by J. P. Ashman
‘Bastard!’ Longoss jumped back a step, narrowly avoiding the dagger coming in further towards his neck. The man was good and Longoss knew it. He needed to concentrate to win here, and for reasons he couldn’t fathom, the girl was breaking that concentration in a way no one had ever managed to do. He side-stepped another lunge from the naked man’s dagger, and then his heart lurched as the man turned and jumped towards the bed.
Elleth screamed again and rolled off the other side, escaping the grasping hand that had reached for her.
Longoss rushed forward then and slashed down, slicing across the calf of his opponent as he scrambled across the bed towards Elleth, who was pressing her naked form into the corner as much as she could.
Crying out in pain, the man kicked out at Longoss and connected with his leg just above the knee, which dropped the big man to the bed.
Elleth cried all the more then as blades flashed and blood spilt across the linen. She made for the door, but the gap alongside the bed was blocked suddenly as a large, bloodied body fell into it. Stunned to silence and immobility, Elleth looked down, frozen by the sight at her feet; a sight she couldn’t have envisioned in her worse nightmares, for the man lying there, his face torn to shreds, was split from groin to chest, his innards steaming as they hung from the open cavity.
She noticed then, that even if he could have survived the butchering he'd received on the bed, he could never again have raped a woman.
Elleth turned then and took in the room. The door was splintered but still hanging from its hinges and there was blood everywhere; on the bed, floor and walls alike, even some on the ceiling. Finally looking up to the bed’s headboard, Elleth saw Longoss, breathing heavily and clutching – knuckles white – a small eating knife covered in gore.
Body trembling, Elleth climbed onto the bed, amongst the blood. She crawled next to her saviour, whose eyes had not left hers since she had looked at them – despite her lack of clothes. The smile he showed her revealed no gold whatsoever.
Elleth wrapped herself around Longoss and, showing more fear than he had during the fight, the big man finally relaxed and wrapped himself around her too, gently rocking her as he rested his head atop hers.
Longoss noticed Mother at the door then, her eyes wide as she looked around the room, finally meeting his. She swallowed hard, turned and disappeared back down the corridor and stairs.
Elleth clung to Longoss, her eyes closed tight as she sobbed. Her head shook slowly every so often, and soft mumbling of what sounded like a girl’s name came from her buried head.
‘Ye can’t stay here, Elleth,’ Longoss said, surprisingly softly. ‘I’ll take ye with me if ye like? No strings, just away from here. What ye do then, where ye go and who with, will be up to you. I won’t make ye do anything ye don’t want, ye have me word and I never break—’
‘Yer word,’ finished the girl, as she finally looked up into his eyes. ‘Ye never break yer word?’
He shook his head. ‘Never!’
Elleth nodded then and he tilted his head, looking deep into her eyes as he waited for her to speak.
‘I’ll come with ye,’ she said, and even managed a brief smile, ‘but—’
‘Anything,’ Longoss said eagerly, the whole situation running away from him and confusing him. All he knew was that nothing had mattered to him in his life until now, and whether he understood the reason or not didn’t matter.
Her eyes moved to the rest of the bed then, to the blood, the torn linen and then to the knife in his hand, and his slashed arm, which still bled freely. Looking back up at him she said, ‘I don’t want ye to kill again, ever—’
Longoss made to speak, but Elleth placed her delicate fingers on his mouth and continued.
‘For us to be together, ye need to swear it. Ye may think ye can’t ever save me if ye can’t kill, but ye done that already, ye done all this.’ She waved her other hand around the room at the horrific scene, ‘and I don’t want any more of that ’cause of me, ye hear? I don’t. Ye saved me and I’m yours.’
‘I didn’t do it for that, Elleth… to own ye.’
She smiled again. ‘I know ye didn’t, but I’m yours, and you’re mine.’
A gold-less smile and Longoss nodded, his heart fluttering in a way he’d never felt before.
‘Ye swear it though, never to kill another man, not for me nor anyone or anything?’
Taking a deep breath and grinding his teeth for a moment, his eyes drifted past Elleth’s own. Finally, he nodded. ‘Aye, Elleth, me word. I’ll never again kill a man, but I swear this to ye too, I’ll do all I can to protect ye, all I can without killing a soul.’
‘Thank you,’ Elleth said, and despite her swollen lip, she leant up and kissed Longoss on the cheek.
Blushing slightly, Longoss unwrapped himself from her and climbed from the bed. ‘We need to go now,’ he said, but Elleth shook her head.
‘Not without Coppin.’
‘Who?’
‘My sister,’ she said. Her large eyes held Longoss’ in such a way he just nodded, knowing that for this girl, he would do anything.
‘I’ll go get her then. Which room?’
Elleth’s head was shaking before he even finished. ‘She’s not here. Mother sold her and I need ye to find her for me, ’cause I ain’t leaving without her and that’s the truth.’
Longoss climbed back onto the bed then. ‘Ye’re not staying here, Elleth, ye’re just not. I’ll find yer sister, but not if it means leaving ye here.’
‘Mother knows who took her and I don’t think she’d dare send anyone else to me now, eh?’ She glanced at the body by the side of the bed.
Longoss took hold of both delicate shoulders and held her firm, gentle, but firm. ‘I don’t care, ye can come with me. We’ll find her together.’
Elleth shook her head again. ‘Find her and bring her to me, Longoss, then we’ll both go. I can’t risk ye not finding her once ye have me away from here. If I’m here, I know ye’ll find her and quick, to get me out.’ Oh Elleth, what’re ye doing? He’ll take ye away, right now, away from all this and from Mother; without Coppin though? No, she needs me, she needs him. I’m already saved, now I need to be a strong, brave woman and let him save her, and this is the only way I can be sure he will.
Longoss sighed and rubbed the back of his head. Pulling his hand away, he noticed fresh blood there too. He wiped his hand on a part of his shirt that wasn’t already bloodied, and leaned in to Elleth, kissing her on the head and then nodding his agreement.
‘If ye’re certain and it’s the only way to get ye to go with me, then I’ll find her and bring her here, then we’re all out of here. Do I have your word, Elleth?’
She smiled and nodded, then wrapped him in a tight hug before kissing him fully.
Standing, Longoss tore a strip of linen and tied it about his bleeding arm, before telling Elleth to stay in the room. He explained to her Mother was unlikely to enter such a scene, and certainly wouldn’t send any punter in to witness it. She swallowed hard, but nodded and agreed.
Longoss moved to the door and took hold of the handle. He turned to look upon Elleth and smiled. As he did, Elleth said, ‘I don’t know what we are, Longoss, but it may be we end up loves like me mamma and dada were, and I think I’d like that.’
Nodding, but saying nothing for fear of his voice breaking, Longoss turned and carefully closed the damaged door behind him.
Elleth could have sworn she saw a tear in his eye.
***
Egan Dundaven had been pouring through ancient books and scrolls throughout the night. He was searching for answers to what he believed was the meaning of the riddle brought to him by Exley Clewarth, which he'd laid out in front of him.
Few know the true source of His light, its new weakness fewer still
Stone protects all it has oft been said; hidden in view of the sea
Beware the darkness of the ground, through it the light could cease
We will, all of us on that da
y, fall to darkness, as it was before
As long as the source stands tall in its succour, the light will always be
Best it remains forgotten, unlike the memory of He
So far he'd found nothing describing what he was looking for in enough detail, and he, along with the monks who'd been assigned to him, were becoming extremely frustrated as the Witchunter General stalked the cathedral’s library, asking question after question.
‘Well, you’re the bloody bookworms, brothers, not me,’ Exley had said, when one of the monks had suggested the Witchunter General looked for himself if he was unhappy with their progress.
Egan, however, was determined the ‘light’ in the riddle referred to magic, rather than Sir Samorl’s divine power, much to the disgust of Exley and many of his acolytes who had naturally assumed the latter.
Reluctantly accepting Egan’s theory, a witchunter had suggested the ‘source’ must therefore refer to Tyndurris’ magically gifted residents. Egan had agreed and then pointed out the ‘stone’ the light was encased in, its succour, must mean Tyndurris itself, which indeed rose into the sky, and with its subterranean levels, reached down into the ground. That, Egan had stated, was the tower’s weakness, as mentioned in the riddle itself. Therefore, Egan had swiftly surmised the way into Tyndurris lay beneath the ground.
That being the case, Egan had then requested as many plans of the city as possible. Following that, Exley had demanded, failed and then politely requested – much to the amusement of Egan – the assistance of the resident monks. All of whom now looked through countless plans of the city, searching for underground tunnels that would lead to the lower levels of Tyndurris.
‘Perhaps there are tunnels from here within the cathedral,’ one monk wondered aloud, but an older monk pointed out that with such historic hostility between the church and the guild, it was unlikely there would be any tunnel built from one to the other, by either side. He went on to say that he failed to see why the guild would purposefully add tunnels which presented a weakness to their defensive capabilities.
Egan nodded his agreement. ‘Surely that means the tower was built over said weakness unwittingly. Or at least to a point that at the time of building, whatever was below Tyndurris, be it tunnel or chamber, it didn’t pose a threat to them.’
‘Could that mean they might not know of the lower entrance, even now?’ Exley asked excitedly.
‘We don’t even know if there is an entrance,’ Egan said, whilst flicking through pages of ancient sewer mapping. ‘It could be a tunnel leading close to one of the lower floors.’
A young monk pointed to the sewer maps. ‘What about those?’
The eldest monk looked up from a book and shook his head. ‘No, the sewers are only three hundred years old, much too young to be connected, and the guild has royal approval, so it would have had the power to stop the sewer system from running close to any of its underground chambers. They probably have a system of their own which runs into the main system via unpassable pipes.’
Egan sighed and slumped back into his chair. He rubbed his tired eyes and strained to think of another way. Maybe he was wrong about the riddle, he hoped not for his sake, but it was a possibility.
‘What about older tunnels?’ Exley asked, as he moved to stand behind the old monk, whom he realised was probably the most knowledgeable about the city.
The white haired man paused for thought. He'd not asked why the witchunters wanted this information, but he was no fool and so, imagining the possibilities, had decided not to bother asking, for it was better in his mind not to know. ‘It is a possibility,’ he said eventually. ‘Wesson is thousands of years old. The city hasn’t always been this large—’
‘Obviously,’ Exley muttered, but the old monk carried on regardless.
‘—and the palace, which is the natural fortress of the city, has not always been where it is now, at the southern end of Wesson.’
Every head in the chamber looked up from whatever they were reading, and Exley sat down on the bench next to the old monk, his attention well and truly captured.
‘Go on,’ the Witchunter General encouraged, as Egan moved to sit opposite the man.
The old monk laid down the book he was holding and looked around the room at the intrigued faces. ‘The palace where King Barrison resides was commissioned way, way back in three seventy-four Altoln by the King at the time. It wasn’t finished, however, until three eighty-five Altoln, after which the commissioning King had unfortunately died. Murdered actually by the queen, a sad affair in which—’
‘The point?’ Exley demanded. Many of the monks in the room scowled at him before turning back to the old monk.
‘If you will let me continue then I will come to the point, young Master Clewarth.’ The Witchunter General scowled, but kept quiet. ‘Now where was I… ah… yes, the King who'd been murdered, as I previously said. He had a son, and it was his son, I believe, that once the castle was complete, moved into it. He left Wesson’s original castle as no more than a military barracks, to defend the northern end of the rapidly growing city.
‘Many, many years later,’ the monk continued, ‘centuries in fact, the King of the time… early eighth century Altoln I believe it was, decided the northern city barracks were far too large, and were hardly being used by the troops based there. So, he commissioned the conversion of those barracks, the original Wesson Castle, into Wesson’s—’
‘Prison,’ Egan finished, realisation flooding his face.
‘Precisely,’ the old monk said, a smile creasing his already lined face.
‘I don’t understand the relevance?’ Exley asked irritably.
‘General,’ explained the old monk, ‘it was written… where I read it I cannot remember, alas… that there was an ancient network of tunnels built deep under Wesson; tunnels travelling from the old castle to the new – to what is now the palace.’
Again, Egan’s face lit up with realisation. ‘General, do you see what this means?’
‘Of course,’ Exley lied, and to his relief, Egan continued regardless.
‘The riddle talks about ‘light’s succour’ delving deep into the ground, which we have already established as being the lower levels of Tyndurris. Now, we’ve been searching for tunnels that meet one of those lower chambers, rather than—’
‘Tunnels the lower levels met themselves,’ the elderly monk said. ‘An ancient tunnel the builders of Tyndurris could have come close to breaching; the tower is situated between the prison and the palace.’
‘Exactly.’ Egan nodded to the old monk and smiled. ‘You’re a credit to your order, brother.’
The old monk smiled, nodded in return and rose from the bench before saying, ‘It is time for my bed, gentlemen. I am glad to have been assistance, may Sir Samorl be with you all.’
‘And with you, brother,’ Exley Clewarth replied, although his eyes were staring into the distance as he began to work out his plan to enter those tunnels, a plan that would lead him on a course following his counterpart and rival Horler Comlay; into Wesson’s prison.
***
On his way out, Longoss had warned Mother not to allow anyone into the building, even to see the other girls. He'd also threatened to burn the place down if she didn’t tell him who’d bought Coppin.
Mother, however, had laughed that threat off, telling him she knew he’d hurt no woman because he’d told her so previously. Shrugging that off, Longoss had threatened instead to stand outside and kill any man who tried to visit, something he knew she knew he was capable of. Of course, she didn’t know he’d sworn to Elleth not to. ‘After all,’ he'd said to her, ‘if I did that, what man would wanna risk visiting yer girls then?’
Eventually and reluctantly, without Longoss laying a finger on her, Mother told him who'd bought Coppin and where she was, although she warned Longoss he was making a deadly mistake in going there.
Fear of other men, however, was not something Longoss often felt, whereas fear of losing Elleth, a girl
he'd just met, was all too real.
He'd set out across the city on foot, moving as quickly as he could without draining himself of too much energy, for he knew he’d need to be prepared to fight for Elleth’s sister, and fight all the harder if he was to do it without killing anyone. He'd given his word and breaking that was not an option, especially to her. Why? He didn’t know, but whatever these feelings for the girl were, he’d never felt anything so strong in his life, and that was worth fighting for, he was sure of it.
As he walked down a long, narrow street towards the edge of Dockside, a lone figure wearing a smart, knee-length coat stepped out of a doorway and into Longoss’ path.
Longoss stopped and quickly glanced behind, noting another man wearing similar – albeit cleaner – clothes to him.
‘Longoss, me old mucker, long time no see,’ the man in the coat said as he walked towards Longoss, finally stopping just outside of arms reach. ‘Ye look a state,’ he added, looking Longoss up and down and taking in the blood stained shirt, hose and braise, the latter stained with piss as well as blood.
‘Aye, long time. Now out of me way, Bill, I need to move on.’
‘What, no golden grin? Very serious that is, eh Kerril?’ Bill said to the man who’d moved up behind Longoss.
Longoss flashed his golden teeth and moved to pass Bill, who held up his hand – which held a scroll sealed with black wax.
‘Ah-ah, I need to pass this on, Longoss. The mark Poi Son mentioned, ye see? Needs yer signature on this it does, before Poi Son will release any more details.’
‘Tell him no,’ Longoss said, pushing past Bill and continuing down the street. Two pairs of footsteps followed, closed in and then Bill overtook Longoss and turned to face him once more. Longoss stopped and quickly checked Kerril’s position behind him again.
‘Longoss wait, the mark’s here and it’s a big one, I know that much. Don’t be silly mate, just sign it. It ain’t a woman, Poi Son wouldn’t do that to ye so what’s yer problem, ye never turn marks down?’
