Corgren snapped guttural words. The trolls snatched their captives' hands and bound them with leather straps.
Zelma wept. "Corgren how could you?"
Hastra whirled toward the Rokan Withling. "You can stop this even now, Corgren."
The Rokan's grin flashed as torchlight danced across his face. He flicked his wrist and spoke more trollish commands. Trolls cuffed the sisters. Hastra grunted as she fell on her backside. Zelma screamed her pain.
Hastra blinked and shook her head.
"No! Leave them alone!" Howart shouldered the trolls away even with bound hands.
A tusked bugbear roared spittle into the gaunt Withling's face and snatched his shirt. The troll punched Howart on the jaw with a fist like a mallet. Blood and a tooth flew out of Howart's mouth. The troll bared short tusks and gut-punched the Withling. He grunted, doubled over and crumpled into a groaning heap. The other Withlings cowered.
"Enough of this." Corgren raised a hand and the beatings stopped. "Now you'll follow along without a word. Time is short." Their betrayer strode out the door. The trolls pushed and dragged their ten captives in Corgren's path.
Hastra's mouth pulsed pain as blood dribbled to her chin. She felt for her teeth with her tongue. She still had them all. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve but grimaced all the more with the pain. Her hand trembled with prickling pain. They’d lashed her so tight she'd lost feeling. She wiggled her fingers and groaned.
The trolls herded the captives out of the cellar complex. They shoved or snarled at Hastra and her fellow Withlings if they dawdled. Vile creatures. If only Eloch revealed his wishes. No unction bloomed in Hastra. The lack of direction left her disquieted.
They entered the great hall where the remaining Withlings milled with more trolls on guard who brandished a variety of weapons. Corgren's escort shoved Hastra and her band among the crowd. She dabbed her lip on her sleeve. Too many of those weapons bore blood-stains. Tears distorted Hastra's vision. More of them were bruised and wounded. Where was Eloch? She wiped her cheeks on her sleeves.
Corgren strolled in front of the crowd. Paugren stood back with the three sisters from North Grendon.
Hastra's eyes narrowed. Paugren she could see aiding his brother, but those three? She nudged Zelma. "Who are those sisters?"
Zelma shifted her gaze from Hastra's pointed finger to the three women and then gasped. "Not the Beleesh sisters too! Esthria? Cass? Ahmelia?"
The pretty sisters each flicked gazes toward Zelma. Esthria smirked and the other two scowled. Esthria motioned to a guarding troll.
The hobgoblin snarled and prodded at Zelma with a spear. She and several other Withlings backed away in silence.
Corgren whipped a curved dagger from his side and brandished it over his head. Murmurs and even weeping fell silent.
"He has a Rokan blood-knife." Howart's voice echoed in the hushed hall.
"Yes, it is a blood-knife, cursed to scald the very soul, they say." Corgren gazed at the blade as a sneer broadened under his hooked nose. "Now listen, Magdronu is magnanimous and has not sent me to kill you all."
Whispers wove through the crowd of mystics as their fellow Withling spoke the name of the Hidden Dragon.
Corgren lifted his voice. "My master would have followers as he ascends to his rightful place in the heavens as is his right. He is merciful and will spare you. Only follow. Or..." Corgren brandished the knife.
Silence lingered among the Withlings. Feet shifted and mystics muttered their fear.
Corgren motioned to his brother and the Beleesh sisters. They drew knives similar to Corgren's.
Hastra gaped. So many actually considered the offer. She closed her mouth. Something must be done.
Elder Tokla stepped before Corgren and stood silent. The dwarf's woven beard bore crusted blood from a smashed nose.
Corgren's lip curled on one side as his brows rose. "Well, Chokkran stone-rat, I never expected you to turn but I'll take your oath and you can spread the Holy Dragon's word among your puny kin and nations."
"Who has succored you, traitor?" The dwarf's voice rumbled like falling rocks.
A sweet fragrance filled Hastra's nose and tension eased from her throat. The rustle of exhaled breath whispered through the crowd. He spoke prophecy. What would happen now? Hastra edged forward through the crowd of mystics while her sister and Howart shuffled behind her.
Corgren laughed. "Magdronu has taken care of me for years, Elder. But I'm no traitor. Here's what was promised though." The Rokan bent, stabbed Tokla in the heart and yanked the dagger free.
Gasps shuddered through the throng. The dwarf stood a moment, then twisted as his knees buckled and he dropped to the marble floor.
Hastra's feet stopped and tears welled afresh in her eyes.
Elder Soren of Last Landing's trading fleets strode to Tokla's corpse and stood in the pool of blood. Corgren opened his mouth but the wrinkled old man spoke first. "The false one begets betrayers but he shall not have his way."
Hastra took a step forward again. He continued the prophecy. Her stomach flopped and she gasped.
Corgren stabbed the elder in the heart and Soren collapsed beside his old friend. His blood spread on the floor.
Peace stilled Hastra's racing heart. It wasn't her turn yet. She pushed through the frozen mystics. Zelma and Howart shouldered past. Not you as well, sister.
Elder Margen strolled from the crowd. She stood erect and nodded to Corgren.
Corgren's blood-drenched grip tightened on the dagger.
The white-haired Shildran's voice never faltered. "The Hidden Dragon may usurp kingdoms with deceits but his ways shall not last and he will not ascend."
Corgren bared his teeth and shouted. The knife smashed into Margen and she fell beside her fellow elders as more blood puddled the floor. "Any other-."
Howart exited the crowd and stood close to Corgren with his hands still bound. "A bow shall be made in defense."
The blade plunged into Howart. The Rokan betrayer ripped the dagger free.
The gaunt Withling crashed onto his side.
Zelma squirmed from the crowd.
Hastra choked on her groan.
Zelma's voice rang high with a note of defiance. "To break the binding curses."
Hastra closed her eyes as Corgren stabbed her sister. Calm slowed her racing heart. Mine are not the last words of this. If only others will finish it. Tears streaked her face. She opened her eyes to Corgren's grimace. Zelma's body lay piled at the edge of her sight. "His prey shall be snatched from his fangs."
The knife smashed into her chest. It seared Hastra's flesh. Corgren's glaring face faded to darkness.
She hovered near her body in a gray blur. Pain slid away and colors swirled around her. Calm and joy sustained Hastra as brighter light opened amid the ceiling.
"Any others want to finish that prophecy of Eloch?" Corgren's voice echoed from her previous existence.
"Will you stay?" A voice whispered loudly.
Movement attracted her attention. Howart twitched, pushed himself into a seated position and climbed to his feet. The risen Withling pressed closer to Corgren but he shouted when he spoke. "The bow shall be hidden from heart."
Corgren stabbed the gaunt Withling.
Howart never flinched and did not fall again.
Corgren stabbed again. When nothing happened he stepped back and gaped.
"Will you finish what is started?" The voice thundered gently through Hastra's essence.
Zelma stirred.
"I will stay with Zelma." The gray blur enveloped Hastra.
Her sister rose and took Corgren's knife-hand and pulled the blade into her wound. "The eagle will guide the heir."
As Zelma stepped back, darkness wrapped around Hastra. Her eyes fluttered and she inhaled. She stood and straightened her skirt. Hastra craned her neck toward the gaping traitor. "The bow will be found at need."
Silence hovered amid the hall. Even the trolls stood frozen.
Hast
ra took a breath with Zelma and Howart. The three of them spoke together. "And the arrow shall Eloch prepare."
Corgren's gaze shifted between the risen Withlings. His jaw worked but only a whisper escaped his lips. "I killed you."
Paugren snarled troll words. Hobgoblins grasped Hastra's arms and dragged her away with Howart and Zelma.
As the trolls led them back to the cellar complex Hastra wobbled. None of this was real. She was dead. But they ended the prophecy.
The troll thrust them into the empty storeroom. Their guards brought shackles, cut away their straps and locked their hands and feet. Their captors exited the room and barred the door.
Hastra touched her chest, found the rent in her flesh and her hand recoiled from it. Not even pain remained.
Trolls growled beyond the door in their crude tongue that faded with the torchlight from under the door.
Darkness enshrouded them and silence followed with a cold embrace.
4
The passage of meaningless time slipped links of lethargy around the three Withlings. At times, their chains clanked and scraped the stone floor as the three of them shifted.
The musty storeroom felt like a tomb to Hastra. Perhaps she had died. It was consistent. Hastra sighed. If only Elder Tokla had listened and done something sooner. If only she had agreed to tell the elder sooner. But how would it have changed anything? They never found anything. Perhaps a search would have helped find tale-tell signs like the Rokan ritual daggers. They trusted too much. Hastra scrubbed tears from her cheeks.
Zelma's resolve slipped into weeping while she squeezed Hastra's hand. "How are we alive?"
"I don't know." Hastra touched her blood-stained dress and the hole where the Corgren stabbed her. She ran her finger along the line of her mortal wound but found no blood. Best not probe further. She withdrew her hand and squeezed Zelma's with the other.
Howart cleared his throat. "It's the prophecy. We live because of it."
"Why not the others, then?" Hastra chewed her lower lip.
Beyond Zelma, Howart's chains rattled. "What is needed is given."
Hastra mumbled the response with Zelma. "But what has been given besides life? We are chained in darkness and useless here."
"We must wait and see."
"Perhaps."
He had a better grasp of the moment than she. They might be waiting for the rats to chew them to the bone. She shuddered. Did her heart still beat? Would she live through the pain of rat bites? She squeezed Zelma's hand again. Best not mention anything to her.
The time passed and Hastra dozed. She awoke to rat's fur brushing her ankle. She kicked with both feet. The rat squealed and pattered away.
Zelma gasped at Hastra's commotion. "What's that?"
"Nothing, just woke from a dream."
"I heard something running on the floor."
Hastra jumped as Howart's deeper voice boomed in the silence. "There are rats in here."
Zelma's chains rattled as she pulled her feet closer.
After that, Hastra sat awake and waited for the rat to return. Teeth gnawed on boards in the darkness and matched her hunger pangs. At least she still got hungry. She rubbed her raw wound inside her dress. Better than the alternative.
Later, the door's lock clicked and woke Hastra. Light shined around the edges of the door. Either trolls with food or they'd drag them before Corgren again. It wasn't a flickering torch. She stirred and her leg-irons scraped the floor. A rat squealed as it scrabbled away.
Howart and Zelma woke with groans as the door opened. Hastra squinted at the glow and her eyes watered. A silhouette stepped into the doorway. Her manacles clicked and fell open. She gasped as the figure with the wide-brimmed hat waved them to the door.
Zelma leaned close and grasped Hastra's arm. "What's going on? Who's that?"
Hastra patted her sister's trembling hand and opened her mouth to speak. The hat - he's the one who healed me. "I think we should follow."
Howart kicked his chains away. "Who is it? Why should we follow?"
"First, he's got a light. Second, he let us loose and third, he healed my leg several months ago." Hastra struggled to her feet and her knees wobbled.
The stranger moved into the passage beyond the room and the light faded as he walked away.
Howart stumbled to the door. "Hurry, he's leaving."
Hastra and Zelma leaned against each other and followed. They stepped into the hall as their rescuer turned a far corner. The three Withlings hobbled after the light past broken doors and intersecting passages that stretched into brooding darkness.
They arrived at the stairwell out of the lower cellar and Howart paused. "This isn't the way out. It's back up to Corgren and trolls. Should we risk it?"
Zelma climbed a few steps before she turned back. "Maybe they are gone and this man came to free us."
Hastra followed her sister. "Stay in the dark but I think we have no other choice."
They gained the upper cellar and drew near the stair to the keep when the noise of trolls echoed from above them.
Howart stretched his thin arm in the sisters' way. "Still here. Where's he leading us, back to them?"
The man's light faded and then grew brighter. He waved to them. "Come, it’s safe. There's food for you."
Hastra shrugged to Howart and pushed past his out-flung arm. "Think how he set us free without keys. I'm following him. Anyway, he says there's food."
Hastra scurried on the stair and the others' feet scuffed on the stone behind her. They needed the food soon. She'd faint without it. She touched the rent in her dress where Corgren's knife-blade killed her. There were too many miracles in this since that moment.
The Withlings gained the main level and hustled after the man in the wide-brimmed hat. Lumps lay in the shadows of the unlit main hall.
Hastra's gaze touched the hand at the moment Zelma gasped. They were dead, all the Withlings were dead. Fixed stares greeted Hastra wherever she whirled.
Zelma covered her mouth with her hands. Howart gaped and his eyes bulged from their deep hollows. They wound through the hacked bodies until they stood by the door to the dining hall where trolls hooted and snarled.
Their rescuer waved his arm into the room. "Eat, take what you need. When you finish I will show you out."
Hastra whispered in spite of the din from the trolls. "But we'll be seen. They'll kill us."
The man in the hat pointed to a table where no trolls sat. "I have everything you need prepared. Go on."
She glanced at her companions and their doubtful expressions. He had set them free without keys. Hastra peeked into the dining hall. The trolls fought and laughed, their tusks and fangs flashed in the light. She'd run if they noticed her. She held her breath and stepped through the doorway.
The trolls never noticed her. Hastra lowered her head and scurried toward the table laden with food. Around her, trolls howled their vile glee but none of them even glanced her way.
Beyond the raucous trolls, Corgren and Paugren sat with the Beleesh sisters. Esthria kept eyeing the drunken trolls with a frown. Cass laughed with the Rokan traitors but also watched the trolls. Ahmelia alone of the three sisters ignored the barbaric creatures. None of the five noticed the Withlings in the dining hall.
At the table, Hastra snatched food without thinking and shoved it in her mouth. She chewed and groaned. Howart and Zelma joined her and they ate their fill. Howart found sacks into which they shoved the excess for provisions. They returned to the doorway and the man in the hat.
"Follow me."
Hastra bent and cocked her head as their rescuer strode past her. She never quite saw his face. She hefted her bag and walked behind the sight of his brown coat and hat.
The man in the hat led them to the chapel. Benches and chairs lay overturned and they picked their way through the ruined room.
Their rescuer kicked a pile of broken wood and pointed to a leather-bound book lying spine up and open. He cocked his head to Hastra. "You must
take this burden. Write the prophecy in it and all your visions."
Hastra stumbled through the refuse, knelt and gathered the book to her breast. She blinked tears and nodded. She knew him now. She wiped her sorrow from her cheeks.
"Time to leave." The man in the hat turned from the wreckage. The three surviving Withlings trailed after him.
They followed out the front door but turned to a postern gate down the wall.
Hastra blinked under the gray sky and then brushed her hair from her face. She sucked in a long breath. Clean air. At the gate Hastra paused with her companions.
The man in the hat pushed the gate open. "Go to the old tower if you still serve as Withlings."
They shuffled out the gate. Here the chill wind snapped their tattered cloaks and bit their faces. Hastra hobbled on the narrow trail beyond the walls of Withling's Watch.
Zelma's voice rang in the gusts. "He's gone. Who was he?"
Hastra cocked her head at the gate and motioned to her sister and Howart. "Come, we've a mission to fulfill now. Maybe we'll see him again." It was just them now. "What is needed is given."
5
The days slipped by as troll horns sounded often in the west along their back-trail. Grief trailed them as surely as troll search-parties but they found their prayers lent them strength. They shivered on cold nights like vagabonds that haunted city streets. But their food never went stale and they always found plenty in their sacks to aid their travel each day until they drew near the windy headland they sought.
The sun dangled between corona-rimmed clouds and the snow-capped peaks of the Grey Spires. Golden light bathed the path ahead of the three furtive shapes.
Troll-wolves howled and Hastra slipped into the shade between trees with Zelma and Howart. If only they could avoid the pursuit one last time. The Tower was just ahead if she remembered correctly. She pinched her lower lip and peeked along the old road.
Zelma's breath puffed mist. "Is it still clear?"
Howart loomed in the shadow of the trees. "They aren't as close as yesterday."
"They make enough noise to scare everything for miles. But I don't see any scouts so let's go." Hastra eased out of hiding onto the overgrown road and her two companions followed.
What Is Needed: Prequel 2 of The Bow of Hart Saga Page 3
