by Ben Cassidy
Joseph sighed, stepped forward, and grabbed the bristly branches.
Together they yanked the bushes aside. When they were done they stepped back, examining their work.
There was a hole, about four feet in height, carved into the cliffside and disappearing into darkness.
“By Tuldor’s beard,” Sir Mulcher whispered.
Kendril ran his hand down along the rough stone of the entrance, grinning as he did.
“Let’s see where it goes,” he said.
Lord Bathsby stepped up to the third floor of the palace, his left arm folded behind his back. He nodded to the guards, who saluted stiffly. Crossing over to Serentha’s room, he opened the doors and entered quickly.
The princess sat on the bed, a blank expression on her face. Bronwyn stood by the window, her lips curled down in displeasure.
“Is she ready?” Bathsby asked curtly as he looked down at the unresponsive girl.
Bronwyn turned from the window, the amber amulet at her neck glowing softly. “She’s resisting my control more and more, my lord. I won’t be able to keep this up for long.”
“Just get her through the wedding ceremony,” snapped Bathsby as he turned back for the door. “After that you won’t need to control her anymore.”
The tunnel was cut from the bare rock, and sloped gently upwards.
Sir Mulcher gave some orders, and lanterns were lit. The light reflected off the pocked and pitted walls, shining up the passage until it faded into the darkness beyond.
The corridor was small, and they were forced to stoop, going in a single file. Even the softest whisper ricocheted up the tunnel, and the scuffle and thudding of booted feet soon grew deafening.
Kendril led the way, a pistol in one hand and a lantern in the other. Sir Mulcher came behind him, his face calm and unwavering.
The dark was pierced only by the bouncing lights of the lanterns, and the tunnel soon grew stuffy from the large number of men crowded into it. Kendril found himself wiping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, his eyes always on the darkness ahead of him.
And still the corridor continued upwards.
The wedding guests were mostly seated in the chapel as the altar boys began lighting the candles along the front and sides of the sanctuary. The low whispers from the guests in the pews echoed off the arched stone ceiling high above. All available seating was quickly used up, and many of the lesser nobles were forced to stand in the back, looking over the heads of those seated in front of them towards the altar.
The chapel itself had wooden pews on both sides of the central aisle leading towards the front, and two simple wooden doors at the rear of the building that opened out unto the castle lawn. Stain-glass windows lined the walls on either side, depicting various stories and parables found in the Blessed Scriptures. An altar boy came down the central aisle, swinging an incense censer back and forth as he walked.
Sir Reginald watched it all from where he stood by the doors. He glanced over his shoulders out the door of the chapel. The palace was just visible across the green lawn to the right.
He only hoped nothing went awry. He had doubled the guard at the castle gate, as well as the men guarding the city walls. Whitmore would have to be a fool to attempt an assault, especially at night, but Reginald was taking no chances.
Not that it mattered, he thought to himself. Within a half hour this would all be over.
And Lord Bathsby would be King of Llewyllan.
“What’s this?” came Sir Mulcher’s low voice as he stumbled out next to Kendril.
The walls of the tunnel behind them seemed to suddenly disappear, and the darkness yawned in around them from every side.
“I don’t know,” said Kendril. He shoved his pistol in his belt and reached for the lantern. “Let’s find out.”
He threw open the shutters all the way. Light flooded out in all directions.
They were standing in a large underground room carved from the rock of the hillside, which stretched away to their right into a wide passageway. Openings were cut into the side of the walls on both sides, each one a foot or two high and six feet long.
Kendril stepped into the middle of the room, making way for those coming behind them. He stepped up to one of the openings in the wall and lifted the lantern up for a closer look.
There was a flash of dull white from inside. A skeletal face materialized, its eyeless sockets staring out at them.
“Talin’s ashes!” exclaimed Maklavir from behind him. “It’s a skeleton.”
A smile broke out on Kendril’s face. “The catacombs.” He yanked the pistol from his belt once more. “We’re on the right track.”
Maklavir gaped as he stared down the walls on either side. “There must be dozens of bodies here,” he said in astonishment. “All the kings and queens of Llewyllian history. It’s absolutely incredible.”
“Save the tour for later,” Kendril said over his shoulder. “All of this does us no good if we can’t get into the castle.”
“Let’s hope we can,” said Sir Mulcher, brandishing his rapier. “Come on.”
The chapel fell silent as the oaken doors swung open.
Four soldiers dressed in the white uniform of the Royal Guard entered and positioned themselves on either side of the entryway with their arms held at attention.
Lord Bathsby entered a moment later, wearing his dress uniform of white silk emblazoned with the bejeweled peacock of Llewyllan. A rapier hung at his side, the hilt glittering with silver. Sir Reginald fell into step behind him.
Without looking at the crowd of spectators, Bathsby strode purposefully down the aisle of the church, stood next to the altar and swished his blue cape back.
Sir Reginald came up beside him, one hand resting on the rapier at his side.
The priest shuffled to the center before the altar and raised his hands in the air. “Let us pray,” he said.
Kendril turned a corner of the catacombs, Sir Mulcher right beside him. The lantern bobbed as they climbed up the sloping floor. Kendril didn’t even glance at the burial slots to either side of him. His were eyes on the passage ahead of them.
They had been climbing steadily for several minutes now, often up steep stairways that were carved into the dark rock of the mountain. Burial slots were carved into all the surrounding walls, and the eerie skulls of long dead kings watched silently as the living passed them by. In several places bones covered the floor where a skeleton had fallen from its place, or had been chewed by rats.
Just as it seemed the labyrinth would never end, Kendril thrust his arm forward, and pointed towards the end of the corridor in front of them.
“There,” he said eagerly. “I think I see something.”
The guests mumbled a collective murmur as the prayer came to a finish.
Sir Reginald shuffled uneasily from where he stood next to Lord Bathsby, one hand still on his sword. His darting eyes watched the crowd closely.
Bathsby himself was calm, one arm folded easily against the small of his back.
The doors in the back of the church opened once again, and the congregation rose to their feet. The soldiers standing by the front door froze in attention, standing stiffly at attention.
Serentha entered, her elegant white gown glowing in the candlelight. She held a simple bouquet of flowers in her hands, a veil covering her face.
Behind her came Bronwyn, holding flowers as well.
The princess walked unhesitatingly down the aisle, her eyes staring vacantly ahead. When she reached the front she kneeled before the altar.
Bronwyn followed behind her, and stepped off to one side as the princess rose to her feet again.
With a half-smile on his face, Bathsby stepped forward.
“It’s locked.”
Kendril rubbed his chafed hands, and stepped away from the hatch set in the ceiling above them.
“Let me try,” said Sir Mulcher. He stepped in, grunting as he attempted to lift the heavy metal slat.
It didn
’t budge.
“They must keep it locked from above,” said Kendril as he looked over the length of the ceiling. He gave a rough curse, and smashed his hand against the wall.
Sir Mulcher stepped back and shook his head wearily. “It’s solid wrought iron, and barred into place. That or there’s something that weighs a ton sitting on top of it. Either way, we can’t get in this way.”
Joseph leaned against the wall, his face streaked with sweat and grime. “We have to get in this way. There isn’t another opening.”
“And what exactly do you suggest?” said Sir Mulcher, rubbing the dirt off his clothes. “Try it for yourself. The blasted thing won’t budge.”
Maklavir straightened suddenly. He removed the purple cape from his shoulders and folded it carefully. “All right, everyone out of the way,” he said quietly.
They stared over at him.
“What?” Kendril managed.
The diplomat walked up to the hatch, examining it with a critical eye. “I’m only good for one thing, remember?” He unslung a small pouch from his shoulder, and handed his folded cape to Joseph. “Try not to get any dirt on that, will you?” He looked over at the other men, who were all staring at him stupidly.
“You might want to get back,” he said with a disarming smile. “And find some cover, too, I shouldn’t wonder.”
The priest motioned to Lord Bathsby and Serentha, and they both approached the altar from opposite sides. He stood between them, beaming as he addressed the congregation. In the back of the church the doors were still open, letting in the cool night breeze.
The princess continued to smile, her face as lifeless as a doll’s.
The priest motioned for them to draw together. They did, turning their backs to the congregation and facing the altar.
“And now,” said the priest in a cheerful voice, “the vows.”
Kendril looked up at the hatch skeptically. “You sure you can do this?”
Maklavir grunted as he tied a matchcord into place, looping the end around a small bag of gunpowder. “I got us out of the Outpost, didn’t I?”
The Ghostwalker took a deep breath, then glanced down the dark catacombs to where the others were taking cover. “This is a little different, Maklavir. This hatch has to come off with the first blast. The noise will bring every guard within five miles. There won’t be time for a second chance.”
Maklavir lifted another small bag, and wedged it up by the hinge of the trap door. “Oh no, you’ve got it all wrong, my good man.” He looked over at Kendril with a mischievous grin. “The problem is not going to be blowing the hatch off. That’s a cinch. The real problem is going to be making sure the whole castle doesn’t come down on our heads in the process.”
Kendril took a deep breath. He looked up at the hatch again. “Right. Well…good luck, then.”
Maklavir pulled out another matchcord. “I work better without constant distractions.”
Kendril gave the diplomat a nasty glare, then walked back towards where Sir Mulcher was huddled with two lieutenants.
“And find the princess as quickly as you can,” the colonel was saying. “I want all three floors of the palace secured. Her Highness’s room is on the top floor, to the left.” He turned to the other lieutenant. “Lentille, you have thirty men. I need you to take the gatehouse, and hold it. No one gets in or out without my say-so. Understand?”
“What about the guards?” asked the first lieutenant hesitantly.
“Trust me,” interrupted Kendril, “they’re all loyal to Bathsby. Shoot them before they can shoot you.”
Sir Mulcher nodded. “There you are. If all goes well we’ll have the castle in our possession within an hour.”
And if all doesn’t go well, Kendril thought to himself, we’ll be hanged as traitors.
The two officers scurried back to their men and hissed commands in the darkness of the tunnel.
Maklavir came quickly back down the passage, shaking the dirt off his hands. “We have about sixty seconds, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “Assuming I didn’t misjudge the length of the fuse.” He flopped around the corner of the tunnel, and covered his ears with his hands.
The soldiers ducked for cover, crouching with hands over their heads.
Sir Mulcher looked over at Kendril from where they were both hidden behind a stone coffin.
“Good hunting,” he said.
Kendril pulled out his pistol. “Likewise.”
“I do,” said Bathsby, lifting his chin as he pronounced the words. Behind him the chapel was deadly silent.
The priest turned to Serentha with a warm smile. “And do you, Princess Serentha, take Lord Bathsby to be your loving husband as long as you both shall live, in the sight of Eru the One?”
Serentha opened her mouth, but no words came out. She stood frozen in place.
Bathsby’s face twitched. He glanced over towards Bronwyn.
The priest gave Serentha a concerned look. “Your Highness?”
A ripple of disturbed murmurs flittered through the congregation
Bronwyn reached for the amulet at her neck. Its golden glow deepened.
Serentha wavered unsteadily, closing her eyes. “I—”
Bathsby took a half step forward. “Your Highness—” he began.
He never got a chance to finish his sentence.
From outside the open doors of the chapel came the muffled roar of an explosion.
Chapter 15
The sound of the gunpowder going off in the confined space was deafening.
The thunderclap echoed down the whole length of the catacombs, shaking dirt and bones free from the shelves they rested in. Whole skeletons clattered to the floor as the walls shook. Dust billowed down the underground passage, covering the hiding soldiers in a choking cloud.
Sputtering, Kendril got to his feet a half-second before Sir Mulcher, and charged through the white dust cloud towards where the hatch had been. He got there in an instant, hearing Mulcher’s heavier tromp behind him.
He looked up at the ceiling.
Maklavir’s work had been good indeed. Where the iron trapdoor had been before was now a gaping hole. Dirt still crumbled from the edges.
Pocketing his pistol, Kendril grabbed the edge and pulled himself up.
Bathsby’s sword was already in his hands. He spun around to Sir Reginald, who was drawing his rapier as well.
“Find out what that was,” he ordered, the fury showing in his eyes. “Now!”
Reginald didn’t need to be told twice. He dashed down the aisle, past the startled onlookers and out the chapel doors. The four Royal Guards at the rear of the church followed him.
The priest backed against the altar, a look of horror on his face.
Serentha shook her head, as if clearing her mind from a mist.
“What--?” she began, putting one hand to her head.
Bathsby swiveled his head, glaring over at Bronwyn. “Take care of her,” he said between his teeth.
The dark-haired woman took the amulet off her neck, held it in her hand and took a step towards the princess. “I’m trying,” she replied angrily.
Bathsby gave a snarl in reply, and glanced out at the tumultuous congregation. He turned back to the stunned priest.
“Finish the ceremony!” he thundered.
It was a storage room of some kind, with boxes and barrels stacked up against the wall. Most had been either torn to pieces by the explosion or badly knocked around by the force of the blast.
Kendril didn’t give any of them much more than a cursory glance.
He smashed into the only door in sight, and tumbled out into a long hallway with doors on either side.
Sir Mulcher was beside him a moment later. He glanced down the hallway behind them.
Kara appeared at the door, her red hair askew and riddled with dust. Two soldiers appeared behind her in the storage room, climbing up through the hole. Joseph was close behind them.
Kendril raced down the hall. He turned the co
rner and saw stairs ahead.
Sir Mulcher followed close behind him, waving to his soldiers forming in the corridor to follow him.
Kendril stopped at the bottom of the stairs for a moment. Above he could hear raised voices and the tramping of boots.
“If they block off the stairs we’ll be trapped,” said Mulcher in one breath. He glanced back behind him.
Kara appeared around the corner. She unstrung her bow as she ran.
Kendril nodded, a pistol in each hand. “Get your men together. I’ll hold the stairs.”
Before Mulcher could stop him the Ghostwalker leapt up the stairway.
Sir Reginald ran out of the church. The cold evening air slapped him in the face. Soldiers were running this way and that, some looking around in confusion.
A captain came running up to the nobleman and saluted.
“What happened?” Sir Reginald asked with a look around the courtyard.
“We don’t know, sir. There was a blast of some kind. It sounded like it came from the palace.”
Reginald glanced back at the chapel with a snarled curse. “Close the castle gate,” he ordered. “And get your men together. I want the palace cleared, top to bottom.”
The captain saluted again. “Yes, sir!”
Sir Reginald turned to the soldiers that had followed him out of the chapel, and waved his rapier. “You four, come with me.”
He turned towards the palace.
Kendril turned the corner of the stairs and almost ran into a Royal Guardsman coming down towards him.
Before the startled soldier could react Kendril coolly shot him in the chest. The pistol shot reverberated up and down the narrow stairwell.
Another soldier came hot on the heels of the first.
Without stopping Kendril leapt over the falling body of the man he had shot, and whipped the second man across the face with the barrel of his empty pistol.
The blow sent the soldier off balance, and he tumbled down the hard stone steps.
