout the entire castle. He screamed like a little girl.
Sam didn't mind though. He enjoyed it. It might have been wrong of him and no doubt the priests would have plenty to say about it at his next confession, but for five long years he had hated his brother with a passion, even as he had had to suffer the ceaseless agony of knowing his wife was locked up in a dungeon and being unable to go to her. Never truly knowing her fate. Not knowing her touch. Not even knowing if she was well. All he had known was that she would remain alive as long as he stayed out of the realm and away from local politics. As long as he stayed away from the other nobles who Heri truly feared.
Heri's screaming brought more of the guards to his bed chamber, and they sprinted in belatedly. Many were still half dressed, and even those fully who were dressed and armed posed Sam no danger. Not while he had fire like this raging through him. He simply put up a wall of flame around himself and his brother, cutting everyone else off and ignored them. They could not pass through it and nor could their weapons. Not even arrows. He watched more than a few of them hit the fire wall and turn to ash. Poorly trained troops. They should have known better than to waste their arrows.
A couple of fire wizards had also shown up, and he saw them preparing their own fire to attack him. But they were too slow and little more than novices. Where were the masters? Sam couldn't feel them anywhere. Not that they would have posed any risk to him. But right then he didn't care. His target was in his sight, and these mages posed him no threat. He had been carrying his fire for days, building it up by the hour until he was near to exploding; they had had but a few moments. It was ridiculously easy to rip their ice swords out of their hands with a noose of flame, and in the process cause them to collapse as their own life force was splintered by the shock. They would not wake up soon and then it would be weeks before they recovered what strength they had.
In time Heri looked up from the stone floor where he knelt screaming, and managed a few choked words of hatred, calling him a bastard and a half-breed. But then he had called him these things all his life and Sam paid him little mind. He only wanted to know one thing. Why had his little brother killed his wife? Once he knew that he would release Heri from his life.
“Why?” Once more he extended a finger and the fire sword streamed out until it stopped mere inches from Heri's throat, stopping the rant in a heartbeat. Meanwhile Heri became aware that his back was only a few inches away from the fire wall itself. Abruptly Heri stopped speaking altogether as he felt both his back and his neck cooking. No doubt he now realised he was about to die, and was preparing his prayers for the afterlife. But Heri would not die before Sam had charged him with his crimes. This might be vengeance – it was vengeance – but it was also justice. Ry's death had been murder, no more and no less, and her murderer had to be called to account. He had to know why he was going to die.
“I never wanted the throne toad! I said that to any and all who would listen from the very start. I still don't want it. And you knew that from the day you turned five. You knew it and you didn't care!”
He shouted it at Heri in faltering common – he hadn't spoken the tongue in years – and watched his brother's face turn deathly white behind his burning cheeks as he expected to burn.
“Instead you had to set me up, again and again and again. Sending in your agents, your spies. Looking for the first sign that I might betray you. And even when I didn't you still stole my newly wedded wife from me. You locked her up, exiled me on pain of her death, and even then sent assassin after assassin after me despite your promises. None of them will ever return, but you will meet them again shortly – in the underworld.”
“And now, when you've finally got everything you wanted, when you're supposedly secure in your rule, what do you do? You kill her! You foetid, murdering pile of cow dung! You kidnapped and murdered my wife! And you thought to live through this?!”
By the looks of things his half-brother wasn't thinking of anything very much at all right then. He was simply shaking in fear, and there was some suspicious moisture running down his leggings.
“Why? How? Did you think I would not find out? Did you somehow imagine I would not act? Did you imagine you had any way to stop me? That perhaps somehow one of your hundreds of assassins had finally succeeded in killing me? Did one of them perhaps report success a little early? And so you thought you had gotten rid of on
e problem, you should also get rid of the embarrassment of having illegally held an innocent elf maiden of good station in your dungeons for five years as well?!”
He knew that had to be it. It was the only thought that had crossed his mind in nearly a week of hard riding. His brother was neither brave enough nor stupid enough to kill Ryshal otherwise. He had all the cunning of a rat in a dung heap. It was why he'd looked so surprised to see him.
“No!” Finally his brother spoke, if only to deny it all. But how could he truly deny anything? He was guilty of it all and far more. Sam watched the sweat on his forehead start dripping to the floor, and knew Heri was terrified. Good! Soon he would be dead.
“No little brother? No? I suppose you're going to tell me it was all some sort of accident? That she accidentally stabbed herself in the back with a sword.” He turned up the heat a few more notches and watched his little half-brother start shaking even more violently in his fear. Soon he would be begging. But he would find no mercy in Sam.
“No! No! I'm begging you no! She's not dead. Never! I wouldn't hurt her. Never!”
For what seemed like ages Sam sat there on his horse, taking in the words he'd never expected to hear, and it left him stunned. Shaken so badly he even let some of the fire out of his shield. It was a mistake, as the archers sensing his distraction, a full score of them, fired everything they had at him. Most, badly charred by the weakened fire, bounced harmlessly off his armour but one found the gap between his breast plate and over lapping shoulder piece, skewering him neatly in the arm pit.
