Castle Raiders

by Max Anthony

  “Do we need to remain out of sight?” asked Jera.

  “I can’t see a benefit to trying it,” Viddo told her. “If we encounter anything threatening, we’ll deal with the matter as it arises. It’ll be difficult to approach without using the road anyway.”

  The road was well-paved here and though it was overgrown to the sides, there were fewer weeds poking through the flags. The workmanship spoke of money and an investment of time that one would not have normally seen on the smaller fortified towers that dotted the landscape of central Frodgia. The road switched left and right as it climbed, in order to minimise the effect of the slope. Even so, it would have been hard going for the elderly or the infirm. As fit as they all were, it didn’t take them long to reach the summit, from where they got the best view of the castle so far.

  “It’s a bit of a whopper,” Jera said, looking along the walls. The top of the hill itself was unkempt and vegetation had grown several feet high everywhere around. The road continued until it reached the castle gates, which were made of dark, seasoned wood, banded with iron. They were closed and looked as if they hadn’t moved in a hundred years. There was no moat and a small plaza had been laid before the gates, the grey paving extending thirty yards or so in length and width. There was a bastion at each of the castle’s four corners and the central keep rose much higher than the rest. Narrow windows were visible, dotted here and there over the surface of the upper keep walls.

  “Think you can get that gate open?” asked Rasmus.

  “I’m not sure,” said Viddo. “There’ll be a portcullis behind and it depends on whether or not the winch has been jammed.”

  They approached the double gates, which were each more than eight feet wide and almost twenty in height. The walls were higher still and there was a rudimentary barbican to house the gates and their mechanisms.

  “Is the front door the best way to get inside?” asked Jera. “Or do we run the risk of letting everything that’s inside get out? Assuming there are unpleasant creatures within.”

  “Hmmm,” said Viddo, remembering again that Jera wasn’t just there for her sword and shield.

  “Hmmm,” said Rasmus, remembering likewise.

  “There’s always another way inside,” said Viddo. “Generally, this alternative route will be knee-deep in piss and shit because it’ll be the castle sewer.”

  “There will also be an escape tunnel,” said Rasmus. “Though it could conceivably exit anywhere within a mile radius of the castle and we have no realistic hope of finding it.”

  “Let’s have a look for this sewer,” said Viddo, heading off along the hilltop. He didn’t need to gird his loins – over the years, his profession had taken him along more than his fair share of narrow pipes smeared in excrement.

  “It should have all dried up by now,” Rasmus said to Jera. The wizard was a man who preferred to be spotless.

  Jera had just started to get a sense of dread about what was to come. Her hair was long and she didn’t like the idea of it trailing through the slimy walls of a sewer pipe. The place has been empty for years, she told herself. Surely the waste system has dried up like Rasmus said.

  It did not take a man of detective genius to locate the possible secondary method of ingress. Halfway down the hill, an overgrown channel was visible, leading to a culvert below the road and then presumably into the stream. There was so much vegetation that it was hard to tell if the channel was lined with stone, but it was definitely something man-made.

  “I think that’s a pipe down there,” said Viddo, leaning over to look. He scrambled a few yards down the hillside. It was steep here and they’d need to take care. Viddo continued until he was midway between the top of the hill and the beginning of the channel.

  “Shitwort, Stenchweed and Turdbloom!” he called up. “I think we’ve found what we’re looking for!” Viddo climbed down some more, soon becoming concealed amongst the thickness of the greenery.

  “Shitwort?” asked Jera.

  “Those are varieties of plants known to grow in places where excrement is found. In spite of their names, their bouquets are really quite splendid. It’s just that most people won’t have them in their house, since they normally only grow in pots filled with fresh turd.”

  “They don’t sound very pleasant,” admitted Jera. “What’s wrong with a few roses in a vase?”

  “Don’t ask me, I’m a wizard,” Rasmus told her. “I never did get on with flowers.”

  They waited for a few minutes, with Viddo completely lost from sight. Then, he appeared, waving to them from below. The message was clear: get yourselves down here.

  The pair of them made their way carefully down. The slope was very steep, but it was dry and the grassy tufts provided them with plenty of grip. After a few minutes of climbing, Jera caught the first scent of the blooms. Their perfume was wonderfully delicate, produced by many tiny brown and green flowers that she could see now that she was close. The slope became marginally less treacherous and she found she could make better progress and also take in the view without such a risk of falling. The village was lost from sight around the curvature of the hill, though she had a fine view across what seemed to be a large forest. There was no sign of any habitation in the vicinity and the trees stretched away to the horizon.

  “There might be a way in here,” Viddo said to her as she arrived. In spite of her armour, she was a few yards ahead of Rasmus. Even with the added grip from his boots of speed and the support from his staff, he liked to take it slowly when a misstep might result in a broken neck.

  “It smells lovely,” Jera announced.

  “It doesn’t smell quite so appealing a little way further into these plants,” came the reply.

  Rasmus reached them and looked at the closely-knit greenery, which grew to a height of five or six feet. The denseness didn’t look like it would hold them up, though they’d likely end up covered in pollen.

  “Is there a grating for us to get through?” asked the wizard.

  “There is. The bottom fixings have been badly corroded from their years of being immersed in filth. They should break off easily enough. Come on, let’s have a look.”

  Following Viddo’s lead, they pushed their way through the plants and tall grass. The scent of the flowers increased, a beautiful reminder of summer and happy times. After a few yards of struggle, they reached the drainage channel for the castle. It was crowded by plants, though it was possible to see the stones which had been laid to carry the castle waste into the stream below.

  “Watch your footing,” said Viddo. “It’s still wet.”

  Sure enough, there was a wetness upon the stones, which nourished a thick layer of slippery water weeds. The castle drainage system dealt with rainwater as well as other waste, so it was no surprise to see the moisture here. The smell was more of a surprise – there was a sharp, acrid stench coming from nearby, which overpowered the delicate fragrance from the flowers.

  “Here,” Viddo announced, bringing them to the sewer’s exit pipe. “Stinks a bit, doesn’t it?”

  “Rain water doesn’t usually stink,” Jera said. It was a statement as much as it was a question.

  “Indeed it does not,” Viddo told her. “There is something within the castle walls which has been making use of the plumbing.”

  The sewer pipe was square and a little more than four feet in diameter. It had been made from shaped slabs of stone, which were covered at this end in a thick layer of algae. A heavily-rusted iron grille was still in place, fixed all around with metal bolts. The bolts looked like they might snap under the slightest duress. Air blew along the pipe, bringing with it a nose-crinkling odour.

  “This is a necessary part of adventuring as well, is it?” asked Jera.

  “I’m afraid it is,” said Viddo cheerfully. “It is something that we thieves are accustomed to, yet every so often a practitioner of a different profession might find themselves compelled to partake. Chuck me your staff, will you, Rasmus?”

  The
wizard dutifully obeyed, handing over his metal staff, which Viddo pushed unceremoniously between the grille and the stone of the pipe. He leaned on the staff, producing a noise of stressed metal.

  “These rotting bolts are fixed a little tighter than they look,” he grunted, yanking on the staff.

  “Tug harder,” said Rasmus. “I can hear them creaking.”

  Viddo braced one foot and threw himself backwards. There were further noises of metal in distress.

  “That’s it!” Rasmus urged him excitedly. “I think you’ve nearly done it!”

  Viddo gave another tremendous heave. There was a sharp pinging and the thief tumbled onto his rear. He got quickly to his feet, still clutching half of the wizard’s staff.

  “My staff!” wailed Rasmus. “You’ve broken my staff!”

  The thief looked at the top half of the stave. The glowing orb at the top flickered and died, letting him know that the magic had dissipated from within.

  “You told me to do it!” said Viddo, arguing his corner at once.

  “Only with reluctance!” Rasmus said, to show his disagreement.

  Sensing that something was brewing, Jera stepped in quickly. “Aren’t magical items meant to be a bit tougher than that?” she asked.

  “Why yes. Yes, they are,” said Rasmus.

  “This one must have been shoddily made,” said Viddo, peering at the broken end of the metal shaft.

  “Cheated by a filthy lich!” exclaimed the wizard, in reference to the creature from which he had acquired the item and in complete denial of his theft. “I should demand my money back from it, were it here now to listen!”

  “Never trust an undead, that’s what I always say,” said Viddo, joining in with the vituperation. “They’ll have your eyes and then come back for the sockets.”

  The two men calmed down. Viddo carelessly threw his half of the staff away into the undergrowth, whilst the bottom half lay unmentioned on the ground in full sight. “Lend me your hammer, will you?” he asked Jera.

  Without hesitation or change in expression, Jera offered him the hammer. Viddo wasted no time in crouching down next to the grating with his only dagger in one hand and the hammer in the other. There were several sharp metallic cracks as he struck the hilt of the dagger. The bolts sheared quickly and easily under this new assault. Viddo stood and handed back the hammer, which was completely unmarked.

  “Nearly done,” he said, grabbing the edge of the grating and pulling with his arms. With several of the bolts removed, it took little effort to twist the bars to one side, opening sufficient space for the unwilling adventurers to pass inside.

  “I don’t have a weapon anymore,” said Rasmus.

  “What about your cosh? What did you do with that?”

  “I threw it away as soon as I acquired the staff. It seemed like a waste of time to carry it around.”

  “What about this?” asked Jera. She retrieved the lower end of the broken staff from the ground and offered it to Rasmus. It was two feet long and sharp at the end where it had fractured. With a sigh, the wizard took it from her and pushed it into his belt.

  “I shall need to find something better. That staff was surprisingly effective at beating things to death.”

  “Come on, let’s get going,” said Viddo. He crouched at the entrance to the pipe, staring deeply within. “It goes a long way.”

  Rasmus conjured up a spell of light and one-by-one they ducked into the confines of the pipe. The smell immediately became worse, rasping at the insides of their lungs. The water beneath their feet was very shallow, yet the green coating of algae made it almost as treacherous as ice to walk along. The walls were damp and coated in the same organic matter to a height of almost three feet, letting them know that water gushed along here regularly during times of heavy rainfall. Less than twenty feet inside, Jera knew she was going to hate this part. She was stooped low, and the act of watching the ground for turds brought her hair into regular contact with the roof. Luckily, it was more or less dry at the top of the pipe, but she still hated the feeling.

  If there were turds present, they were well-hidden. Here and there, they saw misshapen lumps that were biological in origin, but they didn’t stop long enough to push a stick into any of them in order to determine what they were made of. The pipe continued for at least a hundred yards, until Viddo was sure they were right underneath the castle. The thing was, he’d been expecting it to slope steeply upwards, in order to take them to an access hatch that would lead them into a basement. In fact, the pipe had only a very slight fall along its length and by the time they were under the castle, Viddo was sure they were still only about halfway up the hillside. The time to stop and talk was not now and he pressed on, listening to the suppressed noises of distaste coming from behind.

  Holes appeared here and there in the top of the pipe. Viddo stopped at the first one – it was a foot or so in diameter and went directly upwards, before curving away out of sight. A thin dribble of something brown trickled from it, which Viddo took care to avoid. A little past this hole there was another and then another. After that, two smaller pipes joined this main one from the sides.

  “We must be close,” he whispered over his shoulder. These new pipes meant that they had joined the main network of the castle sewer system.

  Viddo knew his sewers from his rowing boats and they were all grateful when the pipe widened to one side into a square alcove that was eight feet to a side and six feet high. They crowded into it, stretching the stiffness from their spines. Metal rungs were embedded into one wall. They were clean, though with no sign of recent use. The rungs continued into a narrow shaft above them, which ended at a rusted metal cover.

  “We’re here,” whispered Viddo, pointing unnecessarily up the shaft.

  6

  “Let me go first,” Viddo said, already halfway up the ladder. “It might be best to see what’s up there before we all pile inside.”

  “Get a move on!” said Rasmus, waving Viddo onwards. “It stinks like a hanged thief in here and I’d like to be away as soon as possible.”

  The rungs were thick, solid and mercifully free of anything that one would not like to find there. The shaft was twenty feet tall and sealed with a heavy metal plate that fitted neatly into the aperture. The plate was solid and with no way to see through it, giving Viddo little choice but to lift it carefully in order to see what lay above. Reaching up, he gave it a push that should have been sufficient to lift it a tiny amount. It didn’t budge and he pushed again, harder.

  “Could it be locked from above?” he muttered to himself. If so, that would make things rather more difficult. He pushed again and there was the tiniest amount of give, just sufficient to tell him that there was something heavy on top of the lid. “Balls,” he said to himself, more out of habit than genuine annoyance.

  Viddo climbed another two rungs, which allowed him to press his shoulders against the metal plate. With his legs to help, he heaved upwards, and managed to get the cover a few inches proud of the shaft. Instantly, he heard groaning sounds and a series of shufflings and jostlings. A familiar sweet smell assailed his nostrils and something reached through the opening, brushing against his hair.

  “Urgh!” he exclaimed quietly and allowed the heavy plate to fall back into its position. Except that it no longer fit quite as snugly as it had before, since there were now four crushed fingers jammed in the gap. These digits had been damaged by the weight of the metal, but they still managed to waggle eagerly. Viddo looked at the fingers – they were pale and swollen, with filthy yellow nails at the end. Viddo drew his dagger and gave the index finger an experimental stab. The finger didn’t flinch and no blood came forth. Viddo cut the finger off and it fell into the space below, producing a startled noise from Rasmus, which was repeated when the three remaining fingers followed the first. Viddo climbed down.

  “It opens into a room full of low-level undead. Zombies, I suspect,” he told the waiting pair. “At least one is lying over the hatch, makin
g it hard for us to burst inside.”

  “Gah, not more bloody undead!” said Rasmus. “I’ve had quite enough of those creatures for the time being.”

  “Your complaint is noted. Nevertheless, we are here and it would be unfortunate if we had to leave because you were bored with our opponents.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m just grumbling,” said Rasmus. “Should I cast a fireball inside and have done with it?”

  “That would be an excellent plan, except for the difficulty in raising the hatch.”

  “You’ll both have to go up,” said Jera. “Viddo can lift the lid and Rasmus can cast the spell.”

  With no better plan, they set about this one. Viddo climbed the ladder first and braced himself in a position where he might quickly lift the plate. Rasmus followed afterwards, chuntering profusely at having his personal space invaded by what he unfairly described as a sweaty thief. With the pair of them in position, Viddo heaved. The rusted plate lifted an inch or two clear before the weight above forced him to drop it again.

  “There must be loads of overweight zombies up there,” he said. “All of them sitting on the lid.”

  “I’ll need a little more time than you gave me there in order to cast a fireball,” said Rasmus. “If I get the timing wrong, it could explode in this shaft and that would be uncomfortable for all of us.”

  Viddo tried again, grunting with the effort. As soon as the plate was clear of the shaft, there were more groanings from the undead in the room above and another set of fingers were shoved into the gap. “Quickly! Wedge something in there to keep it open,” gasped the thief.

  After a split-second’s thought, Rasmus dragged the remains of his staff from his belt and with difficulty, pushed it into the gap. Unable to hold it any longer, Viddo stopped pushing and the plate fell back, this time coming to rest upon the edge of the broken staff and leaving a narrow gap, through which fingers could enter or a fireball exit.