by Ben Cassidy
Kendril had been feeling a slight unease that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Then it suddenly came to him.
It was heights. He hated heights.
Maybe “hated” was too strong. Strongly disliked.
In any event, he was all but convinced that the whole roof thing had been a bad idea from the start.
Another shout echoed from the castle wall as Kendril dove down the slope of the roof.
He slid down the bumpy path of shingles until his gloved hand caught the edge. He stopped himself, took a quick glance over the side, closed his eyes, and rolled off.
He fell about ten feet or so before he crashed onto a lower ledge, and slid down for a moment as his boots slipped on the treacherous surface.
Pain shot up through the old wound on his side like hot fire, but Kendril forced himself to ignore it.
Below him was the garden that ran up next to the palace. Far off to his left was the castle gate, the only chance for escape. Kendril took a deep breath, and crouched.
Oh, well. It wasn’t like he was going to live forever.
He moved to the edge, then jumped.
Maklavir was an outstanding swordsman.
Well, actually that wasn’t entirely true, but he made it a habit to think such thoughts on the rare occasions when he found himself in a situation such as the one he was in right now. The hope was always that he might perhaps somehow fool his body into believing that he really was an outstanding swordsman.
It had never actually worked before, and it didn’t seem to be working now.
Maklavir barely dodged another blow from his adversary.
Dirt rose in a cloud from the floor. He had no doubt it was coming right for his new trousers.
The guard came at Maklavir again and screamed as he chopped his sword down.
The blade sparked against the heavy iron chain running up towards the drawbridge, and for a second the weapon caught in the space between the links.
Maklavir tumbled backwards, and tripped over some kind of wooden lever.
With a great whooshing noise and a deafening rattle, the drawbridge chain released, and flew back into the opening in the wall. The soldier’s sword flew out of his hand. The steel rang as it struck the far wall.
The guard stared stupidly at his empty hand.
Maklavir smiled apologetically, then clobbered the man in the face with the hilt of his sword.
He fell back senseless onto the floor.
Maklavir straightened his shirt, and quickly checked his cape and trousers.
A little dirt, but nothing that wouldn’t come out with a good wash. He gave a sigh of relief.
Perhaps things were starting to look up after all.
Kendril crashed into the hedge.
He felt branches tear wildly at his cloak and clothes. He spat leaves from his mouth, then waded through the sharp branches towards more solid ground.
The Ghostwalker fell out of the bush onto the grass, swiping loose bits of vegetation off his cloak. Beside a burning slash on the side of his neck from a branch, he wasn’t hurt.
He got to his feet, pulling a broken stick from his sleeve.
At least he wasn’t on the roof anymore.
A shout from behind him made him turn.
A white-uniformed soldier tore around a piece of shrubbery, a halberd in his hands.
Kendril instantly whipped out a pistol and pulled the trigger. The flint clicked and sparked on the pan.
Nothing else happened.
Ah, yes, that was right. He had already fired that one.
Kendril reached for his sword, knowing as he did there would be no way to get it out in time.
He dodged back, and prepared to take the guard’s blow as best as he could with his shoulder.
There was a sudden flash of metal and a dagger hurtled through the air, striking the soldier in the throat. The man fell lifeless to the ground.
Kendril drew his sword and turned around.
Joseph hurried up to him, a smile on his face. “Wasn’t sure I would see you again.”
Kendril ducked back against the hedge. “You almost didn’t. That’s the second time you’ve saved my neck. Where’s Maklavir?”
Joseph retrieved his knife, and wiped it clean on the grass. “Getting the animals. The Guards attacked me back there in the palace. Do you know what’s going on?”
The Ghostwalker’s face twisted into a snarl. “I was set up, that’s what’s going on. King Nathan is dead.”
The scout stopped cold. “Dead? How?” He shoved the knife back into the top of his boot.
“I killed him, apparently.” He grabbed Joseph by the shoulder, and pulled the scout to his feet. “We’re not safe here. Let’s get moving.”
Joseph nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
Kara twisted around, and tried to get a shot at the soldier on the wall, but he was out of sight before she could.
She cursed, then flattened herself back against the crate she was hiding behind. The barrels and boxes around her were riddled with crossbow bolts.
A horn was blowing somewhere on the walls above her. No doubt it was a call for reinforcements.
The good news, though, was that one side of the drawbridge had been released. The whole wooden structure hung at an awkward angle, the left chain pulled tight while the right chain was slack. It still wasn’t wide enough to get out, though.
Maklavir suddenly appeared at the door, and glanced around for Kara.
A crossbowman up on the wall spotted him, and aimed his weapon down at the diplomat.
Kara fired off a quick shot.
The arrow found its mark, and the soldier stumbled backwards.
Maklavir dove for the cover of the crates. His purple cape flapped behind him.
“That’s some bloody fine shooting,” he said as he glanced cautiously over the edge of the barrel.
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Kara said between gritted teeth. She fitted another arrow to the bowstring. “We need to get the other side of that drawbridge down.”
Maklavir flinched as another crossbow bolt smacked into a nearby crate. “What, me?”
Kara glanced quickly behind her. “I’ll cover you.”
The diplomat’s face fell. “You can’t be serious. I barely got out of that last gatehouse alive.”
She fired off another shot, then reloaded her bow. “Getting that drawbridge open is the only chance we have. I can’t cover myself, and I’m almost out of arrows.”
“Wonderful,” groaned Maklavir. He pushed himself back up against a crate, and weighed his sword in his hand. “All right, then. Wish me luck.”
“On the count of three,” said Kara, her eyes never leaving the castle wall. “One, two--”
Another crossbow bolt thwacked into the ground by Maklavir’s foot.
The diplomat leaped back.
“Three,” said Kara. She rose and fired her bow as Maklavir leapt out from behind the crates.
Joseph hit the ground beside the rosebush, and glanced around its edge. “I can’t see what’s happening at the gate,” he said. “I hope Maklavir and Kara got out.”
Kendril finished reloading one of his pistols, then shoved it back into his cloak. “Kara?”
The scout nodded. He pulled his head back into cover. “She warned us something like this would happen.”
Kendril pulled out another pistol, and repeated the process. “I assume she didn’t skip town, then?” he asked wryly.
Joseph shrugged. “Not exactly.”
“Tell me later. Right now you have to get to that gate. It’s the only chance we have to get out of here.”
A horn started blowing from the western wall of the castle.
“What about you?”
Kendril rammed down the paper cartridge into the barrel his gun. “I’m going back to the palace,” he said.
Joseph gaped at him. “Are you insane?” he said. “They think you killed the King. You’ll be shot on sight.”
The G
hostwalker pushed back his cloak, and stuck his second pistol back in his belt. “I’m not leaving without Jade. Now go. I’ll meet up with you when I can.”
Joseph ducked as two soldiers went running by. “What you’re talking about is crazy!” he whispered harshly. “You can’t help her if you’re dead.”
“I have to try,” Kendril said.
Joseph grabbed his companion’s arm. “Getting out of here is going to be hard enough, but there’s no way I can get through that gate by myself. If you go back into that palace now you’re throwing your life away, and mine too. If we stick together we just might have a chance.”
Kendril glowered. The agony of the decision was clear on his face.
“We’ll come back for her when we can,” said Joseph.
The Ghostwalker bit his lip, then nodded.
“Right.” He pulled out one of his pistols. “Let’s go.”
Kara waited for a half second after Maklavir had leapt up, then she jumped up herself, following after the diplomat as he ran towards the left-hand gatehouse.
Maklavir rushed inside the door.
Kara paused for a moment outside the opening, and scanned the night for any other signs of movement.
There weren’t any.
Satisfied, she ducked inside the entrance.
The harsh ringing of steel met her ears. Maklavir was fighting with two men at once, and he looked like he was getting the worst of it.
Bending back her bow, Kara hammered one of the men with an arrow at point-blank range.
The second guard pushed Maklavir back into a table.
Kara dropped the bow and drew her dagger. She started forward, trying to close the distance between her and the guard.
He crashed into her, and threw her back against the wall.
She felt her back crunch painfully against the stone, and before she knew it the man had her dagger arm pinned with one hand. His other grabbed her throat in a vice-lock, choking the air out of her.
Kara grabbed at the man’s arm, trying to free herself.
The soldier gave a wretched grin and leaned in closer.
A table leg suddenly cracked into the back of soldier’s head. He crumpled to the ground.
Kara slumped down against the wall, rubbing her throat and coughing.
Maklavir tossed the chair leg onto the ground, then pushed back his cap back with a smile. “You looked like you could use some assistance.”
The female bandit pushed herself back up. She grabbed her bow off the ground. “The drawbridge—”
Maklavir lifted a hand. He walked over to the giant winch. “Please, allow me. I’ve already figured out the intricacies of this particular mechanism.”
He gave the lever a solid kick. The chain spun out of the reel it had been held in, and outside they heard an enormous crash as the drawbridge came down.
“Well,” said Maklavir brightly, “shall we go?”
He was halfway out the door when a musket shot exploded against the frame, and threw splinters of wood in all directions.
Maklavir leapt back into gatehouse, and bumped back into Kara.
“I think we have a problem,” he commented.
“I only have a couple of arrows left,” said Kara. She fished around in the quiver to confirm her fear. “We have to make a break for it, Maklavir.”
“Lovely,” he said. “I guess we don’t have much of a choice. Ready?”
Kara strung her bow. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The diplomat nodded. “Alright then. Let’s—” he paused for a moment. “I think I hear horses coming--”
“Go!” shouted Kara, pushing the diplomat out the door.
They piled out into the night air.
A crossbow bolt sailed down from the castle wall above. It barely missed them.
Kara turned as she ran, and pointed her bow upwards. Her weapon sang out and sent an arrow speeding towards the wall.
She was reaching for another arrow when she glanced over her shoulder, back towards the drawbridge.
Three soldiers piled out of a narrow staircase that led down from the castle wall. They blocked the way to the open drawbridge.
Kara swiveled, and fired her last arrow.
It missed, sailing out into the darkness beyond the drawbridge.
The guards stepped forward, gaining confidence as they saw Kara’s empty quiver.
One of them pointed to a rope tied against one side of the gateway. It held the portcullis in place.
“Cut it!” he shouted. He raised a large claymore in one hand.
One of the men peeled off. He raised a halberd as he ran.
If the portcullis came down, Kara realized with a sinking dread, there would be no way out of the castle.
She dropped the bow with a clatter on the cobblestones, and drew her dagger.
Maklavir backed up. He held his sword in a shaking hand.
Kara stepped towards the soldier who was running towards the rope, already knowing there was no way she could stop him in time.
The other two men advanced towards them.
Kara gripped her knife, determined to take as many of them with her as she could.
The soldier with the halberd swung his weapon hard at the outstretched rope.
He never made it.
A blast echoed down the vaulted tunnel of the gateway as a shot tore open the man’s ribcage, and spun him around. He and his halberd crashed to the ground.
Kara turned, her ears ringing from the sound.
Kendril came up behind her, a pistol in each hand. His hood covered his face and his dark cloak covered him like a living shadow. He lowered his second pistol and fired it.
The shot cracked into the wall next to one of the soldier’s heads.
Maklavir threw himself against the side of the gateway as the two remaining soldiers came forward with a shout.
Kendril jammed both pistols back into his belt, then drew his short swords.
Kara stared for a moment in disbelief, then jumped back out of the way as well.
The Ghostwalker swept forward. Both his swords slashed through the air.
There was a flurry of sparks as he deflected a blow from one guard, then sliced in with a return attack against the other.
Kara found herself watching entranced as Kendril forced both men back towards the drawbridge. His swords flashed faster then she could follow them.
One of the Ghostwalker’s blows found its mark and slashed open the chest of one of the men.
The guard fell lifeless to the ground, his blood spreading over the cobblestones.
The second guard backed up, his eyes wide, then dropped his sword and ran back up the stairs to the wall.
Kendril turned back around and nodded to the dumbstruck young woman.
“Kara. Good to see you’re not dead.” He looked over at Maklavir, lifting an eyebrow. “And you’re still alive? I’m impressed.”
“Very funny,” said the diplomat. He brushed some dirt off his cloak. “Where have you been, anyway? And where’s Joseph?”
“Right here!” shouted the scout from behind them. He came running up, dragging the bridles of the mounts behind him. “The Guards are coming. We need to go!”
Kendril nodded grimly. “Right. You three get going. I’ll hold them here as long as I can.”
Kara finally found her voice. “By yourself? That’s crazy.”
“Yes,” said Maklavir as he jumped up onto Veritas’ back, “well Kendril isn’t exactly the sanest man you’ll ever meet. I for one am getting out of here.”
Kara scanned the walls nervously. “You can’t fight alone. I’ll stay with you.”
The Ghostwalker grinned as he reloaded one of his pistols. “With your knife?”
Her face flushed. “I can if I have to.”
“If that was your handiwork back by the gatehouse, then I believe you.”
Joseph glanced back nervously in the direction of the palace. Several men on horseback began to become visible through the d
arkness, riding hard towards the gate. “Here they come.” He turned to the Ghostwalker beside them. “Kendril—”
“Don’t worry,” Kendril said with a smirk, “I don’t plan on dying. Not today, anyway. Now get out of here. Take Simon with you.”
Joseph leapt up onto his mount. He turned his horse around and grabbed Simon’s bridle. “Come on, Kara!”
The young woman gave Kendril one last look of mixed aggravation and admiration, then jumped up onto her horse as well.
They turned, and thundered out over the drawbridge.
Kendril remained standing calmly just beneath the portcullis, facing the oncoming soldiers.
Horsemen clattered onto the cobblestones of the tunnel leading to the drawbridge. About a dozen armed guards followed on foot behind. They stopped about thirty feet away from where Kendril stood alone.
There was a sudden deep laugh from one of the riders, which echoed off the walls of the tunnel.
“My dear Mr. Kendril,” said Bathsby with a condescending smile, “you don’t seriously think you can fight all of us off?”
Kendril’s eyes blazed with a dark fire. “You set me up, Bathsby.”
The nobleman’s smile disappeared. “Set you up? I made you an offer, Kendril, but you didn’t listen to me. This is the price you have to pay for your refusal.”
Kendril’s voice lowered. “You’re the one who’s going to pay.”
He laughed again. “How delightfully entertaining. You really are quite humorous when you put your mind to it.”
The Ghostwalker’s eyes glanced over the group of white-uniformed soldiers in front of him. “Do your men know you’re a traitor, Bathsby?”
The nobleman’s face hardened. “I’m a patriot,” he spat, “and so are my men. What has been done was done for all of Llewyllan.”
“Does that include assassinating your King?”
Bathsby’s face spasmed in anger. “I will greatly enjoy seeing you die, Mr. Kendril.”
A smile spread over the Ghostwalker’s face. “Anytime.”
Bathsby reared his horse back, and lifted his sword.
The soldiers of the Royal Guard surged forward with their weapons lowered.
A pistol appeared in Kendril’s hand. He turned and fired at the wall to his left, then threw himself towards the drawbridge.
